Page 1 of Hollow Forest

Chapter 1 – Samantha

Setting my bags on the cracked tile floor, I planted my hands on my hips. This place would do. A gust of wind howled through the door, pushing me several steps farther into the foyer.

Yes, quite nicely.

With a kick from my foot, the door slammed closed behind me. Darkness swallowed me whole. The air turned stale, the must lingering around the edges, as I fumbled for my phone. I turned on the flashlight again. Why I hadn’t kept it on after using it to illuminate the keypad, I wasn’t sure. That would have been the smart thing to do, but today hadn’t been a good day for the old noggin. I was tired. I would take a few days to settle into a rhythm here, blending into my surroundings before I needed my brain to operate at full capacity.

Light shot out from the little device. The shadows shivered in the background. Maybe the darkness would have been better. I was her daughter, after all. I crept forward, scanning the walls for a switch. When I found it, a magical nothingness happened.

Just my luck.

“Where the hell does one find a breaker box in this place?” I muttered.

The landlord, with whom I’d messaged back and forth, said the power and water would be on by my arrival. Clenching my jaw tight, giving the darkness a stern look, I marched down the hall—which I swore was crooked—and found the kitchen. An ancient metal box was in the back in a space that could be converted into a mudroom but originally had been where the stove and oven were in case of fire. It was probably detached from the house once upon a time.

None of the breakers were tripped.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I fumed and slapped the box shut.

The bones of this house dated back to the 1700s, but the ages had changed it, stopping somewhere after the 1950s. The fridge was retro and stank of mildew. The farmhouse sink was stained with water rings. And the paint? It was probably full of lead.

Oh, the sink also didn’t turn on when I tried both handles. The pipes simply croaked out a laugh.

“This is going to be fun,” I grumped and folded myself into a rickety chair at the kitchen table.

I didn’t need a palace. Living like a ghost for the last three years had taught me that humans needed very little to survive. A purpose, some food, and clean water were the bare essentials. Everything else was luxury. There wasn’t a point in having material goods if there was no one to share them with.

And I had no one.

Sighing, I started formulating a plan. It was at times like this that I wished I hadn’t sold my car. It was the perfect place to store emergency items like candles and canned food. But I’d needed the money to complete the last job. Adding that notch to the pillar that was my sole purpose for existence was far more important than having wheels.

The window above the sink rattled.

I flicked a glance toward it, expecting to see the rain that had been in the forecast.

Something…moved.

A blast of fear made my heart still. Eyes. There had definitely been eyes. But the rest of the mirage was hidden by black cloth.

There was someone out there.

An unholy flood of ice rushed through my veins.

I let out a short scream, but by the time I flicked the flashlight toward the specter, nothing was visible. Just the night and the storm racing toward the dilapidated house. But I knew what I’d seen.

It wasn’t the past that haunted me in this moment.

And I would be damned if I let a demonic spawn hurt me.

Sprinting, I dashed to the foyer and slammed into the front door. The deadbolt groaned as I turned the rusted hinges. But it locked.

That wasn’t enough.

Spinning on my heel, I dashed to the duffle bag on the ground. I unzipped it, plunged my hand straight to the middle, and grabbed the shirt that was wrapped around my .45 Colt and unwound it. The smooth wood covering the handle felt damn good in my hand.

No one is going to hurt me.

I wouldn’t let them. I was the one who hurt people.