Dead Voices Read online

  ALSO BY KATHERINE ARDEN

  Small Spaces

  The Bear and the Nightingale

  The Girl in the Tower

  The Winter of the Witch

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Arden.

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  G. P. Putnam’s Sons is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Arden, Katherine, author.

  Title: Dead voices / Katherine Arden.

  Description: New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, [2019] | Sequel to: Small spaces.

  Summary: “Trapped at a haunted ski resort, Ollie, Coco, and Brian must rely on their friendship and sharp minds if they want to escape”—Provided by publisher.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019014459 (print) | LCCN 2019017773 (ebook) | ISBN 9780525515067 (ebook) | ISBN 9780525515050 (hardback)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Haunted places—Fiction. | Best friends—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Skis and skiing—Fiction. | Resorts—Fiction. | Survival—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Action & Adventure / Survival Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Mysteries & Detective Stories.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.A737 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.A737 De 2019 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019014459

  Ebook ISBN 9780525515050

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  To Garrett

  Friend, housemate, pretty-much-sibling

  Because I did promise you a cameo in this book

  But I never said you’d be one of the good guys

  Contents

  Also By Katherine Arden

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Excerpt from Small Spaces

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  WINTER IN EAST EVANSBURG, and just after dusk, five people in a beat-up old Subaru peeled out of town in a snowstorm. Snow and road salt flew up from their tires as they got on the highway heading north. The five were nearly the only people on the road. “A major winter storm is blanketing parts of northern Vermont with eight inches overnight . . .” said the radio, crackling. “Be advised that the roads are dangerous.”

  The Subaru kept going. In front were two adults. In the back were three kids.

  Coco Zintner sat in the middle of the back seat, because she was the smallest. She was short and skinny, her eyes blue, her hair (Coco’s favorite thing about herself) an odd pinkish blond. Coco peered nervously through the windshield. The road looked slippery. They were going to spend the next three hours driving on it.

  “Awesome,” said the girl to Coco’s left. Her name was Olivia Adler. She was Coco’s best friend, and she wasn’t nervous at all. “Eight inches overnight.” She pressed her nose to the car window. She had big dark eyes and the kind of corkscrewing curls that couldn’t ever be brushed, because they’d frizz. She stared out at the snowstorm with delight. “We’re going to have so much fun tomorrow.”

  Coco’s other best friend, the boy on Coco’s right, grinned back at Ollie. The Subaru’s storage area was piled high with bags. He reached into the jumble and patted his green ski boots. “It’s gonna be lit,” he said. “Don’t look so nervous, Tiny.”

  That was to Coco. She scowled. Brian gave nearly everyone a nickname. She liked Brian, but she hated her nickname. Probably because she was actually kind of tiny. Brian had the best smile of anyone Coco knew. He’d been born in Jamaica, but his parents had moved to Vermont when he was a baby. He was black, not particularly tall, and the star of the middle school hockey team. He loved books as much as he loved scoring goals, and even though he could sometimes act like a dumb hockey player, Brian was good at noticing what went on around him.

  Like the fact that Coco was nervous. She wished he wouldn’t tease her about it.

  It was the first day of winter break, and the five of them were going skiing: Ollie and Brian and Coco, plus Ollie’s dad (who was driving) and Coco’s mom (who was riding shotgun).

  Neither adult could really afford a week of skiing. Coco’s mother was a journalist, and Ollie’s father sold solar panels. But the month before, Ollie’s dad had come home from work smiling.

  “What?” Ollie had asked. She and Coco were sitting in the kitchen of the Egg, Ollie’s rambling old farmhouse. They’d gotten themselves mugs of hot chocolate and were seeing who could build the biggest marshmallow pyramid on top.

  Mr. Adler just grinned. “Want to go skiing over the winter holiday?”

  “Huh?” said both girls in chorus.

  Turned out Ollie’s dad had won a prize. For selling a lot of solar panels. A week for him and four others at Mount Hemlock.

  “Mount Hemlock?” Ollie had asked, stunned. “But it’s not even open yet!”

  Mount Hemlock was Vermont’s newest ski mountain. It had never been open to the public before. Some school had owned it. But now it had new owners, who were turning the mountain into a winter getaway.

  “Yep,” said Mr. Adler happily. “They’re hosting a few people over the holiday, before the official opening. Want to go? Coco? Do you and your mom want to go?”

  Coco had only learned to ski that winter, and still thought that sliding fast down a mountain was cold and scary. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go. But Ollie was already doing a happy dance around the house, and Coco didn’t want to disappoint her.

  “Sure,” she said in a small voice. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

  Now they were actually in the car, actually going, and Coco had butterflies in her stomach, thinking of the storm, the slippery road, the big cold mountain at the end of it. She wished they were still back at Ollie’s house, in front of Bernie the woodstove, making marshmallow pyramids. The wind whipped snow across the windshield.

