Chapter 32 #2
I clear my throat dramatically and summon my best spooky narrator voice.
“Welcome, weary travelers, to the shadowed streets of Crowsbridge Hollow—a quaint little upstate New York town where the Christmas lights flicker with holiday cheer and the whispers of the damned. On a bone-chilling December night, the unthinkable happened at Hollow Hill Sanitarium. One moment, the halls echoed with the muffled cries of the afflicted and the stern orders of the staff. The next...silence. Every patient, every doctor, every nurse—vanished without a trace. No bodies. No clues. Just empty beds, flickering lights, and doors swinging in the winter wind…”
“Wooo.” Lucy wiggles her fingers in the air. “Spooky.”
I hand the script back to Declan. “It’s still close to what Baxter wrote but a little more—”
“Chilling?” Lucy offers.
“I like it.” Declan holds out his hand. “Pen?”
The corner of my mouth tilts up as I scrounge around in my bag for my favorite purple ballpoint and hand it over. “It’s purple.”
“He’s manly enough for purple pens,” Lucy assures me.
Declan casts a side-eye her way but doesn’t comment. He scribbles a few notes, then flips the page. “I have to keep the story tied to where the ride will slow down for the actors to jump out at key locations,” he murmurs. “But this is a better start.”
Pride thrums through me. It’s just a silly story but I’m pleased I could help Declan.
“We’re going to be late,” Lucy says.
We hurry along the sidewalk. Most of the shops are closed with signs about the festival on the doors. The fudge shop and coffee house are both open with bright, inviting lights spilling onto the sidewalk.
“Smart,” I say as we pass. “It’s chilly, people will need food and warm drinks.”
We cross the next street, then turn right. Men in orange vests stand in front of wooden blockades at both ends of the library’s parking lot. Cars are lined up down the street, waiting for them to open.
Declan lifts his hand and waves. “Hey, Charlie. Mr. Baxter back there?” He points to the parking lot.
“Yup. He’s been asking about you every five minutes.” The man nods to the line of cars. “We’re sold out tonight.”
“Great,” Declan says without much enthusiasm.
Lucy snickers into her gloved hand.
“Wait.” I stop and open my bag, digging around for my camera. “I need to get a few shots of this. Go on, I’ll find you.”
“No, I’ll wait. Go ahead.” Declan plants himself right by my side.
“I’ll run ahead and let Baxter know you’re here, so he doesn’t send out a search party,” Lucy offers.
Anxious with Declan watching me and knowing he’s supposed to be somewhere else, my hands shake as I handle the camera.
“Emery, it’s fine. Take your time,” he says in a soothing tone.
I don’t bother with a voice over, just a quick note of what I’m shooting, panning to get the long line of cars and the library in all of its spooky glory.
“Perfect.” I tuck my camera away. “Thank you.”
“You’re not allowed to film on the ride,” he says. “I probably should’ve mentioned that sooner.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be too busy watching you to record anything anyway.”
We trudge through the grass and around to the back of the library. The scent of hay, horse, and wet winter air assaults my nose.
“Whew!” I cover my nose and mouth with one gloved hand. “They’re, um, fragrant.”
“Declan!” Mr. Baxter shouts and hurries over to us. “There you are. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show.”
“If I say I’m going to be here, I’ll be here.” Declan holds out his hand and they quickly shake hello.
Mr. Baxter’s gaze flicks to me. “Ah—hello, Emery. Nice to see you with your nose out of a book.”
“You too.” I stretch my lips into a warm smile.
His gaze pings between Declan and me. “Well, ah, I…nice to see you two…” He turns and points to the first wagon. “That one’s yours. You might want to test the microphone. Daphne’s your driver.”
“Great. Thank you.” Declan squints at the horses hooked to the front of the wagon. “Is that my buddy, Snickers?”
Mr. Baxter beams. “Sure is.”
“Let’s go say hi.” Declan curls his hand around mine and, nodding to Mr. Baxter, pulls me toward the horses.
As we approach, the horse lifts its massive head, steam puffing from its nostrils.
“Oh wow.” I stop short. “He’s…huge up close.”
Declan laughs under his breath. “He’s gentle, I promise.”
He reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out what looks like a handful of round cookies. “You want to say hello?”
I hesitate. The horse shifts, leather harness creaking softly, hooves stamping against the pavement.
Declan steps closer to Snickers, resting a hand against the horse’s neck. The animal leans into the touch.
Huh, Snickers kinda behaves like a giant dog.
“Hey, buddy,” Declan murmurs. “Want to say hello to Emery?”
