Blake Hollow Barn Novels & Stories

Some of the walls had gaping holes in them, the wood rotting around the edges from years of decay. A lone wooden wind mill sat erect next to it. The blades had long fallen off and sat scattered at the base of the hexagon body. The wood on it's body was in greater shape than the barn, but it was still just as faded. It was very sad to look at, and the moon light only made it look that more pitiful and haunting looking. But it's the best spot for a hideout, especially when there in a few injured parties. Why would any one want to hide out in a place that has little to no coverage? But it was bad luck for them if a storm happened to pass by, it would make the situation for Jerimiah and Maxwell

The fire from the smoke fogged three feet in front of me and cast a hue into the breeze. Shelly looped her arm through Neveah’s, smiled at me over her shoulder, and led us toward the opening of the barn. Rap music blasted, shaking the already busted windows. The entire bottom was covered in hay, some used it as seats, others were pressed into the corners. The second floor was dark, but pool tables were set up with glow-in-the-dark lights around the edge. “Shelly! Neveah! Cooper!” We were stopped in the entrance by a short blond who tossed herself at Neveah. “Jenny! It’s so good to see you,” Neveah squealed.

I walked through the door. The barn was the same. Stone walls, wooden roof with half the planks rotted through, the door hanging open on one hinge. The light came through the gaps in the roof in long dusty beams and the air was thick with the smell of old hay and a sharper darker smell underneath and my stomach turned when I recognized it.

On the ridge, we could see our neighboring mountain, dark and familiar—the one we had claimed and rebuilt until it was ours, the place we swore would never again be hungry ground. That was where my house waited. When the trees opened and the porch came into view, my breath left me all at once. The two-story log cabin sat in good light, windows bright, shakes oiled before winter, the wide steps swept, the rail wrapped in rosemary and drying lavender I’d hung in summer. It wasn’t a little place. It was a big, stubborn home with bones like a champion. Blaise parked and cut the engine. “Still want this?” he asked softly. I laughed, the sound catching in my throat.

The old lighthouse had been dark for years. Perched on the jagged edge of Widow’s Point, the Black Hollow Lighthouse had been abandoned since the night Keeper Alden Rowe vanished without a trace. No one had taken the position after that. Some said he’d fallen. Others whispered the sea had claimed him for a debt long unpaid. Mara didn’t believe in sea-debts. But she knew what she saw. Three flashes. Evenly spaced. Deliberate. The pattern repeated. Her little brother, Toby, burst into her room. “Did you see it?”

Closer to the pack house, the roads narrowed into old stone paths, workshops and a smithy tucked among them like the village hadn't quite decided which century it belonged to. The smell of fresh bread drifted from somewhere close, mixing with woodsmoke and pine. “This is Blackhollow?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. “What did you expect? Skulls on pikes?” Hera arched a brow. “Something like that, honestly.” She snorted. “Other packs are good at building reputations for us. Just not an accurate one.” We walked further in, past a cluster of children chasing each other around a well, and an older woman sitting outside her home shelling beans. She offered me a small, curious

RONNELL POV I pulled up in front of Blair's house and parked at the driveway. I had never been here before. From the background check I had done on her, I had known that she owned a home, but I hadn't let myself look any further into her. Nor had I come up with a reason to drop by on an evening or weekend despite repeated temptation. Blair lived in a two-story craftsman. Its modest exterior provided little hint from the outside. There wasn't a landscape, a crumbling porch, painting chopping off the rails and trim. The windows couldn't have done much to regulate the temperature. They had to be at least forty years old, and only half had a screen on them.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the wall. “The name… Moss Hollow… sounds familiar,” he finally said. “I think my father mentioned it once. An old outpost, with a bar where strangers made shady deals and disappeared overnight. Not exactly a tourist spot.” He closed the book slowly, his long fingers sliding over the cover like it was made of something alive. “I have a car,” he added. “It’s a bit dusty, but it runs. It’s in the barn behind the house.” Maxim crossed his arms, nodding.

It was time to tell him my terrible secret that I even kept from Sebastion. The grass crunched under our feet as we approached a large, and disfigured barn. It sat in the middle of a meadow well over run with weeds and tall grass. The roof caved in the middle, making a giant hole. The windows had long since shattered, only leaving a frame in it's place. Crows cawed loudly and took off in a flash, dozens screeching as we approached. We where well outside the village limits. No one would be here unless they where absolutely spying on us.

Ethan followed his hands to the building before him. "Whoa,” he muttered under his breath, his eyes widening. Blake's house was very much larger than the others. A two stories talk building with gray painting and wide front windows. The driveway was packed with different expensive cars, a few parked crookedly along the curb like whoever had driven it had been in a rush. The floor underneath the two boys shook as music blasting faintly from inside. Ethan could see smoke curling past the cracks of the windows, fogging up the rooms they opened to.