by Dan Poblocki
But then he remembered: the nightmare, the knocking, the feeling of horror that Penelope had sent coursing through his body when she’d shown up, and how she’d stayed, perched in his mind like Poe’s raven from that poem they’d studied in English class.
Lucas tripped, falling forward, catching himself on his hands. He checked his body. Thankfully, he wasn’t bleeding. “Are you okay?” asked Claire, helping him to his feet. He picked a few stones out from where they’d stuck to his skin.
“I don’t know,” he answered, holding back something raging just behind his eyes. What would come if he let go? Tears? Anger? Laughter? He looked at Claire and saw the same things in her face.
“Thank you, Lucas,” she said.
“For what?”
“For coming with me. Showing me where to go. And what to do.” She stared up the seemingly endless road. “Do you want to take a break?”
“We don’t have time,” he whispered.
Eventually, buildings began to spring up along the road. Mobile homes with overgrown grass. Cars propped on cinder blocks in long driveways. Cottages that looked like no one had lived in them for decades. When the buildings began to appear at shorter and shorter intervals, Lucas started to hope that they were coming closer to their target—the haunted town of Hush Falls Holler. The trees here seemed to be packed closer together, the brush between them like a barrier keeping anyone from wandering off into the mysteries that lingered in the woods beyond.
Ahead, there was an intersection. On one corner stood a decrepit-looking gas station. The two pumps that huddled in the lot out front looked ancient. Lucas and Claire crossed the road to keep away from the place. Through a large window, Lucas peered at an older man wearing a beat-up trucker hat sitting behind the counter. He was gazing at a small television screen, which cast flickering light onto his wizened face. Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to notice them.
“Which way?” Claire asked.
“Not sure,” said Lucas. He tried to recall the map he’d looked at earlier that morning. But then, a few hundred yards past the intersection, he noticed a marker that read Hush Falls Holler with an arrow pointing forward. And just beyond that, rising up halfway to the treetops, was an old ornate neon sign, red, white, and blue, but unlit. Lost Village Motor Lodge.
“IS THAT IT?” Claire asked. “My dad’s motel? We’re actually here?” She almost started running toward the parking lot that spread out in front of the wide wood-shingled building, but her body wouldn’t allow her to move any faster. Her heels had blisters that were rubbing against the insides of her sneakers. Pain shot both up her calves and down to her toes, so she limped forward, Lucas a few yards behind her.
“Wait, Claire,” he called out. “We don’t want anyone to see us, remember?”
“Which room was he staying in?” she asked, half to herself, half to Lucas, as if he would have any clue. “We’ll have to ask at the office.”
“We can’t,” Lucas insisted. “They’ll wonder who we are, where we came from. They might even call the police.”
Claire stopped once she’d reached the lot. She stared at the motor lodge. There were maybe ten rooms in total, each black door opening onto the parking spaces that were marked with yellow on the pavement out front. Jutting from the center of the building was the office. It was surrounded on three sides by big windows so that whoever sat inside could see in three directions. A Vacancy sign in the window was lit up in red neon. It made her think of her father, whose room must certainly be vacant now. The motel was tucked into an envelope of dense pines that rose high overhead, casting shadows over the property. A single car was parked at the left side of the lot, directly in front of a room with a large silver #1 attached to its door. A sporty black roadster. Claire recognized it immediately.
“That’s my dad’s car!” she exclaimed, then took off across the parking lot, ignoring the pain that was attacking her feet.
Lucas followed closely behind her. He nudged her toward the edge of the lot, closer to the trees. He wanted her to be discreet, but she didn’t care. What if her father was in the room near where his car was parked? What if he’d already reappeared? She would burst through the door and throw her arms around him and he’d calm her down and explain exactly what had happened, where he had gone, what he had seen.
“Dad!” she cried out.
“Claire, shhh!” Lucas grabbed her elbow, forcing her to a halt.
Claire pulled away, suddenly enraged. “What if he’s in there? What if you were wrong?”
Lucas went stone still. “I’m not wrong.”
