Blood Ghost (The Hunting Tree Book 2)

by Ike Hamill

  David wondered if Mare knew he was listening in.

  “And the big dumb cattle everywhere,” Mare continued. “Bloated bags of blood—a fountain of life. I wonder how close to the woods I could coax the skittish mothers.”

  Mare swooped down until her flaming body nearly brushed the tops of the trees. David felt his stomach flip like he was on a carnival ride. He closed his dream-eyes, but that was worse. He could still feel the rushing air and sense the ground moving below him.

  “Listen to the thick patois,” Mare said. Now David was sure that she was talking to him instead of herself. “These folk may not even have a name to pin on me yet. I’ll live well here.”

  Mare dove down between a gray, moonlit barn and a peeling farmhouse. He rose back up at the last second, before her skinless body collided with a leaning silo. She rose over another hill and David saw the lights of a small village below. It was mostly hidden by trees, but he saw the little stream running through the middle, redirected under a bridge. He saw the church steeple rising above the canopy and a cluster of small businesses lining the street in the center of town. As they flew on, he saw a big flat patch of earth dedicated to a soccer field, with a baseball diamond off to the side. They skimmed over the big flat roof of a school and then descended into the trees beyond.

  Mare darted between the thick trunks of maples and oaks. She followed a little path and passed over a wire fence. Tracing the perimeter of a pasture, Mare plunged back into the woods and rose up with the terrain. She passed between two big rocks and then dove down into the earth. Her skinless body squeezed into a dart of flesh and she burrowed deep into the soft, moist dirt.

  As she fell asleep, Mare sang to her Master. Far away, back where the hapless young man and the cunning dog lived, her Master answered her call.

  # # # #

  The dream of Mare still reverberated in David’s mind. He saw little bits of it—flying through the night, shedding his skin, singing tuneless words with a mouthful of dirt—again and again as he tossed restlessly on top of his covers. His arm twitched and his book fell to the floor. The sound didn’t wake him. David moved into his next dream.

  With his twelve-year-old’s logic, he understood why he was able to dream of Morris, Roland, and Merritt. He shared a distant lineage with those men. David’s father, Christopher, had been a lost cousin of the tribe, and so David inherited just a tiny drop of their blood. He had just enough to form an unconscious connection.

  And Mare, she might have sampled his blood directly. He’d spilled it on the ground when he’d fought the monster, and she would have been drawn to the carnage. After the ambulances had withdrawn their flashing lights and the police photographed the scene, Mare crept from the dark trees to taste the exotic blood left behind. And David’s blood, before mixing with that of the monster, had been the most exotic blood she’d ever known. It bubbled with virulent life—trying to infect and destroy. Mare had become intoxicated with it, and because of it, her connection with the boy had been formed.

  David considered this as his next dream began to form. It didn’t seem like a dream—he was fully aware of the construct; he had all his faculties, logic, and understanding; and he didn’t recognize these eyes from which he was seeing. Since it wasn’t Mare or his distant cousins, how was he able to see from these eyes? And was he seeing past, present, or future?

  David didn’t know which to hope for. The scene was terrifying.

  Everything he saw was coated in slime and blood. Organs, thick and pumping with life, were sliced and burned. Flesh was cut off and pulled away. David closed his eyes and gagged at the smell. He retreated into the diseased mind of his host.

  She thought only of death. She was obsessed with death, and wanted to dance right at its endless abyss. At her back, warm comfort was only a few steps away, but she insisted on feeling for the precipice with her foot so she knew she stood at the very edge of oblivion. Her sickness consumed her.

  David didn’t know what was worse—the gory scenes of slicing through flesh, or the diseased mind that guided those hands. He shrieked in his dream, afraid the madness would infect him. Of all the terrors he’d experienced, this insidious lunacy was the most frightening. It threatened to steal his ability to reason.

  David thrashed until the scene changed.

  He was once again in the cool night, looking through the forest. He wondered for a second if he was back with Mare, but he couldn’t sense her anywhere. These were the woods she had vacated.

  As if to confirm his deduction, David heard the approach of sly footsteps and saw Roland’s cautious form between the trees. The man stopped, put his hand on a tree limb, and pulled it to the side. He ducked under a branch and let it go behind himself. David’s ghostly dream-body followed.

  Roland was empty-handed, and David understood at once—Roland was the bait to the trap. Roland spotted the big rock in the moonlight and he paused. He crouched down and studied the rock, but David understood that Roland’s senses were focused elsewhere. Roland thought the real threat would come from behind and to the left, where they’d set up careful diversions to guide Mare. The big man was ready to turn and face his attacker. His pockets were filled with plastic bags of salt and other herbs described in old legends from their uncle.

