If there's one thing I can tell you, it's this—don't come to 143 Pinebrook Hollow. Don't make your way through the maze of uneven gravel roads that wind through the forest, and certainly don't make the turn onto the eroded dirt path that leads up the hill. Don't walk past the wooden sign with the words 'trespassers will be shot' scrawled in red paint, and whatever you do, don't knock on the rickety screen door that leads inside of my house. Basically, it's probably for the best if you stay as far away from me and my family as possible.
At least, that's what I told him—but Tucker Grayson was never one to shy away from a challenge. "How come you've never invited me over to your place?" He'd say as he leaned his lanky frame up against the locker beside mine during passing time, a wry smile permanently etched onto his face. Never mind the fact that we'd only been dating for a few weeks, and never mind the many signals I had dropped that suggested my house was off-limits for anyone, much less the secret boyfriend I'd never dare to tell my family about. But there was something about his puppy-dog innocence, probably the result of many years spent in a warm home with a warm family that, despite its problems, was a family after all, that made a part of me wonder if somehow things could be different, if this boy with his easygoing charm could release me from the chains that tied me down to that place.
"Riley May Evans, you are quite the enigma," he was fond of saying. It always made me smile—no one had ever really considered me an interesting subject, much less bothered to learn my middle name. I tended to keep to myself at school, and focus on my studies as much as I could while I had the chance. "Isn't there anything besides homework you'd like to be doing right now?" He'd ask me after the final bell rang and I made some excuse why I had to go to the library and keep studying. How could I tell him that was the only time I had to finish my homework, that once I returned to the house, the proposition of me being allowed to complete my schoolwork was laughable? So I lied and deflected, shielding him from the parts of me I don't let anyone observe, no matter how close they get. I won't ever make that mistake again.
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Rural Vermont has a certain charm to it—when autumn is at its peak and the tree-colored hills are covered in dappled shades of orange and red, I can almost forget the eyesore of my house among the beauty that surrounds it. But once the leaves have fallen and winter starts to wrap its icy grip around the hollow, the bare branches jut outwards like daggers, making the place look as dangerous and inhospitable as it actually is.
Tucker always said winter was his favorite time of year. He loved snow, and he especially loved when the lake would freeze over just right for ice skating and hockey with his brothers and friends. Even though his family was Jewish, he confided in me that Christmas was his favorite holiday. He would sing along to Christmas songs as he drove me home in his old Buick, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Thanksgiving had yet to come and go. Of course, he always dropped me off a mile away from the base of my driveway, just in case anyone was there to see him arrive.
“Hey, beautiful,” he'd greet me the next morning, careful not to ask any questions about how my night was. Talking about myself is my least favorite topic, but I could listen to him talk for hours in that soft yet animated voice of his. “So, tonight I was thinking we go out to this ice cream place that just opened up two towns over. What do you say?” My heart and my stomach yearned to say yes, but my brain knew better.
“I can't tonight, Tucker.” I watched the disappointment flicker across his face for a half-second until his smile returned.
“Well, how about this weekend? Don't tell me you've got so much homework to do that you can't spare a few hours for little old me.” I thought it over. I could say I was visiting my uncle, who lived in a suburb outside Burlington. There was no danger of the lie being exposed, since my parents hadn't had contact with him in over three years. They wouldn’t be thrilled about me visiting him, but it was a hell of a lot better than telling them I was going on a date with my secret boyfriend.
“Okay, I could do Saturday?”
“Great! It's a date. I'll pick you up at 3—a mile away from your house, don't worry,” he said before I could interrupt to remind him.
“Can't wait,” I replied, lifting my heels as he leaned down to kiss me. The bell rung, and we both went our separate ways.
“Damn, girl, you've got that man hook, line, and sinker.” I smiled as Octavia Spencer dropped into the seat next to mine, fashionably late as always. She was my one real friend at school, even though I would never understand how someone so popular could stoop low enough to spend time with me. “He tell you he loves you yet?”
“We've only been dating a few weeks, Via.”
“So? That's like a few months in hot girl time.”
I laughed quietly, accepting the compliment.
“Alright class, settle down.” I glanced forward to find that the man in the front of the room was not our history teacher, Mr. Garvey. “My name is Mr. Pembridge, and I'll be subbing in for Mr. G today. Can anyone tell me where you've left off in your textbook?”
After an uncomfortable but expected silence, Octavia piped up beside me. “We were learning about the origins of the Judeo-Christian tradition. Chapter thirteen.”
“Ah, let me see,” Mr. Pembridge said, flipping through the book on his desk. He mumbled something unintelligible to himself as he quickly leafed through the pages. “Here we are—chapter thirteen.”
Mr. Pembridge adjusted his glasses and scanned the room, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he spoke. “The origins of the Judeo-Christian tradition are rooted in ancient beliefs about divine beings—angels, demons, and the Nephilim.”
I glanced down at my copy of the textbook, confused as to why my copy didn't match what he was saying.
“The Nephilim are mentioned in Genesis as the offspring of angels and humans,” he continued, absentmindedly tapping a finger against the open book. “They were said to be giants, warriors—abominations, depending on who you ask.”
I glanced over at Via, but she was following along as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“They were destroyed in the Great Flood,” he went on, “but some traditions say their bloodline continued, hidden among humanity.”
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Mr. Pembridge looked up from the book, his gaze settling on me again. “Does anyone know what the name ‘Nephilim’ means?”
I blinked, thrown off by being singled out. “Uh… no?”
His lips quirked upward, like he was amused by something I didn’t understand. “It means ‘the fallen ones.’”
