Back The Box in the Woods Save as PDF
Contents ( 53)
  1. Dedication
  2. Epigraph
  3. Map
  4. Contents
  5. July 6, 1978
  6. 11:45 p.m.
  7. 1
  8. July 7, 1978
  9. 7:30 a.m.
  10. 2
  11. July 7, 1978
  12. 7:30 a.m.
  13. 3
  14. July 7, 1978
  15. 8:05 a.m.
  16. 4
  17. 5
  18. 6
  19. July 11, 1978
  20. 6:00 p.m.
  21. 7
  22. 8
  23. 9
  24. July 11, 1978
  25. 9:30 p.m.
  26. 10
  27. 11
  28. 12
  29. 13
  30. 14
  31. 15
  32. 16
  33. 17
  34. 18
  35. 19
  36. 20
  37. 21
  38. 22
  39. 23
  40. 24
  41. 25
  42. 26
  43. 27
  44. 28
  45. 29
  46. 30
  47. Author’s Note
  48. Acknowledgments
  49. About the Author
  50. Books by Maureen Johnson
  51. Back Ad
  52. Copyright
  53. About the Publisher

“Gets the what?” the sheriff prompted as he turned the car slightly to merge onto the dirt path.

“I . . . I can’t . . .”

“You can,” he said. “I don’t care what was going on, just tell me.”

“He . . . gets the grass. In the woods. They went out for the grass.”

“Shit,” Don said again, but he managed to keep it under his breath.

“Stop here,” Susan said. Don remained in the car to coordinate over the radio and watch Patty. Susan and the sheriff hurried down the path. The morning was eerily silent, the campers all gathered in the dining area. It was a stunning morning, soft and sweet, birdsong in the air. It made the sight of Eric’s discolored and lifeless body all the more grotesque. Magda McMurphy, the camp nurse, was with him, though it was immediately clear that there was nothing she could do aside from shoo away the flies.

“He’s been dead for some time,” Magda said. “A few hours at least.”

The sheriff squatted down next to the body.

“Let’s turn him over,” he said to Magda.

They rolled the body carefully, and the full extent of the carnage was now clear.

“What in holy hell happened here?” the sheriff said in a low voice.

“I can count six stab wounds,” Magda said. “There may be more. It’s hard to tell. He’s also got a massive head wound.”

Sheriff Reynolds took a long, steadying breath and sprung back to stand.

“Come on,” he said to Susan, then broke into a run back to the car. Susan paced him easily. He threw open the back door to the cruiser, where Patty Horne sat with her knees tucked up to her chest, her long hair pulled over the sides of her face like she was trying to cocoon herself away from the horror.

“Patty,” he said without any preamble. “Where do they go to get the grass?”

“In the woods. Up the road.”

“You’ve been there?”

“Once.” She nodded heavily. “I don’t know where, it’s just . . . in the woods somewhere.”

“Do you walk or drive?”

“Todd drives. We take his Jeep.”

“About how far up the road? How long do you drive?”

“I don’t know,” she said, still weeping but maintaining control. “Five minutes?”

“Stay here with Susan.”

Patty slid out of the car, looking terrified.

“Keep all the kids together,” he said to Susan. “I don’t even want them going to the bathroom by themselves, got it?”

Susan nodded, and he knew she was more than up to the task. He got back behind the wheel, where Don regarded him in bafflement.

“What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a dead kid with half a dozen stab wounds to his chest.”

“Shit,” he said. “Do we call the mayor if Todd’s involved?”

“No,” the sheriff said, stepping on the gas. “We’re not getting him involved again. Keep him the hell out of this as long as we can. We call the state police and head out now, see if we can find the others. Get them on the horn.”