Sadie stared at her. “Susan.”

  “I mean it.” Her voice cracked as tears welled up in her eyes. “He knew things, Sadie. About us. About me. He knew how old we were. What I used to do. That swing…” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “I didn’t even remember it until we got here. But now it’s there. Clear as day.” She wiped her cheek roughly with the back of her hand.

  Sadie softened, crossing the room and putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “He could’ve heard all that from someone. From Grandma. People talk.”

  Susan looked at her, eyes glassy. “Yeah, but not about disappearing into the woods and our grandma making a trade to bring me back.”

  Sadie’s hand dropped to her side. Neither of them spoke for a moment. The cabin felt colder now. Quieter. Susan’s voice came again, barely above a whisper. “He said the memory stayed with me. Buried and quiet until now.”

  Sadie swallowed hard. “And you believe him?”

  Susan looked toward the window, out toward the tree line where the shadows still clung low and stubborn. “I think I’ve always known,” she said. “I just didn’t want to remember.”

  Sadie exhaled slowly, trying to will her heartbeat back to normal. “Okay,” she said softly, brushing a hand through her hair. “I’m gonna make you some tea.” Susan didn’t answer. She looked dazed, hollowed out, like the weight of what Colburn had said was finally starting to settle. Sadie gently guided her toward the couch. “Sit. Just… sit down for a minute.”

  Susan obeyed, sinking into the cushions without protest. Sadie grabbed the old crocheted afghan draped over the back—muted greens and rust-reds, a little frayed at the edges—and tucked it around her shoulders.

  “There,” Sadie said, giving her a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Grandma’s healing blanket. Practically magical.”

  Susan gave a weak laugh. “That would explain a lot.”

  Sadie stepped into the kitchen, the sound of the kettle being filled and set on the stove echoing through the quiet cabin. Susan leaned back, the afghan soft against her skin, the familiar scent of pine and smoke lingering faintly in the air. And then—it started. Not all at once. Just flickers. A flash. The swing. Old rope twisting above her, groaning as it held her weight. The creak of wood. Sunlight slanting through green leaves. Her small hands gripping frayed rope. Her feet were bare.

  Another flash. Crunch. The sound of dried leaves underfoot. Her feet stepping forward. Walking where the grass turned to forest floor. Following something, or someone. The branches swayed above her, too slowly. Not with wind, but as if they were calling.

  Another flash. Water rushing nearby. A stream. Her reflection in it, rippling. Blurred. Then a voice. Not Grandma’s. But wearing her voice like a mask. “Come along now, sweet pea. You're almost home.”

  Susan blinked hard, her breath catching. She gripped the afghan tighter, nails digging into the yarn. Sadie returned with two mugs, steam curling into the air. “Hey—” she paused when she saw Susan’s face. “You okay?”

  Susan shook her head, blinking fast. “I… I saw it.”

  Sadie sat beside her, careful not to spill the tea. “Saw what?”

  “The swing. The trees. The leaves under my feet. I remember the sound. The feel of it.” Her voice dropped. “Someone was leading me.”

  Sadie’s breath hitched. “Do you remember who?”

  Susan turned her head slowly. “No,” she said. “Because every time I try… her face changes.”

  Sadie leaned forward, setting the mugs on the coffee table. Her eyes searched Susan’s face. “What do you mean her face changes?”

  Susan shook her head, still clutching the blanket like a lifeline. “I can’t explain it. Every time I try to remember…it’s like something flickers. One second, it’s Grandma’s face. Then it’s not. Like a mask slipping.”

  Sadie’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You think it wasn’t her?”

  Susan looked at her, eyes dark with something that almost looked like fear. “I don’t know. But I need to.”

  Sadie hesitated. “Okay… how?”

  Susan sat up straighter, resolve tightening her shoulders. “We need to go see her.”

  Sadie blinked. “Grandma?”

  “She’s the only one who might know the truth,” Susan said. “And if hope’s on our side… maybe she’s having one of her good days.”

  Sadie hesitated. “She’s barely spoken in months, Susan.”

