Hell's Hollow

by Summer Stone

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Mom said. “We’ll have to go see. But first, we’re going to need to do something about Zachariah. His grandmother will be looking for him.”

  “Maybe we should call the police,” I said.

  She nodded and then shook her head, too. “I think we should go see her first, give her a chance to explain herself.”

  The four of us got into Mom’s car and drove to Myra Clay’s. As we passed the bakery, Mom slowed. Someone had scrawled across the window in black spray paint Twitchy witches belong in cages.

  I leaned forward and put my hand on Mom’s shoulder, held my breath. “It’s just some dumb kids,” I said. “No one cares.” I looked to MK, wondering if she was hurt by it.

  She smiled at me. “Not the first time, won’t be the last.”

  Mom’s lips tightened in that way they did when she was stressing. But she drove on to Myra Clay’s anyway. I wondered if there’d be any damage inside the bakery from the earthquake. But there’d be time to deal with that later.

  When we pulled up to her house, Myra Clay was on her front steps, looking up and down the street, her forehead wrinkled with worry. The look on her face flickered between relief and dread as Zach stepped out of the car. Then it morphed into shock when she saw his whole, healthy face.

  “What…? What’s going on?” she asked, wringing her hands.

  We all lined up by Zach.

  “Maybe we should go inside,” Mom said.

  George McGraw walked up to us. “I sure hope you’re planning on opening today, Clarabelle, because I have quite a hankering for a bear claw.”

  “Not now, George,” Mom said. “We’ll be opening late.”

  “I hope it’s not because of what those punks wrote on your window,” he said.

  Mom shook her head. “Myra.”

  Myra Clay’s hand went to her chest.

  “I called Bennett, asked him to come up and wash off that nonsense. Here he comes. Morning, Bennett,” George called out.

  Bennett looked from Mom to Myra Clay. “What’s goin’ on here?”

  “Maybe we should go inside,” Mom said again.

  Myra moved closer to Bennett.

  “I don’t want to call the police, but I will if need be,” Mom said, her voice shaking.

  I squeezed Zach’s hand. It seemed surprising that with The Hollow gone there would still be a rush of energy between us. Yet there it was.

  “Whoa, now,” Bennett said. “I don’t know what all’s goin’ on, but I highly doubt it was Ms. Clay that spray-painted yer windas.”

  “This is much more serious than spray paint,” Mom said.

  “Well then, I suggest we step on down to the church, where we can talk about this in a civilized fashion,” Bennet replied.

  So we followed him toward the church. The traffic light turned green, then yellow, then red. It seemed sad there were no cars on the road to witness it.

  As we neared the church, Zach slowed. I looked up at him, at the delicate pink scars on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  He pointed at the church. “What if…” he said.

  I shook my head, not catching his meaning. “What if what?”

  “You know … what if I really am the devil’s kid?”

  I smiled at him. “You’re not,” I said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you’re kind and caring, and those aren’t characteristics generally associated with the devil.”

  He hesitated again on the threshold of the church. I felt a jolt pass between us as I squeezed his hand, and we crossed it together. Probably because he didn’t disintegrate on the spot, he looked over at me and smiled.

  “See?” I whispered.

  The mood inside was somber. The earthquake had caused a crack to form across the middle of the hardwood floor.

  “George,” Mom said to him. “I think you should go. This is a private matter.”

  “All right then,” George said. “I know when I’m not wanted. You don’t have to tell me twice.” He walked out.

  Bennett sat on the edge of the dais. “Ladies, what exactly seems to be the problem?”

  MK sat in the front pew. Zach and I stood next to Mom.

  Mom turned to Myra Clay. “Is this your grandson?” she asked, pointing at Zach.

  Myra Clay looked at Bennett, at Mom, at Zach. She raised her head a little. “It is,” she replied. “I only just found that out.”

  “What?” I cried, so disgusted that she would lie in front of everyone — in the church even. MK came to my side and took my hand.

