Page 4 of The Sea Witch's Son

“These people arecriminals, Erik. Thieves, rapists, murderers…” I trail off, swallowing the lump in my throat, “Wolf Hollow doesn’t even have a crime statistic because the law doesn’t apply here.”

He sighs again, “There may not be conventional laws in this town, but there is an order to the way things are run here. Besides, your mother grew up in Wolf Hollow, so it can’t be all that bad.”

“My motherescapedWolf Hollow.” I correct him, watching the forest around us grow dense with gnarled branches and decaying foliage. The further we get from the main highway, the thicker the trees grow.

The nerves take flight as I watch the familiar skyline fade from my side mirror. The road becomes bumpier, less maintained as we continue along, the occasional call of a crow adding to the tension filling the car.

“Your mother,” Erik sucks in a breath, “Was too bright for this town. But that doesn’t mean we can’t find a fresh start.”

I hear the words he doesn’t say. My mother may have been too soft, too kind for this town, but I’m not.

To sacrifice is to survive.

It’s the mentality that has kept me alive up to this point. The same mentality that got us into this situation in the first place.

The irony of it all is my sacrifices weren’t enough to keep my mother from being taken away. All that pain and suffering had simply prolonged the inevitable death of Arielle St. James, a youthful beauty who was stolen from her loving daughter and devoted second husband by the illness as old as time.

Cancer.

Erik, the man who cared for me more than any biological father ever could, had arranged for a beautiful ceremony one week after I said goodbye to her forever. I only got seven days to mourn before we received news that we could no longer afford to live in our family home.

Another seven days and investigators began digging into the case that led us on this dark and gloomy road.

“Are you sure the house is paid off?”

I stare out my window, watching the wilderness fly past. Even the trees have started to curl inwards, as if they too can’t stand the weight of what lies ahead.

“The executor sent over the documents yesterday. The house is completely paid off and all of its possessions were left to you.” Erik tries for a grin, “Arielle was quite the collector. You might find a few treasures in those rooms. Maybe even a fortune.”

I know he’s trying to make the best of the worst situation, so I give him a tight smile. Even before Erik married my mother, he always looked out for me. He’s one of those rare breeds who remain diligent and loyal even when everything goes to shit.

Another sigh comes from the driver’s side, and I catch a glimpse of the heartache flashing across Erik’s face. Two weeks isn’t long enough to accept the death of a loved one, but even if two or six months had passed, I don’t think the hole in our hearts would be any smaller.

Grief fucking sucks. Period.

The canopy of trees finally gives way to a clearing as we round the final curve. My stomach drops as the road suddenly dipsdown, the car picking up speed as we follow the winding path leading us towards the valley below.

Dusk has fallen by the time we reach the faded sign marking the entrance of Wolf Hollow.

Turn back now. Trespassers will be executed.

“I feel welcomed already.”

I watch as more signs pop up, each one more threatening than the last, “Oh, look. This one has an invitation for decapitation.”

“The commentary is not helping, you know.” Erik checks his phone for the directions and makes a quick left turn, “Stick to the plan and we’ll be fine. Who knows, by the time I secure enough funds to buy a place elsewhere, you might find you want to stay.”

“Unlikely.” I peer through the night sky, barely making out the silhouettes around us, “They really don’t believe in streetlights here.”

“I think you will find the people in Wolf Hollow prefer to linger in the shadows.” Erik glances at his phone again and slows to a stop, “Looks like we made it.”

I unbuckle my seatbelt and carefully climb out of the car. Six hours of driving has pins and needles attacking my lower body as I study the house I will soon call my home.

It’s bigger than I expected, the tall arches rising above us in old rickety frames that are in desperate need of a new coat of paint. The front porch is somewhat intact, although the swing stationed by the entrance was not so lucky. Itswooden beams have withered from years of neglect and the lawn is overrun with prickly weeds sprouting from every crack and crevice.

The wide set of the house seems to have caved inward after all these years, the drawn curtains and splintered window frames giving the entire house a desolate and hostile feel.

“Grab your stuff and we’ll take a peek inside.” Erik pops the trunk, reaching in to grab the first of many boxes filling the back of the car, “Hopefully the key still works.”

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