She didn’t say anything, just stood, concentrating on trying to keep breathing.
“Your father wouldn’t have admired this. He would have been horrified.”
This was more than she could stand. She barked out a cold laugh. “You’re one to talk. You’ve got your own fucked-up little obsession, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw your nature journal, Nate. You’ve filled the entire fucking thing with notes on that deer. If that’s not an obsession, I don’t know what is.”
He opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, but she kept going before he got a chance.
“Have you been keeping track somewhere in one of your little spreadsheets of how many hours you spend looking for your white deer? Of the money you’ve sunk into it—the top-of-the line infrared cameras, the cables, the bags of deer food and salt licks? While you bitch and moan about being over budget. And you haven’t even gotten a single clear picture yet, have you?”
“No, but I will. The deer is real, Helen. An actual flesh-and-blood creature. Unlike these ghosts you’re apparently trying to summon.”
“You know what I can’t help but wonder? If maybe your need to do all this research and gather all this proof about the deer is because part of you worries that maybe, just maybe, Riley was right. Maybe that deer really is the ghost of Hattie Breckenridge. And you refuse to accept that possibility, so you’re determined to prove her wrong.”
“That’s absurd,” Nate said.
“You write about her like she’s a human being, Nate. Like she’s got magical abilities. Like you have some kind of special relationship. Like she’s your fucking mistress!”
He turned from her, reached down, grabbed the remaining three beers. “We’re done here.”
He walked away, down to the trailer, where he slammed the door so hard the whole sad little tin building seemed to shake.
CHAPTER 34
Olive
SEPTEMBER 11, 2015
“Dammit!” Helen said when she missed the nail, smashed her finger with the hammer.
“You okay?” Olive asked.
“Fine,” Helen said, shaking her finger. “I just need to take a break for a minute.”
Helen looked tired, worried, and, all of a sudden, way older. There were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes and her skin was pale and pasty looking—Olive could see the blue traces of veins underneath.
They were in the house, putting up the trim around the last of the windows. Olive was holding the boards while Helen nailed them in place. Then she used a nail set to sink them, and Olive covered the holes with dabs of wood putty.
Nate had gone into town to pick up more caulk and primer. Olive was relieved he’d taken off because things were weird and awkward. Nate and Helen were barely speaking—just giving each other measurements and passing boards back and forth. Olive could tell they were really pissed off at each other. Maybe that was why Helen looked so worn out.
Olive imagined she didn’t look all that much better than Helen—she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. She’d tossed and turned in bed, thinking about her talk with Riley at breakfast and how frightened Riley had looked. About her promise to stop looking into things, to stay safe and leave things to Riley. And their plan to maybe go to the police.
When she did sleep, she dreamed it was her own hand ripping the necklace from her mother’s throat. Then choking her.
She woke up damp with sweat, heart thumping. She jumped out of bed, downed three cups of sweet, milky coffee, and skipped breakfast entirely—the idea of solid food turned her stomach. On her way to catch the school bus, she stopped by the hollow tree and thought about dumping the necklace back in there but found she just couldn’t part with it.
She’d come to Helen’s straight from school, not even heading home first to drop off her backpack. She didn’t want to be alone. Not even for a minute.
Olive looked at the stack of books on the kitchen counter: Ghosts and Hauntings; Witches in New England; A Guide to Haunted Vermont; Spells, Hexes, and Curses; A Witch’s Guide to Spell Casting. The one on top was called Communicating with the Spirit World.
She set down the tub of wood putty, reached up, touched the necklace under her shirt. Then she picked up Communicating with the Spirit World and started flipping through it, not really reading, just skimming. She came to a passage that made her stop. She felt goose bumps form on her forearms and a chill on the nape of her neck. She read it out loud, slowly:
A spirit will sometimes attach itself to an object. Often this happens with an item the spirit had a strong personal connection to in life.
A spirit can also attach itself to a living person.
This can become quite troublesome, even dangerous. If you are experiencing missing time, blackouts, or nightmares, or find yourself acting in ways that are not normal for you, it may be that a spirit has taken hold of you.
Helen chuckled. “Pretty crazy stuff, huh?”
“Helen, do you think that’s possible? That a spirit can attach itself to an object or a person? And, like, make them possessed or something?”
Helen smiled. “I think those books have a lot of strange ideas, some based in reality, some not so much. But me, I’ve come to believe there’s more to this world than meets the eye, so I try to take it all in with an open mind.”
“But if there was a haunted object and you carried it around, could it make you do things that you normally wouldn’t do?”
“Some might believe it would. But I think that an object, even a haunted one, can only have the power you give it. You can choose what effect it may or may not have on you.”
Olive thought over what she’d said. She believed her mom’s necklace had some sort of power. But maybe it was also kind of cursed. Maybe that was where her nightmares came from.
Or maybe they came from something far worse.
“And what about a spirit attaching itself to a person?” Olive asked, her throat dry, voice crackly. “Do you think that ever actually happens?”
