Page 39 of Final Girls

Betz the wise owl knew. Of course.

“It’s an insane asylum,” she said.

“Jesus,” Amy replied. “Are you purposely trying to freak us out?”

“I’m just telling you. It’s a hospital for crazy people.”

Quincy stared at the asylum. A low-lying breeze in the valley rustled the trees around it, giving the place a shifting, restless air. Almost as if the building itself were alive. There was a definite sadness to the asylum. Quincy felt it emanating from the valley all the way up to theirlookout atop the rock. She imagined a storm cloud permanently hovering over the place, unseen but keenly felt.

She was about to take a picture of it but stopped herself. Something about keeping its image in her camera disturbed her.

Standing next to Quincy, Craig studied the sky. The sun had slipped below the tree line and become a fiery glow that warmed the woods. Trees sliced the brightness, their long shadows gridlike across the forest floor.

“We need to head back,” he said. “We don’t want to be out here when it gets dark.”

“Because, you know, Indian ghosts,” Janelle added.

Quincy joined in. “And crazy people.”

Their departure was delayed by Rodney, who insisted on finishing his defacement of the rock. He added Amy’s name beneath his own, connecting them with a plus sign and surrounding it all with a hastily scratched heart. Then they were off, heading back the way they had come. It took them no time at all to reach the flat expanse that led to the cabin, the incline having made their journey feel longer than it actually was. All told, the distance between the flat rock and Pine Cottage was less than half of a mile.

Still, the sun had fully set by the time they emerged from the woods, giving the cabin a pinkish, autumnal glow. Shadows crept from the tree line and brushed its fieldstone foundation. Craig, still in front, stopped suddenly. When Quincy bumped into him, he shoved her backward.

“What the—”

“Shush,” he hissed, squinting at the half shadows gathering on the back deck.

At last, Quincy saw what he had. The others did too. Someone was on the deck. A stranger with hands cupped to the window in the back door, peering inside.

“Hey!” Craig called, stepping forward with his walking stick wielded like a weapon.

The stranger at the door—a man, Quincy now saw—spun around, startled.

He looked to be about their age. Maybe a couple of years older. It was hard to tell because of his glasses, which reflected the dying light,obscuring his eyes. He was thin, almost gangly, with his long arms pressed stiffly against the sides of his beige cable-knit sweater. A dime-size hole sat at the shoulder, the white T-shirt beneath it peeking through. His pants were green corduroy, scuffed at the knees and so loose around the waist that he had to crook an index finger through a belt loop to keep them from sagging.

“I’m sorry if I frightened you.” Hesitation streaked each word, as if he didn’t quite know how to talk. He spoke English the way a foreigner did, halting and formal. Quincy listened for a trace of an accent, not finding one. “I was looking to see if someone was here.”

“That would be us,” Craig said, taking another step forward, his bravery impressing Quincy, which just might have been his plan.

“Hello,” the stranger said, waving with the hand not hooked to his waist.

“Are you lost?” Janelle said, more curious than afraid.

“Sort of. My car broke down a few miles away. I’ve been walking all afternoon. Then I finally saw the driveway to this place and hoped someone here would be able to help me.”

Janelle broke away from the rest of them, emerging from the woods and crossing to the deck in three assured strides. The stranger flinched. For a moment, Quincy thought he was going to bolt, springing like a startled deer into the woods. But he stayed, keeping completely still as Janelle studied his shock of dark hair, his slightly crooked nose, the faintly sexy curve of his lips.

“All afternoon, huh?” she said.

“Most of it.”

“You must be tired.”

“A little.”

“You should come in and party with us.” Janelle shook his free hand as the index finger of his other one twisted around his belt loop. “I’m Janelle. These are my friends. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday.”

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