8. Camryn

EIGHT

CAMRYN

Dominic stalks deeper into the room. "You skipped class for…this?"

Rocking back on her heels with an apologetic look on her face, Gwen clears her throat. "We better get going. See you tomorrow, Camryn."

Thunder rumbles in the distance as they leave in a somber line. Dominic keeps his eyes on me, deliberately unnerving me. The moment the front door shuts, he walks up to the table and grabs the doll. "What the hell is this?"

"It's nothing," I reply. "Why are you home early anyway?"

"I bought a beat-up truck."

"A truck? Why?"

He shakes his head. "Don't change the subject, and don't lie to me. What the hell is it?"

"I found it in the attic."

"You found a creepy doll in the attic?"

My throat jumps and I look past him to the kitchen entryway, unable to meet his gaze. "We needed something that belonged to one of the family members who lived in this house before us."

Dominic's eyes flick to the table as if he only just remembered the reason for his anger, and a look of confusion crosses his features. "Why were you doing this?"

"I told you…" I try to steady my voice, when another flash of lightning streaks across the sky through the window. "Weird things are happening in this house."

His jaw clenches once, then twice. He puts his hands on his hips and trains his eyes on me. The anger from earlier is gone, replaced by something softer, something I haven't seen before. I'm not sure how it makes me feel, and when he looks at me, my heart thuds hard against my ribs. I struggle to swallow.

It's a swift, visceral reaction that's not entirely welcome, yet, at the same time, intriguing. I move closer, pulled forward by some magnetic force, much like the storm clouds overhead.

"What weird things?" he asks.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You're probably right."

"Then why ask?" I stop in front of him, staring at the broad expanse of his chest inside that T-shirt. His minty breath fans my nose as he stares down at me, but I don't look up.

"What happened the other day? Why did you lock me out?"

"I don't know what happened," I answer truthfully.

My eyes drift past his collarbones, tanned neck, and scruffy jaw. His lips thin and he works a muscle in his cheek, but it's his dark eyes that hook me.

"I'm seeing things," I finally admit on a breath.

"You're seeing things?" He grabs hold of my wrist and brings my arm up. It has healed with no sight of the insect bite. "This?"

I nod, keeping my gaze averted. "There's something in my room at night, too."

Outside, the storm clouds darken as if Dominic commands the weather. "What's in your room?"

"I don't know." I fall silent as thunder claps against the window. "Bruno sat by my bed and growled at the corner, almost as if trying to protect me against something…unseen."

Dominic watches me while the rain comes down heavier outside. The earthy scent is rich in the air despite the closed window. When he shifts closer, it dawns on me that it's him. His damp clothes smell of the forest, with its secrets and whispers.

"So why the spirit board? What were you trying to do?"

"I wanted answers," I murmur.

"Answers," he repeats, sweeping his eyes over my face as if hunting for clues to an unsolved riddle.

"Yes…" I flinch at another clap of thunder. "Does this mean that you…believe me?"

Instead of answering, he hands me the doll. "Don't bring that Aron guy here again."

"Aron?" My eyebrows knit when he walks past me, his bicep brushing against my shoulder. "That's all you have to say? Don't let Aron come around again? "

He turns in the doorway, and I almost flinch when I see the hard look in his eyes. "Don't let me see him here again."

Why am I such a nosy person who can't leave things alone? One of these days, my own curiosity will get me into a lot of trouble.

While the afternoon sun beats down on me like we didn't have a storm mere hours earlier, and the tall, dry grass tickles my bare ankles, I walk the perimeter of the barbed-wire fence. Beyond it, nestled amongst tall fir trees, is a weathered ranch house with peeling white paint and a wide deck. A rusty tractor sits in the shade beside an old silver Volvo.

I glance back at the house as a bead of sweat trails down my temple. The heat in this godforsaken town shows no sign of easing up.

"Your brother looked angry," Gwen's disembodied voice sounds in my ear, and I stiffen.

I forgot she was on the phone.

"He's not my brother." I crouch down, white knuckling the phone when the door swings open.

"Why are you whispering?"

"I'm not," I whisper.

Dressed in mucky denim overalls over a plain T-shirt, Wilfred walks to his car with a shotgun in his hand.

"You're so whispering! Don't deny it. Wait… Don't tell me you're on some secret spy mission and failed to invite me?"

Wilfred opens the driver's door, tosses the shotgun onto the passenger seat, and gets behind the wheel.