  “I know,” she said. “But if there’s even a chance she remembers, if there’s anything left of her that can explain what happened, don’t we have to try?”

  Sadie exhaled, running a hand down her face. “She’s at Smoky Hills Rest Home, right? One town over.”

  Susan nodded. “Yeah. The memory care center on the edge of town. Room 3B.”

  Sadie looked at her sister, really looked. And then she nodded. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s go see Grandma.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The road out of Devil’s Ridge was narrow and winding, hugging the curves of the mountains like it was afraid to let go. Susan drove this time, hands tight on the wheel, jaw set. Sadie sat in the passenger seat, eyes flicking between the scenery and her sister, the tension between them heavy but unspoken. The air outside was brighter now, crisp and sunlit, but it didn’t feel warm. Not after what they'd just experienced. Neither of them had said much since locking the cabin behind them.

  Sadie finally broke the silence. “You really think she’ll remember something?”

  “I don’t know,” Susan said, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “But I think… some part of her never forgot. Maybe she just buried it like the rest of us.”

  Sadie leaned her head against the window. Trees blurred past, a flicker of gold and green. “She used to be so sharp,” she said softly. “Like, scarily intuitive. She knew when we lied. Knew when something bad was gonna happen. She just knew.”

  Susan gave a hollow laugh. “Yeah. She knew too much.”

  They fell quiet again. Sadie hesitated, then said, “I still don’t get why we stopped seeing her. I mean, it wasn’t just the distance.”

  Susan sighed, knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “Dad and Grandma had a falling out. Years ago. You were too young to remember.”

  Sadie looked over. “What about?”

  “No idea. He never talked about it. Just packed us up and moved away like he was running from something. Said she was ‘mixed up in things she had no business being in.’ Called her a witch once. Joking, but not really.”

  Sadie blinked. “Seriously?”

  Susan nodded. “After that, it was like she didn’t exist anymore. He wouldn’t answer her calls. Wouldn’t visit. Wouldn’t let us either.”

  Sadie turned back toward the window, jaw clenched. “That’s messed up.”

  “Yeah,” Susan murmured. “Now I’m starting to think he was scared.”

  They passed an old gas station, half-collapsed, its sign rusted and hanging by a bolt. The further they got from the ridge, the more it felt like the world returned to normal. But it was a lie. Sadie could feel it in her chest, like something was riding in the back seat with them. Watching.

  It took about forty-five minutes to reach the outskirts of the next town. Smoky Hills Rest Home sat at the end of a quiet, winding lane shaded by tall oaks. The sign out front was freshly painted, cheerful even, with a carved bluebird and flowers around the name. A nurse at the front desk greeted them with a polite smile, then led them down the hall. The floors were freshly waxed, the air faintly scented with lavender and antiseptic. Soft piano music played over speakers overhead, cheerful and a little too slow. They stopped at a pale green door marked Room 3B.

  “She’s had a calm morning,” the nurse said gently. “More alert than usual. You’re lucky.” Susan nodded, then placed her hand on the doorknob. “She will be happy to see you.”

  Sadie reached out and touched her arm. “Ready?”

  Susan’s voice was barely above a whisper. “No. But we’re here.”

  She turned the knob and pushed the door open.

  Inside, the room was small but clean, and the curtains were open, letting in the soft afternoon light. A worn quilt covered the bed, and beside it, in an old recliner, sat Lillie, their grandmother. Her long white hair had been pulled back into a loose bun. Her frame had shrunk, thinned out by time, but her posture was still upright. Her eyes, cloudy, yes, but sharper than either sister expected. She was staring out the window. And then, slowly, she turned her head toward them.

  For a moment, no recognition. Just a slow blink. Then—A flicker. The tiniest spark of something that looked like knowing. Lillie said, in a hoarse but steady voice: “You came back.” The sisters looked at each other, unsure of what to say.

  Lillie’s eyes were still on them. Clouded, but focused. Aware. Susan stepped forward slowly, her voice quiet and steady, like she was approaching a skittish animal. “Hi, Grandma.”

