A shadow passed over the faces of Greg and Hatch, like the sun had been momentarily eclipsed.
Greg stopped short and released me. He and Hatch exchanged looks. Without another word, they scrambled toward the car. Hatch almost knocked Marty over as he brushed past. Greg cranked the engine and hit the gas before his brother even jumped in. Hatch raced alongside the accelerating Firebird, barely hurling himself into the passenger seat before the tires screeched and the car sped away.
I touched my cheek. I could still feel the heat of the cigarette on my skin. It felt almost like a light sunburn.
“What was that about?” I muttered.
Marty and I looked at each other curiously.
“Mighty proud of you boys,” said a deep voice behind us.
We turned around and saw Uncle Shorty standing behind us. Where had he come from? It was him Greg and Hatch had been afraid of—and who could blame them? Even with his hands shoved in his coverall pockets and his shoulders slumped, he looked pretty intimidating.
“Proud of us?” I asked. “It looked like they were ready to rip us apart until you came along.”
“But you stood your ground.”
Uncle Shorty’s pickup was parked around the corner at the feed store. We helped load several bags of animal feed into the back. The bags of corn and seeds made me sneeze. We picked Aunt Mary up from the grocery store down the street. She had a number of paper bags filled with groceries, and we hauled those to the pickup, too. Afterwards, Uncle Shorty treated Alex, Marty, and me to ice cream cones. I got black cherry, and Marty chose chocolate. Alex replaced his double scoops of Rocky Road. I was pleased to find a spinning comic book rack inside the ice cream parlor. I browsed through the titles and bought a couple. Even though the comics were a little beat up from the rack, at least my collection could continue to grow.
We rode home in the back of the pickup, with the warm breeze whipping in our hair and bugs occasionally splatting against our faces. The ride was pretty nice, but once we hit the dirt road, the vibrations through the bed of the truck rattled my teeth and numbed my butt.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I told Marty as we bounced along the dirt road.
“Ask away.”
“How come they call your dad Shorty? I mean, that’s not his real name, is it?”
“Might as well be,” Marty said. “His real name’s Martin, like mine. I’m a junior. But everyone knows him as Shorty.”
“But he’s not really short,” Alex said, his mouth smeared with ice cream as he gnawed at the sugar cone.
“Not to you and me,” Marty said, “but you should see his brothers. My dad was the runt of the litter compared to them. The three of them are considered the strongest men in the county. Why, I saw my Uncle Jasper tear a big, thick phone book apart with his bare hands, just to show off.”
“So what happened to you?” I smiled. “Where are your muscles?”
Marty’s shoulders sagged and his brow furrowed. “I’ll fill out one of these days.”
I’d just been teasing him, but I could tell I hurt his feelings.
Way to go, I thought. He stood by your side against a pair of thugs who scare the living daylights out of him, and you insult him.
When we got home, we helped unload the bags of feed. As we hauled the sacks out of the truck, I asked Alex about his dream.
“You know,” I said, trying my best to be subtle, “you were talking in your sleep last night. Sounded like you were having bad dreams.”
“I did have bad dreams.” The color drained from Alex’s face. “Really bad.”
“Was it about Maddie Someday?” I asked. Behind me, Marty spat.
“I don’t remember much of it,” Alex said, hefting a bag from the truck bed. “But, yeah, I guess it was.”
That much I already knew, of course. “Anything else?” I asked, urging him to continue.
“Nope.”
“Nothing at all?”
“All I remember is the witch chasing me.”
I sighed and let the matter drop. My theory of the dog had been proven wrong.
“Oh, yeah,” Alex added. “There was a dog, too, I think.”
Marty and I looked at each other.
“It had funny eyes,” Alex said.
That changed everything.
“SO WHAT YOU’RE TELLING ME is the dog is working for Maddie Someday.”
Marty spat twice and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He left a slug-like trail of slobber over his knuckles.
We sat on the floor in Marty’s room, keeping our voices low. The weak glow of a small reading lamp pushed the shadows away. Looking out the window, I saw a light mist already creeping across the yard, the foggy shapes like living things. Talking about witches, I felt like I was huddled around a campfire telling made-up ghost stories—not getting ready to go outside and face a real one. I won’t even describe all the spitting going on while we talked about the witch. Suffice it to say, I’m surprised the carpet didn’t get soaked.