A cloud of exhaust fumes fills the air, and I duck down as he reverses out before spinning the car around and driving down the dirt road, stopping to open the fenced gate.

"Is it normal to carry a shotgun around here?" I ask, waiting for the sputtering car to disappear from sight.

"What kind of a question is that? Wait a minute… Where are you?"

I rise back up, then continue skirting the property's perimeter until I come to a gap in the fence that's large enough for me to sneak through.

"Camryn," Gwen says with a hint of a warning in her tone. "Where are you?"

"Wilfred Miller's farm," I admit as my top catches in the fence.

"Wilfred's farm… Are you crazy?"

"He's harmless, remember?" I investigate the torn fabric just below my breasts, wiggling a finger inside the hole.

"Those were Aron's words. Not mine. Wilfred Miller is creepy as hell if you ask me."

"Well, he's gone anyway. Drove off in the car."

"So…I should expect the worst if I don't hear from you again?"

I dash across the overgrown yard, past a chicken coop, then slow to a halt as I approach the run-down porch. A buzzing bee collects nectar from a bright yellow sunflower swaying in front of a stack of tires, but that's the only spot of color in this eerie place.

Outside the door sits a tied-up trash bag, with flies buzzing all around. The windows are covered in heavy curtains, blocking out the daylight.

"Camryn?" Gwen's worried voice assaults my eardrum.

"I have to go." I hang up before she can say anything else, then pocket my phone. Stepping onto the decking, I try the door, but it's locked.

So, he's a safety-cautious man who takes precautions. Interesting—unless he's hiding something.

My gaze lands on the trash bag, and I pause. My palms are damp with sweat, so I rub them on my shorts as I scan the yard. The logical thing would be to turn around and walk back home, but my curiosity won't let this go until I've investigated.

I crouch down, carefully untying the bag, then wipe the sweat off my forehead with my arm. The foul smell hits me first, and my stomach turns at the stench.

When it finally opens, a swarm of flies exits, and I release a squeal as I fall back onto my ass. My heart pounds as I watch them disperse into the air until I'm once again left with the distant sound of clucking hens in the background. I crawl closer, shifting the plastic aside to reveal matted, bloodied fur. "What the fuck?" I breathe, the bag crinkling in the summer heat.

"Looks like a cat."

I startle and release a scream.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," the mysterious man who walked me home from the forest—the axe-wielding man—says as he holds out his hand for me to take.

Propped on my elbows, I stare at his long fingers and open palm, then him. I swallow any concern and clasp his hand.

He hauls me up with no effort at all until I'm pressed against his chest. His scent is everywhere—mysterious, like the wilderness.

"Do you always go places you shouldn't?" he asks.

"I'm prone to putting myself in less than stellar situations."

"You don't say." He looks down at me, a slight frown creasing his brow. But then he seems to shake himself off and steps back. "You shouldn't be out here."

"Why not?" I ask, watching him closely.

"Besides the fact that it's private property? You could get lost."

"I won't get lost," I say as he steps off the decking.

"I told you." He gazes at me over his shoulder. "These woods aren't safe."

A slight breeze rustles through the trees, bringing with it the nauseating scent of decomposing flesh. My stomach rolls again, so I join him beside the stacked tires. "Why do you speak in riddles?"

His eyes glitter in the summer sun as he looks down at me, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips for the briefest second before he peers back out at the forest.

As much as it intrigues me, his silence grates on my nerves. I want to find out more about him. "What's your name?"

No answer.

"Do you live here?"

"Come on," he says, ignoring my questions. "Let's take you back."

His long legs eat up the overgrown grass as he stalks toward the fence. Once there, he holds it out of the way and jerks his chin in an unspoken demand to follow him.

I peer behind me at the tall house rising from the ground, with its heavy, moth-eaten curtains covering the large windows. Beside the door, the plastic bag crinkles in the breeze as a handful of flies hovers. The uneasy sensation of eyes on me crawls over my skin like ants, and my feet move before I realize it.

Crossing the lawn, I slip through the opening in the fence, careful not to brush up against him. My top goes unscathed this time.

"Thank you," I say as the fence squeaks behind me. "Now, are you going to tell me why you speak in riddles—" I turn around and pause.

He's gone.

I spin in a circle as I peer all around, but there's no sign of him. He was here one minute, helping me through, and then what? Did he disappear into thin air?

With a huff, I cross my arms. I'm not that bad to be around. He didn't have to run off the first chance he got.