Helen leaned forward, brushed a chunk of unruly hair back from Olive’s forehead. “I don’t think that’s anything you or I have to worry about.”
Olive swallowed hard, forcing a you’re absolutely right smile. “Do you think I could borrow some of these books?” she asked.
“Sure. They’re mostly library books. I keep checking them out, then returning them, then checking them out again. They’re due again in another week, but I’m done with them.”
“I can bring them back to the library for you,” Olive said.
“Great,” Helen said. “They’re yours. Hey, how’s the treasure hunting going?” Helen gave Olive a tired-looking smile. “Found anything yet?”
Let’s see, I found my mom’s necklace, so now I think she didn’t run off with a guy at all and that maybe something else happened, maybe something bad; I found the same image chalked on the floor of this creepy old hotel where my mom maybe used to go have séances with this totally weird dude who thinks he’s a cowboy; oh, and I found out I can communicate with a dead lady, except sometimes she messes with me and shows me a rusty old ax head instead of treasure.
“I’ve found stuff. Not the actual treasure, but other things,” Olive said. “Actually, I brought you a present.” She went and got her backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out the rusty old ax head. “I found this the night before last. It was over at the other end of the bog, near where Hattie’s house used to be. I’ve found lots of stuff over there—a few old coins, a cast-iron pot, nails and hinges, and a horseshoe. But this ax head is way cool, isn’t it?”
She got an image from one of her recent nightmares: hacking at her mother with an ax.
Please take it, she thought now, feeling queasy. I never want to see this thing again.
Helen reached out, took
the rusted metal ax head. “It sure is.”
“I bet it was hers,” Olive said. “I bet it was Hattie’s.”
“You could be right,” Helen said, looking it over. “I’m no expert on ax heads, but it certainly looks very old.”
“So old the wooden handle rotted away. It’s a hewing ax. You can tell because of the wide blade on the head. I looked it up,” she said, and Helen smiled at her.
“I bet Hattie used it to shape the logs when she built her little house,” Olive said.
Helen nodded.
“I want you to have it. I thought maybe you could clean it up, sharpen it, get a new handle. You’ll have a nice ax for splitting kindling and stuff. Maybe you can even use it to help you build your house. Shape a piece of lumber or something. Like Hattie did.”
“Are you sure?” Helen said.
“Absolutely,” Olive said.
Helen leaned over and hugged her. “Thank you, sweetie,” she said. “It’s an amazing gift.”
And being there, held tight in Helen’s arms for two seconds, gave Olive a sudden jolt of happiness, of comfort.
“You okay?” Helen asked, and Olive realized she was close to crying.
“Fine. Totally.” But she wasn’t fine. Anything but. “Just thinking about Hattie.”
“What about her?”
“How happy she’d be to know that someone had her old ax and was going to fix it up and use it again. It’s almost like…I know it might sound weird, but it’s like bringing a little piece of her back to life in some way. Does that make sense?”
Helen nodded. “Yes. It makes perfect sense. And I agree completely.”
CHAPTER 35
Helen
SEPTEMBER 12, 2015
Helen soaked the ax head in vinegar overnight to loosen the rust, then went to work in the morning, cleaning it with a wire brush and sandpaper.
She and Nate had decided to take the weekend off from building.
“On Monday, we’ll get back on track and finish up the house,” Nate said, all businesslike, barely making eye contact with her. “We can polyurethane the floors, get the walls and trim primed. I’ll call the building supply place and order the roof shingles first thing.”
“Okay,” she’d agreed.
“Cold weather’s coming,” Nate reminded her. “We don’t want to be in that trailer when the first snow hits. And we don’t want to have to move in here when it’s still a construction zone.”
“Agreed,” Helen said.
Nate went off into the woods with his camera and field guides. She drove to the hardware store and bought a handle for the ax head, a special file, and a round hockey-puck-like stone to sharpen it.
Helen spent the day in the yard, working on her ax—removing the rust, sharpening it, and rehanging it by following instructions she’d found online. It was satisfying work, and by late afternoon, she had a beautiful ax. An ax with history. Hattie’s ax.
* * *
. . .
Helen was sitting on the front steps of the house, sipping a bottle of beer and admiring her handiwork, when Nate came up the path from the bog.
As he got closer, she could see he was wet and filthy, his clothing muddy and torn in places. His hair, badly in need of a trim, stuck up at odd angles.
Who looks like the crazy one now? Helen thought, hating herself for thinking it.
“What’s that?” he asked, staring at the ax.
“It’s a hewing ax,” she said, holding it out so he could see better.
“Where’d it come from?” he asked.
“Olive found an old ax head somewhere out in the woods and gave it to me.” She was careful not to mention Hattie or her house, or the possibility that the ax had once been hers. “She knows I like old things. I spent the day fixing it up—it’s good as new!”
He nodded, then reached to take the camera off from around his neck. “Great. You need to see this,” he said.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I got it,” he said with satisfaction.
“Got what?”
