by Dan Poblocki
She took them along the side of the building, then through a back alley to another overgrown clearing. Ahead stood a building that reminded Claire of her own house. A Victorian with a turret—only this one looked Gothic and on the verge of collapsing. From the back of it, she took in a screened porch sagging off the rear door, gray paint chipping from wood shingles, and the roofline dipping down in the center like a grim smile.
“What is this place?” Claire asked.
“The Hush Falls Museum.” Dolly trod forward, pushing aside the weeds and scrub that tangled up the backyard. “It’s closed for the foreseeable future, according to Gram. Sometimes kids in high school will break in here at night. But during the day, we should be fine. The back door is locked but I know a trick to getting it open. It’s all in the wrist.”
Lucas was struggling with the suitcase, one of his shoulders lower than the other as he grappled with the handle. “The camera bag is lighter,” Claire told him. “Do you want to switch?” He shook his head and continued on silently through the brush.
This isn’t good, thought Claire. Not good for Lucas. And not good for her father. It had been easy enough for Dolly to put iodine and gauze and Band-Aids on Claire’s blistered feet, but fixing Lucas would be a different story. If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that ghosts shouldn’t be poking around in your head. This was one of the reasons he did what he did—send the spirits packing—so that people could move on with their lives and stop floating in a swamp of the past.
They snuck across the tilting porch. At the back door, Dolly moved the knob in a way that caused the latch to click. She pushed, and the door creaked inward, releasing a stale, dusty aroma that made Claire’s sinuses seize. “Here we are,” Dolly stated proudly before stepping inside.
Once Claire’s eyes adjusted to the dark, she made out that they were in an old-fashioned kitchen.
A woman stood by a wood-fired oven, her back toward them.
Claire nearly fell backward in surprise. Lucas dropped the suitcase, which fell to the floor with a hard whack.
“It’s a mannequin,” Dolly blurted. “No need to pee your pants.”
“What’s it doing in here?” asked Claire. The figure wore a long brown dress with a pinafore apron tied at the back. Her hair was done up and hidden underneath a white bonnet. It was difficult to put away the thought that the mannequin might suddenly turn and face them, holding out a plate of cookies like a witch in a fairy tale.
“Reed Winterson set them up, I guess to look like the people who once lived and worked in this house. Like, for education? For when tours come through? Came through. Once upon a time.”
“The mayor did this?” Claire asked.
Dolly nodded.
Claire walked cautiously around the figure to find a blank face made of white fabric. No eyes. No mouth. Nothing to show who this woman might have been, nothing except the conservative costume she’d been dressed in.
“Let’s go to the front,” said Dolly. “There’s more light.”
They passed through a doorway into a wide hall. Dolly led them into a room on the right—a formal sitting room, judging by the two antique settees situated at its center. A couple more mannequins stood off to one side. The gentlemen wore dark jackets with tails, beige horse-riding chaps, and tall top hats. They’d been arranged to look like they were engaged in some sort of argument, but in Claire’s mind, their blank white faces made them seem like corpses. Behind them, next to the wall, was a glass case in which sat what looked like a replica of an antique revolver. If the mannequins could move, either of them would have been able to reach out and grab it. “This should do. Right?” Dolly plopped herself down on one side of a settee and crossed her legs.
“Sure,” Claire answered uncertainly. She guessed that there might be all sorts of bugs and mites living in the cross-stitched fabric, but at this point, she didn’t care. She and Lucas sat across from Dolly, placing Miles’s bags onto the floor between them. “Should we get started?” She took out the camera and pressed the power button. There was a soft whizzing from the device, but before Claire could open the view screen, Dolly held up a hand.
“Lucas, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but I think you should tell us what you saw in the station.” Lit by a thin beam of sunshine coming in from the window, her blond curls glowed like the dust motes floating through the still air. Part of Claire wanted to tell the girl to shush and let her check the battery. But she also understood that Lucas was dealing with something that might be just as important as watching the footage.
