The Hollow Page 2

  Turning back to the grave next to me, I raised my voice slightly to be heard over the pitch of the wind. "Thanks for the company." I stood up from the chair and gave a farewell salute before carefully stepping onto the path. I glanced one more time over my shoulder, but the shadow was gone.

  That was when the sky opened up.

  Huge raindrops fell hard, each one splattering on impact. I tucked my hands back inside my raincoat so that at least one part of me would stay dry. Even if it was only a small part.

  The pathway along the graveyard turned slick with water and mud, and it splashed along the bottom of my jeans and shoes as I walked. Unfortunately, I was still pretty far from where I'd entered, and even farther from my house. I had nothing but a long, wet, miserable walk home to look forward to.

  Chapter Two

  The Funeral

  There are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that church… which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod Crane.

  "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"

  I barely had enough time to dry off and change into a black dress before I had to leave to go back to the cemetery.

  The funeral service was held inside the Old Dutch Church, and every single wooden pew was filled. The remaining space was standing room only. The whole town had shown up.

  While the sharp tapping of rain on the stained-glass windows beat like a drum in the background, the reverend droned steadily on and on. The way he spoke of Kristen made her sound less like the best friend I had known so well and more like a stranger whom I'd never met. It was odd and disconcerting.

  A faint burning smell clung to the room, a familiar scent introduced by the large boiler furnace being turned on in response to the gray, chilly weather outside. I shifted uncomfortably on the hard pew, and found my eyes wandering over to the large painting that was hanging above the reverend's head. It was a depiction of the scene made famous by Washington Irving, showing a frightened Ichabod Crane looking over one shoulder while a dark and menacing headless rider rose up behind him.

  I had asked Reverend Prescott once why the painting was hung in the church, and he took great pleasure in telling me his rather lengthy view on the virtues of keeping our eyes ahead to the Lord when the devil rides up behind to offer temptation. By the time he had finished, I was sorry1 had ever asked that question.

  Suddenly the reverend stopped talking and everyone around me started getting up. It was time for the final procession.

  People filed out of the church one by one, huddling under umbrellas and trying to stay dry beneath the safety of the overhanging eaves for as long as possible. But it was a useless act, and they were soon driven to accept wet defeat.

  I followed as my parents joined the solemn crowd moving slowly toward the grave site. Although most of them tried to walk carefully along the treacherous pathways, each step they took yielded a heel or toe that quickly got stuck in the mud. It would be a soggy and bedraggled gathering arriving at Kristen's grave today.

  Skirting around the main path, I walked apart from the others. I took a grassier lane that wasn't quite as muddy, but the rain streamed down my face since I hadn't brought an umbrella with me. It felt like deja vu from earlier. Once again, I was caught out in the rain.

  When I reached the grave site, I was lucky to find a small patch of unoccupied awning, and I stood under it, silently waiting. The pallbearers carried the casket over to the burial ground and then loaded it onto the metal lowering frame. Mom tried to catch my eye, while people walked up to the grave to give their final respects and say a few words.

  She kept making a small jerking motion with her head, urging me to go up and say something, but I just shook my head back at her. I couldn't get up there and face these people. Not now, not like this. This was all fake, but I couldn't very well stand up there and say that.

  More people went up. Many reached out to touch the casket, and one boy laid a single flower on top. It surprised me when he stepped in front of the crowd and stated simply that he would miss the chance to get to know Kristen better. His brown curly hair was a mess, and his matching brown eyes were red-rimmed and watery. He looked like he was ready to start bawling at any second. I stared at him as he shuffled along. I knew he went to school with us, and his name was Brad, or Brett, but other than that, I didn't know anything about him.

  So why did it sound like he really would miss Kristen?

  I recognized a couple of other people from school too, cheerleaders, who went on and on about what fond memories they had of Kristen. How she'd been such a good person… they would miss her so much… blah, blah, blah. Such useless words. They didn't really know Kristen. For them it was all about how much attention they would receive.

  And then it was over.

  With one final flower tossed, tear shed, and good-bye said, the service ended and it was time to leave. An empty casket placed into the cold, hard ground was supposed to symbolize my best friend's life.

  It felt vastly inappropriate.

  * * *

  The crowd left quickly, braving the mud puddles to venture back to their cars. They had done their part. Now it was time to move on.

  I stayed where I was until the last of them had gone. Mom and Dad were walking with Reverend Prescott back to the church, and hopefully they understood that I wanted some time to myself. To sort things out.

  Taking a step closer, I concentrated on the casket. Everything had been turned upside down these last couple of months. I didn't know which way was up anymore, and all of a sudden I didn't have anyone to ask. It made my head hurt, and I felt like I would never be able to untangle all my thoughts.

  But most of all it made my heart hurt. Inside my chest a giant vise grip had squeezed hold and was slowly crushing everything that worked in there. One day I would have nothing but a black hole inside of me.

  A short burst of light abruptly caught me in the eye, and I looked up, temporarily pulled away from my misery.

  The sun was peeking out from under a cloud, valiantly trying to make its way through the rain. A shaft of light hit the side of the casket and changed it from an ordinary, dull shade into a starburst.

