by Lisa Unger
God, Matthew hated him. “Shut the fuck up,” he said. “Get away from me.”
But Mason kept talking. “The time you locked me in that shed, or held me underwater in the quarry lake. The time you hit me in the face with the baseball. It was all on purpose, wasn’t it?”
Matthew felt something ugly rise up, something that didn’t totally belong to him. It made him smile.
“My family owns your family, Mason,” he said, voice as sharp as a straight razor. “Always has.”
It happened fast; Mason hauled off and punched Matthew hard in the face, and they both went down to the ground, Matthew issuing an oof as the wind got knocked from him. Strangely, it felt good, like a hundred years of pent-up rage and resentment finally released. Matthew relished the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth, even more than landing a hard blow to Mason’s kidneys, again, again. Mason got him on the jaw again. Matthew brought a knee up into the other man’s ribs. There was shouting, but Matthew barely heard as they tumbled on the ground, elbows jabbing, fists flying.
Mason was strong. Stronger than Matthew would have thought possible for someone so skinny and small. His fists felt like concrete on his jaw, his ribs, his stomach. Finally, his strength flagged, and Mason bested him, sat astride him with his fist raised. Matthew, mouth full of blood, started to laugh when Mason hesitated to deliver the blow that would surely knock him senseless. He would welcome that oblivion now.
“Don’t do it, Mace,” said Ian, drawn back by the noise of the fight to stop them from hurting each other. He stood above them and put a hand over Mason’s fist. “Don’t let him drive you to do something you’re going to regret for the rest of your life.”
Mason lowered his fist, sat panting on top of Matthew.
“It’s over, Matthew,” said Avery. “The detective who has been investigating the case of your missing mistress contacted me a few weeks ago, asking questions about you, about your connection to Amelia. I called her as soon as Sam let me know that Jewel was missing. She said that the police only needed one more reason to look at Matthew Merle to reopen Sylvia’s case. They might be on their way already.”
And as she said it, Matthew heard the faintest sound of helicopter blades. There were no roads to Havenwood. They’d need to come by air and foot.
He looked over at the staircase where Samantha and Jewel had stood, but his family was gone.
Then Claire’s terrible scream cut through the air.
Avery and Ian went running toward the sound. Matthew stayed on the ground, knowing what she’d found.
Relief was a wave. It was over. A moment later, Avery March’s tortured wailing filled the room.
And Mason, still on top of Matthew, bowed his head and started to cry.
Matthew Merle searched inside for the piece of himself that used to be good and found only the emptiness of darkness. Even the Dark Man had deserted him. He started, for no reason at all, to laugh.
17.
Outside, the gloaming filled with light and sound. A helicopter landed in the clearing, and Jewel covered her ears against the roar, the trees dancing in the wind.
Police officers moved from the trees, their shouting filling the night. Jewel stood with her mother’s arms wrapped around her and tried to make sense of what had happened. But she couldn’t; it all slipped away like the nightmares she used to have as a kid.
Samantha pointed back toward Havenwood, yelling something to a cop. Then another one moved them over toward the trees.
“What’s happening?” Jewel wailed.
But her mother didn’t answer, just stared blankly out into the trees, eyes glassy with shock and sadness.
That was when Jewel saw the kid standing nearby. He hovered, hands in his pockets, watching her. At first she thought he was one of the boys from Havenwood, a lost soul looking for a way home. But no, he was gawky, awkward, solid in the world. Cute. She moved away from her mom, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Eldon?” she said. She recognized him somehow, even though she’d never seen him.
“Hey,” he said, looking surprised.
“Did you do this? Did you call the police?”
“I, uh, yeah,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I was worried. I’m sorry. I wasn’t stalking you or anything.”
She looked back at Havenwood. All the windows were dark. She wasn’t sure what came over her, but she moved over to him quickly and took him into a hug.
“Thank you,” she said. “For having my back.”
He stiffened with surprise for a moment, then closed his arms around her. He felt good, solid, strong. Not an avatar. Or the ghost of a lost girl. A real person. Flesh and blood.
18.
THE HOLLOWS GAZETTE
One-Tank Trips
Historic Merle House is a wellness retreat just a stone’s throw from home, but one with a storied past and more than a few ghosts.