Lucas swallowed. “I already told you. It was Mr. Hush again.”
“And what was he doing?” Dolly asked.
“He came out of the stall. He tried to pull me toward him, toward the puddle on the floor, which wasn’t a puddle anymore, but a lake. A dark, deep lake. Water rose up from behind him like a wave. Like a hungry shadow. And it … it …” Lucas shuddered, then held his hands to his face, his body shuddering as he held back sobs.
Claire rested her hand on his shoulder, unsure if it was any comfort. Dolly waited for him to calm down, and when he finally looked up again, she asked, “Have you been seeing spirits for a long time?”
Lucas shook his head and wiped at his nose. “My gramma says that it’s my duty to help them. They have messages they need to pass on to the living. But I don’t want to help Mr. Hush. His message is only to hurt people. His wish is to grab whoever is closest to him and drag them down, to where he lies in his grave.”
Dolly listened intently. “My mother used to see spirits. Sometimes she’d even talk to them. It was one of the reasons that we used to watch Invisible Intelligence together, me and her. We liked seeing how Miles handled this stuff. Before she passed away, she wrote him a letter, asking for him to come to Hush Falls and explaining the legend of the graveyard watch, and how dangerous Mr. Hush had become. She wanted Miles’s help to send Hush packing. But … we never heard back from him. Not until he showed up with Miss Clementine at the motel. By then, it was too late for my mom.” Dolly took a deep breath. “I’ve never met anyone else who could communicate with the dead like her.”
“My gramma says it’s bad to send away the spirits,” Lucas answered. “She thinks that what Miles does is not a good thing. That his methods are cruel. The two of them even fought about it. For a long time.”
Claire had almost forgotten this about her father and Lucas’s grandmother. Sitting beside him, she felt a pang of betrayal that Lucas would share such a thing with their new friend. “We can argue about my father after we watch his footage,” she said, trying to tamp down her emotions. “How about that?”
But Dolly ignored her, looking at Lucas as she went on. “But what do you think? Do you believe that every spirit who comes a-calling should be answered?”
“I don’t … I don’t know. Gramma thinks so. But I think … I think I have a lot to learn.”
Dolly glanced at Claire finally. With a smile, she said, “We can help you with that. Right, Claire?”
All the tension that Claire had felt in her chest went out the window. “Yes,” she answered. “Yes, we’re here for you, Lucas. Just like you were, and are, here for me.”
“So then, Claire,” Dolly went on, sounding like the guidance counselor at Archer’s Mills Middle School, “what do you think your father would recommend Lucas do about Mr. Hush bothering him? Any advice?”
Claire hadn’t considered this before. She’d been so caught up in her own fears about her missing father that she had forgotten that he was good at hunting ghosts for a reason. For many reasons. And even though Mrs. Kent didn’t agree with his methods, it didn’t mean that those methods were worthless. “We could … do some visualization to keep Mr. Hush at bay.”
“Just like on the show,” Lucas whispered, as if to himself.
“Right.” Dolly grinned, looking pleased. “How does that go again?”
Claire closed her eyes, flipping through the scrapbook
of her memory. How did her father do it? Imagine a small orb of glowing white light. Picture it growing. Larger. Larger. So large that we all fit inside. Imagine that nothing else can follow us through its barrier. The light protects us from negativity, from evil, from spirits who wish us harm. When she opened her eyes again, she realized that she’d said the words aloud, because Lucas and Dolly were nodding along.
“There,” said Dolly. “That didn’t seem so bad, did it? Do you think your gramma would disapprove?”
Lucas sighed. “I can’t see how she could.” He looked to Claire. “Thank you,” he said. “I already feel better. Mr. Hush won’t be bothering me again anytime soon.”
Dolly gave a small clap. “Perfect. Now let’s get to work.”
