Late afternoon sunshine came through the dusty cottage window in lazy rays, beams that fell softly on the excited face and sparkling blue eyes of twelve-year-old Olivia Owen. With both her small hands wrapped around the thick, faded red journal, her long dark hair flew into mild disarray as she jerked her head and tried to keep a nervous eye on the door. She knew too well that if Granny Tipton found that she�d once again rooted out the secret journal Granny went to so much trouble to keep hidden, this time there would be a hickory switch with her name on it.

Olivia tiptoed to the window and peeked out. Granny was well across the clearing, moving as methodically as her arthritis allowed along the edge of the cool, inviting forest, cutting late season wildflower blooms to perk up the gloomy kitchen. Olivia's gaze softened as she watched her seventy-one-year-old great-grandmother work with the serenity that came with a lifelong devotion to the beautiful foothills she'd never left.

Olivia giggled, sat cross-legged on the floor and turned rapt attention to the first page of the journal; fully aware that Granny's serenity would fly quicker than a hawk from the ridge if she caught Olivia snooping again after being scolded and warned.


Sugar Cove October 31, 1925

Why we invited Petey to go along I don't rightly know. Well, to be truthful, Jimmy Ray and I both wanted to scare the living bejesus out of somebody, and who better than Petey Taylor, the scarediest cat in the whole of these Smoky Mountains? And neither Petey nor Jimmy Ray minded that me, an eight-year-old girl, was bossing two ten-year-old boys on our midnight trip to Handbasket Farm.

That isn't its real name, of course. But that's what everybody called it because of the evil they swore hung around it. Evil that took anyone dumb enough to venture there straight to the devil in a handbasket.

We were young and eager to have a 'morning after' boast about how we didn't run from no haunts, that we spent Halloween night daring those haunts to show themselves in the silver light of the full mountain moon.

But what we found at Handbasket Farm was evil like we'd never seen before. Petey ain't never been the same since. Especially when the hoot owl flies...

Olivia stifled a scream at Granny's harsh, "What are you doing, girl"�

Olivia stared at Granny, at the odd, fearful look that dominated her aged brown eyes.

"Give that to me!" Granny demanded, but instead of waiting for Olivia to hand it over, she pulled it from her grasp and tossed it across the room. "I told you, child...to never touch that book again."

Olivia's eyes brimmed with tears. "I...I'm sorry...I just wanted to..."

"Wanted to what�" Granny snapped. "I warned you to keep out of things that don't concern you." She sighed. "Maybe you coming here to live wasn't such a good idea."

"No," Olivia cried. "Please don't say that, Granny."

She ran to Granny Tipton, encompassing the frail old woman in a tight hug. "You're all I have left of Mama, Granny. She'd want me to be here, in the mountains with you, where she grew up."

Olivia's tears flowed freely, pain ripping her heart at the still fresh memory of losing her parents and paternal grandmother in a flash flood. "I love Grandpa Owen, but don't send me to California...please," she whispered.

Granny's hands were tight on Olivia's shoulders and she pushed her back, forcing her to look directly into her eyes. "Then promise me, blood promise, that you'll never again touch that book."

Olivia blinked twice, confused by the fierce light in Granny's eyes. "Granny," she blurted. "If you're so afraid of that book why don't you burn it"�

Very slowly, Granny's hands released Olivia's shoulders, then she walked to the window to stare at a distant, cloud-topped mountain ridge. "Do you see that?" she asked softly, almost as though talking to herself. "Handbasket Farm sits on that ridge."

Before Olivia could respond, Granny continued. "That's why I don't burn that book. That journal is my penance. My penance for my silence."