Chapter 6
The ghost’s words echoed inside Tessa’s mind like a physical blow, leaving her breathless in the middle of the freezing forest.
He pushed me.
"Abigail?" Tessa breathed out, her voice barely a rattle against the sound of the wind whipping through the pine needles.
spectral child did not answer with words; instead, she slowly turned her body and began walking toward the dark forest trail leading uphill.
Her red shoes left no footprints in the thick mud, moving smoothly as if floating an inch above the soaked earth.
Behind them in the valley, the distant wail of police sirens began to rise, their high-pitched howls cutting through the storm.
Flashlight beams danced across the tree line several hundred yards down the mountain—the search party was advancing quickly.
Tessa knew she had no choice; staying in the lower woods meant capture by Sheriff Miller and her mother-in-law’s men.
Clutching Maisie tighter, Tessa began following the faint, glowing outline of the little girl up the steep mountain incline.
The climb was brutal; slick mud pulled at her shoes, and sharp blackberry brambles tore through her jeans, leaving bloody scratches on her legs.
Yet, every time she felt her strength fading, the small figure ahead would pause, waiting patiently under the downpour.
After forty minutes of agonizing ascent, the dense woods abruptly cleared, opening into a broad, overgrown plateau.
Tessa recognized the location immediately—it was the abandoned upper orchard of the Hawthorne estate.
Dozens of gnarled, dead apple trees stood in rigid rows, their bare branches reaching toward the black sky like skeletal hands.
In the center of the orchard stood an ancient stone structure—the family's historical icehouse, built into the side of the granite cliff.
The red-shoed ghost stood directly in front of the heavy iron door of the icehouse, pointing at a rusted padlock hanging from the latch.
"Mommy, look," Maisie whispered, pointing a trembling hand toward the stone building. "That's where the secret book is."
Tessa approached the icehouse cautiously, her heart pounding with a mix of exhaustion and terrifying curiosity.
She reached out and touched the padlock; to her surprise, the iron was ice-cold, covered in a thick layer of blue frost despite the summer temperature.
Suddenly, footsteps crunched heavily on the gravel path behind the orchard trees.
"Tessa!" Evan’s voice called out, closer now, panting heavily from the climb. "I know you're up here! Please, just talk to me!"
Tessa backed away from the icehouse, hiding behind the trunk of a massive, dead apple tree.
Evan stepped into the clearing, holding a heavy tactical flashlight in his hand, his clothes soaked through and covered in mud.
He wasn't carrying a weapon, but behind him, walking with horrifying calmness, was his mother, Lenora, holding a heavy silver lantern.
"She brought the child to the threshold, Evan," Lenora said, her voice dry and cold despite the storm. "Just as it was written in your grandfather's journal."
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"Mom, this has gone too far," Evan pleaded, his flashlight beam shaking uncontrollably as he scanned the orchard. "She has a phone, she might have called state police!"
"There is no service on this mountain, you foolish boy!" Lenora snapped violently. "Now find your wife before the sun rises!"
