by Jason Hawes
One of the ghosts tired of toying with Sarah and Pattie, and it grabbed hold of Sarah from behind and sank its teeth into her shoulder. She let out a high-pitched shriek of pain, and although she thrashed and tried to dislodge herself from her spectral attacker, the ghost held on tight, and her shirt darkened with blood. Pattie yelled and pounded her fists against the ghost’s head, tears of rage and fear streaming down her cheeks, but the horrible thing ignored her and continued gnawing on Sarah, biting its way through her shirt and getting down to the meat.
Ray made no conscious decision to start walking toward Sarah and Pattie. He became aware that he was doing so only because the image of the two women grew larger in his lens, even though he hadn’t zoomed in on them. He continued walking, ghosts swimming through the air around him, their dead eyes focusing on him with raw hunger. One scratched a trail of bloody lines down his left cheek as it passed, licking its fingers with a mottled gray tongue as it moved off. Another took a good-size bite out of his left ear and gulped down the grisly morsel as if it were a delicious sweet treat. He felt the pain of his injuries, but it was muted and distant, something unimportant that he would deal with later. He continued walking, filming all the while, until he stood behind the ghost that was tearing into Sarah’s shoulder. Still not thinking, his body moving on automatic, Ray raised his camera and brought it smashing down on top of the ghost’s head so hard that its skull popped like a rotten melon. Black goo exploded, splattering Sarah and mixing with the blood streaming down her back. The ghost stopped moving, released its grip on Sarah, and started to fall to the floor. But before it could hit, its form faded away, like a shadow vanishing at sunlight’s touch.
Sarah fell sobbing into Pattie’s arms, and Ray dropped the camera, broken and coated with black gore, to the floor. He should have felt something—satisfied that he had helped prevent Sarah from being injured further, gratified that he’d overcome whatever emotional inertia had kept him from acting, smug that he had done something to help while Erin just stood there. But he felt nothing. Not even when the other ghosts that had been harassing Sarah and Pattie turned away from them and came at him.
There were three of them. Two grabbed his arms, while the third sank its fingers into his shoulders. There was more pain, but he barely registered it. You’re in shock, he thought. That’s what’s wrong with you. It was so simple, so obvious, he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before. The unholy trio began swimming upward, carrying him aloft with them. He didn’t see the point in struggling as they ascended, and he relaxed and enjoyed the view. The ghosts carried him all the way to the top of the atrium, held him there for a moment, and then let him go.
As he watched the floor rush up to meet him, his only regret was that he wasn’t holding his camera. This would have made for some kickass footage.
“I can’t believe you three talked me into this,” Drew said.
Trevor directed the beam of his flashlight toward the line of trees on the other side of the river. The Clearwater wasn’t very wide at this point, but even so, the beam wasn’t strong enough to illuminate the far bank.
“You were outvoted,” Trevor said. “Fair and square.”
The early-spring night air felt cool on his skin. Too cool. He was glad he had worn his black suede jacket, but then, he always wore it, except during the height of summer. Drew sometimes teased him about how often he wore the jacket, saying things like “Do you wear it in the shower? Do you keep it on when you sleep, like it’s a security blanket?” But Trevor thought the jacket made him look cool . . . well, cooler than he looked without it, anyway. He had even worn it during picture day a few weeks ago, and his mother had had a fit when he brought the proofs home from school.
Some people just didn’t know class when they saw it.
“It’s a nice night for a walk by the river,” Amber said. “Even if it is a bit chilly.”
Trevor wondered if Drew would pick up on the hint this time. Amber had been nuts for him ever since the three of them had met in science class the previous fall. Even Trevor—who had never had a girlfriend even though he was a junior in high school—knew that Amber was using the cool air as an excuse and that she really wanted Drew to put his arm around her. But while Drew was one of the most perceptive people he knew, especially when it came to the way people thought and felt, he was clueless when it came to recognizing Amber’s feelings for him.
“I suppose,” Drew said. He shone his flashlight on the trees on their side of the bank. More to have something to do, Trevor guessed, than because he believed he would see anything interesting.
The riverbank wasn’t wide enough for the four of them to walk side-by-side, especially now. It had rained quite a bit over the last couple of weeks, and the Clearwater was higher than any of them had ever seen it. There had been some talk around town that the river might flood, but it hadn’t rained for the last few days, and . . . Trevor allowed the line of thought to trail away. Something nagged at his mind, something to do with the idea of flooding. Not this river, though. Another. But no matter how hard he tried to drag the thought to the forefront of his consciousness, it remained out of reach, and he decided not to worry about it. Whatever the idea was, if it was important enough, it would come to him eventually.
Trevor walked behind Drew and Amber. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he didn’t need to in order to imagine her crestfallen expression at Drew’s once again failing to catch her hint. He had seen it often enough.
“If you’re cold, you can borrow my jacket, Amber. I don’t need it.”
