The Barn That Was Found

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The forest behind Nene’s house had always been there, dark and patient, waiting for her to be old enough to venture deep. Her mother had warned her a thousand times: stay on the path, don’t go past the old stone wall, come home before dark. Nene was twelve now, and she’d memorized the warnings well enough to ignore them with purpose. The truth was that Nene had been looking for something to escape into for months. Her parents’ divorce had been finalized in the spring, and summer had been a long, awkward series of transitions—moving between houses, watching her mother cry quietly in the kitchen, pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t. School would start again in a few weeks, and the prospect of facing new teachers and friends who would notice that her father no longer picked her up anymore made her stomach tight with anxiety. The forest felt like the only place where the world made sense. Trees didn’t ask questions or make demands. The path didn’t care whether your family was falling apart. The streams kept running regardless of human sadness. It was autumn, the kind that made the world smell like smoke and wet leaves and the deep, rich rot of old things returning to earth. The trees had turned shades of rust and gold and burgundy, and the light came through the canopy in long, slanting rays that looked almost solid enough to touch, as if you could reach out and hold the light in your hand. Nene walked with her hands in

The sample pages on this site continue the opening — and the full book is available in print.