Chapter 1

The engine whines and chokes, struggling against the steepening inclines of the winding Ozark roads. Red and gold leaves scatter across the asphalt as if placed there by a confetti cannon, swirling up behind the car as it slowly climbs through the twisting hollows. 

In the rearview, Bethany slumps against the door, an index finger twirling around one single lock of chestnut curls. She stares, unamusedly, at the phone in her hand while Charlie pumps his fist from the third row–a growing smile suggesting he’s just completed a level on the video game in his hand. In the seat beside Bethany, Harlow sleeps soundly. Her long lashes rest softly against her plump cheeks, fluttering ever-so-slightly with her slumber. 

The moving truck behind me is too far back to see now with all of the curves between us. It’s been fifteen years since we’ve been back to the Ozarks. The first time we’ve come with the kids, despite our annual declarations that we should try to bring them back to our old stomping grounds. 

When Bryce told me about the house in the Ozark foothills, I was less than thrilled. But his childlike excitement sold me on the idea before we’d ever approached the kids about it. Harlow was an easy sell. At only four years old, she doesn’t care where we live as long as the whole family is there. 

Charlie was a little harder to convince but with some strategic video game bribes and the promise that we’d take him the four or so hours to Kansas City to watch a Chiefs football game, he was won over too. 

Bethany was another story. Fifteen is a hard age to be the new kid and several hundred miles away from your friends. I assured her everything would be okay, but she is still communicating almost exclusively in a carefully constructed series of grunts and dirty looks. 

“Mom, watch out!” It’s Bethany’s shrill screech that brings my attention back to the road, slamming on the brakes just in time to skid to a stop in front of a large buck boldly standing his ground in the center of the road. His eyes locked on mine as if challenging me. 

Three gentle taps on the horn sends him skittering off into the densely treed forest. I check for more deer before edging the car forward again. 

“Sorry,” I say, but Bethany has already turned her attention back to her phone. The commotion did nothing to draw the attention of the other two and so my silent drive resumes. 

“There’s no signal out here,” Bethany whines a few minutes later, tossing her phone into her bag at her feet. “What am I supposed to do for the rest of the drive?” 

“We could talk,” I offer, lightly. 

“Pass.” She turns her attention out the window. The sky is now bursting with the brilliant oranges and pinks of a Midwest autumn sunset. 

“We’re almost there. Another five minutes at most,” I assure her. She grunts in response and continues staring out the window. 

The words have barely settled in the air between us when a long, narrow driveway pops up on the passenger side. I crawl to a stop, squinting out the window to see the numbers on the mailbox. 

21110

“This is it,” I announce, my own voice sounding almost giddy as I turn up the driveway. Bethany still doesn’t speak, but she sits up straighter in her seat, her eyes widening as the old brick victorian comes into view.

“Whoa,” Charlie’s voice is distant from the third row but there is awe in it. Enough to make him click off the screen of his handheld video game and press his face to the glass as we approach the house. 

It’s quietly nestled in the hollows, surrounded by trees that cast long shadows–like fingers stretching out across the overgrown lawn. The gravel drive turns to weathered bricks that swoop around to form a large circle driveway in front of the house. I pull through far enough for Bryce to park the moving truck in front of the door. 

It’s too late to unload it tonight, but it’ll be ready tomorrow when the group of college kids he hired to drive down from Springfield gets here. 

“Can we go inside?” Charlie’s buckle is off and he’s shoving himself between the bucket seats in the middle row, vibrating with anticipation. 

“Not yet,” I chuckle. “Let’s wait for Dad. He has the keys.” 

“Why are you in such a hurry?” Bethany sneers. “It’s probably haunted, anyway.” 

“Our new house is haunted?” Harlow’s voice trembles. She rubs the sleep from her eyes with the backs of her tiny fisted hands. 

“Of course not,” I say, tossing Bethany a look in the rear view. She rolls her eyes but they soften as she turns to Harlow. 

“Of course it isn’t haunted,” she says gently. “I was just trying to scare Charlie.” She winks at Harlow, who gladly accepts this explanation as some kind of inside joke between sisters and squeezes her stuffed cow tightly against herself. 

A few minutes later, a cloud of white dust announces the arrival of Bryce and the moving truck. 

“Dad’s here!” Charlie yells. Before I can stop him, he throws Harlow’s door open and hops out of the car. 

I shut off the engine and walk around, pulling Harlow from her seat and hoisting her onto my hip. 

The house is enormous. Far more space than we could ever dream of needing. Despite Bethany’s snarky comments and the age of the home, I feel strangely at ease standing beneath its towering facade. The energy buzzing off the property feels welcoming and I find myself smiling up at it. 

Bryce’s hand comes to rests softly against the small of my back as he plants a kiss against my temple. 

“How was the drive?” he asks, as if we didn’t just see each other a half-hour ago when we left Springfield after stopping for an early dinner. 

“Peaceful,” I say truthfully. 

“I wasn’t sure the truck was going to make it up some of those roads,” he laughs. “You guys ready to see the new house?” 

We follow Bryce up the steps of the large wrap-around porch. The concrete, despite being untouched for decades, is in remarkably good condition with minimal cracks. 

The key slides into the lock as effortlessly as if it were brand new and the hinges barely squeak as he pushes the door in, revealing the most breathtaking foyer I’ve ever seen. Deep cherry wood panels the walls from floor to ceiling, carrying onto the stairs, where two ornate gargoyles stand guard on the tops of the railing posts. 

“Holy crap,” Charlie says, bemused. “Are we rich?” 

“Charlie, language,” I scold. Bryce tries to stifle a laugh, glancing away so that Charlie doesn’t notice. 

