But as he got closer, she saw that he was all scratched up, soaking wet, walking slowly, and he seemed to be favoring one leg.

She heard George Decrow’s warning: The best thing you can do, you and your husband, is leave right now. Leave and don’t ever go back.

Helen ran to meet him.

“Nate! My god! What happened? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said, snappish, looking away. “I fell into a deep spot in the bog.”

“What were you doing out in the bog?”

“There was a deer,” he said. “A pure white doe. An albino. I woke up this morning and went outside, and there she was, right in our backyard. I tried to get a picture on my phone, but she bolted. So I followed her into the woods.”

“You followed a white deer into the woods?” It sounded absurd. Like the beginning of a fairy tale. Maybe the deer would lead to a well where there would be a magic talking frog.

He shrugged. “I know it sounds crazy, made-up, but it happened. She was only a little ways ahead of me, and I stayed right behind her. She led me in a big circle, and we ended up at the bog. She walked right out into the middle. It was the craziest thing—she knew just where to step, avoiding the deep parts, finding footing. Me, I was stumbling, in up to my knees in places. The bog sucks you down, holds on to you.”

Helen nodded. She knew what he meant, that sucking feeling like something underneath was grabbing hold, pulling at your feet, wanting to keep you there.

“But I kept following her. I got great photos on my phone, a video even. But then I went to get closer and must have stepped into a spring; I thought I was safe because I was still a ways away from the center. But the ground just wasn’t there anymore. It was deep. I couldn’t feel the bottom at all. Coldest water I’ve ever been in, too.”

She thought of Hattie’s bones lying down at the bottom of the bog, of a skeletal hand reaching up for Nate as he flailed around in the water…

She didn’t get you. She didn’t get you this time.

Helen shook the thought away. “But you’re okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Can’t say the same for my phone, though.” He held up his iPhone with a shiny, dead black screen. “I’m pretty sure the swim killed it. I’ll try sticking it in a bag of rice, but I’m afraid it’s a little beyond that.”

“You should go get a hot shower, dry clothes,” Helen said. “I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”