  Roland heard a muffled scream from beyond the rock.

  He came up to his full height and paused. This wasn’t part of the plan. Roland was supposed to be attacked—Morris and Merritt were supposed to be safely hidden until it was time to spring the trap. After an instant of deliberation, Roland ran towards the scream. He couldn’t tell if it was Morris or Merritt.

  Roland darted around the rock and stumbled on a low branch hidden in the shadows. He kept his feet under himself and touched his hands down only to spring back up. Roland ran. He knew where each of the two men were hiding, but didn’t know which of them was in trouble. He heard running footsteps to his right and made a guess. If that was Merritt running, Morris must be the one in trouble. Roland angled left and tried to pick out landmarks in the dark woods. He’d spent a lot of time in these woods, but the landscape looked different. The moonlight came at the wrong angle and confused the shapes.

  Roland leaped over a small stream and clawed his way up a little hill.

  He found Morris just as the man gave another bubbling moan. In the leaf-filtered moonlight, the blood flowing from his lips looked black and oily.

  Roland wiped the blood from Morris’s lips with his thumb and leaned in close to hear the man’s final words.

  # # # #

  Melanie flipped on the hall lights and stopped at her son’s door. At first she thought he was laughing. His body was contorted into a twisted mess and his mouth hung open. In an instant, she was pushing through the doorway and praying to see his chest rise and fall, guarding her heart against the possibility that her precious Davey had died of some weird heart condition.

  He didn’t breathe.

  She grabbed his arms, which were tight against his sides, and shook.

  “Davey,” she called in a throaty whisper. “Davey!”

  His eyes flew open and she felt her heart slow down. Relief washed through her veins.

  “She’s going to kill them all, Mom,” David said. “It’s an ambush.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Melanie asked her son.

  “Please tell me it hasn’t happened yet,” David said. His face twisted again, this time into utter despair.

  He stopped his sobs and Melanie’s head came around fast as they heard the scream from below. She’d left Susan downstairs. Susan’s friends had already gone home. Their movie finished and their parents had picked them up. When Melanie had come upstairs, Susan was stretched out on the couch, flipping listlessly through the channels.

  Melanie practically dragged David from the bed as she headed for the door. The two broke the grip only to run down the stairs and their hands came back together as they turned the corner to the living room. Another scream erupted from
Susan as Melanie and David reached the couch.

  For the second time in as many minutes, Melanie tried to wake one of her children from a nightmare.

  “Susan, wake up! You’re having a nightmare. Susan!” Melanie yelled.

  “I think she’s having a seizure,” David said.

  “She’s just having a bad dream, Davey. Calm down. Susan!”

  She shook Susan’s shoulders until the girl—young woman, really—opened her eyes and brought them into focus.

  “Oh, mom,” Susan said. Her arms reached out and grabbed Melanie around the neck like she used to do when Melanie could still pick her up. Melanie leaned down until Susan’s face nestled between Melanie’s neck and shoulder.

  “What is it, honey?” Melanie asked.

  “I saw them,” Susan said. “She’s going to kill them all.”

  The weight of Susan’s words brought Melanie to sit beside her on the couch. David climbed over the back and sat facing his mom and sister.

  “I told her,” David said. “I had dreams and I told her.”

  “You know?” Susan asked. She looked at her brother with wide eyes and then nodded slowly. She seemed to find some understanding in her brother’s eyes. “Mom, they helped us when we needed it. We have to help them.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Melanie asked. “This better not be some crazy plan you guys hatched up to get out of your summer sports.”

  David’s frown came immediately. “Mom, I keep telling you—there is serious stuff happening and you have to listen. Why can’t you just believe me for once instead of always sending me to see Dr. John, or telling me they’re just dreams?”

  Susan quieted her brother with gesture. She took over the conversation.

  “Mom,” Susan said. She put her hand on top of her mom’s hands. This was a gesture that Melanie always employed to make sure her words carried enough weight. Melanie looked down, surprised to see her own technique turned back on her. “Davey and I enjoy summer sports. You know that. I just had a very real dream. I think it was more than a dream. I think I had one of Davey’s visions.”

  “Oh, honey, it’s coincidence. You’ve heard him talking about his stress dreams and now your mind has picked up on them as well.”

  “This wasn’t about the creature that steals blood, Mom,” Susan said.

  “Yeah, it was about Mr. Roland and then he runs through the woods and…” David began. Susan cut him off again with a gesture.

  “Something terrible is going to happen to those men who helped us. They’re planning on hunting that creature tonight and they’re going to be ambushed.”

  “Yes, ambushed,” David said. “That’s what Mr. Morris…”

  Susan stopped him again with a look.

