Page 21 of The Haunting of the Mountain

“Right there,” he says, pointing to what looks like an old church.

“I swear we passed that before.”

“Used to be the town’s church,” Stone says, neglecting to address my concern.

Not that it matters. I enjoyed the walk, learning all about his guide business and the now-suspect history.

“It’s gorgeous,” I say, turning my attention back to the church.

Although much of the library is hidden behind greenery, the intricate stonework is breathtaking. I’m used to squat, basic brick libraries. Nothing special. If I lived closer to one like this, with the long gabled roof, steeple, and stained glass galore, I’d be there every day.

A few moments later, we finally make it to the library. It’s even more impressive close up. The main walkway to the entrance is flanked by evergreen shrubs covered in white spider webs. Pumpkins decorate the steps on the way to the entrance, which is flanked with more bales of hay, one of which has been turned into a giant spider.

“What’s the town’s budget for holiday decorations?” I ask as we pass by a couple of scarecrows on either side of the walkway.

“Limitless. Most of it is donated by the town, anyway. The pumpkins, the hay bales?—”

“The corn dolls.”

Stone laughs. “The corn dolls, too. Although those are new to me.”

“You got rid of it, right?”

Stone seems to falter but recovers quickly. “Buried it this morning.”

My eyes flare. “You know that thing is going to come crawling out of the ground and kill us while we sleep, right?”

“Think those are zombies.”

“Or cursed corn dolls.”

“Possibly,” Stone says, placing his hand on the small of my back.

I can hardly breathe as he guides me up the stone steps to the main entrance to the library.

“Here we are,” he says, pushing the door open for me.

I’m struck with warm air and the comforting smell of old books, sugar, and cinnamon. When I see the table set out with apple cider, donuts, and—sigh—corn dolls, it makes sense.

“Seriously, Stone,” I whisper to him as I tug him to my level. “Whatiswiththe corn dolls?”

“No idea but it’s becoming a little concerning, I’ll give you that.”

“Apple cider?” the young woman dressed as Dorothy asks us brightly. “Made fresh this morning.”

“I’d love some.”

I translate Stone’s grunts for the woman. A few moments later she hands us our drinks. “There’s a presentation on making corn dolls in five minutes if you’d like to join.”

“Ah, maybe next time,” I say, taking a sip and then a gulp because it’s so good.

“Are you sure?” Stone asks, giving me a gentle nudge as we head for the circulation counter. “Might be instructive.”

I snort. “How so?”

“Didn’t want to bring this up earlier, but when I was burying that corn doll, I swear it growled at me. I wonder if they might address the proper handling and disposal. Curse removal,” he adds, whispering.

I laugh but when I see his face, I’m not sure he’s joking. The sweet apple cider turns sour in my stomach. Sure, they’recreepy, but cursed? Possessed? They were made by a little girl in elementary school, not the Blair Witch.

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