The Whispering Pines (EXIT 13, Book 1), page 1
This book is for two fearless readers,
Grace and Ella, my nieces in the West.
— JP
Title Page
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
About the Author
Teaser
Copyright
ASH STARED OUT the side window. They’d been driving since forever. He was in a land somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, reality and dream. The past hundred miles were a groggy, boring blur. The highway was fully dark, not another headlight on the road. The sky seemed starless, blank. The upper atmosphere obscured by clouds.
And, weirdly, the car was moving slowly. Crawling, really.
Willow’s voice broke the quiet. “It’s so foggy. Can you even see, Dad?” she asked from the back seat. Willow was Ash’s older sister by eighteen months, seated an arm’s reach away. It lately felt to him that the distance between them was far greater than that.
“Ha, seeing—that’s overrated!” joked Mr. McGinn. No one laughed. He drove with his neck strained forward, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. The fog creeped along the roadway like a living thing—twisting, snaking, reaching out with cold fingers. The McGinns were driving through thick clouds, scarcely able to see the road.
“This fog came out of nowhere,” Mrs. McGinn said. She sat in the front passenger seat, flicking through her phone. She turned to her husband. “I’m frustrated. There’s not a hotel within fifty miles that accepts pets.”
Ash, eleven years old, instinctively felt for Daisy, curled up between Willow and himself. Daisy was a goldendoodle, a snuggly, softhearted pet that had grown up with the children.
“Maybe we should pull over,” Ash suggested. “Daisy might have to pee.”
Mrs. McGinn nodded to her husband.
Without another word, Mr. McGinn eased the car to the side of the dark highway. “We’ll wait out the fog and stretch our legs. And kids—stay out of the road.” He pushed a button and the emergency lights flashed on, in case another motorist came zooming past.
“Here? Seriously?” Willow said. “We’re stopping in the middle of nowhere?”
“We’re somewhere, Will. We just don’t know where that is, exactly,” Mr. McGinn replied. “Everywhere is somewhere! Isn’t that right, kids?”
Willow gave him the dead eye. She looked to her right, past Daisy and Ash and into the murky distance outside the window. She could make out a line of trees not far from the road. It was hard to tell in the dark. “In movies, this is where the ax murderer usually pops out of the forest and chops everybody to pieces. Don’t you think, Ash?”
“Willow, don’t tease your brother,” Mrs. McGinn said. “Besides, they actually don’t use axes anymore. Nowadays, it’s usually a machete.”
Ash clicked the leash onto Daisy’s collar. “Ha, ha, so funny.” He groaned. “You guys don’t scare me.”
“Sure,” Willow said doubtfully. “Be safe out there, Little Brother.”
The family exited the vehicle, except for Willow. She sat, arms crossed, announcing her disapproval. Mr. McGinn sagged against the front quarter panel of the car. His curly red-blond hair and freckled skin betrayed a Scottish ancestry (he could perfectly imitate Shrek’s thick burr). Some might describe him as a “big teddy bear” and not be far from the truth. Doughy, soft, large, gentle. Mr. McGinn rubbed his tired eyes.
Absently, Tricia McGinn—tall, with light-brown-colored skin and dark hair that flowed past her shoulders in a shiny wave—squeezed the back of her husband’s neck. “You look tired. We could all use a break. Driving in this weather is stressful for everyone.”
She returned her attention to the phone. “Signal’s gone. That’s weird. Suddenly I’m not getting anything.”
She looked into the night sky, as if an answer would be provided there. A radio tower, a flickering satellite, something. But the night sky was strangely still. No lights, no stars, no thing at all.
As if they had driven into a void.
Ash led Daisy into the grass, tugging gently.
The ground was damp with dew. The fog swirled and circled around them, brushing against Ash’s legs like a hungry cat. A cold breeze stirred. A shiver zippered up Ash’s spine. He regretted leaving his hoodie in the car. He walked away from the road and the parked car, toward the tree line. The leash went taut behind him. “Come on, Daisy.” He pulled. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid of the dark?”
The dog’s legs remained locked in place. Daisy stared into the trees, unwilling to take another step.
Leaves rustled—a twig snapped.
A shadow moved amid the shadows.
Ash heard a faint thumping, then a rhythmic pounding. He turned to see Willow, knocking at the window to get his attention. She was pointing and saying something. He could see her lips moving.
“What? I can’t hear you!” he shouted.
Willow pounded harder, both palms against the pane.
“The trees!” she cried. “Behind you!”
“What? The trees?” Ash called back.
Daisy stared into the dark. She let out a low, rolling growl.
Willow opened the door a crack so she could be heard. She screamed, “BEHIND YOU, ASH! FROM THE WOODS! IT’S COMING!”
“IT’S COMING!” WILLOW screamed.
Ash felt a surge of fear ripple through his chest. He turned his head to peer behind him. The trees stood like mute soldiers, guarding the secrets of the forest. Something moved, crouched low. And then Ash saw it—two red eyes floating in the dark. Red eyes staring directly at him.
In a panic, Ash yanked the leash and scrambled to the car. He reached for the door handle. Thunk. The lock clicked into place. “Let me in, Willow. Hurry up, let me in!”