  “Hush,” Mom said to me. To Myra Clay she said, “He says he’s been locked in your house for the past twelve years. Are you saying that’s not true?”

  I was so impressed with Mom. She was being so brave.

  Myra Clay’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “You don’t understand,” she said.

  “Explain it to us,” said Bennett.

  The church door opened. George McGraw and Melody McDowell stepped in. “Is everybody all right?” Melody asked. “George said things might be getting a little heated in here. Bennett? Hon, is everything okay?”

  Bennett and Mom glared at George, who shrugged his shoulders.

  “What do you mean you only just found out?” Zach asked Myra, ignoring the intrusion.

  “You and Miss Nosey Pants need to leave,” Myra Clay shouted at George. “This is not a town hall meeting!”

  “You have nothin’ to hide before the Lord,” Bennett reassured her. “I’ve always known you to be a good woman. We’re givin’ you an opportunity to redeem yerself. ‘Set aside lyin’ and speak ye’ the truth, for we are all part of each other.’”

  Still Myra hesitated. George and Melody made no move to leave, but hung back by the door.

  Mom pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the police.” Her thumb hovered over the numbers.

  “No,” Myra cried. She turned and spoke directly to Bennett, her body shaking. “The night Ezekiel brought him to me, the night their house burned down, he said the boy was devil’s spawn, that Deborah had had an affair, and the boy, Zachariah was the product. He didn’t know who the father was. He told me he was stuck with him, but couldn’t bear to be reminded of Deborah’s infidelity. He said, ‘Momma, please, keep him for me, just until I heal, until I’m ready. Then I’ll come back for him.’”

  “Did he set the house on fire intentionally?” Mom asked.

  I felt George’s eyes on me, as if he was realizing why I’d asked all those questions.

  “No!” Myra shouted. Then more softly, “I don’t know. He never told me what happened to Deborah. But …”

  “The Lord is my shepherd,” Melody McDowell spoke from the back of the church, holding up her hand. “I’ve held onto this secret too long.” She came forward. “Bennett, it’s your faith in the Holy Spirit, your guidance to His word that moves me to speak.”

  “What do you know about any of this?” Myra Clay asked her.

  “I’m not sure this is the best time,” Bennett said to Melody, probably assuming all she was interested in was a piece of the drama.

  Melody looked at Bennett. “I need to confess,” she said. “Zeke was with me that night, before the fight with Deborah. It was him that was having the affair.”

  MK gasped.

  “Yes, I have sinned,” she said. “But Zeke had promised me he was going to leave Deborah so we could start a life together. He came back to my house later that night, covered in blood and dirt. He said he had to disappear for a while. But he promised he’d come back for Mason and me. He said he needed to get Zachariah settled in the new town, that then he’d come back for us. I had no idea he’d left the boy behind.”

  Mom said, “Deborah’s body was discovered this morning. He buried her in The Hollow.”

  Bennett turned to Melody. “You knew he’d killed her and you didn’t go to the police?”

  “I didn’t know,” she cried. “Oh, I suspe
cted, I worried, but I never knew.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “He never would’ve been able to stand in The Hollow long enough to dig a grave. Guys can’t stand there.” I wondered though — if Zach could, maybe his father had been able to as well.

  George McGraw cleared his throat. “Nobody but the Clays,” he said.

  Everyone turned to listen to him. Myra shrunk back.

  George looked uncomfortable, but came forward. “’Bout a year after my dad and I stalled out and decided to stay in Hell’s Hollow, my buddy, Nick Nolan and I heard that a couple of the seniors were going down to The Hollow that night on a dare. We followed ‘em, watched every one of those boys knocked off their feet — every one except Abraham Clay. He lay down in that gully like it was his own bed. Didn’t seem to bother him one bit. I always wondered about that.”

  We all turned to Myra Clay. In a soft voice, she said, “Abraham was a direct descendent of Tall Tree. The ground Tall Tree protected has always recognized his people.”