  Every shiny fleck of paint was momentarily illuminated, showing the true color of the casket to be a vibrant blood red, and I smiled. Red was our favorite color.

  Then the sun disappeared.

  I reached out and touched the casket lid. It was cold. So cold that I immediately snatched my hand away. It almost felt like it had burned me.

  I just stood there. I couldn't bring myself to say anything… not out loud, at least. But a thousand thoughts raged inside my head, while a thousand feelings raged inside my heart.

  The weather mimicked my emotions. A fierce wind rattled by, howling in outrage. The edges of the plastic awning flapped angrily against the aluminum poles holding it up and made a horrible ringing sound. Even the rain pounded harder, lashing out its bitterness.

  And that was when I felt someone watching me.

  I looked out over the rows of tombstones, memorial plates, mausoleums, and crypts. Past trees and bushes. There, standing next to a huge mausoleum built into the side of a hill, was a boy.

  He was dressed in a black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie, and his hair was so pale that it almost looked white. His hands were clasped in front of him, and I saw he didn't have a raincoat or an umbrella. The rain had completely soaked him through. I couldn't see what color his eyes were, he was too far away for that, but he looked right at me, and his gaze held mine.

  Who is he? Does he know Kristen? Or is he here for someone else?

  The wind continued to howl around me, and the rain pounded on the scant shelter overhead. Whoever he was, he was crazy to be standing out there. Before I could even think it through, I found myself taking a couple of steps out from underneath the awning.

  I should go talk to him, I thought. Find out if he's here for Kristen. Find out why he's staring at me. Tell him he's nuts for getting soaked out here.
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  But the wind drove me back. The fierceness of it was so sudden that I staggered backward and had to grasp on to the nearest awning pole for support. The rain didn't relent either, and it streamed down my face, leaving the same type of tracks that tears would have.

  Head held high, grasping on to that pole for all I was worth, I stared back at the stranger. Daring him to come closer. Demanding that he not look at me with pity in his eyes.

  The wind ruffled the edges of his clothing and blew his hair into his face, but he stood where he was. Then he bowed his head slightly.

  Something told me that he meant it as a sign of respect, so I nodded back. Then I turned to take one last look at the casket behind me. Meeting him would have to wait. Today I had different things to think about.

  The rain started letting up a little as I walked farther away from the grave site. I spotted my parents talking to Reverend Prescott on the stone steps of the church, and I definitely didn't want to get caught up in any of that. I moved quickly to the car as I took my cell phone out of my jacket pocket and dialed Mom's number.

  She reached into her purse and glanced at her phone before taking a small step away from the reverend. "Abbey?" she answered distractedly.

  "I'm just going to walk home from here, okay, Mom?" Even at a distance I could tell she didn't like that idea. A look was forming on her face.

  "I think you should come with us to the Maxwells', Abbey. They went through a lot of trouble to arrange a gathering, and since Kristen was your friend, it's only appropriate that you be there."

  "Mom," I sighed. "I'm really not in the mood to be around a whole bunch of people right now. I just want to be left alone."

  "You should come, Abigail." The use of my proper name was not a good sign. Not at all. "You can have all the time you need to yourself afterward."

  "But, Mom-"

  "It's being catered, Abigail!" The sudden click of her phone being shut made my mind up for me. My mother lived for catered events, and obviously that meant I had to as well.

  "Fine, whatever, Mom," I grumbled to myself as I trudged over to the church steps. I waited impatiently for them to hurry up and finish their conversation with the reverend. They took their time, of course.

  After an agonizing ten minutes of small talk, they finally said their good-byes to the reverend and we left the cemetery.

  It was a short drive over to the Maxwells' house, but there were already cars lined up around the block when we got there. Dad dropped Mom and me off at the front door, while he went to go find a parking spot. Mom only took three steps inside the house before she was stopped by someone. I heard her laughter drifting behind me as I kept moving past the hordes of milling people and headed straight for the kitchen.

  I found Kristen's mom in there. She had her back turned, and both arms were buried in a sink full of detergent suds. As I stepped closer, I could see there were only two mugs and a couple of plates in the sink. Hardly enough to worry about washing when you had a house full of guests.

  Then I saw her shoulders shaking. I didn't want to interrupt her grief, so I quietly made my way back out to the hallway.

  A beverage table had been set up nearby, and I grabbed a clean mug to pour some hot water into. Dropping in an herbal tea bag, I waited for a minute, and then stirred in a little milk and sugar. The warmth of the mug felt comforting in my grip as I picked it up and sipped slowly, blocking out everything and everyone around me.

  But my moment of peace was shattered when someone abruptly bumped into my shoulder, causing me to grasp the cup tightly.

  "S-sorry," the person stuttered.

  I turned with a scowl on my face and saw curly brown hair in front of me.

  "That's okay," I said. "Don't worry about it, Brad."

  He picked up a mug too, and then struggled with opening a tea bag. "Actually, it's, uh, Ben. I'm in your class at school."

  Right. "Okay then, see you around." I was so not in the mood for conversation right now. All I wanted was to be alone.