A chill swept through me, sudden and inexplicable. Something about the way he said it made it feel like he wasn’t just talking about the past.
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“That teacher was super weird, right?” I said as Via and I shuffled out of the classroom.
“Honestly, I was barely paying attention—how can anyone expect us to focus on classes when college applications are due in a few months?”
“Right,” I said, still feeling a little disoriented.
“I've gotta run—Jason’s taking me to visit his parents tonight.”
“Ooh, very exciting.”
“Very stressful is what it is. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“See you tomorrow!”
Via blew a kiss at me as she twirled around and walked down the hallway. I sighed, shaking off the strangeness of the day and hoisting my backpack up higher on my shoulders.
The bus ride home was long and quiet. Via always poked fun at me for not having a drivers’ license yet, and I always made up some excuse as to why I didn't. But I’ve never minded taking the bus—it’s one less thing to worry about, and it gives me some time to myself to read or write or just stare out the window.
By the time the bus pulled in front of our driveway, the sun had already set. I hopped off, thanking the driver and beginning the dreaded climb up the hill to get to my house.
Lost in thought, I barely even noticed there was a deer standing in the brush ten feet away from me, its beady eyes locked onto mine. I paused for a moment, marveling at the unusually patterned white spots dotting its fur. Finally it whirled around and bounded off deeper into the forest, the underbrush crackling gently beneath its hooves.
“Riley? Is that you?” I heard the voice of my brother come from our porch. He liked to sit there and wait for me to come home on school days, and was always the first one to greet me when I did.
“Yeah, it's me,” I said. “Did you hear that deer, Case? It was right up next to me.”
“I thought I heard something down the driveway. What did it look like?”
Casey had been legally blind since he was three years old, so I got asked that question a lot.
“It was big, with tons of white spots all over its fur.”
“Cool. How was school?” Casey was homeschooled, so that question got asked a lot too.
“We had a weird substitute teacher for history today, but besides that it was pretty boring.”
I heard a loud thumping noise from the backyard—probably my dad chopping wood for our stove. Never mind the fact that every other neighboring house had perfectly functioning gas lines—my family preferred to do things the old-fashioned way.
“Casey, why don't you come inside? It's almost time for dinner,” my mom called from the kitchen.
I walked in after him, latching the door behind me.
As soon as I stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the wood stove hit me, the scent of burning cedar mingling with whatever my mom had cooking on the stove. The house always smelled like this—smoke and old wood, like a place untouched by time.
“Wash up,” Mom said as a greeting. I did as I was told, scrubbing my hands under ice-cold well water before taking my usual seat at the table. Casey sat down across from me, swinging his feet against the chair legs.
“Riley saw a deer,” Casey said, and my mom yelped as she accidentally grabbed the metal handle of a cast-iron pan with her bare hands.
“God damn it,” she swore under her breath, then rushed over to the sink.
“If you're going to take the Lord's name in vain, it better be for a good reason,” my dad said as he walked in through the back door. Mom scowled at him as she ran the faucet over her hand.
My dad chuckled to himself as he stacked a few logs of firewood onto the pile beside the stove.
“You’re sure it was a deer?” Mom said, glancing at me from the corner of her eyes.
I frowned. “What else would it be?”
She turned off the tap and grabbed the pan with an oven mitt this time, placing it on the table with a pad underneath.
“It's just unusual, that's all.”
“Shall we say grace?” My dad asked, sitting down at the head of the table.
I grabbed Casey's hand beside me and bowed my head, reciting the words that had been drilled into me since before I could remember.
"Because you have made the Lord your refuge,
the Most High your dwelling place,
no evil shall befall you,
no plague shall come near your race.
For He will command His angels,
to guard you in all your ways,
and shelter you from danger,
until the end of days.”
We ate in silence for the most part, besides the occasional request to pass the salt or refill the pitcher of water.
“I was thinking about visiting Uncle Grant this weekend,” I said, as casually as I could muster. “Maybe Saturday?”
My dad frowned. “What for? Didn't you see him earlier this month?”
“I didn't realize there was a limit on spending time with family.”
“Don't get snarky with me. And besides, you know Uncle Garen hasn't been feeling well recently.”
“That's why I wanted to visit, to see if he's doing okay.”
“How will you get there?” My mom asked.
“I'll walk into town and take the bus to Burlington,” I said, the lie coming out easily.
My dad shoveled a mound of potatoes onto his plate while my mom contemplated how to take away what little of my freedom remained.
“In that case, you'd better bring him something from us,” my dad said in resignation, and my heart did a flip. “Your mother just picked up some herbs from the market.”
“Don't take too much—I’m planning on trying out a few new recipes this weekend,” she added, as of to temper my victory somewhat.
I nodded, and finished the last few bites on my plate.
“May I be excused? I'm a little exhausted from the day, so I might take a nap.”
My dad grunted in semi-approval, and I pushed away my chair from the table before anyone could object.
Safely in my room, I slung my backpack off of my shoulders and collapsed onto the bed. Raindrops had begun to collect on the sole window in the room, a signal of the storm to come. I was actually pretty tired, and contemplated going to bed like I said I would, but curiosity got the better of me.
I pulled out my history textbook, determined to find the section I had missed in class. Flipping to chapter thirteen, I found a brief description of the Abrahamic religions and the historical context in which they originated—but nothing about angels or Nephilim or whatever Mr. Pembridge was talking about.
I shut the book, exhaustion finally winning out. The rain fell harder against my window as I shut my eyes, letting the pitter-patter drown out my thoughts and lull me gently into a deep and dreamless slumber.