Hollow Secrets

Chapter 1

Returning to Sleepy Hollow feels like stepping back in time. Not just because the last time I was here, I was eight years old, but because everything in this town feels so goddamned quaint and old-fashioned.

The train from London to Cornwall had taken forever, and now this car ride is taking even longer.

At least Dad sent a car. I lean my head against the window and watch as the fields roll past endlessly outside.

We had left civilisation a while ago, and it’s been nothing but cows and sheep for some time.

The station was a relic from another era.

It was tiny, only two platforms, one for each direction.

With red brick walls, and those black metal signs that have a hand pointing to the exit.

As the train pulled away, leaving me with just one small suitcase, I had no idea what to do next.

I spotted my driver, who I now know as Ben, standing by the coffee hut with a name board in one hand reading Katrina.

He needn’t have bothered. I was the only one on the platform.

Now, as we race down winding roads, Ben handles the black Audi expertly, but it does nothing to settle my feelings of unease. The further we go, the fewer cars we see and the more isolated I feel.

A tear threatens to escape the corner of my eye, and I quickly swipe it away with the cuff of my jumper. Ben’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and I turn my body, avoiding his gaze. It’s not his fault that I’d rather be anywhere other than in this car, but I still feel like sulking.

Actually, that’s not true. The place I’d rather be is home.

Back in London, back in the high-rise flat, in familiar territory.

My friends would only be a text away, I’d know exactly when and where the next party was going to be, and Mum would be there every morning with a cup of coffee, ready to gossip about what had gone down the night before.

Except she isn’t. And I can’t.

I’d been out shopping with my best friend, Emily, laughing and looking through the new in section at Zara when I’d gotten the call. There had been a terrible accident at mum’s work. She hadn’t made it. And now I was alone.

Everything had happened so quickly. After the funeral, it had become apparent that at nineteen, and with no job, I couldn’t stay in our apartment by myself.

And that’s how I find myself here. Racing through the Cornish countryside, back to the town of Sleepy Hollow and the father I haven’t seen for eleven years.

The green world outside the car blurs by and I must have fallen asleep, at least for a bit, because the next time I open my eyes, the car is slowing and we’re making our way through the town.

It hasn’t changed at all, and memories start to tug me into the past. The streets are narrow and winding, with grand Victorian buildings stacked closely together.

It’s late October, and the trees are a splash of red and orange, leaves littering the ground.

Even though it’s still fairly warm for this time of year, smoke billows out of the chimneys of several houses, disappearing into the autumn sky.

We circle around a large wooden bandstand in the heart of the town as we head north, its turreted roof standing proud.

The road is more open here, and I sit up straighter in the back of the car, knowing that we’re close. Ben passes through large black wrought iron gates, manoeuvres around the fountain on the driveway and pulls to a stop in front of the house steps.

The house is big — like, huge. And I’m not going to lie, kind of creepy.

The gates we’d passed through, the sweeping gravel driveway and the wolf-like guardian statues standing proudly on either side of the double-wide doors are impressive.

But the house — if you can call it that — towers over me, and the dark stone feels cold and uninviting.

The steep, spired roof pierces the sky, and the arched, leaded windows don’t offer any view of the inside.

The large brass knocker sitting prominently in the middle of one door appears to be a raven’s head, erupting from the oak and warning me not to go inside.

Welcome back to Van Tassel Manor.