by Tom Deady
She imagined Ashley and Dad had been teasing each other about something and Ash thought she got the better of him. When she came out of the house, she said something to Dad, then headed in Hannah’s direction.
“What’s up, party-pooper?” she said, plopping down on the grass next to Hannah.
Hannah shrugged. The truth was she didn’t know what was up. She always got a little sad at the end of summer. Not because she had to go back to school, just because it was the end. There would be other summers, but this one was gone and would never be back. She didn’t bother trying to explain it to Ash.
“Not in a partying mood, I guess.” Hannah shrugged again, signaling she didn’t really want to talk about it.
Ashley was grinning like a lunatic. That grin always made Hannah nervous.
“What, exactly, are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.
She feigned shock and batted her eyelashes at Hannah.
“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Hannah Green, but I feel insulted.”
Hannah laughed. “You’ve never felt insulted a day in your life, Ashley Wallace.”
Dad called from the deck that all former barnyard creatures were ready to be eaten. Hannah would have to wait and see what Ashley had up her sleeve.
They all sat at the picnic table while a ridiculous amount of food was set out on a folding table, buffet style. Hannah was just about to sit down when she heard the doorbell.
“Hannah, would you mind getting that?” Dad called.
He was already folded into his seat and stuffing his face with chicken wings. Hannah gave an exaggerated sigh and headed through the house. Who would be ringing the doorbell on the Sunday of Labor Day?
A sudden unease came over her. What if they hadn’t rounded up all the followers? Her mind had been working that way since the night at the concert. She figured it was some form of post-traumatic stress. Or maybe she was just a wimp.
She pulled the door open and felt a hot flush rise in her cheeks.
“Hi, Hannah. Ashley called and said I should come over.”
Marcus’s face was beet red too, but that was because he’d ridden his bike over. Based on how short a time it had been since Ashley had gone into the house, presumably to make the call, he’d ridden pretty damn fast. Behind him, Ken skidded to a stop and hopped off his bike, gasping for breath.
Hannah grinned. “I hope you guys are hungry.”
Ashley was staring at her with that grin again. “So...?”
“So, what?” Hannah asked innocently.
Ashley tossed a pillow at her. It was just the two of them in Hannah’s room. Everyone but Benson had left around eleven. He was out on the deck with Dad.
“So, did he kiss you?” she asked, eyes wide.
Hannah tried not to react, but her face grew warm. “A lady doesn’t kiss and tell, Ashley.”
Ashley’s jaw dropped. “He did!” she squealed.
Hannah imagined her entire head was a deep shade of scarlet, but she couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. Ashley leaned over and gave her a hug. She pulled away, her hands on Hannah’s shoulders and an expression of extreme seriousness on her face, then she burst out laughing and gave her another hug.
She was back in the clearing, behind the altar, waiting for her chance to free Ashley. The hooded figures were milling around. Mama Bayole hadn’t started chanting yet. Hannah stared at one in particular, something drawing her gaze. The person looked her way and Hannah slouched lower, desperate to stay out of sight.
The figure walked slowly toward her. Hannah was frozen in place, helpless to do anything but watch. The person was directly in front of her, holding an old-fashioned tape recorder. A finger reached out from the sleeve of the robe and hit play.
The fake blogger’s voice from the library that she’d heard on Ashley’s phone rang out: “Hannah will be as gone as her mother.”
Then the person was reaching for the hood, pulling it off. Hannah screamed...
She sat up in bed, gasping for air, unsure if she had screamed in real life or just in the dream. Sweat dripped from her hair and her T-shirt clung to her. It was as if a terrible fever had broken. Ashley put a hand on her back.
“Hannah, you’re okay. It was just a nightmare.” Ashley’s voice sounded groggy but steeped with concern. “Do you... do you remember what you dreamed of?”
Confused and scared, Hannah nodded, still catching her breath.
“You screamed, ‘Mom,’” Ashley said quietly.
Tears sprung from her eyes and convulsive sobs ripped through her. Ashley held her until she was able to get control of herself. She’d been having nightmares off and on since the night of the concert, but nothing like this.
Should I tell her?
It’s Ashley. Of course, she would tell her.
“That night... the night in the clearing... one of the people...”
Hannah’s entire body, her entire being trembled and Ashley held her tighter, telling her it was all right. Hannah took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“This one person came over to take the sheet off you when you were tied to the altar. There was something familiar, I remember thinking it that night, but when she pulled the sheet off all I could think of was saving you.”
Ashley stared at her with wide eyes. It was a rare moment that she didn’t have something to say.
“I think it was Mom. I need to find her.”
I think I’ve started out my acknowledgements page for every book I’ve written the same way, by saying that writing a book is hard. Until that changes, which I doubt it ever will, I’ll continue to preach it. The Clearing was certainly no exception. Like every other book, you wouldn’t be holding it in your hands without the love and help of a lot of people.
First, many thanks to my agent, Italia Gandolfo. Her patience in answering my countless questions and still managing to get this book into the wild deserves a major award. The same goes for LK Griffie and the whole Vesuvian Media team. Thanks for putting up with me.
I owe Monica S. Kuebler a debt of gratitude for editing an early draft of the manuscript and helping me get over some big hurdles.
Special thanks to Monique Snyman for giving me the courage to make a dramatic change in one of the characters that made this book a thousand times better and more meaningful.
The support system goes much deeper than the editors, agents, and publishers. I appreciate the enthusiastic encouragement from Kevin Lewis, who also read an early draft of The Clearing. There are so many people that have had my back and kept me going over the years... Chris Golden, Bracken MacLeod, Ben Eads, Tony Tremblay, Dave Jeffery, Jonathan Maberry, Josh Malerman...I love you all. Same goes for everyone in the HWA and the NEHW, I am blessed to be part of the horror community.
Finally, as always, it comes down to family. The book is dedicated to my daughters, Shannon and Alyssa, who continue to believe in me. My brother, Mike, who has been my beta reader from the beginning. My wife, Sheila, who has been my number one fan – but not in the creepy, cut my feet off way – I love you.
So many more people that I haven’t named, but you all know who you are and how much you mean to me.
Tom Deady’s first novel, Haven, was published by Cemetery Dance in 2016 and won the Bram Stoker Award® for Superior Achievement in a First Novel. He has since published a novel entitled, Eternal Darkness, as well as several short stories and novellas, his most recent being Coleridge.
His novel, The Clearing, is book one in a horror trilogy and inspired by true events. (Vesuvian Books, 2021) Tom holds a master’s degree in English and Creative Writing from Southern New Hampshire University, is an Active member of the Horror Writers Association, and a member of the New England Horror Writers. He resides in Massachusetts where he is working on his next novel.
www.TomDeady.com
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