“Let’s see about that.” But she trudged forward more carefully now.
When they reached the car, Claire noticed dead pine needles covering the hood and the windshield. In the back of her brain, she knew this wasn’t a good sign. It meant the car had been sitting here for some time. She squinted at the trees in anger, as if it were their fault she’d gotten her hopes up.
Lucas was already at the door. She gaped at him as he turned the knob. To her surprise, the door swung inward, revealing a darkness inside that chilled the marrow in her bones. “Lucas, wait!” But he didn’t pause. She stopped at the doorway, peering toward the office whose reflective windows hid whatever or whoever might be inside. Shoving away the feeling that someone was watching them, she followed Lucas into room #1 and closed the door quietly behind her.
The room wasn’t as dark as it had seemed from outside, especially after Lucas dragged the thick curtains aside. It was as ordinary a motel room as any Claire had seen. Yes, maybe the furniture was a little dated, the bed cover worn in several spots, the carpet shaggier and more orange than what one might see in a modern home, but everything appeared to be in order. And it was clean, as if her father had never even set foot inside this place. “Where’s all his stuff?” she asked. “His equipment? His luggage? His clothes?”
Lucas pulled open the closet door with a grunt, then stepped aside, as if a body might topple out and crush him. When nothing happened, he reached inside, the sound of wooden hangers clattering hollowly. “Not sure. Maybe … maybe this wasn’t his room?”
“Or maybe someone already emptied it out,” said Claire. Would Clementine, her father’s assistant, have done that? Maybe Clementine meant to return the camera and sound equipment to the production company. The thought made Claire sick—what was more important here? The television show or her dad?
A shadow crossed in front of the window, heading toward the door. Claire and Lucas froze. Then quickly, they dropped to the floor, hiding on the far side of the bed. To Claire’s horror, the door squeaked open slowly. Without thinking, she clutched Lucas’s hand. He squeezed hers back.
Footsteps entered, hushed against the thick carpet. A light switch flicked on and an amber glow filled the shadows. Whoever had entered was coming closer.
Oh no, oh no, oh no, thought Claire. She’d been foolish to let her excitement shove aside her common sense. Of course they’d been seen coming up the drive. And now it was too late to run, or to try to shuffle underneath the bed. They’d make too much noise.
A shadow spilled onto the floor near the end of the bed, and Claire watched as a pair of shoes came into view. Her heart rose into her throat as she glanced up and saw a girl staring down at them.
“WHO ARE YOU?” the girl demanded. She looked to be around their age. “What are you doing here?”
Claire and Lucas sat up on their knees, both backing against the wall beside the bed. Claire was too stunned to answer. Not because the girl had striking hair so blond that it was practically white or because it sprang out from her head in curls so wide, she looked like a beauty pageant contestant. But Claire had been expecting to encounter the gruff man who had answered the phone when she’d called the motel the previous evening. Or maybe even the one who Lucas had seen in the woods alongside the road—the one who had caused his total meltdown.
The girl frowned. “Um, I said—”
“We heard what you said,” L
ucas answered, finally bringing himself to his feet. “We’re just … a little freaked out is all.”
Now the girl crossed her arms. “You’re freaked out? I’m the one who just found two kids sneaking around my grandparents’ motel. Inside a room that’s practically a crime scene. Now, are you going to answer me, or am I going to have to call the police?” She glared down at them.
“No, please,” said Claire, using the bed to help herself up. “I’m Claire. This is my friend Lucas. We didn’t mean to bother you. Well, I guess we did mean to, but … we’ve got a good reason. You see, my dad was a guest here for a few days. Yesterday, we learned that he went missing here in Hush Falls Holler. And Lucas … he had a bad feeling. So, we came to see if we could find him. My dad. Maybe you’ve seen him? Miles Holiday?” The words had streamed from her mouth in an embarrassing tangle, and she didn’t blame the girl for gaping at her now as if she were a phantom.
“You’re the ghost hunter’s daughter?”