“No bud,” he finally says, ruffling Charlie’s dirty blonde hair. “We inherited this place. All we have to pay is taxes.” 

“What’s taxes?” Harlow wanders out loud. 

“Something the government makes you pay to own stuff,” Bryce says.

“That’s boring,” she pouts. 

“Very,” he agrees. 

“Where’s my room?” Bethany asks, hiking her bag higher onto her shoulder and stopping with one foot on the bottom stair. 

“The master is at the far end of the hallway upstairs. You guys can fight it out for who gets the others,” I say. 

Bethany and Charlies lock eyes for only a moment before they both race up the stairs in search of the better bedroom. Doors fly open and closed and feet race down the halls, their thumps barely muffled by the carpeting. 

“Mom!” Bethany calls down moments later, the excitement in her voice tugging my lips into a smile. I climb the stairs, Harlow still on my hip. “Look at this!” 

I follow her voice into a room on the front of the house. The closet door is flung open and the inside is packed full of clothing. 

“Look how vintage this stuff is!” She pulls out a bright orange jumpsuit with bellbottom legs and a high neck and holds it up to herself. “Do you think this will fit me?” She twists up her face and watches her own reflection in the mirror on the inside of the closet door. 

“You should try it on,” I smile. For the first time in weeks, she smiles back at me. I retreat to give her privacy before she can remember that she hates me for making her come here in the first place. 

Across the hall, Charlie has dropped his bag on the floor and is examining a model sports car on the dresser. 

“What do you think Charlie?” I ask from the doorway. 

“This is cool!” He holds up the truck and then runs it across the top of the wooden dresser, leaving a track in the thick layer of dust collected there. I crinkle up my nose. 

“Looks like we need to clean this place up tomorrow.” 

“Looks like they just left everything when they moved out.” I startle at the sound of Bryce’s voice behind me. 

“Did you know it was fully furnished?” I ask. 

“No idea,” he shrugs. 

“I don’t even know where we’re going to put all of our things.” 

“There’s a full basement, I haven’t been down there yet but there should be plenty of storage.” He reaches across me and takes Harlow. “You worry too much,” he says with a smirk. “Enjoy it, the kids are.”

I watch him take Harlow into a room and then back out. He does this three more times before landing on a room he deems acceptable to claim for her. I creep to the doorway of what appears to be an abandoned nursery. 

An old wooden crib with rocking-chair legs sits beneath a large window. The last remnants of the sun slice a thin sliver across the floor. The nursery is warm, even with the air conditioning running, but comfortably so. 

The estate planner who set up the transfer of deed had the utilities restored a week ago, along with sending a company in to clean out any remnants of food left in the kitchen and apparently nothing else. 

“She’ll have to sleep with us until we get her furniture unpacked,” I say. 

“Yay!” Harlow cheers. “Sleepover.” We both laugh as Bryce sits her down and she scurries to a toy chest across the room.

“How bizarre that someone would just move out and leave everything they own behind,” I say out loud, to no one in particular. 

“I’m glad they did, look at these jeans!” I turn around to see Bethany modeling a light-wash pair of bellbottom jeans and a purple crop top. 

“Are those in fashion again?” I ask, which earns me another eye roll, but she doesn’t storm off so I consider it a win. For now, at least. 

“Hey,” Bryce says. “Who wants me to unload the T.V. and get it hooked up? We can all watch a movie before bed.” 

“I don’t know Bryce, it’s been a long day,” I start. 

“Please Mom,” Charlie begs, appearing beside Bethany. I meet her eye and she shrugs. 

“Come on, Mom,” she agrees. “You’re always wanting us to do things together as a family.” She says family in a mocking tone and this time it’s my turn to roll my eyes at her. 

“Fine,” I relent. “Go get it. I’ve got popcorn in the car, think this place has a microwave?” 

“I’ll go check,” Charlie says as he races ahead of us down the stairs. 

“Keep an eye on Harlow,” I call back up to Bethany as I make my way back out to the car for the box of microwave popcorn, a container of disinfectant wipes, and my overnight bag. 

Back inside the house, Charlie waits excitedly in the foyer to announce that there is, in fact, a microwave. Bethany plucks the wipes from under my arm and heads to the kitchen on Charlie’s heels and Bryce hauls one of our smaller televisions through the front door. 

“Wait, where’s Harlow?” I ask. 

“She’s upstairs playing,” Bethany answers. 

“I asked you to keep an eye on her.”

“She’s fine, mom. She’s not a baby anymore.” I can hear the annoyance in Bethany’s voice and I try to shake off the paranoia. She’s right. Harlow is four years old, she’s perfectly capable of playing alone for ten minutes. 

In a strange house. 

That hasn’t been babyproofed since at least the seventies. 

I’m nearly to the stairs when I hear the pitter-patter of her feet down the carpeted hallway and breathe a sigh of relief as her face comes into view at the top of the landing. 

“Look mommy!” she holds up an old doll, beaming with excitement. The doll has disheveled blonde hair and the kind of eyes that close when you lay it back and open when you sit it up. 

A chill runs down my spine at the sight of it. I’ve never liked dolls. 

“What is it?” Charlie asks, popping up beside me to squint up at the doll in his sister’s hand. 

Harlow leans over the railing at the top of the stairs to give him a better look before I can stop her. Before I can tell her to just walk down the stairs, or tell Charlie to just walk up them. 

A loud snap fills the stairwell, followed by the sound of splintering wood as the old railing she leans over gives way. The foyer fills with a sharp, piercing scream as her tiny body lunges forward. 

My scream.