The Winter People

“There’s no such thing as monsters,” Ruthie said, taking her little sister’s hand firmly in hers and giving it a squeeze.

 

“I agree completely,” Candace said. “In the beginning, I was in such a state of shock that I accepted their story. I wasn’t exactly convinced that there was a monster, but I thought maybe there had been a terrible accident. But over the years, I’ve come to see the truth. I can’t believe how stupid, how na?ve, I was.”

 

“The truth?” Ruthie said.

 

Candace nodded. “Isn’t it obvious? James and Alice murdered my brother and his wife to get the pages. They knew what they were worth and wanted them all for themselves.”

 

Ruthie shook her head vigorously. “My parents aren’t killers!” This idea was more absurd to her than the idea of a monster out in the woods.

 

“Think about it, Ruthie. Couldn’t anyone become a killer if the stakes were high enough?” She was silent for several seconds. “If you want proof, you don’t have to look far. Here I am, threatening two young girls, one of whom is my long-lost niece, with a gun, so that I can find those damn missing pages.”

 

“What do you want them so badly for?” Ruthie asked. “You don’t actually believe they work, do you?”

 

Candace laughed. “No. But there are plenty of other people out there who do believe. People willing to pay a great deal of money. Money that I, in turn, will pay the fanciest lawyer I can find to get my son back.”

 

Ruthie nodded. It made sense now and worried Ruthie—Candace was clearly an unstable woman with nothing left to lose and everything to gain. “So you really think my mother has these missing diary pages?”

 

“Yes, I believe so, though your parents always claimed the pages were lost the weekend that Tommy and Bridget were killed. But I’ve been waiting patiently over the years, sure the pages would surface one day—that your parents would try to sell them. Which is what I think might be happening now. I think that maybe, for some reason, your mother has finally decided the time is right. Maybe she’s already sold them. It’s possible she took the money and ran.”

 

Fawn shook her head. “She wouldn’t leave us.”

 

“Fawn’s right,” Ruthie said. “She wouldn’t. I can believe that if she did have the pages she might try to sell them, but I think if she was doing it, she’d be doing it for us.” Ruthie thought of her mother’s promise to help with college next year—was this her big plan, to take the one thing of value she had and sell it so Ruthie could go to the school of her choice?

 

“Maybe you’re right.” Candace shrugged. “Or maybe your mother tried to sell them and something went wrong. I must admit that, when you showed up at my house and told me she’d disappeared, I was … surprised,” Candace said, plucking at a strand of her hair. “Alice was very committed to staying here, to raising you as her own child. Both of your parents were. I promised them I’d stay away, would let them raise you, and would never tell you about your real parents. We all decided that was what was best. There was nowhere else for you to go. My husband—my ex-husband—he didn’t want an extra mouth to feed, and he just wanted it all to go away. He never … approved of how close I was with Tommy, I see that now. And James and Alice wanted to stay on here, to watch over the hill and make sure whatever creature it was they believed lived there wouldn’t harm anyone again. They were … caught up in the mythology of it all. In Sara and the sleepers. They felt like they’d been led here—like they were part of something bigger than themselves.”

 

Ruthie thought of all the warnings her parents had given her over the years: Stay out of the woods. It’s dangerous up there.

 

Was there something up there in those woods?

 

She remembered the uneasy feeling of being watched she so often had out there; finding her father dead with the ax clenched in his hands; being carried down the hill when she was a little girl, told it was all a bad dream.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a crashing sound from somewhere in the back of the house. Candace pulled out her gun and jumped up so fast she nearly knocked the table over.

 

“Where’d it come from?” Candace asked, eyes huge and frightened. She held the gun in both hands, pointing up toward the ceiling.

 

“The bathroom, I think,” Ruthie answered.

 

Candace started to leave the kitchen, then turned back and looked at the girls, who were still in their seats. “Come on,” she insisted. “We stay together.”