  Coco told Brian, in a voice that probably fooled no one, “I’m not nervous about skiing.” She waved a hand at the windshield. “I’m nervous about driving in a snowstorm.”

  “Well,” said Mr. Adler calmly from the front, “technically, I’m driving in a snowstorm.” He changed gears on the Subaru. His hair was as dark as Ollie’s, though it
was straight instead of curly. For the winter, he’d grown out a giant reddish beard. Keeps me warm, he would say.

  “You’re doing amazing, Dad,” Ollie said. “You and Susie.” Susie was the Subaru. “Dad’s driven through a lot of snowstorms,” she said to Coco reassuringly. “All fine.”

  The streetlights disappeared a little outside of Evansburg, and it was dark on the road except for their headlights.

  “It’s okay, Tiny,” said Brian. “We probably won’t slide into a ditch.”

  “Probably?” Coco asked.

  “Definitely,” said Coco’s mom from the passenger seat. She turned back to give Brian a stern look. Brian played innocent. Coco and her mom had the exact same blue eyes, though her mom was tall instead of tiny, and her hair was blond, not pinkish. Coco kept hoping for a growth spurt.

  “If we do slide into a ditch,” said Ollie, “you get to push us out, Brian.”

  “Naw,” said Brian. “You’re bigger than me. You push us out.”

  Coco interrupted. “You both can push us out. Are there any snacks?”

  That distracted all three of them. It was dinnertime, and there were snacks. Mr. Adler was a specialist in snacks. He’d made them each a large peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich on homemade bread.

  After they’d finished their sandwiches, they each ate an apple and shared a big bag of potato chips. Mr. Adler had made the chips too.

  “Is it hard to make potato chips?” Coco asked disbelievingly, licking salt off her fingers.

  “No,” said Ollie, in a superior tone. She’d helped make them. Also, Coco suspected, eaten a lot of them before the drive even started. “But the oil splashes.”

  “I know what we’re making next time we’re at your house,” said Brian, crunching. “These are amazing.”

  They were scuffling over the last of the potato chips when the Subaru finally turned off the main highway. MOUNTAIN ACCESS ROAD, said a sign. The road tilted steeply up. On one side were trees. On the other side was a gully and a frozen creek. Ollie’s dad was driving on through the storm like he didn’t have a care in the world, telling bad jokes from the front seat.

  “What did the buffalo say to his kid when he dropped him off at school?” he asked.

  Ollie sighed. Her dad loved bad jokes.

  “Bison!” yelped Coco triumphantly, and everyone groaned but also laughed.

  “Motorists are warned to exercise caution, avoid unplowed roads, and, if at all possible, refrain from driving altogether,” remarked the radio.

  “Great,” said Mr. Adler, unbothered. “Less people on the road tonight means more snow for us tomorrow!”

  “If you say so,” said Coco’s mom. She gave the smothering storm a cautious look. Coco recognized the look. Coco and her mom were both careful about things. Unlike Ollie and her dad, who were kind of leap-before-you-look.

  “Want to hear another joke?” Mr. Adler asked.

  “Dad, can’t we have a jokes-per-trip limit?” Ollie said.

  “Not when I’m driving!” said her dad. “One more. Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?”

  A small, awkward silence fell. Ollie, Brian, and Coco looked at each other. They really didn’t like scarecrows.

  “Anyone?” asked Ollie’s dad. “Anyone? Come on, I feel like I’m talking to myself here! Because he was outstanding in his field! Get it? Out standing in his field?” Ollie’s dad laughed, but no one laughed with him. “Geez, tough crowd.”

  The three in the back said nothing. Ollie’s dad didn’t know it, but there was a reason they didn’t like scarecrows.

  That October, they, along with the rest of their sixth-grade class, had disappeared for two days. Only Ollie, Brian, and Coco remembered everything that had happened during those days. They’d never told anyone. They told their families and the police that they’d gotten lost.

  They hadn’t just gotten lost. But who would believe them if they told the truth?

  They’d been kidnapped into another world. A world behind the mist. They’d met living scarecrows who tried to drag them off and turn them into scarecrows too. They’d gone into a haunted house, taken food from a ghost, run a corn maze, and at last met someone called the smiling man.

  The smiling man looked ordinary, but he wasn’t. The smiling man would grant your heart’s desire if you asked him. But he’d demand a price. A terrible price.

  Ollie, Brian, and Coco had outwitted the smiling man. They’d survived the world behind the mist and come home. They’d gone into that world as near strangers and come out as best friends. It was December now, and they were together, and on vacation. All was well.

  But two months later, they still had nightmares. And they still didn’t like scarecrows.