My heart pitter-patters. This big grumpy man is an absolute marshmallow around animals.
Declan glances at me and holds out one of the treats. “Hold your hand flat and let him take it.”
“You promise he won’t bite me? His teeth are huge.”
“He won’t,” Declan promises.
“I really need my hand, buddy,” I whisper as I hold out the cookie the way Declan instructed.
Snickers’ lips brush my palm, surprisingly gentle as he vacuums up the treat.
I grin at Declan. “He’s a sweetheart.”
“Told you.” He strokes his palm over the horse’s nose. “You can pet him.”
The horse seems to know I’m uneasy around him. He stares at me with big, dark brown eyes, then ducks his head. I rub my hand over his head a few times before he turns to Declan. He noses Declan’s coat, apparently searching for more treats.
Declan offers another cookie to Snickers, then reaches over to give one to the horse next to Snickers—an equally large animal with a similar shiny brown coat and white markings.
“Ready to test out the wagon?” Declan says.
“I think we better.” I throw a glance at Mr. Baxter who’s standing by a different wagon, farther back. He keeps throwing worried looks our way. “Mr. Baxter seems eager to get the show rolling.”
Declan nods quickly. Our “wagon” is dressed up as some sort of gothic, Victorian-looking sleigh with black-and-gold panels along the side and silver garlands with little dangling silver skulls. Someone even painted curved runners on the wooden base to mimic a classic sleigh.
The wood creaks gently as the horses shift their weight, the bells on their harnesses jingling softly.
Declan holds my hand as I navigate the narrow set of stairs at the back of the wagon. Bales of hay are stacked along the low side rails. A microphone setup rests on a large wooden box at the front of the wagon.
“That’s my spot.” Declan points to the box. He grabs one of the hay bales near the front and sets it next to the box. “For my co-pilot.”
“Me?”
“I want to keep you close and your view will be better if you’re facing this way.”
Warmth spreads through me. He’s getting ready to entertain a wagonful of tourists, but he’s worried about my comfort.
“Thanks.”
He strides up front, his boots thudding along the wagon floor and kicking loose hay forward.
The box has a lid that Declan pries loose. He pulls a red-and-black plaid blanket out and drapes it over the hay bale closest to him. “Don’t want you getting hay stuck to your tights,” he explains.
If he does one more sweet thing, I’ll melt into a puddle at his feet. “Thank you.” I perch on the hay bale, waiting to see if it’ll hold me before getting too comfortable. But it’s sturdy and firm.
Declan picks up the microphone, testing it with a few low murmurs.
Lucy climbs into the wagon with us, settling into the corner opposite of me, and hands Declan a bottle of water. She stands and offers one to me.
“Thanks.” I grab it from her hand and twist the cap off, taking a quick sip.
“Howdy, Declan,” a thin but sturdy-looking blonde woman in black shouts. She expertly climbs into the front and takes the reins. The horses shuffle and snort, their hooves clicking against the pavement. “We’re going to move to the side, so they don’t get spooked with all the cars coming in.”
“Sounds good,” Declan says. He braces himself against the railing as the wagon lurches forward.
“Eeee!” Lucy squeals. “Here we go! Showtime!”
Her grin is so wide, and she seems so genuinely happy instead of her usual snark-mode, that I can’t help laughing.
I pull my phone out and snap a few pictures.
Declan framed against the dark sleigh rail.
The horse’s breath fogging the air. The skull garlands glinting faintly under the parking lot lights.
Lucy looking up at Declan with an almost child-like worshipful expression.
They really are more like brother and sister.
I don’t know why I was ever worried about their relationship.
Daphne brings the horses to a slow stop alongside the library. One of the horses bristles and clomps a foot down.
“Everyone line up here!” someone shouts to the crowd slowly walking around the side of the library toward our wagon.
The man tending the line allows the first group of tourists to approach our wagon.
Declan turns to greet them. He pulls his shoulders back, an air of authority surrounding him.
Everything about his posture and demeanor says he’s in command of the sleigh and won’t be tolerating any shit from the passengers.
Oh.
That’s hot.
The wagon rocks and creaks as people start filing in.
Couples bundled up. A group of college-aged women and men.
A family with two teens who seem equal parts thrilled and anxious.
Declan steps forward to help a woman climb the steps in her ridiculous high-heel boots.
She laughs, a little breathless, and clings to him for several long, uncomfortable seconds.
“Wow,” she says in a breathy, girlish voice. “You’re our guide tonight?”
“Yes, I am,” he says in a brusque tone. “Please take a seat. We’re on a schedule.”