After the Storm

Linda Castillo

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Table of Contents

About the Author

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This book is dedicated to the first responders: Police officers. Firefighters. Emergency medical personnel. Disaster relief workers and volunteers. Thank you for everything you do and for being there when you are needed most.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Once again, my deepest appreciation and heartfelt thanks to my publishing family at Minotaur Books. Charles Spicer. Sally Richardson. Andrew Martin. Jennifer Enderlin. Sarah Melnyk. Jeanne-Marie Hudson. Kerry Nordling. Hector DeJean. April Osborn. David Rotstein. And many thanks to my friend and agent, Nancy Yost. I sincerely love working with all of you!

Seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.

—The Holy Bible, King James version, New Testament, Matthew 7:7

PROLOGUE

August 29, 1985

The old barn had a history. Nine-year-old Sally Ferman had heard all of the stories, and every single one scared her. Her dad told her that the farm was originally owned by a young German immigrant by the name of Hans Schneider. He built a cabin and married a French woman, Rebecca. They had three sons, and over the years, Hans and his boys built the barn, raised cattle and sheep, and grew tobacco and corn.

Then one snowy night in 1763, a band of Delaware Indians raided the settlement. Hans was shot dead as he stood by the window with his muzzle-loader. His wife was dragged from the cabin and scalped. The three boys—all armed and prepared to fight to the death—were burned alive when the Delaware set the cabin ablaze. Rumor had it, if you came out here at night you could still hear Rebecca screaming as her scalp was being hacked from her skull.

Sally didn’t know if the story was true; she’d never heard anything out here except for the coo of the pigeons and the occasional squeal of the hogs. The one thing she did know was that the old barn, with its stone foundation and dark windows, was the creepiest place she’d ever seen.

From her house next door, it looked like a normal barn, with faded red paint and a rusty tin roof. But up close, the place was falling down and spooky. Grass and weeds grew shoulder-high at the crumbling foundation. Last summer she and her best friend, Lola, had sneaked over. They’d nearly talked themselves into going into the barn, when the Amish guy came out and they’d had to hide in the weeds. It had been scary but exciting, too. All he did was pee out the back door. Despite their momentary terror, they’d laughed all the way home. Sally had had a tough time explaining the cockleburs in her hair to her mom.