“It all sort of adds up, you know?”
For a few seconds, Marty looked at me curiously as he turned the idea over in his head. Then he gave up on trying to figure it out and admitted, “I don’t reckon I’m understanding you.”
“According to what I read, witches and warlocks can call upon evil spirits to serve them. They’re called familiars or fetches, and they look like animals.”
“I thought they used black cats.”
“Sure they do, but there’s nothing to stop them from using a dog. You and I both dreamed about Maddie and the dog. That might have been a coincidence. But Alex dreamed about them both, too, and we never mentioned the dog to him. There must be a connection.”
“Fair enough.” Marty nodded. “But Maddie died before my parents were even born. How come her mutt’s still snooping around in the woods? And what’s it doing digging near our house?”
“I haven’t figured that one out yet,” I said.
I should have told Marty I’d be spending the rest of my vacation inside, reading comic books and playing video games, avoiding the Bleeding Rock, avoiding the Crewes boys, and—especially—avoiding the fetch. But I knew I’d never be able to live my cowardice down. Besides, I was plenty curious to see what the dog was up to.
“We better get a move on. We’re going to be late as it is, and Lisa won’t wait for us forever. Is Alex sleeping?”
“Like a rock,” I said. “I was worried he’d have trouble sleeping after the nightmares he had last night, but he’s out cold.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
We quietly moved through the house to the back door. I didn’t even want to imagine the trouble we’d get into if we were caught sneaking out. No witch’s curse would be worse.
Getting out the back door without being seen was easy enough, since all the adults slept upstairs and Marty was an expert on opening doors without a peep from even the rustiest of hinges. As we crossed past the stairs, I thought I heard a tap-tap-tap sound from above. Mom typing away at her romance novel? It might have been my imagination. Mom wasn’t much of a night owl.
I felt as though the eyes of every ghost in Crooked Hills watched me. I thought about how black the woods could be at night, and how the cries of birds and possums sounded like the voices of restless spirits echoing in the dark. The shadows seemed deeper, more sinister. I tripped on roots erupting from the earth like the curved back of a dinosaur roiling out of Loch Ness. Mosquitoes and other insects buzzed warnings in my ear. The surrounding trees took on an unfamiliar, foreboding nature, strangers in the darkness. Color slipped away, and blacks and grays painted the forest.
Marty, of course, seemed right at home. He whistled under his breath, but even his tune seemed ominous, sad, and eerie.
Something sticky swept across my face. I spat and brushed the silky strands of a spider’s web out of my eyes and off my lips. Something tickled at my collar. I swatted the back of my neck, but found no spider. Marty looked back at me and smiled.
“You all right?” he asked.
“Peachy.”
I must have wiped imaginary webs from my face a dozen times.
A twig snapped in the darkness behind us.
Someone—something—followed us in the shadows.
Marty’s whistle trailed off into silence. He held still, listening.
I looked over my shoulder. Foggy shapes flitted through the trees like moldering ghosts. A few gauzy spider webs crisscrossed between gnarled branches.
The forest grew quiet. Everything grew still. The silence was even creepier than the odd noises. It was unnatural, like the entire forest held its breath in anticipation. My blood, rushing to my head, thundered in my ears like a waterfall.
Maybe I was hearing things. Letting my imagination play tricks on me.
Marty and I shared a wary look.
I took a few steps—
And heard the shuffling in the brush again. Someone or something was definitely trailing us through the trees, taking steps in time with us, holding still when we stopped.
Marty whirled around. A slash of pale moonlight crossed his face. His eyes were wide, his face sweaty.
“What was that?” he asked.
I saw only darkness swelling between the trees. Anyone could be hiding in the shadows. Anything.
The fetch?
I sure hoped not. But if the dog could enter our dreams, maybe it somehow knew we were looking for it. Maybe it was turning the tables on us.
Now the sound grew closer. It sounded like someone running through the woods, feet crunching twigs rapidly, swatting low-hanging branches aside, coming straight at us. Coming closer.