“A picture! Of the deer. I followed her into the woods, trailed her all morning, and at last, I caught up, got close enough to get some good shots.”
He turned the camera, pushed some buttons, looked down at the screen on the back. “Look,” he said.
His hands were trembling, just slightly. His nails, she noticed, needed trimming. There was dirt underneath them.
Helen peered at the tiny screen on Nate’s Nikon, trying to make out what she saw, which was little more than a white blur in front of trees—but a blur that didn’t seem deerlike at all. It was tall, narrow. As if he’d shot it from the front and the deer was coming right at him, charging him.
“It looks more like a person than a deer,” Helen said, squinting at the image, trying to make sense of the blurry white form. Were those ears? Or was that hair?
Nate jerked the camera away, looked at the image himself, puzzling over it.
“No,” he said, thrusting the camera at her again. “Look, it’s obviously a deer.” He forwarded to the next picture, this one even blurrier. In it, a white figure (or maybe just a flash of reflected light?) seemed to be darting behind a tree. Again, it was tall and narrow—not a deerlike shape at all.
“I believe you,” Helen said. “I believe you saw it.”
“I’m not asking you to take me at my word, Helen! I’m asking you to acknowledge the fucking proof right in front of your eyes!”
His voice had an edge she wasn’t used to. The sound of a man at the end of his rope. Was this how Ann’s husband had sounded that last day?
Helen took a long swig of her beer and said nothing.
Nate let out a slow breath and said quietly, “Do you or do you not see a deer in this picture?”
She thought of lying, of saying, Yes, of course I see it. But that’s not what she said. “I see something. But really, Nate, it doesn’t look much like a deer to me.”
He hung the camera back around his neck and stomped down to the trailer, went in, and slammed the door hard behind him.
Riley stopped by not long after and Helen showed her the ax. Nate hadn’t come out of the trailer and Helen wasn’t about to go down.
“It was a gift from Olive. She found it with her metal detector out in the bog. We think it might have been Hattie’s.”
“Wow,” Riley said, picking up the ax, touching it almost reverently. “Hattie’s ax! What an incredible find!”
“Took me all day and a dozen YouTube videos to get it cleaned up and in working order, but it didn’t turn out half bad.”
“It’s beautiful,” Riley said, handing the ax back to Helen.
Helen nodded, asked, “Want to walk down to the bog?”
“Sure.”
Helen left the refurbished ax in the house, leaning against the wall under the beam between the living room and kitchen: her latest gift for Hattie.
It was dusk and the late-season crickets were chirping away as they made their way down the path, Helen in the lead. She loved going to the bog at twilight and how sometimes, now that it was getting cooler, like this evening, there was a layer of mist hovering over the water, and Helen was sure she could see it move as if it were taking shape, pulling itself into the form of a woman in a dress. They walked over to the stones of the old foundation and each took a seat. Riley pulled out a joint and lit it, inhaling.
“Is something up with Olive?” Helen asked. “She seemed a little…off when I saw her yesterday. She okay?”
“She’s real worried about her mom,” Riley said. “Has she talked to you about it at all?”
“No. Not a peep.”
“She has this idea that maybe her mom didn’t run off with some guy like everyone says. That maybe something else happened.”
“Do you
think that’s a possibility?”
“No…I mean, I don’t know.” She was quiet a second, eyes on the mist over the bog. “Maybe something scared her off.”
“What do you mean?” Helen asked.
“Olive said that just before her mom took off, she heard her parents having a really bad fight down in the kitchen. There was a big crash. Like it got physical.”
“What…you think your brother might have hurt her?”
“I can’t imagine it. He loves her so much. But years ago, when Dustin was drinking all the time, he was a mess. Sometimes he’d get kind of crazy. Never hurt anyone else, just himself, but…”
“Riley, if you think—”
“No,” Riley interrupted. “What I really think is that Lori took off with one of her boyfriends. Maybe Dustin found out she was cheating on him and they fought and that was the last straw for her. She got the hell out and didn’t look back.”
“Poor Olive,” Helen said. “It’s awful that she’s going through this.”
Riley passed her the joint, and they were silent for a minute, smoking, looking out at the bog.
“I still can’t believe she gave me that ax,” Helen mused.
“I love the ax,” Riley said at last. “But I’m not sure keeping it is such a good idea.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s just starting to worry me. You collecting all these things with such morbid histories.”
“You sound just like Nate,” Helen snorted.
“It’s like…you’re opening a door,” Riley said.
“Yes!” Helen said. “That’s exactly the point.”
“But when you open a door, who knows who or what you might be letting in,” Riley said. “Not to mention the fact that you’re really pissing your husband off. And worrying him.”
“Huh?”
“He called me at the shop this morning.”
“Really? What did he say?”
“He thinks your interest in Hattie and her family and all these objects is a bit…unhealthy. He asked me to please stop helping you with it—and he definitely doesn’t want me to take you back to Dicky’s any time soon. I heard all about how Dicky came by with your phone and told Nate about our visit there.”
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