Claire tensed at the maddening nickname, but she nodded anyway. “We didn’t mean any harm. And we’re sorry for just barging in. But we don’t want anyone to know that we’re here. My aunt and Lucas’s grandmother think we’re at school. We took the bus. Then we walked up from the thruway.”
“Wow.” The girl sighed, but her big blue eyes stayed wide. “You guys came all this way by yourselves?”
“What would you do to save one of your parents?” Lucas asked.
The girl shivered. His words had touched a nerve. “I’d probably do something similar,” she answered. After a moment, she smiled, then extended her hand to Claire. “I’m Dolly. I live here at the Lost Village with my dad and my grandparents.”
Claire reached out and took Dolly’s hand. “Have you seen him?” she asked. “My father?”
Dolly shook her head. “Not in a couple of days. That lady he was with took off last night. She left her number. Said she was going back to the production office.”
“Clementine?”
“She was really worked up.” When Dolly noticed Claire’s nervous reaction, she scrambled to add, “But I’m sure your dad’s fine! People go missing around here all the time!”
“And then they turn up?” Lucas asked hopefully.
Dolly’s face flushed. “Well … no.” Her eyes bugged out as she realized what her words had meant to Claire. “Mr. Holiday will come back. He looked so … clever.”
Claire slumped down onto the mattress. Sitting, she put her face in her hands and sighed heavily through her fingers.
“We’re here to find Claire’s dad,” said Lucas, nodding toward Claire. “We could use some help.”
“I’m good at helping!” Dolly sat next to Claire and put her hand on her shoulder. Claire flinched, then looked up. Her eyes were red from holding back tears. “What can I do?”
“Do you have Band-Aids?” Claire reached down to untie her sneakers and winced at the pain. “My feet are all messed up.”
“Sure. Gram and Gramps have a first-aid kit over in the office.”
“Won’t they want to know why you need it?” Lucas asked.
“Oh, they’re not here right now. The mayor’s having a meeting at the town hall about—” She bit her lip and glanced at Claire. “About your dad. He says the town needs a plan.”
Claire perked up. “People are going to search for him?”
“Well, no, at least not yet. The mayor says that we need to be ready for when the news gets ahold of this story. That we need to prepare for visitors.”
Claire scoffed. “Visitors?” She shook her head. “You mean, like reporters?”
“And curious folk, I guess. I know, it’s gross.” Dolly added, “I’m so sorry.” She stood. “Let’s go to my room. I’ll take care of you there. Band-Aids. Ointment. The whole shebang. Then we can figure out what to do next. About your dad, I mean.”
“Thank you,” Claire whispered. She threw her arms around the girl’s shoulders and squeezed, grateful for the surprising kindness.
LUCAS FOLLOWED THE girls along the curb at the front of the motel. They reached the office, and when Dolly went inside to grab the first-aid kit, he couldn’t help but peek. On the front desk were books and ledgers and piles of papers. The wood-paneled wall at the rear made the small room look even smaller than it already was, and with the lights off, the poor motel seemed abandoned and somewhat lonesome.
Haunted, maybe.
But then, everywhere felt haunted lately.
He glanced out to the road, fearful that some resident of this village might spot the three of them. He was more fearful of seeing the spirit that had come to him out in the woods and brought that terrifying flood into his brain—Lemuel Hush. He knew that Mr. Hush had been trying to make him think of his parents, to exploit his fear of another tsunami striking the coast where they were stationed. And it had worked. Was still working.
Lucas wondered what might have happened during the vision if Penelope had been with them. Would she have helped him fight Hush off? Could ghosts do that sort of thing?
Claire was limping worse than before, and Lucas wished he were strong enough to carry her so they could get back inside and out of sight. But Dolly took her hand and led her into the room at the very end of the motel. The wind rushed through the woods beyond the parking lot, and for a moment, Lucas was certain that someone or something was watching. Then he ducked quickly through the doorway.
