A genderqueer hillbilly and a haunted woman must break a generational curse that has entwined their lives in the abandoned coal-stripped mountains of the Pennsylvania Wilds.
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Desperate to flee a dark past, Finley drives off a cliff and prays to...
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01. || in the woods somewhere.
As Finley let go of the steering wheel, she prayed to the hemlocks below to catch her fall like they'd done many years before. See, she knew damn well praying to the Christian God wouldn't do her no good. These mountains were far older than Him and He certainly had no authority once you crossed the river border. No, she needed something far mightier than some negligent Christian God, but such a request always came at a price.
With a screech, the rear tires tried to grip the last bit of gravel on the curve, but it was too late. For a moment, the white Mercedes seemed to hang suspended in the air, weightless, like the underbelly of a roadside hawk catching the updraft. A perfect panoramic view of the dam stretched across the windshield identical to the photo that'd started it all. A laugh nearly escaped Finley's lips, choked back instead by her heart lodged in her throat. Keeping her eyes on the incoming trees, she reminded herself this was the plan.
Live or die, this was the plan.
She gripped the door handle and braced for impact. But as the branches scraped and snapped against the windshield, the Demon sitting beside her tore at her hair, yanking her over the center console and away from the door.
Yanking her to black.
"Finley."
"Fin..."
With a gasp, she jolted awake, inhaling a lung full of fresh pine and wet earth. Searing pain shot through her shoulder as she pushed up. Her elbows threatened to buckle, but she ignored every throbbing nerve to gain her bearings. Beneath her, rotted porch floor beams creaked as she shifted weight off her arm. Rough hewn siding that had once been a golden amber now camouflaged the cabin before her in deep shades of brown, darkened from age. Nothing but rows of the old familiar hemlocks stretched out beyond.
Somehow, she'd made it.
But after the fall from Devil's Elbow up til this moment, her mind was blank. Other than a couple inches of mud up the pointed heel of her boots, she was dry. She hadn't hit the dam. And from the bridge to here at the cabin, even the easiest trail spanned fifteen miles. There was at least four hours missing from her memory, but for all she knew it could have been days since the wreck.
Pink hues from the setting sun reflected in the brook that ran alongside the porch. It trickled steady with a quiet purl as it always had every October. Pain began to burrow its way back into her bones, invited by the cold mountain air. As Finley stood up to check the door, a metal jingle sounded against the floorboards. Reaching down, she picked up a pair of tarnished brass skeleton keys on a ring; their edges worn smooth with use. She rolled the ring between her finger and thumb, glancing around the woods once more before walking to the door.
The screen opened with barely a creak, but the heavy wooden door had grown far more stubborn over the years. Pulling the knob tightly towards herself, she lifted up as she twisted the larger key into the lock. Satisfied with her effort, the lock gave way and Gram's little bells from the old country chimed above her head as the door pushed open. She tugged the key loose from the lock and pocketed the ring inside her boot.
