Chapter 32 #3
She frowns, then wobbles over to the hay bale next to Lucy’s. Another woman in more sensible shoes hurries up the steps and sits next to the woman who keeps eyeballing Declan like he’s her next meal.
A few more stragglers climb aboard. I inch closer to Declan and he leans down, his lips brushing against my ear.
“You all right? Warm enough?”
I am now. “I’m having fun.” I rub my hands together.
“Good.” He brushes a quick kiss against my cheek, then straightens and scans the wagon.
“One more!” the line attendant calls.
Another woman—mid-thirties, glossy hair, red lipstick—leans closer than necessary as she settles on the hay bale across from me.
“So,” she says, smiling up at Declan, “are you our protector from the ghosts and spirits tonight?”
A slight tick of his jaw. “I am.” His tone is polite but doesn’t invite more conversation.
She slides her gaze over him. “Looking forward to the ride.”
You better mean this wagon, lady.
Declan touches my back and I smile up at him. Affection softens the line of his mouth. “Ready?”
I nod.
The carriage takes off, my body jerking and swaying with the movement. Unease crawls through my stomach.
“Why don’t you move closer to the corner,” Declan suggests. “Steady yourself on the rails.”
I flick my gaze to red lipstick lady, but she’s fixated on Declan. Whatever, I’m not his guard dog. Or even his girlfriend, really.
Why does that bother me so much?
I slide over the hay bale, tucking myself into the corner. I plop my bag in the space I just vacated, leaving no room for anyone else to claim the spot.
Once everyone’s settled, Lucy gets up and closes a gate at the back. The chatter increases. Laughter ripples through the group. Someone cracks a joke about zombie reindeer.
Declan lifts the microphone again, tapping it once. The electronic thump cuts through the chatter. All eyes turn his way.
He waits patiently until the quiet fully settles. When he speaks, his voice is lower than before. Steady and intimate.
“Evening, everyone.”
A few people murmur hellos back.
“My name’s Declan and I’ll be your guide tonight.” He gestures toward Lucy. “My assistant, Lucy, will alert you to danger.” He steps closer and rests his hand on my shoulder. “And my girlfriend, Emery, will be documenting whatever ghosts and spirits we encounter along the way.”
Am I hallucinating, or did he just call me his girlfriend in front of a whole bunch of people?
I flash a nervous smile and pull my notepad and pen out of my bag.
“All right,” he continues. “Welcome to Crowsbridge Hollow. You picked the perfect chilly evening to visit us. We’re going to see what we can stir up tonight.”
He goes over a short list of rules. When one of the guys all the way at the back of the wagon is busy running his mouth instead of listening, Lucy taps his shoulder and points up front to Declan.
Inside I’m cartwheeling. Declan called me his girlfriend. What does that mean? How will that work?
Or did he just say it so women will stop flirting with him in front of me tonight?
So consumed with decoding the girlfriend comment, I miss a good portion of Declan’s story.
At least the passengers are into it. They lean forward, listening intently, nervously looking around as the wagon continues along its route.
“…Legend says they fled into the frozen woods, driven by some unspeakable madness.” Declan’s voice drops even lower.
“Or was it something darker? A curse that swallowed them whole? Tonight, as our hayride creaks through the heart of Crowsbridge Hollow, you’ll relive that fateful night.
Hold tight to your loved ones...because in these parts, the lost souls of Hollow Hill are always watching. And they’re starving for visitors.”
Someone in the middle of the wagon shrieks. “I think I saw someone in the trees. Over there!” he yells.
Everyone whips around, unsure of where to look.
The mark on my arm tingles.
While everyone’s distracted, I push my sleeve up.
Around my wrist, the line frantically glows and swirls.
Huh.
A man in a straightjacket and zombie makeup runs up to the carriage and shrieks, then runs into the trees.
People laugh and joke about the scare.
A woman in a nurse’s costume runs up behind the wagon and pretends to climb on. “Save me!” she shouts.
People laugh.
Someone claps. “You got me!”
The wagon jolts.
Not a playful bump.
The horses snort sharply, heads tossing. Snickers lets out a deep, unsettled sound that rattles in my chest. Harness bells jangle out of rhythm.
“Whatcha doing?” Daphne mutters from the front. She tightens the reins. “Whoa. Easy.”
The mark on my arm burns.
Not a tingle this time. Not a pretty, mesmerizing shimmer.
Fire.
I gasp and grab my wrist, breath punching out of me.
Declan’s head snaps toward me. “Emery?”
The air shifts.
An unnatural chill spreads across the wagon. More than winter cold—grave cold. Deadly and final cold.
The horses rear slightly.
Someone squeals.
Thick fog spills from the forest, down the road, then coils around the wagon, swallowing the lantern glow.
“Wow,” a guy near the back says. “This is intense.”
The pendant at my throat yanks hard—like fingers closing around the chain. I cry out, clutching it as pain lances around my neck.
Another hard yank and the silver chain snaps.
The key tumbles, flashing once in the weak light, then disappears in the hay at my feet.
I snort in disbelief and thrust my hands into the hay. Am I really searching for a key in a hay pile?
“Emery?” Even Declan’s muffled voice seems so far away.
Shapes move inside the fog. Long, wrong shadows sliding through the hay.
“These are next level effects!” someone shouts.
The ground thuds. Heavy hooves hitting the ground.
Shudders wobble the wagon.
The woman next to me screams in terror and scrambles off her hay bale, landing hard on the floor.
I glance up and the fog seems to part.
A black horse moves in lockstep with the wagon.
An impossibly large horse, its eyes empty and endless.
And sitting astride it—the Rider.
There’s nothing else that shape could be.
He’s real.
Ink bleeds across my vision.
Iron gates. Screams without sound. Tears on stone.
Declan shouts my name again.
A gloved hand shoots out of the fog.
Cold clamps around my waist.
I’m yanked backward and over the railing.
“Declan!” I finally find my voice.
Declan shoves half his body over the railing, reaching for me. His fingers grapple with the edge of my sleeve, pulling, tugging. I try to grab his hand, but my limbs are frozen.
Finally, Declan’s hand closes around mine.
For a second, we’re locked together.
The Rider tugs harder.
I’m lifted, my world spinning as the fog wraps around me.
“Declan!” Lucy screams. “Grab her!”
“This is amazing,” someone cheers.
Darkness squeezes in around me. Bitter cold. Hooves thunder under me.
And the night swallows me whole.