  Myra Clay looked at Zach. “When you told me you’d been sneaking out to The Hollow, that the scars had begun to change there, that’s when I first thought you might actually be our grandson. It wasn’t until I took you to the doctor and they did a DNA test that I knew for certain you were my own flesh and blood. That’s why I’ve been so crushed. All these years I thought I was sinning by harboring the devil’s spawn, a bastard child that had no claim to my family. And now to find out you were mine all along!”

  Zach went to Myra Clay’s side. “You made me believe I started the fire, that I killed my own mother, that I was dangerous.”

  She shrugged, looking helpless. “To keep you from running. You were always such a good boy. I thought that if you believed you were a danger to people, you wouldn’t try to escape. I couldn’t have folks asking questions, finding out about you. They’d go after Ezekiel. He’s my only son, all I believed I had left.

  “When Bennett came to town preaching about casting out devils, I thought many times about doing just that. It was for the love of my son that I kept what I believed to be the devil under my roof. Every time I drank of the poison or held one of the serpents, I was sure God would show me his displeasure. But it never happened, and I began to believe He’d taken pity on me for shouldering this burden, that it was my cross to bear.”

  No one spoke. We stood staring at her as if we didn’t know how to respond.

  “I will not be judged by you people,” Myra Clay yelled, running from the room. She came back with the fancy glass bottle I’d seen Bennett use during his services. “Bennett, your church brought me a peace I could not find after Abe passed. It gave me the gift of feeling the Holy Ghost inside me. I learned to trust that the serpents would not bite, to trust that the strychnine would not harm, to trust in His choices. When I learned your ways, I tried laying hands on the boy in an effort to heal him.”

  Mom’s eyes met mine. All these years we’d been so careful, so afraid of Myra’s judgment.

  “But the Lord chose not to grant him healing. I believed that to be a sign that he was not worthy in God’s eyes, that he was indeed devil’s spawn as Ezekiel had claimed. And I continued to sin, choosing to protect my own child rather than cast out the devil. But then, after all this time, the boy comes out of The Hollow, out of his grandfather’s own territory… healed. I don’t know what to make of it. But whatever has happened… whatever I’ve done … it’s between me and God. Only He can judge. ‘And these signs shall follow them that believe … If they drink any deadly thing it shall not hurt them.’” She lifted the bottle of poison and drank until she gagged.

  “Don’t do it!” MK yelled.

  “Call 911!” Mom screamed.

  “The Lord has saved her,” Bennett said. “She stands. It is the Lord’s place to judge and forgive, not ours.”

  “Praise be to God, hallelujah!” Melody yelled.

  “She has stolen a life from this boy,” Mom said.

  “Stolen?” Myra yelled. “Not stolen. I nursed him back to health after the fire. I got him the medical care he required, though I believed him to be a bastard. I took him in, was never cruel, never turned him out to the street, though part of me believed I should.” She spoke to Zach. “I’m sorry if I …” Her body went rigid. She fell to the floor, convulsing violently. Bennett ran to her side, repeating the biblical line Myra had quoted over and over. We crowded around her.

  “Give her room,” Bennett cried. “She needs air.”

  Zach bolted just as the paramedics rushed in.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Myra Clay was taken to the hospital. The police questioned everybody, promised to put out a warrant for Zeke. They sent Zach to foster care. I begged Mom to take him in, and she offered, but we weren’t an official foster family, so they wouldn’t let us. I gave Zach our home and cell phone numbers and made him swear he’d call as soon as they placed him. I worried. All these years he’d been locked up with Myra Clay and now he was out in the world on his own.

  Mom opened the bakery, where people sat around all day gossiping about everything that had happened. There was hardly any damage there from the quake, just some to-go boxes and baking pans on the floor, a few broken dishes. After helping Mom and MK straighten up and washing the paint off the window, I fell asleep in the office, waiting for Zach to call.

  Mom woke me at closing time. “Let’s go home,” she said.

  I shook my head. “We should go check on Gran. What if she’s better?”

  “I don’t know how likely that is, honey. I think the damage has been done.”