Welcome to Merle House, a twenty-bedroom wellness retreat set on over a hundred acres of wooded land. Founded by Samantha Merle, yoga instructor and wellness expert, this spacious historic property has a complicated history. But Samantha Merle says that its history, even the dark chapters, make it even more appropriate as the sanctuary she hopes it will become.
“Everyone has darkness in their lives, times when they suffer,” Merle says. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t heal and move into the light to live better than ever before.”
At one time on these grounds stood a home for troubled teens called Havenwood, where under the direction of Dr. Archibald Arkmann, many children were tortured, killed, or lost, never to be found. Years later, the remains of Amelia March, a young girl who went missing in 1995, were found in the basement of the ruins of this old facility, allegedly murdered by Matthew Merle, the great-great-great-nephew of Arkmann.
“There has been a terrible darkness on this land,” says Samantha Merle. “Bad things have happened here, just like bad things happen in our lives. But we have razed Havenwood, and will let the burn site return to the land. And we have employed Ian Randall, founder of Home Energy Cleanse and Repair, to help us heal and restore the lands with his specialized techniques, including energy work, talisman placement, prayer, and shamanic blessing.”
The acreage on which Merle House and Havenwood stood was once named in Adventure and Relaxation Magazine as an entry in their “Most Haunted Land in America” series. But Merle says that she doesn’t believe in ghosts, and in her time on the property has never seen anything that couldn’t be explained. “People see what they want to see. I think it’s been fun for teenagers to sneak up here on dares, to explore Havenwood and cover it with graffiti, use it as a place to hang out. And superstitions and old wives’ tales can run rampant in a small town like this one. But the biggest problem I’ve had to deal with at Merle House is a leaky roof.”
Also on staff is Dr. Claire Allen, a psychiatrist who specializes in depression, addiction recovery, and post-traumatic stress disorder. “This is a place of healing,” says Merle. “Come to retreat from the toxicity of modern life, or to recover from painful events, to face your minor addictions and move on from them, or just to deepen your yoga practice, maybe work on your novel. Why you come is entirely up to you. We have a fully trained staff to meet your every need.”
Guests will be able to attend daily yoga classes, chakra-balancing sessions, Reiki healing, massage, detoxifying body treatments, guided meditation, and more. Meals will be prepared and served by Penny Grann, whose family has served the Merle land for generations and, at one point in history, even owned it. Likewise, Pastor Mason Brandt, Penny’s nephew, is on staff for spiritual counseling, and also doubles as the groundskeeper, giving classes on landscaping, as well as organic herb and vegetable gardening.
Guests at Merle House are welcome to walk the miles and miles of newly cleared and carefully maintained nature trails. Wildlife abounds. The property is a safe haven for over a hundred species of birds—including hawks and bald eagles—as wel
l as deer, foxes, coyotes, raccoons, rabbits, and more. Merle House is home to a large murder of crows, who have been on the property as long as anyone can remember.
“Crows are misunderstood birds,” says Merle. “They are maligned and feared. But they are intelligent and funny, if a bit mischievous, and a treasured feature of Merle House. We have even worked their image into our logo. The birds, like everything in nature, understood or otherwise, are welcome to make their home here. And we celebrate them.”
When asked about the dark events in her own life, Merle declines to comment. Her ex-husband is on trial for his crimes—the murder of two young women, twenty years apart. He, like other young people in this area over the years, has claimed that the Dark Man made him do it. But Samantha Merle tries to look toward the future. “I’ve tried to take a troubled place and give it a new life. And in doing that, I’m trying to build a better future for myself and my daughter, all while honoring the legacy of Merle House.”
So far, no guests have registered for the upcoming opening weekend. But she remains hopeful that, over time, more people will come to see the beauty of a place that has a dark history.
“We all deserve a chance to heal ourselves,” Merle says. “Don’t we?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lisa Unger is the New York Times bestselling author of Confessions on the 7:45 and many other books. Her short story The Sleep Tight Motel and her novel Under My Skin were nominated for the Edgar Award, and her story Let Her Be was selected for The Best American Mystery and Suspense.
