Page 66 of Stay Buried

Malcolm was looking at the trees. “Are you sure—” he began.

“Of course I’m sure!” she snapped. Ashley was sick and tired of being doubted, of this insinuation that she was imagining things just because she’d once gone full-on I-see-dead-people-batshit-bonkers. But that was in the past; why couldn’t Malcolm understand that?

Except in the lawyer’s office on Friday.

Then maybe again, this afternoon outside of the pub. And once more, on Main Street just before they went into Josephine’s.

But, damn it,thiswas real. There was someone hiding behind that tree.

“There’s someone back there, Mal, hiding, right now! They’ve been watching us this whole time!”

She kept her pathetic little phone flashlight focused on the wide tree trunk. “Come out where we can see you!”

Then there was movement from the shadows. A figure stepped out—small and quivering.

“See,” Ashley said to her brother. She moved forward, training her light on the figure, and saw a miserable-looking little girl. She had dark hair held back with a headband and large almond-shaped eyes, and wore jeans and a dark hooded sweatshirt. Her face was so pale Ashley half wondered if she was seeing a ghost. But she didn’t believe in ghosts. And she knew this girl. Recognized that face. It was the girl who’d been sitting in the upstairs window of the house with the red horse head painted crudely on the door.

The girl was holding something, clinging to it. Ashley saw that it was a large, plastic toy horse.

“Well, hello there,” Malcolm said, voice syrupy-sweet in that way grown-ups sometimes talk to kids. “What’s your name?” Her brother might be able to charm old ladies, but he was just plain goofy with kids.

The girl toed at the ground with her sneaker, clutched the toy horse tighter. She clearly knew better than to talk to strangers.

“Mini,” the girl said, taking a step back, still not making eyecontact.

“Mini Fitzpatrick?” Ash asked, still holding the pink folded note.

The girl gave a sheepish nod.

“Nice to meet you, Mini,” Malcolm said. “I’m Malcolm. The lady shining the light in your eyes is my sister, Ashley.”

“Sorry,” Ash said, lowering her phone.

“What are you doing out here in the dark, Mini?” Mal said.

She didn’t respond.

“Did you come to leave this note?” Ashley asked.

“Please,” Mini said. “No one can know I was here. I’m not supposed to leave my house. That’s the rule. But I snuck out.”

“We won’t tell anyone, Mini,” Mal said. “I promise.”

The girl’s eyes darted past Ash and Malcolm, scanning the cemetery, like she was looking for someone else. “It’s dark now,” Mini said. “We should go. We shouldn’t be here. It isn’t safe.”

“Mini,” Ash said, gesturing at the rectangular black stone surrounded by gifts. “Whose grave is this?”

“His,” Mini said softly.

“Whose?” Ash asked.

“The knackerman’s.” And with that, Mini took off running.

“Mini!” Ash called, starting to follow her into the dense stand of trees, but she knew it was useless. The woods were too thick, the girl too fast and sure of her way. As she turned to go back, her eye caught on something: the girl had dropped her toy horse. Ash picked it up, and swore that, for half a second, she felt the hard plastic animal flinch.

TWENTY-EIGHTFRANKIE

March 14, 1919