  I followed her out to the front. “Maybe Dr. Gates can come with us.”

  Mom turned to look at me. “We’ll go visit. If we think she seems different, we’ll call Dr. Gates, okay? But I’m not sure what makes you think that the death of The Hollow would make the difference. Meadowland is far enough from here that it shouldn’t have kept her ill all these years.”

  “I know,” I said. “But when it died, it took the crazy from me.”

  “What?” Mom asked, freezing.

  “Don’t be mad,” I said. “I had to do it. Zach was…”

  “Zach was suffering, I know, what crazy are you talking about?”

  “Maybe you better sit down,” I said.

  Mom and MK both sat. My face got hot. I was sure Mom was going to freak when she heard what I’d risked. But I needed to get it out. “It started after I first tried to heal Zach, or maybe even after the chipmunk, I’m not sure. It got worse after I healed MK, much worse.”

  “What did, sweets?” MK asked.

  “Muddled thinking. Losing tack of my thoughts… Hallucinations.” I flinched, knowing Mom would flip.

  She jumped up. “And you went ahead…”

  “I’d caused his wounds to open, I couldn’t dessert him.” I sat down beside them. “It was terrifying, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t. I never ever want to feel that again. I want Gran to be okay. Can we please just go see if she’s okay?”

  No one spoke as we went to the car and drove to Meadowland. Mom seemed to be seething, but she didn’t share it. I put my headphones on, turned the music up loud to drown out my worries. As we passed an abandoned car, I wondered if they’d all work now that The Hollow had no more tricks.

  When we got to the Meadowland parking lot, MK opened her door, but didn’t get out. She hung her head. “I don’t think I can do it. I can’t go back in there.”

  “We won’t let them keep you. You’re healthy now,” Mom said.

  But MK shook her head. “I’m an awful person, aren’t I? Can’t even go in to see my own mother. It seems so unfair. I don’t mean to make you feel guilty, Sera. I just wish you could’ve saved us both.”

  “I wish so too, Auntie.” I hugged her.

  Then we left her in the car and went to see how Gran was doing. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude that I wouldn’t be locked inside those walls forever rushed over me.

  I took a
deep breath before opening Gran’s door. Mom put her hand on my shoulder. I still felt the tug of crazy people all around me, but now, I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.

  Gran’s room was a mess, the bed unmade, clothes strewn across the floor. MK’s bed had been removed. Gran turned from her spot by the window when we came in. “It’s about time!” she yelled. “She tells me she’s going the way of the Wyldes and then I hear nothing. Crazy-making, it is. You look taller. Have you grown? Tell me what happened. Did you fix your invisible friend? Are you here to stay — because they took MK’s bed away no matter how hard I fought it.”

  She seemed like she was making sense. But her eyes still looked wild.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “The Hollow, it exploded, or imploded, or something, anyway, it’s dead. And I’m better. So I guess we just wondered how you’re doing.”

  “Me? I’m fine.”

  I grabbed Mom’s hand, hoping this was for real.

  “It’s Johnny Rocket I worry about,” Gran said. “I think they’re getting to him.”

  “Who is?” I asked, still uncertain if she was better.

  “The doppelgangers.”

  My stomach dropped.

  “They’re the ones hosting the radio waves. They control the whole show and I figured it out.” She looked proud — and crazy.

  Mom squeezed my hand. Tears jumped to my eyes.

  “What’s wrong? Did I say something? Why’s she crying? It’s a good thing. Now that we know who’s sending them, we can actually start to do something about it. Have you seen my doppelganger out there? Because I have a tendency to believe that the one that looks like me is the most likely to underscore the whole thing. When you start to really get a thing and it makes sense to you, you share it with the people that matter and then it all comes unraveled, like a sweater, which it’s too hot for right now. That’s what Johnny Rocket keeps telling me. It’s not sweater season. I think maybe he’s got them bugged, especially now that they’ve taken my daughter. I think they might have her locked up somewhere. Somewhere over the rainbow. I wouldn’t know. Weave and sew the yarn.”