Willow answered with laughter.
Slow, soft laughter that built to a roar. “Ha, ha, ha!” she cackled, bending over in amusement.
Tricked, pranked, teased again.
Ash looked back. The red eyes had vanished into the woods—if they were ever there in the first place. His parents looked at him with clearly concerned expressions.
“Everything all right, buddy?” Mr. McGinn asked.
“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great,” Ash answered miserably. Must have been his mind playing tricks on him again. An old habit. His mother said he’d grow out of it someday, but someday never came. He suffered from an imagination that conjured fresh terrors around every corner. Invisible monsters, unseen dangers. What else could Ash do but turn and bravely face them?
The door unlocked. Willow opened it and snorted. “I’m sorry, Ash—but you should have seen your face. Priceless.”
Ash glowered. He pulled the door open and barked, “Daisy, inside.”
The dog leaped into the car, gladly.
Ash slammed the door shut while remaining outside the car with his parents. He brought his hands to his hair as if to tear it out. “I can’t stand her!”
“Hey, now, buddy,” Mr. McGinn began. “That’s no way to—”
“Leave him be,” Mrs. McGinn said. “Willow can be a pain sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Ash said.
“Okay, got me.” His mother grinned. “How about ‘a lot of times’? Is that more accurate?”
“Hey! I heard that!” Willow grumbled from inside the car, amused.
Ash nodded, grateful, at least, that his mother seemed to understand.
At that moment, a large roadside advertisement flickered awake. Just fifty feet in front of them, lit by bright floodlights, the tall billboard read:
EXIT 13 MOTEL
“STOP BY FOR SOME SHUT-EYE!”
TAKE THE NEXT RIGHT IN 1.5 MILES.
ALL PETS WELCOME!
“Whoa, that’s weird!” Ash exclaimed. He shielded his eyes from the glare of the lights.
They stood side by side, staring up at the suddenly illuminated sign.
His mother’s phone dinged. She looked down at its white glow. “Wi-Fi’s back.”
Mr. McGinn shrugged good-naturedly. “Must be the fog. Look, honey. It seems to be lifting.”
It was true. The fog seemed to be retreating. Mrs. McGinn gestured to the sign. “What do you say, hon? Seems like a good time to stop.”
Mr. McGinn clapped his hands together. “Let’s do this!”
They climbed back into the car. It was still night, of course, but the fog was gone and the road was now visible in the headlights.
“I hope they have an indoor swimming pool,” Ash said.
“And a vending machine,” Willow added. “I could really use some candy right about now.”
The car joined the highway and accelerated. The family’s spirits had lifted like the fog.
“That was lucky,” Mrs. McGinn said. “The sign just suddenly lit up for us.”
As
“So strange,” Willow said. “The lights—”
“Mom!” Ash complained. “She’s starting again.”
“Willow, give it a rest, okay?” Mrs. McGinn said.
Willow frowned at Ash. He grinned in return. Ash wasn’t proud about tattling; it made him feel babyish. But sometimes he had to go with what worked.
“Hey, let’s sing,” Mr. McGinn said. “One hundred bottles of pop on the wall …”
Willow slid the headphones over her ears and turned up the music, loud. She kept thinking about how strange that was—the way the lights flickered on for a few minutes only to die again as they pulled away. Creepy, she decided.
Definitely creepy.
“IT’S A DUMP,” Mr. McGinn said.
They had pulled into the parking lot for Exit 13 Motel. The motel was a long, low one-story building with a front office at one end. The curtains were drawn, and one lone green light shone above the entrance. A few cars were parked in the lot, but otherwise the place looked abandoned.
And more than a little run-down.
For Ash and Willow, all hopes for an indoor pool were instantly dashed. This wasn’t going to be that kind of place. The four of them sat in the car, deciding what to do.
“It’s just for one night,” Mrs. McGinn finally said. “We’re all tired—and it does take pets.”
“Are you sure about this, honey?” her husband asked.
Mrs. McGinn ran a hand across her black hair. She yawned. It was answer enough. She was sure.
The lobby was small and dimly lit. Beige carpeting on the floor and brown paneling on the walls. No one was at the front desk. The wall clock read nine-fifteen. But it felt like it was past midnight. Not a soul stirred.
“Um, hello?” Mr. McGinn called, softly at first. Then again, louder, “HEL—”
A door behind the desk opened, and a tall, thin teenage boy entered. He appeared to be about Willow’s age, perhaps a year older. The boy’s hair was black and short. His face was sharp and narrow and not unpleasant, with a pinched nose and pale skin. He wore baggy corduroys and a loose, rumpled sweater. “I’m sorry, we live in the back,” the boy explained. “I was bringing tea to my mother.”
“Yes, hi, we saw the sign on the highway and—” Mr. McGinn gestured with his thumb toward the window.
“Name?”
The boy drifted to the computer. He gazed at the late arrivals and waited for a reply.
“McGinn. We were wondering if—”
“Yes, McGinn. We were expecting you,” the boy said, tapping on the keyboard. He wore a large silver ring on his right thumb. A figure, perhaps a wolf, was etched into it. He read the screen, “Two adults, two children … and a pet.”