  I contemplated going up to Kristen's room but decided against it. It didn't really feel right, for some reason, being in her room without her there. So I chose the basement instead. There was a faint, musty odor, which I breathed in as soon as I started walking down the stairs. Upstairs had felt like a stranger's house with all the extra people around, but down here, it was just like I remembered. I was relieved to step into familiar surroundings once again.

  A battered desk lamp sitting on an old coffee table had been left on, and it cast a weak yellow glow, leaving most of the room cloaked in darkness. This room had always felt so safe and warm to me in the past that the dark didn't bother me at all. I walked over to an old rocking chair sitting partially in the shadows, and I settled in, balancing my cup of tea. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes as I slowly rocked back and forth and thought about old memories.

  "It looks terrible, Abbey! I'm never coming oat again."

  Her voice drifted oat to me from the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. I thought I heard a sniffle, and then came the unmistakable sound of nose blowing.

  "Come on, Kristen. Open the door, " I pleaded. "Let me see what it looks like. It can't be that bad. Just open up. "

  "Oh, it's bad. Very, very bad. I should probably shave my head. Do you know how much wigs cost? Or maybe I could get full extensions put in."

  "You are not going to shave your head, Kristen," I replied loudly. "And do you know how expensive extensions are? If it's really that terrible, we'll just dye it another color. That's an easy fix."

  "What about hats? " she countered. "Would it look weird if I wore a different hat every day? "

  Even though she couldn 't see it, I shook my head at her and was just about to use the if-you-won't-come-out-then-I'm-coming-in tactic when the lock clicked and the door slowly opened inward.

  I took three steps inside and tried very hard not to let the shock show on my face. 'What did you … do?"

  "I don't know!" she wailed, holding up a badly colored piece of hair. "Iwas just so tired of having a flaming red bush on top of my head! I thought black dye would help tone it down a little. I know it looks terrible."

  She was close to tears again.

  'Hey, Kris, it's not that bad. Let me see it for a minute." Stepping close, I inspected her still-wet hair. The black dye had covered up all the red in certain spots, but in others it had completely missed.

  "Why don't you dry it, and then we'll see if it looks any different," I suggested.

  "Okay. " She sighed sadly and grabbed the blow-dryer from a cabinet under the sink.

  "Why didn 'tyou wait for me? " I yelled over the blower noise when she turned it on high. "Iwould have helped you."

  "I don't know!" she yelled back. "I guess I wanted it to be a surprise. Let you see it when it was all done, you know? Well, done right, of course."

  "You 're crazy." I made a circular motion with my hand by my head and grinned. She laughed, and I sat on the edge of the tub while I waited for her to finish. Ten minutes later her hair was completely dry, and looking more streaked than spotted.

  I stood up. "Now let's take a look at this again. "

  She grabbed a brush and ran it through her hair, parting it to the side like she always wore it.

  "See? " I said, rearranging, fluffing, and then patting down a couple of stray pieces. "If you wear it this way, it looks good. Like you totally meant to do it."

  "Really?" She turned from side to side in front of the mirror. "Do you really think it looks okay? You would tell me if it didn't, right?"

  "Of course I'd tell you, Kristen, that's what friends are for. Honestly, though, it looks good this way. Almost like you dyed it black and added a couple of red highlights."

  She took another glance at the mirror. "I don't know, Abbey. " Her eyes were worried.

  "It looks good. " / reassured her. "Really."

  Then inspiration hit.

  "Hey, what if I put red highlights in my hair? We'll tell everyone
that we had our hair done together. What do you think?"

  Her eyes lit up. "That's a great idea. Thanks, Abbey. We can go get the stuff now, and then I'll do your hair after dinner."

  "Sounds like apian. " I grabbed a small washcloth from the towel rack next to her and started wiping off stray hair dye splatters on the sink. "Mom and Dad have a meeting at the Horseman 's Haunt tonight anyway, so it'll be an empty house for me."

  Her smile was a mile wide. ''I'll go tell Mom that you're staying for dinner. " She started to walk out of the bathroom but stopped short and turned back with a sheepish look on her face. 'Would you put the blow-dryer away for me? "

  I nodded, and smiled to myself as I heard her yell down to her mom that she wanted lasagna and garlic bread for dinner.

  My favorite meal.

  Yeah, that's what friends are for.

  It was a soft sound that made my eyes fly open and my head snap forward. I scanned the room, certain that I'd heard footsteps.

  I almost missed him.

  Even though he was sitting a couple feet away from me, his black suit blended in completely with the shadows. Only his hair gave him away. The white-blond color glowed in the dark room. It was the boy from the cemetery.

  I felt him looking at me, and I swear my heart started beating faster. I didn't know what to do, what to say… but I had to ask him something. I spoke quietly, trying to calm my racing pulse. "Did you know Kristen?"

  I waited for his answer. The space of two heartbeats went by… and then another. My question hung in the room between us.

  There was no reply.

  I raised my voice slightly, in case he hadn't heard me. "So, um, how did you know Kristen Maxwell?" I shifted in my chair, and the squeak it made echoed through the room. I took a small sip of tea to distract myself.