By the time the light moved through the trees and across the property, Pine Hollow felt awake.
The pool cover lay over the water, smooth and sealed. I ran my hand along the edge anyway, checking for gaps. None. The hot tub read at the right temperature. I nudged it down a degree because guests liked it a little too hot, and people made bad choices when they got too warm. The spa had seen more confessions than the front desk.
The firewood shed was next. It sat just off the path, tucked between the main lodge and the trees. I restacked half the pile so it was even.
The smell of freshly split wood stuck to my hands, but I relished the familiar scent. The owners called this much attention to detail overkill. I called it not having visitors tripping in the dark. I had a strong preference for bones staying inside bodies.
“Morning, Liam,” Nora said from the front desk when I carried the first armload inside. She owned the place with her wife and had the calm of someone who had survived a decade of guests who thought towels were optional. Survival changes a person.
The main lodge had been standing since the fifties. Cedar beams. Stone fireplace built from rocks that had been pulled out of the lakebed during construction. Every year, the freeze and thaw tested the foundation. Every spring, someone found a new crack in something that I helped repair.
Nora ran the desk like a ship’s bridge, handling everything before it became a problem. I admired that.
“Morning,” I said. “Anything heavy need lifting?”
She smiled. “You already know.”
I hauled two kegs down to the tavern for Pete, who ran the bar and pretended he hated being helped even when the alternative was obvious pain.
“You trying to make me feel useless again?” he asked when I set them down.
“I’m trying to stop you from hurting your back,” I said.
He grunted. “Same thing.”
As I got back to the front desk, the doors swung open, and Mr. Harlan came stomping in like he owned the place. His face held a permanent scowl.
“Noise last night,” he announced. “People laughing. Afterten.”
Nora nodded serenely. “We’ll look into it.”
“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “This used to be a quiet area.”
“We appreciate your feedback, Mr. Harlan,” she said.
He muttered something about standards and stomped back out.
I watched the door until it shut, then I got back to work.
The day passed in the ordinary way I liked best. No drama, nothing broken. Just a steady rhythm you could settle into without bracing for interruption. Guests checked in. I showed a couple to their room and carried their bags without being asked. Someone thanked me twice, which always made me feel good. I trimmed hedges, swept the porch, fixed a loose board on the dock, and watched the lake stretch out toward the tree line, glassy and still in the afternoon light.
I loved it here.
Hours later, the property settled for the night. Lights went dark one by one. The last door closed and stayed closed. Even the insects seemed to agree it was time to stop.
I’d done a sweep at midnight, and everything had been fine then. Still, I was awake. The quiet sat wrong around me.
I told myself I would walk the perimeter once more. There was no reason to lie in bed counting the minutes when I could be moving instead, and I didn’t mind the extra lap. The night was cool and clear, the kind of Adirondack night I didn’t mind settling in to.
Pool: Cover secure. I pressed it down anyway.
Spa: Temperature steady.
Firewood stacked, clean and dry. Doors locked. Windows latched.
Everything in its place.
I was about to head back to my room when the sound reached me. Laughter, loud and uncontained. It was carrying up from the lake like a cacophony of trouble.