“But we didn’t reserve— I don’t see how you—” Mr. McGinn said.
The boy looked up without an expression. “Has there been a mistake?”
Mrs. McGinn spoke up. “Two adjoining rooms, please, if that’s possible.”
“Already prepared,” the motel clerk said.
The McGinns exchanged puzzled glances.
“I’m telling you, our phones are spying on us,” Willow commented. “They know our thoughts.”
No one disagreed.
The clerk wrote the room numbers on a slip of paper, tucked plastic room key cards in an envelope, and said, “Ice and vending machines are around the corner. You’ll find the code for Wi-Fi on a slip of paper in your room. There’s an outdoor pool, but I’m afraid it’s not heated … on account of there’s no water.” The boy’s eyes twinkled at that. He might have found it amusing. He turned to Ash and Willow. “And where’s your pet?”
“In the car,” Willow said.
“Daisy,” Ash said.
The clerk blinked and gave a nod. “We love animals here at Exit 13.” He said it flatly, without the faintest trace of emotion. His eyes indicated a ceramic bowl of dog treats on the counter. “Please help yourself.”
“Thanks,” Willow answered. “I’m starving.” She pocketed three treats.
The pale clerk gave an appreciative nod. He got the joke. “Anything else?”
“Um, no, we’ll just get our bags and—say, what’s your name, anyway?” Mr. McGinn asked.
“Kristoff,” the boy replied.
He had a way of standing perfectly still. A bulky sweater drooped down over his narrow shoulders.
“You seem awfully young,” Mr. McGinn ventured.
“It’s not so awful,” Kristoff deadpanned. He added with a smirk, “Believe me, I’m older than I look.”
A sound came from the back room. Nails clicking on a wooden floor. A snarl. And a sudden, muffled thud. Kristoff’s eyes shot to the back door, which was slightly ajar. He pushed it shut. “My apologies,” he said. “I’ll leave you to get settled if there’s nothing else?”
There was nothing else.
The McGinns carried their bags to rooms 15 and 16, the last two doors at the end of the building.
Mrs. McGinn passed the key before the scanner and pushed the door open. She sniffed, as if deciding whether to enter. “Oh dear. It’s musty.”
“At least it’s not the Hotel California,” Mr. McGinn quipped. “You can check in, but you can’t check out!”
His children stared at him, blankly.
It was so typical. Their father was like a Labrador puppy—enthusiastic about everything, all the time. He explained, “The Eagles? Classic rock? It’s a song, ‘Hotel California.’ ” He began to sing and strum air guitar, rather badly, “On a dark desert highway—”
“Sorry, Dad,” Willow interrupted. “We’re not really up on the golden oldies.”
“Anyway, it’s just one night,” Mrs. McGinn said reassuringly. “How bad can it be?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Willow muttered.
They carried the bags into their attached rooms.
ASH COULDN’T GET back to sleep. He lay in bed, thinking, tossing, turning. Flipping his pillow over again and again, trying to find the cool side.
There was something he didn’t tell Willow.
Words he was afraid to speak.
He lay on his back. The room was lit with a ruby-red glow. He had taken a lamp and placed it on the floor with a red T-shirt draped over it. Would that cause a fire? Ash didn’t know, didn’t care. No way was he going to sleep in the pitch black.
He dwelled on the feeling he didn’t share with Willow. It crawled inside him like a snake. Cold and clammy, it coiled around his heart. Ash had felt fear, but there was something more.
Something worse.
And harder to explain.
He had felt … an invitation.
The creature with red eyes, whatever it was, had been calling to Ash.
Come, follow.
An invitation to enter the woods.
And Ash knew, deep in his heart, that if he had the chance, he would follow.
“Hey, LB?” Willow called in a soft voice. It was Willow’s nickname for Ash, Little Brother, whittled down to initials.
“Yeah?” Barely a grunt.
“You okay?”
Ash shrugged invisibly in the dark. He didn’t answer. He didn’t want to say it out loud. No, he wasn’t okay. He was scared and confused. Instead, he patted the side of the mattress and invited Daisy up onto the bed.
“Ash, Mom said no,” Willow countered. “Daisy has to sleep on the floor, remember? Motel rules. We’ll get in trouble.”
Ash folded an arm around his big, soft, curly-haired dog. What he needed now was the simplicity and warmth of a dog’s love. And Daisy was happy to give it. Ash wasn’t in the mood to follow stupid rules.
“Well, in that case,” Willow said.
She climbed out of bed and joined her brother and Daisy in bed, the three of them squeezed in together.
“Sweet dog,” Willow murmured softly. “Sweet, sweet dog.” And after a pause, “Are you sure you’re going to be okay, LB? You can talk to me if you want. Nothing happened, right? Just your imagination.”
This was something new.
Willow was concerned about him.
Ash yawned, turned to his back, and reached for the tips of his sister’s hair. “Mmmm,” he said, and fell, at last, fast asleep.
He dreamed of Red Eyes … and of following a path that led deeper into the darkness … trees swaying, branches reaching, leaves murmuring … and a gathering of shadowy figures in the distance.
