Page 20 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“Seriously, dude, it’ll just take me a second.” Troy began his own battle against the growth.
“If thisisthe Coons homestead,” Eddie grunted, “I want first dibs at the look.”
“Don’t count me out yet, Markham,” Troy bantered back.
Wren was going to kill them both very, very soon, and Ava Coons could writhe in jealousy.
There was anoomfand then Eddie disappeared from sight, not waiting for Troy. Wren gave up. She wasn’t about to be left behind. Copying Eddie, she crawled in after. Another few feet gave her access to squeeze her torso onto the cool stone of the foundation. She curled her fingertips around the edge and peered over.
By now, Troy had joined Eddie, and the men were toeing at the earth. Eddie bent and lifted an old glass bottle, the green a similarhue to the moss that spread across the back wall of the basement foundation.
“Old medicine bottle?”
“Could be.” Troy reached for it, and Eddie relinquished it.
Wren twisted her body over the foundation wall and lowered herself, dropping the extra few feet. Her foot twisted upon landing, and a small pang shot through her ankle.
“You okay?” Eddie asked.
“I’m fine.” Wren offered a smile. The basement floor was covered in layers of dirt and sticks. Fieldstone that had dropped from the foundation littered the area, and a maple sapling grew in the far west corner. “Is that an old woodstove?” She pointed at the base of the sapling, where a rusted metal box lay on its side. A door hung open on the front, its bottom hinge busted off.
“Looks like it.” Troy trudged over to it and squatted down. He lifted the door, and the remaining hinge grated and squeaked its resistance. “An old one, probably the main source of heat for the winter.”
“Had to be. There wasn’t electricity or propane out here.” Eddie picked up another bottle, this one with the neck broken off. He turned it toward Wren. “It still has part of its label.”
“I’m surprised no one has ever mentioned this place.” Wren nudged debris with the toe of her shoe.
“It’s been mentioned,” Eddie countered. He was pulling free a rusted piece of wire from beneath a rotted log. “Locals know about it. It’s just not easy to get to, so is pretty much left alone.”
“I guess I never paid attention,” Wren admitted.
“So the Coonses really aren’t just a ghost story?” Troy countered.
Eddie nodded, his cap still on backward. “The Coons family lived near Lost Lake back in the 1920s.”
“Hey.” Troy’s boot thudded on the ground as he stomped on it. “Hear that?”
Both Eddie and Wren perked up to listen. Troy kicked at the ground again, his blue eyes alight with interest. “It’s hollow.” He kneeled and scraped at the dirt. “There’s a hatch.”
“Probably the cellar.” Eddie bent next to Troy and helped clear away the earth. The evening light was draining away, so Wren dug into the backpack Troy had discarded to retrieve a headlamp.
“Here.” Troy stretched out his hand for it.
“Ohhhhh no.” Wren smiled faintly. “Mine. You two have had your fun of being first in. If it’s a cellar, I’m going first this time.” Her senses fired like the engine on a race car. She flicked the light on and leaned over the men, eyeing the outline of a square hatch that looked as if, once open, it would swallow her whole.
“Let me go. No guessing what’s down there.” Eddie gave her a sideways look. Of course he would challenge her.
“Like Ava Coons’s stockpile of murdered bodies? No way. I got to the headlamp first.” Her retort sounded far from brave as she’d hoped, and Eddie knew it. While Troy was preoccupied with wedging a stick into the crack to pry open the hatch, Wren couldn’t escape Eddie’s furrowed-brow study of her.
“What?” The headlamp shone in his eyes.
Eddie held up a palm to block it. “You’re spooked.”
Wren challenged him back with a look that was meant to be confident, but even she knew it wavered. “I can’t shake the idea of little Jasmine being out here all alone.”
“Got it,” Troy announced as the cellar trapdoor gave way.
“Fabulous,” Wren muttered.