  The old woman didn’t smile. But something in her face shifted. Softened. “I knew you’d come,” she said, her voice raspy from disuse. “Didn’t know when… but I knew.”

  Sadie stepped up beside her sister, heart thudding. “You… you remember us?”

  Lillie’s eyes moved between them, the faintest hint of a nod. “You’re older now. Different. But the mountain still knows your names.” The sisters exchanged a quick glance.

  Susan knelt beside the recliner, careful, as if afraid the moment would vanish if she moved too fast. “Grandma, we need to ask you something. About the ridge. About what happened back then.”

  Lillie’s gaze settled on her, sharp and clear as a knife. “You remember, don’t you?” she whispered.

  Susan hesitated. Then nodded. “Pieces.”

  Lillie leaned forward slightly. “It started calling you again, didn’t it?”

  Sadie spoke now, voice barely above a whisper. “You knew this would happen.”

  Lillie looked at her, eyes soft but tired. “It never forgot. Just waited. It always waits.”

  Susan’s voice caught in her throat. “What was it? What took me?”

  Lillie didn’t answer right away. Her eyes drifted toward the window, to the line of trees far off in the distance. “There are things in that mountain older than scripture,” she said finally. “Things that wear familiar faces. It took something from you, child… something it wasn’t supposed to have. Now that I’m getting older, it’s harder for me to protect you. It knows that and now it’s reaching for the rest.”

  Sadie felt the air leave her lungs. “What does that mean?”

  Lillie’s hand trembled as she reached out, curling her thin fingers around Susan’s. “You’re not whole,” she said. “Not since that day.”

  Susan’s eyes brimmed with tears. “You brought me back.”

  “I tried,” Lillie said. “But I wasn’t strong enough to bring all of you.”

  Lillie’s grip tightened suddenly on Susan’s hand, her bony fingers like ice. Her eyes darted to the window, then the door, like she heard something the rest of them couldn’t. “Shh,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Not so loud. It listens.”

  Susan froze. “What does?”

  Lillie shook her head, lips trembling. “You shouldn’t have come back. Not both of you. It’s awake now.”

  Sadie’s heart pounded in her chest. “Grandma…what’s awake?”

  But Lillie was already pulling back. Her shoulders hunched in, her breath grew shallow, and her eyes, once sharp and focused, began to cloud over again like a storm rolling in.

  “No, no, no—” Susan leaned in closer. “Grandma, stay with me, please—”

  Lillie’s hand fell limp. Her gaze wandered, no longer tracking their faces. She blinked slowly, then turned her head away and stared at nothing. Like a curtain had been drawn from the inside.

  The room felt colder. Sadie stood there frozen, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. A knock at the open door made them both jump.

  A nurse peeked in, her voice chipper but gentle. “Sorry, girls. Time for her nap.”

  Susan wiped at her eyes and nodded numbly. “Yeah… of course.”

  The nurse came in and began adjusting Lillie’s blanket, already talking to her in a soft, sweet voice. Lillie didn’t respond. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her face gone slack, empty.

  Sadie touched her sister’s arm. “Come on.”

  They stepped out into the hall like people leaving a funeral—quiet, shaken, and unsure what to do with themselves. The nurse shut the door behind them with a soft click. They stood there for a long moment, staring at the pale green paint of the hallway walls. Neither spoke. How do you talk about something like that?

  The doors of Smoky Hills Rest Home shut behind them, sealing in the silence like a tomb. Susan and Sadie walked side by side across the small parking lot, their shoes throwing gravel. Neither said a word. The sunlight was bright now, almost offensively normal, but it didn’t touch the chill crawling beneath their skin. They shared a glance as they approached the car. Both of them were feeling nervous and unsettled. Sadie climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door gently, as if afraid loud noises might trigger something they couldn’t undo. Susan sat behind the wheel, both hands gripping it without starting the engine.

  Sadie finally broke the silence. “She knew. Like… actually knew.”

  Susan nodded, eyes still fixed on the windshield. “Yeah.”