Closer.
My legs tensed, ready to spring in a run that would put an Olympic track star to shame.
The sound stopped, letting silence swallow it whole.
“What is that?” I whispered.
“Probably nothing,” Marty said. “A raccoon or possum.”
“Sounds bigger,” I said, although I really had no way of judging how big it was.
“I’m going to check,” Marty said.
“What?” My voice jumped from a hushed murmur to a shout. “You’re not serious, are you? You can’t wander off like that.”
“It’s probably nothing anyway, but I want to make sure. I can get a lot closer without you making a bunch of noise. I’ll be just fine.”
He sounded like a character from just about every horror movie I’d ever seen—but in all the movies the character wandered off never to be seen again.
“I won’t go far,” he said, “and I’ll flick my flashlight on and off every couple of minutes, so you’ll see me the whole time.”
“Promise?”
Marty turned the flashlight on, holding it under his chin. The light painted his face in a phantom snarl. “You’re not scared of a little old ghost, are you?”
“Of course not,” I lied.
“I’ll be right back.”
Marty ducked between a pair of thick trees and vanished into the darkness. I heard the soft crackle of his footsteps through the twigs and leaves carpeting the ground, saw the bouncing beam of his flashlight piercing the shadows as he flicked it on for a second or two, then off.
On, then off.
I waited.
The flashlight flared in the darkness. Marty was another dark shape amidst the shadows, hunched over, creeping.
The light flipped off.
On. And now he was even farther away, peering around the trunk of a large oak. I inched after him, just a little. I didn’t want him to get too far away before the light switched—
Off.
I waited.
Come on, I thought. Turn on the light.
With every passing second, my heartbeat quickened.
“Marty?”
I stood glued to the spot for what seemed like forever. I saw no sign of my cousin. Didn’t hear him.
“Marty?” I kept my voice low and steady. “Where are you?”
The darkness, closing in around me, deeper now, refused to answer.
We shouldn’t have split up. What a stupid idea!
“If this is a joke,” I said, “it isn’t funny.”
I hesitated to turn my own flashlight on. If I scanned the beam through the shadows, would I see something awful? Would I see Marty’s body? Mutilated? Or just sitting rigidly, a look of terror on his face, as if he’d been frightened to death?
I pushed the thought from my mind and turned on the flashlight. My hand trembled, and the batteries inside the light rattled like bones. The surrounding fog bounced the glow back at me. I could almost see better without the flashlight.
I opened my mouth to call out again.
Sticks and twigs snapped nearby. Right next to me.
“Marty, is that you?”
Why didn’t he answer me?
Something scrambled through the twigs and weeds, too big to be an animal, snapping tree limbs back, coming right for me, moving quickly.
“Marty?”
No answer.
Whatever the thing in the darkness was—running faster now—it wasn’t my cousin. I saw the bushes shaking as something pushed through.
I didn’t wait around to get a good look. Taking off full speed through the woods, I fumbled with the flashlight and it fell from my butterfingers. The beam of light spun around, casting a strange, slow-motion strobe effect through the woods. The flashlight must have broken as it hit the ground. I was plunged into darkness. As I ran, tree limbs slapped me in the face. Briars snagged and ripped my clothes. Knotted roots tugged at my feet. Somehow, I managed to keep from screaming.
I might have been heading for the old concrete bridge, but couldn’t be sure. Who cared as long as I escaped whatever horrible thing chased after me? I imagined the fetch’s hot breath blasting across the back of my neck, its teeth nipping at my heels. I no longer heard it, but I knew—just knew—it was right behind me.
I staggered to a stop, leaned over to catch my breath. I turned in a circle, trying to find a recognizable landmark. But in the dead of night, I saw nothing even remotely familiar.
I was lost.
I REMEMBERED WHAT MARTY HAD SAID.
An unlearned man might get lost for days in the deep places, where the light of day doesn’t even cut through the thick branches.
And, if anything, I felt unlearned.
Even the Bleeding Rock would have been a welcome sight, haunted or not, even if blood fountained from the pores of the stone and phantoms pranced around upon the trampled, withered grass. At least I’d be able to get my bearings. No such luck.