Free Hell's Hollow by Summer Stone

night. I worried that he’d stay away for good. When he was in The Hollow at night I couldn’t sleep because of his tug. And when he didn’t come at all I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about him, worrying about him, wondering if I should break my promise and tell someone a bout him, and also — wondering if he was real.
    But I didn’t feel crazy in any other way. And I hadn’t given in to the pull. So that probably meant I hadn’t imagined him. Unless the increasing of the sensitivity was enough to send me over the deep end, which didn’t seem fair at all since I had no control over that. I made a mental note to ask Gran what hallucinations felt like on our next visit.
    When finally I felt Zach’s tug the following night, I jumped out of bed, grabbed my bag and headed out the door.
    “Seraphina?” Mom called through the darkness.
    I froze. I’d forgotten all about the squeaky hinge. It had never woken her before.
    “Honey, is that you?” The toilet flushed.
    Damn. Bad timing.
    She came into the living room and turned on the light. I dropped my bag and kicked it under the little writing desk where she paid bills.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    I shrugged. “I was hungry,” I lied. My pores itched. I felt exposed. She had to know I was lying. I sucked at lying.
    “Why is the door open?” she asked.
    “Oh.” I looked at the door, trying to think up an explanation. My mind went completely blank.
    “You’re not… It’s not the pull from down below, is it? You’re not going down there at night and…”
    “No, Mom, I promise. I haven’t touched any animals.” That at least was true.
    “Then why are you going down there?”
    We stared at each other across the room.
    “It calms me… when I can’t sleep.”
    She let out the breath she’d been holding. “I’d rather you waited until daylight to go.”
    Zach wouldn’t be there at daylight. “It’s not dangerous,” I said. “No one goes down there.”
    “I know. But still.”
    “It helps me with the insomnia thing.”
    “Why can’t you sleep, sweets?”
    Damn .
    “Has the pull gotten so strong that it’s keeping you up at night?” Worry wrinkled her face, made her look old.
    “Forget it, really. It’s fine. I’ll try and get to sleep.” I headed toward my room.
    “Want to sit up and talk?” she asked. “I could make us some hot cocoa.”
    “That’s okay. I guess I’m feeling sort of sleepy after all.” Goosebumps raced up my arms. My body was not a fan of lying.
    “All right,” she said. But she walked toward the kitchen, away from her bedroom.
    “Aren’t you going to go back to bed?” I asked.
    “I think maybe I’ll stay up a while,” she said.
    And I knew she knew that I was just waiting for her to go back to sleep so I could slip out.
    I went to my room, closed the door, sat on the bed, and listened for her to stop moving around. Zach’s tug nagged at me. I worried what he’d think about me not coming down there to see him. What if he thought I was afraid? What if he thought I didn’t want to be his friend anymore after his confession? What if he went back to Myra’s before Mom fell asleep?
    I tried reading the book I’d picked up from Astrid’s doorstep, Healing Hands . It seemed to suggest that anyone could heal. But what it described didn’t sound anything like how it felt to me. Reading it was slow and boring. The book had it all wrong. I shoved it back under my mattress. I listened to music on the softest setting on my speakers. I didn’t want to use headphones, because then I wouldn’t be able to hear what Mom was up to. The music didn’t calm me at all. Switching from my alternative rock to my pump-up to my hip-hop playlists only fueled my music ADD. Nothing hit the sweet spot.
    Just before dawn I heard Mom leave for the bakery. Surprisingly, Zach’s tug was still pulling from The Hollow. He hadn’t gone home yet. He must have been waiting for me. I turned off the music,