Despite my brain telling me not to take it personally, my ego smarts. Why does he have to be so mysterious? Maybe I wouldn't be this intrigued by him if he would just tell me his name instead of warning me away from the forest. What is so bad about the woods?

Even as the fleeting thought enters my mind, I can't stop a full-body shiver from taking hold. I glance back at the house. The trash bag is barely visible from here, and the wind whistles through the leaves like a haunted melody while the grass at my ankles tickles my sensitive skin.

I cross my arms around my midriff and scan the area again. My gaze skips over the tractor, the stack of old tires, the chicken coop, and even the trees behind the house. But there's no sign of him.

My attention snags on one of the windows upstairs, where the curtain twitches. I swear someone is watching me through the thin gap, someone who wants to stay hidden.

Swallowing past a lump in my throat, I stare at the gap until my eyes burn, the unease twisting my insides. My feet move back, one small step at a time, until my internal warning bells become too loud to ignore, and I spin around, refusing to look back.

This place, this town , is all wrong. There's something dormant here that can't be ignored, something that can only be felt.

Rain comes down heavily on the windshield as we drive down the dark road. Keith, my stepdad, glances at his phone on the dashboard when it rings, but he makes no move to answer Dominic's phone call. Instead, he ignores it with a swipe of his finger and eases back in his seat.

"How did it go?"

"How did what go? The ballet exam?"

He nods, and I'm impressed he remembers it was today.

"I passed," I reply with a small shrug.

Dominic's twin brother, Lewis, ignores us in the backseat while typing on his phone.

"You don't sound happy about it."

Keith has always been perceptive about things. He knows I want to quit.

"It's complicated," I reply, hoping he'll drop it.

"You know…" he starts, staring out the windshield while the wipers struggle to keep up with the heavy rain. "We've had this conversation. It's okay if you don't want to do ballet. Your mom will understand."

I study the straight line of his nose and the day-old stubble on his sharp jaw. Keith looks at me and smiles softly.

"I'm not sure." I drop my gaze to my lap. "Mom was the best ballet performer in the state at my age. She would have made it into a career if she hadn't injured her ankle."

"You're not your mom. You don't have to follow in her footsteps."

"I know, but I don't want to disappoint—" My eyes widen as I look out the window.

There's a man in the middle of the road, soaked from head to toe, with an axe in his hand. A man in a flannel shirt and jeans. A man who's staring at the approaching headlights with dark-rimmed, dead eyes.

I grab hold of Keith's arm and shout, "Look out!"

He slams the brakes, but it's too late. Screeching tires follow, and I jerk forward, held in place by the seatbelt. Just as we're about to hit the man, he disperses like fine mist into thin air. Keith loses control of the car, and I scream as we careen into a murky river ? —

Startling awake with a cry, my heart hammers wildly. I gulp down breaths as I try to gain my bearings. It's been a long time since I had a nightmare about that night. I thought they were over, but I was wrong.

"It was just a dream," a deep, gravelly voice interrupts my racing thoughts. I stiffen, only now noticing the large shadow that sits on the floor by my bed.

Dominic scratches Bruno behind the ears, his eyes locked on the closed door. "Go back to sleep."

Surprised, I blink, but he's still there, draped in shadows. "Dominic?" I ask, sitting up in bed and staring at the back of his head. "Why are you in my room?"

The seconds tick by while I wait for his response. Seconds that stretch into minutes before his deep tenor disturbs the silence. "You said someone comes into your room at night."

My heart stalls. I'm sure of it. "Not someone," I whisper. "Something."

He hums, petting Bruno, and then he drawls, "Go back to sleep."

"I can't just go back to sleep with you in here," I say as I switch on the lamp on my nightstand.

"Don't," Dominic orders, leaving no room for argument. "Leave it off."

"So what's this? Are you my knight in shining armor now?"

"Careful," he warns. "You don't want to test me."

"Or you'll do what? Spank me?" I don't know where this spark of attitude is coming from. I'm secretly relieved he's in my room, especially after my nightmare. My nerves are shot, but I'll never admit that to him.

"If that's what it takes," he says with a dark undertone that makes my stomach swoop.

I stare at the back of his head, unsure of my next move. Logically, I should tell him to leave and shove him out of my room, but I don't want to be alone. His presence makes me feel safe, even if he hates me.

"Why are you protecting me, Dominic?" I ask quietly while my heart thumps harder.

"Go to sleep."