The Ash Faced Boy

“Rerouting” the GPS from my phone said for the third time in the last hour. I sighed. I kept driving down the road, knowing I would eventually get a signal again. It had been 6 months since I visited while school was still in session, and I vaguely remembered the route. I kept going.

I couldn’t wait to see Aunt Ruth.

I looked at the GPS on my phone again. Still rerouting.

Maybe Jonah had changed his mind on staying in Eldhollow?

Still rerouting.

Would everything still be as it always was? The same small, southern sleepy town I left for college?

“Turn right the next intersection”

I smiled, continuing on till I got to the intersection, and made a right as directed.

Eldhollow has been my home since I was born. It was a small southern town deep in the Appalachian mountains in Virginia. Most people didn't know of it at school. So I just said a small town near Roanoke. Made things easier to explain to people. I kept going down the road, my nerves jittery in my right hand. I hadn't seen Auntie since I left. She was one for always being there for me, but she would always tell me she was busy with whatever was going on to visit. But she always called me on Sundays. Sundays were the days she'd make sure I was okay. I made one last left turn, and after two minutes up the winding forest roads, the trees gave away to the small town of Eldhollow. I smiled. I drove through the small town, seeing folks I knew just by a glance walking by. I didn't stop to chat with anyone. Not yet. I wanted to see Auntie first. I kept going, till I got to the ridge, where there stood the old log cabin, the Grayven house.

The front porch looked exactly the same—weathered, moss-cracked steps, wind chimes made of old spoons, and that faint curl of woodsmoke trailing from the chimney. A hand-knitted wreath hung on the door, the yarn sun-faded, the color hard to name—somewhere between crimson and dried blood.

I parked behind Ruth’s old green truck and sat for a moment, letting the engine tick itself quiet. My fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

I was home.

Why did that word suddenly feel like a door swinging shut behind me?

Before I could think too long on it, the screen door creaked open, and there she was—Aunt Ruth, apron already dusted with flour, her silver hair pinned up tight, that same small smile she wore like armor.

“You’re late,” she called out, arms crossed. “I’ve been watchin’ the road since noon.”

“Blame the mountains,” I said, stepping out of the car. “GPS gave up halfway through.”

“Of course it did,” she said, stepping down the porch. “Phones don’t work right out here. You know that.”

She pulled me into a hug before I could respond. Her grip was firm, grounding—like she was trying to remind my bones they belonged here. She smelled like cinnamon and something faintly metallic.

“You’ve grown,” she murmured. “Taller than your daddy was.

I didn’t say anything. We didn’t talk about my parents much. Not since the crash. Not ever, really.

She let go, brushing her palms down my arms like she was smoothing out wrinkles in the years between us.

“Come on, I’ve got supper warming. Your old room’s made up just how you left it.”

I grabbed my bag from the trunk and followed her inside. The screen door clattered behind me like it always had, but the sound echoed longer than I remembered

Inside, the house felt warmer than it should’ve, like the walls were holding their breath. Every picture frame and quilted cushion sat exactly where it had been my whole childhood. No dust, no cobwebs. Time hadn’t passed in here—it had circled.

I walked down the hall toward my room and paused by the coat rack.

There was a bundle hanging from one hook I didn’t recognize. Twine wrapped around rough cloth. A charm of twigs and feathers dangled from the knot, tied in the shape of an eye.

“Ruth?” I called out.

“Just something to keep the house sweet,” she answered from the kitchen. “Folk tradition. You remember.”

I didn’t. But I didn’t press it

I stepped into my room. The bed was made. The window cracked just slightly, letting in the smell of pine and damp bark. My old stuffed bear sat on the shelf, missing one eye. Beside it, tucked between books, was a silver nail I didn’t remember keeping.

The sun was beginning to dip outside, turning the trees to silhouettes.

And in the distance, I heard something—a whistle, high and rhythmic.

A tune I hadn’t heard since I was small.

Wolfstep, lambstep, down the hollow lane...

I froze.

The whistle stopped.

Ruth called me to dinner.

Auntie made sure to have all the foods I missed. Roasted ham the way she cooked it with pineapple juice, cucumber salad, boiled potatoes, and Mac and cheese that rivaled Kraft's by a long shot. "How is the weather in Richmond, my boy?" She asked, as she watched me eat. She had rules when it came to eating. Sit the fork down while chewing. That way you don't choke. Napkin in lap at all time unless wiping your mouth. And always answer her questions when she asks them. I swallowed my food, picking my fork back up. "Very busy. Nothing like here. Where it's peaceful," I said, picking up another piece of potato.

"I'm glad you're back, Miclan. You missed so much while you were gone. " She said, as a husky peaked out behind the couch, snuggling up against her leg.

"Who's this?" I asked.

"This is Buck. Things got lonely here while you were gone, so I got him to keep me company. " Auntie said, petting Bucks head. I finished my food, and helped Auntie with dishes. She then went out with me, sitting on the front porch, watching the scenery around the town.

The sky had turned a deep blue by then, that dusky stretch between sunset and full dark where everything looks a little too still—like the town was holding its breath, waiting.

Buck lay at Auntie’s feet, his ears twitching every now and then, like he was listening for something I couldn’t hear.

We sat on the porch swing, rocking gently, the wood creaking under our weight. The crickets had started their chorus, and somewhere far off, I could hear the soft jingle of wind chimes from the neighbor’s place. I didn’t know if it was comforting or unnerving.

Auntie didn’t say anything for a long time. Just sipped her sweet tea from a mason jar and looked out across the hollow like she was keeping watch. Her eyes scanned the treeline, the ridge, the gravel road below.

“You know,” she said at last, “this porch was built before the house.”

“Really?” I asked, glancing over. She nodded.

“Yup. Old Jedediah Grayven built it when he staked the land. Said the porch was the most important part. It’s where you could see what’s comin’—and what’s not leavin’.”

That last part made me pause.

“Well, I guess he wasn’t much of a front door guy.”

Auntie gave a small, polite chuckle, but her gaze didn’t waver. The wind picked up for a second, rustling through the trees. Buck growled low, barely audible, then stopped.

“How long are you stayin’ this time?” she asked, casual.

I blinked.

“Just for the summer. Classes start up again in the fall.”

“Mm.” She sipped again. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept rocking. The chains of the swing groaned slightly, like they had a voice of their own. My stomach twisted—just a flicker—but I shoved it down.

“Auntie,” I said slowly, “what exactly was that thing they burn?”

She went still.

Even the swing stopped.

Buck lifted his head.

“It’s not something we talk about, Miclan.”

“But I remember it now. From when I was a kid. Every year. They always called it the Ash-Faced Boy.”

“We don’t say that name.”

Her voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it. She didn’t shout. Auntie never shouted. But there was something in her tone that shut my mouth for me.

She stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from her apron. Her joints popped a little as she straightened.

“You’ve had a long drive. You’ll feel better after some rest. Come on now.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. She walked back inside with Buck padding silently behind her.

I sat there alone on the porch a moment longer, hands curled tight around the swing’s armrest. The wind chimes started again. This time, I could swear they were playing a melody I recognized.

If you run, it takes your toes.

I stood and went inside before the shadows reached the steps.