Greg was fourth in line—which, as far as Trevor was concerned, was exactly where he belonged. Greg was a tagalong who had invited himself to be a part of their group, and while neither Trevor nor Drew liked him very much, they tolerated him because of Amber. She felt sorry for Greg, who was even lower in the high-school pecking order than Trevor, and she didn’t see any harm in allowing him to accompany them on their investigations.
Greg pushed his way past Trevor, already in the process of shucking off his jacket. Trevor wasn’t exactly a skinny guy, but Greg was heavier, and since there wasn’t much room on the bank, Greg bumped into him as he went by, knocking him off balance. He staggered and windmilled his arms to keep from falling into the river. Considering how high and fast the water was flowing, along with the fact that he wasn’t the strongest of swimmers, taking a dip right then wouldn’t merely be embarrassing. It would be dangerous, maybe even fatal.
But he managed to regain his balance and keep from plunging into the river—barely.
“Damn it, Greg! Watch where you’re going!”
But Greg ignored him. He reached Amber, finished removing his jacket, and held it out to her.
“Here! Go ahead. Like I said, I don’t need it.”
Greg only had on a thin T-shirt underneath his jacket, while Amber wore the oversize Ohio State sweatshirt that was on permanent loan from her dad. But Greg had such a pathetically obvious crush on Amber that Trevor wouldn’t have been surprised if he had offered to take off all his clothes and give them to her.
Trevor doubted that Amber wanted to take Greg’s jacket. For one thing, it would be huge on her. For another, Greg had an unpleasant body odor that reminded Trevor of freshly sliced Swiss cheese. But Amber smiled, took Greg’s jacket, and slipped it on.
“Thanks,” she said.
Amber smiled at Greg, and Drew—who was no longer examining the trees but watching the two of them—frowned.
Trevor knew that Amber had accepted Greg’s offer out of simple kindness, but had she also done so in order to make Drew jealous? If so, he didn’t blame her. Drew deserved to have his chain yanked a little bit. Maybe it would wake him up and get him to . . .
It was Trevor’s turn to frown then. There was something about that thought that bothered him. Something to do with wake up. The words kept echoing in his mind, and they seemed important somehow, almost as if his subconscious was trying to send him a message. But if so, he had no
idea what it might be. What the hell was wrong with him? It was as if his brain were stuck in low gear.
“I just don’t see the point in this,” Drew said. “Investigating reports of ghosts is one thing. But this . . .” He paused as if searching for the right words. “This is just silly.”
“People have been telling stories about the Gork for a long time,” Trevor said. “Since way before we were born.”
“That doesn’t make the stories true,” Drew pointed out.
“My uncle said he saw the Gork once,” Greg said. “He and some of his friends were down here drinking when they weren’t much older than us. My uncle said they heard the Gork call out from the woods, and its cry sounded like a cross between a howl and a shriek.”
“Hearing is not the same as seeing,” Drew said. “What your uncle heard was probably one of his friends who snuck off to play a joke on everyone else.”
The Gork was Ash Creek’s version of Bigfoot, a bestial giant rumored to live in the woods near the Clearwater River. Despite all the tales, no one had ever come forward with solid evidence—no photos, no plaster casts of footprints, no bits of coarse fur snagged on branches. But that didn’t deter Trevor. Someone had to be the first to find proof, right? Why shouldn’t it be them?
“There have been reports of similar creatures from all around the world,” Amber said. “Hundreds, maybe thousands of them. If such creatures do exist, why can’t there be one living here?”
“I can think of lots of reasons,” Drew said. “There would need to be a large enough population for them to breed, which would make it almost impossible for them to stay hidden. No one’s ever found any remains of a dead one. As big as they’re supposed to be, you’d think they’d leave large piles of poop lying around, but no one’s even found that much.”
Amber giggled. “That’s gross!”
“That’s because they’re smart, Drew,” Trevor said. He was starting to get irritated now. Drew could carry the skeptic thing too far sometimes. “They know we outnumber them, so they purposely hide from us, and they make sure not to leave any evidence of their presence.”
“If that’s true, then if the Gork is real, it won’t have any trouble hiding from four high-school kids searching for it with flashlights.”
“Four kids who are also making a lot of noise,” Greg said. “Well, two, technically.”
Trevor started to reply to Drew, but he realized he didn’t have a counterargument. Maybe they could have planned out this investigation more thoroughly.
“Well, we’re here now,” Amber said, “so we might as well look around for a while.” She smiled at Greg. “Quietly.”
Drew scowled at Trevor, and Trevor scowled right back. But neither of them was the type to hold a grudge for long, and eventually, Drew sighed. “OK, why not? But let’s at least kill the flashlights.”
“Yeah. Good idea,” Trevor said. They switched off their flashlights and stood on the bank, listening while they waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.
Not that there was much to hear besides the river, as swollen and fast-moving as it was. There was a slight breeze blowing, and Trevor could see the tree branches above them sway gently, silhouetted against the night sky. But he couldn’t hear their leaves rustle. In fact, as loud as the river was—the nearly flood-stage river, his mind nagged—someone could be walking along the bank right behind them, and they wouldn’t hear whoever it was approach. Whoever or whatever, Trevor thought.