  “She knew about the ridge. She knew you weren’t all there when you came back.” Her voice cracked a little. “She knew you were still missing something.”

  Susan swallowed hard.

  A long silence settled between them, then Sadie exhaled sharply. “This is insane. This whole thing. It sounds like something out of one of those Southern true crime podcasts I binge when I can’t sleep.”

  Susan gave a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well. Welcome to Season One: The Mountain Wants Its Due.”

  Sadie turned toward her fully now. “So, what do we do? Just go back to the cabin and wait to be possessed? Haunted? Eaten?”

  Susan finally looked at her, and there was something in her eyes. Exhausted, yes, but also scared in a way Sadie hadn’t seen before. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “But I think we need to remember.”

  “Remember what?”

  “Everything.”

  She started the car. As they pulled back onto the road, the trees closed in once more, rising tall around them like a calling. The further they drove, the more the sunlight dimmed, like the mountain was waiting. Watching. And maybe it was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The cabin looked unchanged as they pulled back into the clearing—quiet, sun-dappled, unmoved by the storm they’d just weathered. Sadie didn’t wait for Susan to say anything. She went straight to the kitchen and pulled the pitcher from the fridge, her hands needing something to do. She poured two glasses of sweet tea, the kind steeped long and sugared heavy, just how Grandma used to make it. The ice clinked gently against the glass as she set one down in front of her sister.

  “Here,” she said. “In case the ghosts prefer us hydrated.”

  Susan didn’t smile. She was still standing near the front door, scanning the cabin like it might’ve rearranged itself while they were gone. Then her eyes landed on something. A photo.

  It was lying on the coffee table. Neither of them had left it there.

  Susan picked it up slowly, her fingers trembling just slightly. “Sadie…”

  Sadie looked over and saw the color drain from her sister’s face. She crossed the room and peered over her shoulder. It was an old photograph, faded and slightly torn at the edges. In it, the two of them stood barefoot in a patch of wildflowers, Susan, no older than six; Sadie, maybe two. Both wore sunhats too big for their heads and smiles wide as summer. Between them stood Grandma Lillie, younger, stronger, eyes fierce and warm. But it wasn’t the three of them that made Sadie’s stomach twist. It was what stood behind them. Barely visible. A tall, shadowy figure among the trees, just enough shape to know it was there. Too large to be their father. Too still to be a person caught mid-step. The way it stood, watching.

  Sadie whispered, “That’s not—”

  “We were here,” Susan said, her voice flat, distant. “This cabin. This clearing. This is where she brought us.”

  Sadie stared at the photo. “But we don’t remember.”

  Susan looked up at her, eyes dark. “Maybe that’s the point.”

  Sadie set her glass down a little too hard. “Okay. What the hell is this? Is this some kind of warning? A clue? A threat?”

  “I don’t know,” Susan murmured. “But someone—or something—left it for us to find.”

  Outside, a branch cracked. Not loudly. Just enough to remind them that the mountain hadn’t forgotten them either.

  Sadie crossed to the door and flipped the deadbolt again. “Sweet tea’s getting less sweet by the minute.”

  Susan nodded and dropped the photo back on the coffee table like it had teeth. Neither of them said a word. Sadie took two steps back, arms crossed, then began to pace, slow and tight, like a storm building in a bottle.

  “That’s us,” she muttered. “That’s Grandma. That’s this damn clearing. And that thing—that thing—just standing there like it belonged.” Her boots tapped a restless rhythm across the floorboards. “I don’t like this. I really don’t like this. Someone left that here. Someone came inside while we were gone.”

  “Maybe,” Susan murmured.

  Sadie paused mid-step. “Maybe?”

  Susan didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed now, her head tilted slightly, as if listening to something no one else could hear. The silence stretched thin.

  Sadie stared at her. “Susan.”

  Still nothing.

  Then Susan spoke, her voice low and sure. “We need to go to the church.”

  Sadie blinked. “What?”

  “The church in the valley. Where Colburn said he’d be.”

 

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