  The silence in the car stretched out as the road got even steeper. The radio suddenly fizzed with static and went silent.

  They all waited for it to crackle back to life. Nothing. Coco’s mom reached out and tapped it, pressed the tuning button, but it didn’t help. “That’s weird,” she said. “Maybe it’s the storm.”

  Coco didn’t miss the radio. She was full of peanut butter and getting sleepy. She leaned her head on Ollie’s shoulder to doze. Brian was reading Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Brian liked sea stories. He and Ollie had both read one called Captain Blood and spent a few weeks arguing about the ending. Coco had read the book too, to know what her friends were arguing about, but it was about pirates. She hadn’t liked it and felt a little left out of the whole argument. Coco didn’t like novels, really. She liked books about real things. Bugs and dinosaurs and the history of space flight.

  Brian began to read by the light of his phone. Ollie put her cheek against her window and stared into the wild night. Coco, half asleep on Ollie’s shoulder, began recalling the last chess game she’d played. It was on the internet, with someone named @begemot.

  Coco loved chess. Her favorite books were histories of famous players and famous matches. One of her favorite things to do was to play online. On the internet, no one could be smug and assume she was easy to beat just because she was small and pink-haired. Sleepily, Coco went back over the opening moves of her last game. She’d played white, which always goes first, and had opened with Queen’s Gambit . . .

  Up and up they climbed.

  Coco fell asleep, still thinking about chess.

  Coco dreamed. Not about chess.

  In her dream, she was walking down a dark hallway, so long that she couldn’t see the end of it. Bars of moonlight fell across the carpet, striping it with shadows. But there weren’t any windows. Just the moonlight. It was bitterly cold. On each side were rows of plain white doors, the paint rotten and peeling. Behind one of the doors, Coco heard someone crying.

  But behind which door? There seemed to be hundreds. “Where are you?” Coco called.

  “I can’t find them,” whimpered a girl’s voice. “I’ve looked everywhere, but I can’t find them. Mother says I can’t go home until I find them.”

  Coco thought she heard footsteps plodding along behind her. Heavy, uneven footsteps. Her skin started to crawl. But she had to find the crying girl. She was sure of it. She had to find her before the footsteps caught up. She ran along faster. “What are you looking for?” she called. “I can help you find it. Where are you?”

  Then she lurched to a halt. A skinny girl, about her own height, dressed in a white nightgown, had appeared in the hallway. Her face was in shadow. “Here,” the girl said.

  For some reason, Coco did not want to see the girl’s face. “Hello?” she said, hearing her voice crack.

  “I’m looking for my bones,” whispered the girl. “Can you help me?”

  She moved into the light. Coco flinched. The other girl was gray-faced and skinny. Her eyes were two blank pits. Her lips and nose were black, like she had terrible frostbite. She tried, horribly, to smile. “Hello,” she said. “It�
��s cold here, isn’t it? Won’t you help me?” She reached out a single hand. Her fingernails were long and black in the moonlight.

  Coco, stumbling backward, ran into something solid. A huge hand fell on her shoulder. Coco whirled and looked up into the face of a scarecrow. Its sewn-on mouth was smiling wide. Its hand wasn’t a hand at all, just a sharp garden trowel. It had found her at last, Coco thought. It had found her, and now it was going to drag her off. She’d never get home again . . .

  Coco opened her mouth to scream, and woke up with a gasp.

  She was in the car, in the snowstorm, driving to Mount Hemlock, and her mother was talking to Mr. Adler in the front seat. It was cold in the back seat; her toes in their winter boots were numb. Coco sat still for a second, breathing fast with fright. Just a dream, she told herself. She’d had a lot of scarecrow dreams in the last few months. So had Ollie and Brian. Just a dream.

  “How much farther, Roger?” Coco’s mom asked.

  “Should be pretty close now,” said Mr. Adler.

  Coco, a little dazed from her nightmare, stared out the front windshield. It was snowing even harder. The road was a thin yellowish-white strip, piled thick with snow. More snow bowed the trees on either side.

  The Subaru was moving slowly. The thick snow groaned under the wheels, and Mr. Adler seemed to be struggling to keep the car going straight on the slippery road. “What a night, huh?” he said.

  “Want me to drive?” asked Coco’s mom.

  This time the usual cheer was gone from Mr. Adler’s reply. “It’s okay. I know the car better.” Lower, he added, “Just pray we don’t get stuck.”

  Now the car was coming down into a gully, the road turning slightly.

  But the road wasn’t empty. For a stomach-clenching second, Coco thought she was still dreaming. Right in front of them, in the middle of the road, stood a tall figure in a ragged blue ski jacket. It looked like a scarecrow. The figure was perfectly still. One palm was raised and turned out as though to beg. As though to say, STOP. The face was hidden by a ski mask.