“…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 armburns.
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—gravecold. 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.