WHEN CLAIRE FLIPPED open the small camera’s view screen, it lit up blue, showing letters and numbers around the edges that made no sense to her. There was one symbol that she did recognize, however. Examining it, she sighed in relief. The symbol showed that there was a little less than half of the battery’s power left, which, Claire assumed, should be plenty to get them through what they needed to see. Or at least a good portion of it. And now that they were safe, or safer, she didn’t expect any interruptions from the beyond. She checked that there was a tape inside, then hit rewind.
“Are you guys ready for this?” Claire asked. “It might be difficult to watch.” Lucas and Dolly nodded, but then Claire realized that she needed to ask herself the same question. What if the tape showed her something that she didn’t want to see—something awful that she’d never get out of her head?
She didn’t have a choice. Her father needed her, and she’d do anything to save him.
When she pressed play, Dolly came around the back of the settee and knelt down to watch the video from over Claire’s shoulder.
Transcript of Miles Holiday’s footage recorded in and around the town of Hush Falls Holler:
Miles Holiday—Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Chief Bray.
Chief Bray—Happy to help, Miles. Big fan of your show!
MH—[laughing] Thank you kindly. Now, for the purposes of this recording, could you please state your name and occupation?
CB—Sure thing. Harold Bray. Police chief of Hush Falls Holler.
MH—And how long have you been with the local force?
CB—About twenty-five years? Started as a patrolman. Worked my way up the ladder. And here I sit today, behind the biggest desk in the station.
MH—It suits you.
CB—I always thought it would.
MH—Now, you already know why I’ve come to Hush Falls. Would you mind—
CB—Holler.
MH—Pardon?
CB—It’s Hush Falls Holler. [pause] Hush Falls was the village at the bottom of the reservoir. Doesn’t quite exist anymore, now does it?
MH—You tell me.
CB—It doesn’t. The town was moved up to these hills almost century ago.
MH—And how long after that did the trouble start?
CB—Oh, there have been reports of hauntings in the area beginning almost immediately after the new incorporation.
MH—And what kind of hauntings have been reported?
CB—People talk of seeing Lemuel Hush, one of the descendants of the first town’s founders.
MH—You sound skeptical.
CB—I’ve never been one for storytelling.
MH—Even as a “big fan” of my show?
CB—Well, it’s one thing to watch it all from afar. It’s another to have to answer to constant calls about phantom sightings from frightened town residents. I do think that people believe they’ve seen old Lem, but I also think that spreading these tales around can cause an unnecessary fear.
MH—Unnecessary? How then do you account for the number of drowning deaths in the reservoir over the past three-quarters of a century?
CB—People get foolish thoughts in their heads, then go out and do stupid things. They go hiking around places that are supposed to be off-limits, like the shore of that lake. Signs are posted all over that the water is meant to be protected. It feeds many of the major cities in this state. There aren’t proper trails. The ground is tricky. Things happen!
MH—How many have died on your watch?
CB—My watch? What are you insinuating?
MH—What I mean is, since you’ve been with the force, how many times have you had to investigate a death for which people said Lemuel Hush was responsible?
CB—[sighing] I don’t know all of what people say around here. But if you’re asking how many have drowned in the past twenty-five years, I’d wager it would probably be close to … thirteen people? Which, in my opinion, is minuscule compared to the number our country lost to the waves.
MH—Every death matters, no? Just like every life?
CB—When you imagine the sheer number. The loss … It’s hard to think about it in those terms, but … of course. Of course.
MH—And were those thirteen victims members of this community?
CB—Some. Not all.
MH—Can you tell me about any of them?
CB—Now, Mr. Holiday, you have to understand that these are private matters—
MH—I don’t need names. But any insight you could give into the circumstances …
CB—[after a moment] The first I remember was a couple of young brothers. They’d gone out to the reservoir to fish. People used to do that all the time around here till the state cracked down. There was good fishing in that lake. Anyway, the older of the two came running home and told his mother that a man had strolled up out of the shallows, picked up the younger brother, and carried him screaming back into the water. We went out and searched the area. [pause] We found the child’s body. Not a sight you want lodged in your dreams, I’ll tell you that much. The parents never believed the older kid’s story. Said he was making it up so that he wouldn’t feel responsible. Or something. That family didn’t stick around town much longer. In fact, lots of folks moved away after that.
