Blake Hollow Barn Novels & Stories

Jacob did not move until she was gone. “You okay,” he asked quietly. “Yes,” I said. Then, more honestly, “No.” He nodded like he had expected that answer. “Barn,” he said. “Quieter.” I followed without thinking. The barn sat at the edge of the compound, weathered wood and rusted hinges, doors half open to let the light in. Dust motes danced in the air. The smell of hay and oil wrapped around me, familiar and grounding. Jacob leaned against a support beam, arms crossed loosely, posture relaxed but eyes sharp.

The kind of barn that has been there for a hundred years. "Why are we stopping," I say. "Because I want to look at the barn." "The barn." "The barn. Look at it. Really look at it." I look at the barn. It is red. Faded. The roof is sagging. One of the windows is broken. There is a tree growing next to it. A maple. Big. Older than the barn, maybe. "What am I looking for," I say. "Nothing. Just look." I look. The sun is behind the barn. The light is coming through the broken window. The tree is casting a shadow. The field is full of wildflowers. Yellow and purple and white.

“I tell her the truth. That the Council is coming for me. That I have to find out what’s in that journal before it is too late.” Jameson thought this over, then nodded. “It might work. If she’s willing to listen.” Maxwell exhaled sharply. “And if she isn’t?” I clenched my fists. “Then we make her listen.” The Hollow Tavern The bar was nothing special. A shadowy haunt tucked into the town’s outskirts, its neon sign sputtering to stay aglow in the night. But as soon as we entered, I could feel it. That pressure.

She shoved it into her bag and focused on the road, which had started to shimmer with fog as the afternoon sun waned behind jagged peaks. The town appeared suddenly, as if conjured from the mist. Black Hollow was no more than a cluster of weatherworn buildings huddled along a single street: a diner with its neon sign stuttering, a general store with a wooden porch sagging under its own weight, a sheriff’s office that looked like it had been built before electricity. Beyond it all, mountains loomed like watchmen, their tree-lined slopes already swallowing daylight.

“I don’t know. I don’t even think about it. I don’t like to think about unhappy people. It brings me down.” They rounded a small hilltop, and there, in the distance, sat a crumbling stone ruin, about twenty feet high, the remnant of a fortification from the castle, half-submerged in the river. It was separated from the island, out in the river about ten feet. And there, standing on top of it, glaring down at them, stood Blake. He held a spear in one hand and, standing the way he was, his back to the river and the open sky, he looked like he was the last warrior left on earth.

Once he’d strapped her to his belly, facing forward so she could see the world, her legs kicked like a frog’s. “You like bein’ outside. I’ll bet you’re gonna be a tomboy.” He adjusted his ball cap and wandered to the old wooden barn. The building listed to the right in a bad way, presenting a serious hazard. It could collapse at any time. He’d talk to Skylar about knocking it down before the first snowfall. A long prefabricated metal barn was kitty-corner from the house. It wasn’t in too bad of shape, but it’d been jam-packed with all sorts of junk—antique machinery, tools, rusted paint cans and empty feed sacks. Rope. Lots of rope.

The rumble of Blake's Ford Pickup filled the air as they traversed the graveled road that led them deeper into the heart of the Park. As they neared their destination, Blake's keen eyes scoured the surroundings for a suitable spot to conceal the pickup. A flicker of recognition sparked within him as he spotted a secluded area off the main road. It was a perfect hiding place, where the heavy foliage hung low to the ground, veiling their maroon vehicle from prying eyes.

inted. For a time, I saw only sheets of water. Then there was a flicker of light. It grew stronger as we approached. Through the rain, a faint neon sign read "Lakeview Inn." Blair steered the vehicle into the parking lot. The tires crunched on gravel, spraying water into the air. He parked into a place near the office and turned off the engine. For the moment, We sat in silence. The rain battered on the roof. I could hear Blair's rapid and shallow breathing. "Well," he concluded. "This isn't quite what I had planned." I looked at him. Water rushed down the windows, blurring the view outside. It made Blair's face appear odd, almost liquid. "What did you have planned?" He shrugged, quickly lif

“Well, I’ve got your back. Let’s see what secrets the Blackstone Pack holds, then.” As they approached the pack house, Kane’s sharp eyes took in the looming structure of the Blackstone mansion. It was large, formidable, its stone walls framed by tall, ancient trees that created an eerie canopy around it. The pack house sat high on a hill, almost hidden, as if it wanted to keep its secrets close.

We move through the western half of the town, Rose taking dozens of photos, continuing to narrate into her little recording device. We discover a building stacked with shelves and barrels of preserved goods, a springhouse with a couple of bottles of spoiled milk, and an empty barn that smells like cows. “So, they left the food?” Shayne asks, frowning as she steps into the barn and looks around. “But they took the animals?” “Apples can’t walk,” Tommy mutters.