“Wow,” Claire exclaimed once Dolly had closed the door and turned on the retro-looking lamps that were scattered throughout the space. The same orange shag carpet as in Miles’s room covered the floor. On the wood-paneled walls hung half a dozen posters, held by pushpins, of a woman with sparkly makeup and enormous blond hair.
Dolly saw Lucas looking. “My mom loved Dolly Parton. That’s where my name comes from. I want to be a singer and a songwriter just like her. I’m pretty good. I’ve made a few tapes of myself that I thought I could send to the radio stations.”
Lucas felt the need to tell her that he didn’t think radio stations worked that way, but he didn’t want to be rude. Besides, maybe she was right. Lately, anything seemed possible.
“You have this whole room to yourself?” Claire asked.
Dolly nodded proudly. “I was living in a room with my mom and dad until just last year. But then my mom … Well, she passed away. That’s what Gram says to say. It’s nicer than she died.” She glanced between Claire and Lucas, as if assessing them. Lucas didn’t know how to respond. Despite his new ability to see ghosts—to talk with them, even—mentioning death still made him feel strange. “After that, my dad thought it would be better if I took a room of my own. And let me tell you: I did not complain.”
“What if a whole bunch of guests arrive all at once?” Lucas asked. “What if they need your room?”
Dolly shrugged. “Hasn’t happened yet.”
“But didn’t you say the mayor expects tourists to show up? Once word gets out about Miles being missing?” Claire threw Lucas a dirty look, and he felt his face flush. He hadn’t meant to make Dolly feel bad about what she’d said earlier.
“I hadn’t really thought about that,” Dolly answered. “But I guess Gram and Gramps will deal with it if it happens. Just like everything else life has thrown at us.”
Claire sat on Dolly’s tightly made bed and said, “I’m sorry to hear about your mom. My mother passed away a little while ago too.”
“I know,” Dolly whispered. “Your dad talks about Penelope all the time on his show.”
“Oh,” said Claire. “So you’re a fan?”
“Sorta. Isn’t everybody? Why don’t you take off those shoes and socks.” She headed over to the sink and wet a washcloth before returning to Claire’s side and popping open the first-aid kit.
Lucas flinched when he saw the spots of blood that had soaked through Claire’s socks. But Dolly went right to work, rinsing the backs of Claire’s feet with the cloth and applying iodine and ointment to the raw skin before covering the wounds
with thick wads of protective gauze, which she kept in place with extra-large Band-Aids. Claire impressed him with how calm she stayed, barely wincing at Dolly’s gentle prodding.
“You’re a good nurse,” Lucas said to Dolly.
Dolly smiled at him. “I know a thing or two about a thing or two.”
Claire reached into her duffel bag, pulled out a pair of clean socks and slipped them on, then wiggled her toes with ease. “Much better. Thank you,” she said. “So tell us about the town. Do you know anything about Lemuel Hush?”
Dolly’s smile dropped. “Everyone in Hush Falls Holler knows about him.”
“Right. He’s your local legend. We have some of those in Archer’s Mills too, though my dad doubts that any of them are legit.”
“Mr. Hush isn’t just a legend. He’s real. Like, really real.”
A gust of wind barraged the front of the motel, and the three were silent for a moment.
“Have you ever seen him?” Lucas asked.
“No, thank goodness. They say if you see him, it’s already too late. Most times anyway.”
Lucas’s mouth felt suddenly sandy. “I saw him,” he answered. “Earlier today. In the woods just off the highway.”
Dolly stood, then skittered quickly away from the bed where they had been sitting. “You saw him?”
“I think so. Tall guy. Dressed in a thick wool coat. Collar lined with fur.”
“That’s him. His picture hangs in the Hush Falls Museum just down the street.”
“There’s a museum here?” asked Claire.
“I mean, it’s not ever open. No one comes through the Holler much anymore. But yeah, it was one of Mr. Winterson’s businesses. He opened that one awhile back to try and get people to visit. Tourists visit the towns all around this area. Dad says we’re a little too far off the beaten path to benefit. We’d move but … there’s just not enough money at the moment.”
Claire blinked. “Who’s Mr. Winterson?”