CHAPTER ONE
It was like a painting—a generic, inoffensive, and pretty landscape portrait. The kind you would see in a hotel room or a dentist’s office. The loch—its choppy grey waters reflecting the cloud-covered sky, light wisps of mist along its surface—surrounded by massive green hills blanketed by trees. It was, for all intents and purposes, haunting, magical, and breathtaking. At least it was supposed to be. But even though she was right there, close enough to touch the water, the cool wind kissing her face and filling her nostrils with a dewy smell, Genevieve felt like she was staring at a painting, nothing more.
She tried to let herself be enveloped by its majesty—awakened to the beauty this sight offered her. To bask in every sensation. She was finally here, after all. Scotland. Her dream trip since she was little.
But all she felt was tired. Cold, too, despite her three layers. The damned wind was sending chills through her body and her hair was getting in her face. Not to mention her back was killing her, as usual. When had she become so brittle?
A morning walk had seemed like a pleasant idea. But now, she just wanted to hike back to Janet’s house and crawl into bed. Funny, she was never one for sleeping in. Of course, she had never been one for taking vacations either.
Okay.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Inhale for five counts, exhale for ten: a grounding technique she’d learned from one, or maybe all, of her therapists. It never worked but always seemed worth a try. Once she sucked in and blew out as much as possible and opened her eyes, she had the sudden feeling that she wasn’t alone.
There was nobody around, as far as she could tell. The only other signs of life were the whistling of birds and two boats out on the water—speckled dots floating along the distant shore. She looked behind her, where up the hill perched Janet’s house and the rest of the village. There was hardly a soul except for two lone figures: a man and his dog walking along the trail. The only sounds, aside from the birds, were the wind beating against her eardrums, and water sloshing at the shore.
She was alone.
But for some reason, the feeling of being watched pressed all around her. No, not just watched; leered at. When she looked back at the loch, the water seemed darker than before, inviting her with a cold and violating gaze.
It was definitely time to go back.
She strode up the hill, her heart racing, as if the loch itself was inching after her.
But before she could get too far, new noises erupted behind her; the desperate sounds of splashing, snorting and grunting. They came abruptly, as if someone had turned on a radio. Despite her instincts to keep moving, she paused and looked back at the loch. A dark shape now stood in those choppy dark waters. A horse. A black one, large as she’d ever seen, with a mane that poured down its neck. It was breast deep in the water, not far from where she had been standing. Where the hell had it come from? Maybe it had been nearby all this time, and she just hadn’t noticed it. Regardless, it seemed stuck. It was thrashing its head about, snorting, grunting, occasionally squealing, its eyes white with terror. The poor thing was probably stuck in some mud or seaweed.
“Hey!” she shouted, hoping someone—anyone who wasn’t her—would hear. But there was no answer—even the man and his dog seemed to have disappeared. The little town of Fonniskie wasn’t awake yet.
Her mind spinning, she slowly stepped toward the shore where the horse continued its pathetic thrashing. She futilely called out a couple more times. But she knew nobody could help the creature but her. An urge told her to run back up to the village and wake someone up. Maybe that would be best; she didn’t know what to do. Even if she had the gumption to jump into the water, she had no idea how to calm a horse and guide it back to shore. She’d always hated horses—though not enough to let one drown, apparently.
For the first time in a long time, or maybe ever, she wished Todd were with her. He was no equine expert either, as far as she knew. But he would have at least pigheadedly dove in there, would have tried to do something.
The horse continued its fruitless struggling.
“Give me a moment,” she said. Unsurprisingly, these words did nothing to calm the frightened animal. But perhaps she had said it more to herself. Every step brought her closer toward the water. She still didn’t know what she would do once she could step no further on dry land.
The horse’s thrashing became more violent and desperate, splashing water onto her legs. It threw its head to the sky, large teeth bared as it squealed. Its cries vibrated through her ears.
“Please,” she whispered, slowly reaching her trembling hand out.
Though she wasn’t yet close enough to touch it, the horse suddenly stopped its struggling and looked at her. Its eyes still had that frightened look, and it snorted and bristled, but it had gone from eleven to three with an abruptness that baffled Genevieve. As it gazed at her, the cold and oppressive feeling she’d had earlier crept back in. But this time, she didn’t feel she could retreat. She felt trapped, boxed in by this creature’s stare. All she could do was take another step, her fingertips stretching toward the horse’s mane. The creature itself seemed to be leaning in, its eyes narrowing. Genevieve didn’t know what she was doing or what she was planning to do next. All that mattered was getting closer. Soon, she smelled nothing but the horse—a warm, musky stench—and she could feel a dampness emanating from the animal, coating her own skin.
Just get a little closer.
A high-pitched bark jolted her out of this trance. She jerked her hand away as the horse raised its head and let out a furious squeal. Genevieve turned to see the source of the barking: a rutty, black and white collie dog. It was snarling aggressively, not at her, but at the horse. The dog’s owner, a stocky man with a long white beard, was lumbering after, shouting and cursing.
When she looked back to the water, her heart skipped a beat, and her throat went dry. The horse was gone. There was barely even a ripple where it had been. It was as if the loch had swiftly and silently sucked it in.
“I hope this is fine.”
“Oh, it looks perfect. Thank you.”
Janet Duncan shuffled into the seat across from Genevieve. “Well, I haven’t cooked a traditional breakfast like this in quite a while. Usually, it’s just porridge and tea for me. ...
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2025 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