The skin on the back of his neck began to tingle, and he had the sensation that someone was watching them. A thrill of adrenaline rushed through him, and he turned around to make sure nothing was there.
But something was.
A huge black shape loomed on the riverbank behind them less than ten yards away. Although the sky was clear, the moon was only a thin crescent and provided little light to see by. Trevor couldn’t make out any facial features, but he could tell that the shape had broad shoulders, almost no neck, and a head that was narrower at the crown than at the base. The smell hit him then, a nauseating combination of wet dog and skunk so powerful it made his gorge rise. Acid burned the back of his throat and seared his nasal passages, and only a major effort of will kept him from vomiting. He could hear the thing’s breathing even over the sound of rushing river water. Heavy and low, it was a sound that spoke of size, mass, and strength. There was an undertone to the breathing, a soft rumble that verged on a growl. It was an angry sound . . . or a hungry one.
Trevor felt as if his blood had turned to ice water, and his own breath seized in his chest. When he was little, he had seen a commercial on TV for asthma medicine. A kid about his age had been running around on a playground with his friends when his eyes bulged and his face turned red. The kid’s mother, who had been sitting on a nearby bench and reading, rushed over with an inhaler. The kid was all right after a few blasts of medicine, and besides, it was just a commercial. It wasn’t as if the kid had been in any real danger. But ever since then, Trevor had had a fear of experiencing an asthma attack, even though he had never shown the slightest sign of having the condition. Now, standing there on the bank of the Clearwater, confronted with a massive shadowy form that smelled more rank than an entire zoo full of animals, he found himself living his worst fear, for he was too scared to breathe.
This isn’t right, he thought. When I turned around to look, nothing was there. After that, we spent an hour or so walking up and down the riverbank, but we never saw or heard anything.
They certainly hadn’t seen the Gork. But here it was, as big as life and terrifying as all hell—and it shouldn’t be.
He frowned and willed his lungs to relax. He took a breath—a shallow one, but it would do—and said, “Something weird is going on here.”
The others, perhaps alerted by the same atavistic instinct as Trevor, had turned around and were staring at the Gork.
“That may be the greatest understatement in the history of the human race,” Greg said.
He sounded just as frightened as Trevor. But while it was true that part of him was more scared than he had ever been in his life, another part of him was confused by what was happening. The whole thing didn’t make any sense, he was sure of it, but he didn’t know why.
“This isn’t real,” Amber said.
And there it was, three simple words that encapsulated what Trevor was feeling.
The Gork growled, the sound loud even over the rushing river, and it took a second for Trevor to realize that the creature had spoken a word.
“Stop.”
As if the word was a trigger, a series of images flashed through his mind. It began with adult versions of Amber, Drew, and him having breakfast around a dining-room table, and it ended with the three of them, accompanied by a gorgeous blond woman, passing through the entrance to an amateur spook-house maze.
He remembered, and as soon as he did, the four of them were no longer teenagers but returned to their adult selves, although they remained standing on the bank of the Clearwater.
“This is a hallucination,” Trevor said. “An illusory scenario cooked up by the Dark Lady.” He raised his voice to make sure the Gork could hear him. “Nice try, but the next time you decide to shanghai people’s minds, do it to someone who hasn’t experienced it before. We’ve been there, done that, and, in my case, wrote the book on it.”
Connie stepped closer and leaned over so her lips were near his ear. As she spoke, she kept her gaze fixed on the Gork.
“While I admire your bravado, I’d advise you not to piss her off. She may be a spirit, and this may not be technically real, but that doesn’t mean she can’t harm us. Remember how that bookstore clerk was killed.”
Trevor was about to reply when a thought struck him. “Hey, what happened to Greg? He was here a second ago.”
“Just part of the illusion,” Connie said. “I was here with you the whole time.”
There was something in her tone, a teasing, mocking quality that was so familiar . . . Tre
vor pushed the thought aside and filed it away for later. Right then, they had bigger simians to fry.
Drew and Amber joined them.
“Connie’s right,” Drew said. “And here on the psychic plane, she can attack our minds directly.”
“I can feel her reaching out to us,” Amber said. “Probing our minds, checking our defenses, looking for weak spots.”
“Can you block her?” Drew asked.
“I’ve . . . never done anything like that before. But I’ll try.” She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. She grimaced as her concentration deepened, and her body began to shake.
Drew reached out to steady her, or perhaps just lend her strength, but Trevor stopped him.
“Don’t. Physical contact could distract her.”
Drew looked unhappy about it, but he did as Trevor suggested.
Trevor didn’t know whether the Gork was the Dark Lady in disguise or just a puppet she had created to act as her avatar, but either way, it seemed clear that it was the focal point of her power in this mental landscape. At first, the creature didn’t react to Amber’s attempt to block the Dark Lady’s psychic probes. But soon its breathing became more rapid and labored, as if it was exerting itself, although all it was doing was standing there. Then it took a single lumbering step forward, the movement clearly an effort, as if the Gork were pushing against an unseen force.