MH—Horrible. I’m so sorry.
CB—Most of the other stories go just like that. The most recent, however, was a woman, a young mother, who’d got it into her head—
Claire clicked the pause button. “Maybe we should skip over this part.” She glanced at Dolly, who was suddenly pale.
“Good idea,” Dolly whispered.
Lucas nodded sadly.
Claire zoomed the video forward until the background changed and a different face appeared on the screen—a middle-aged woman wearing a brown-and-orange diner uniform. She stood just behind a silver-rimmed Formica counter. Dozens of drinking glasses lined the silver shelves behind her.
“Oh, I know her,” said Dolly. “She’s—”
But then the video began to play.
Miles Holiday—Please state your name and your occupation.
Candace Watkins—Well, my name’s just as it says here on my tag. Candace. And I’m a waitress here at the Holler Diner.
MH—How long have you lived in Hush Falls Holler?
CW—All my life. Which would be twenty-nine years and not a day older. But don’t you go asking anyone else if that’s true or not. [chuckling] I wouldn’t wanna have to give any of my coworkers a black eye!
MH—You say you have a Lemuel Hush story, Candace. Would you mind sharing it?
CW—I’m not saying I don’t mind. But I will share it. It was a few years back after a late shift here at the diner. My buddy Sharon Pickul asks me if I’d mind giving her a ride home, since her husband is still at work and can’t pick her up. So I say, sure thing, hon. And off we go. Now, Sharon lives out on one of those unpaved roads over near the old quarry. Full of potholes, size of prizewinning watermelons. I hate going that way because you have to drive like this. [imitates holding a steering wheel and swinging it sharply left and right]
Anyway, I get Sharon home and she waves goodbye and I’m off again in my little sedan so I can get home myself. Now, part of that road skirts kinda close to the r
eservoir … Of course, I’ve heard the stories of Lemuel Hush. Everybody in the Holler has. But I ain’t never seen him myself. Till that night. Hoo-boy. [shivers]
My headlights are peeping through the darkness, and I’m going real slow so I don’t take off one of my tires, when all of a sudden there’s someone standing in the middle of the road. A man. Right in front of my car. And I swerve to avoid him but I hit one of them potholes and wouldn’t you know I’m off the road and barreling through the forest like a deer being chased by a great big grizzly. I was so scared I don’t remember putting my foot on the brake or nothing. I’m just holding on to that wheel trying not to steer myself into a dang tree. And the last thing I remember is seeing that same man step out of the shadows into my high beams. And he was smiling. This awful, awful smile. Like a shark. Or no … a barracuda! Big fish. Giant mouth. Lots of teeth. I swear, I drove right through him.
I hear this horrible sound, like someone wrenching the earth apart. And then there’s dark. When I come to, I see the sun rising over the lake and I think to myself, how gorgeous. But then I get to wondering how it is I’m waking up at the lake and I look around and realize that I’m not just at the lake. I’m in the lake! I’d somehow crash-landed right into the reservoir. I’d been there all night long.
There’s this gash on my head and dried blood on my face. I try to start up my car, but the engine won’t turn over. So, I open the door and step out into the water. It’s up to here on me. [indicates her upper-mid calf] And I crawl up onto the shore and I turn around and see the state of things and then realize what had happened. If my car had been going any faster, I might have driven deeper into the water. I might have … Well, I don’t like to think about it. So, I run through the woods to the road up to Sharon’s house and tell her the problem and we call the police and a tow truck comes for my car and let me tell you, I ain’t never been back to Sharon’s house and I also ain’t never been back to that lake because I know what Old Hush was trying to do to me, steal me down to his sunken graveyard, likely, down there at the bottom, and I don’t want to take my chances a second time. No, sir, I do not.
