Dead Voices

No one said anything else. The resort drive was the narrowest road they’d driven on, and the most thickly piled with snow. The Subaru’s motor whined horribly as Ollie’s dad pushed down the accelerator. The driveway turned, and the car skidded slowly sideways, almost going into a spin. The wheels couldn’t bite.

“Dad—” Ollie began.

“Not now!” snapped her father in a tone Coco had never heard from Mr. Adler. He changed gears, managed to keep the car from skidding, and then they burst out from the driveway into a snow-covered parking lot. Everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief.

After the long, cold drive, the sight of Hemlock Lodge was like Christmas morning. Warm golden light blazed out of the windows. Well, some of the windows.

“We made it,” said Brian happily.

They could barely see the building in the snowy darkness, but Coco thought it was big. It had a—presence. It loomed over them.

“Shouldn’t there be more lights?” asked Ollie.

“Power must be out,” said Coco’s mom. She tugged the end of her blond braid, considering. “They’re running on generators. Can’t light everything.”

“I can hear the generators,” said Brian.

Mr. Adler drove across the parking lot and parked under an awning. Coco could hear the generators too: a slow, roaring noise, like the building was breathing.

“Well,” said Mr. Adler, “parking lot’s empty. Looks like we were the only ones to make the drive.”

“There might be others stuck on the road somewhere,” said Coco’s mom. “Hopefully they get to shelter. Another hour, and we’d have gotten stuck ourselves. Next time let’s listen to what the radio has to say about snowstorms, hm?”

“Deal,” said Ollie’s dad, and he sounded like he really meant it. “Come on!” he added to all of them. “We made it, all present and accounted for. Grab a bag. The sooner we get out, the sooner we get to bed.”

Ollie and Brian fumbled for the door handles and stumbled into the freezing night. All of them padded sleepily into Hemlock Lodge.

Coco stopped dead right in the entrance, staring. Ollie plowed into Coco and had to catch her so they both didn’t fall. “Coco, what—” she began, and then she saw what Coco had. “No way.”

“Holy cow,” muttered Brian. “Where are we?”

The only light in the lobby was from a big,

roaring fire. Shadows leaped and swung across the walls; you couldn’t even see the ceiling. But the walls were completely covered with heads. Dead animal heads. Coco spotted a moose head with Christmas lights wound through its antlers. A deer head—a lot of deer heads—hung in a cluster. There was a trio of raccoons in a small canoe with paddles. A stuffed fawn in a glass box. Four coyotes looked like they were howling at a fake moon. A black bear stood on its hind legs, its paw upraised.

In the flickering firelight, they seemed to move; their glass eyes shone like they were alive. The bear had sharp white teeth.

“Nice decorations,” said Brian uneasily. “Great spot your dad found.” There was a giant bearskin rug on the floor. Its claws were shiny in the firelight.

Ollie stepped around Coco and marched into the lobby. “It’s great,” she said pointedly. Ollie always defended her dad. Coco would have too, if she’d had a dad as cool as Ollie’s. Coco had never met her dad. He’d left before Coco was born.

Ollie waved at the heads. “Some people like this kind of thing. And we’re not here to hang out in the lobby, we’re here to ski.”

Brian brightened. “Yes, we are,” he said. His green ski boots were draped over his backpack; he reached behind and patted them again. Brian loved all gear, for all sports. Especially his own gear. He and Ollie would go on endlessly about tuning skis and sharpening ice skates. Sometimes Coco wished that she liked the things her friends liked. Pirate books and winter stuff. She’d have more to say when they were talking.

Two people, a man and a woman, had been standing by the front desk, waiting for them. Now they hurried forward, clattering across the lodge. They were smiling, freckled, happy. Coco was really glad to see them. They made the lobby seem a lot more normal.

“Oh, you made it, I’m so glad!” said the woman. She was thin as a greyhound, sandy-haired, with cheery welcome written all over her face like she’d painted it there. “You must be Roger Adler,” she said to Ollie’s dad. “I’m Sue Wilson. You’re the first guests to arrive—a lot of them probably didn’t set out at all! What a storm! Sorry about the dark.” She waved a hand at the lobby. “We thought the fire would be enough. Electricity’s out, and we’re trying to save on propane in case we’re snowed in for a couple of days. Plenty of firewood, though!” She turned to the kids. “You can call me Sue.” She smiled at Coco. “You tired, hon?”

Coco was used to adults calling her hon, sweetie, and darling. Adults who didn’t know her mostly seemed to think she was about eight years old. It was the pinkish hair. She really wished she’d get that growth spurt.

“Yes,” she said politely, gritting her teeth. “I am. What happened to the electricity?”

“The storm,” said the man, coming forward. “Wind blew trees over the power lines somewhere or other.” He had a beard as big as Mr. Adler’s and wore a Christmas sweater. A little belly hung over his belt. “I’m Sam Wilson,” he said. “Me ’n’ Sue own the place. Pleased to meet you. I guess you saw my little critters.” He waved a hand at the wall. “Bagged ’em all myself! Lemme take those.” He swept up all three of their duffels before they could respond. “Now,” he said. “Enough chitchat. You must be tired. Stairs are this way. Sorry the elevator’s not working. Power’s out and all. Come on. Welcome to Hemlock Lodge.”

Coco followed him gratefully, glad to get to bed and away from the animal heads.

“Big storm out there, Sue,” Coco heard Mr. Adler saying. “Should make for some good skiing tomorrow, but it was a tough drive.” He raised his voice. “Good night, kids! Be good.”