  “We’re just going to make a phone call, Mom. Do you still have their number?”

  “I don’t know if I do or not,” Melanie said. “I think I threw it away after we went to see them.”

  “I have a phone number,” David said.

  “Where did you get a phone number?” Melanie asked.

  David looked down at his hands.

  “Mom, come on. Every number is on the Internet,” Susan said. “We’ll just make a phone call and warn them. What harm could that do?”

  “You’re awfully calm for a girl who looked like she was almost in tears a few seconds ago,” Melanie said. “I don’t think I trust the two of you.”

  “We just had the same dream,” Susan said. “I don’t know how I know that, but I do.”

  “She knew they were ambushed, Mom,” David said. “I told you that too.”

  “These men helped us. They were good to us. They might have even been related to Dad in some way. We’ll just call them to make sure they know,” Susan said. She turned to David. “Get the phone number.”

  David jumped off the couch and ran for the stairs.

  # # # #

  Melanie dialed star-six-seven before the number to block the caller id. She didn’t want to have any connection to Roland, Merritt, or Morris. The phone rang. They didn’t have voicemail or an answering machine, it just rang and rang. Even though the business card was from Morris, she pictured the dirty little trailer with a phone’s bell clanging to nobody.

  “There’s no answer,” Melanie said.

  “Try again,” Susan said.

  Melanie was already shaking her head.

  “Please, Mom?” David asked. “This is seriously life and death.”

  “Mom,” Susan said. “She’s going to stab Morris in the stomach and then push the knife up until it pops his lung and pierces his heart.”

  “Yeah, and then she stabs Roland in the back,” David said.

  “No! Stop it, right now,” Melanie said. “If you’re that convinced, then we’ll call the police.”

  “And tell them what?” Susan asked.

  “We’ll tell them there’s going to be a murder.”

  “And when they ask how we know?” Susan asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of something,” Melanie said.

  “Mom, don’t.”

  Melanie began to dial.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Gwen

  GWEN WOKE IN THE dark and held perfectly still. This was her superstitious routine. She thought that if she could take inventory of her body and establish that she had no pain when she woke, that she could avoid the inevitable migraine. She opened her eyes to the darkness. The room was cool and quiet. Nobody else in the house meant that she could move in peace. Gwen kept her head on the pillow as she slid her leg out from under the blankets and found the floor with her foot. She slowly rose.

  The migraine held at the edge of her head. It was ready to pounce so she moved delicately.

  Gwen got to her feet and slid across the carpet to the master bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was illuminated only by the lights on the chargers for the toothbrushes and Wes’s electric razor. She looked terrible in the green and red electronic lights. Deep black circles ringed her eyes and her face was scored by wrinkles. Gwen closed her eyes and turned on the light over the tub. She opened her eyes slowly, letting them gradually become accustomed to the light.

  She reconsidered her face in the new light. It wasn’t as bad as she thought.

  The migraine came.

  In three pounding heartbeats it took the front of her head in a storm of throbbing ache. Gwen shut her eyes against the shimmer. When her migraines came on strong, they put a shimmering halo around anything bright or shiny. That halo seemed to intensify the pain. Gwen thought of bones—it was another superstition. If she could start naming the bones in the human body, she would know that her migraines hadn’t yet stolen her words. She panicked as she struggled to think of a single bone.

  “Trapezium,” she whispered. That was one she could always remember. Her roommate had said it sounded like something from the periodic table of circus elements. Gwen smiled despite the pain. She lowered herself slowly and sat on the lid of the toilet.

  She reached a shaky hand over to the shelf where she kept her pills. They sat in bottles right next to the dusty pill-minder box Wes had bought. It had a little compartment for each day of the week. She refused to use it. It looked like something an old person would use. Gwen kept her pills in their prescription bottles and cursed them each time she had to remove the difficult caps.

  Gwen put three white pills on her tongue and cupped her hand to bring a swallow of water to her mouth. The pills went down with practiced ease. It was too soon for the medication to do any good, but still, Gwen felt better. The wrinkles smoothed from her brow and the corners of her mouth turned up in a sly smile. Gwen returned to the bedroom and tidied the bed. It was ten in the evening—still early enough for her to get a good night’s sleep.

  Gwen sat down on her chair and leaned back, waiting for the full effect of the pills. When it came, it was delicious. An easy wave of comfort would wash over her, not removing the pain, but removing its effect on her. She would
still sense the headache, but the pills would give her the option to completely ignore it.

  As part of her brain shut down, another part came to life. The real Gwen, if conscious, would have been shocked at the thoughts that now inhabited her head. This new persona wasn’t concerned with Wes, Don, or Chelsea. This persona wasn’t concerned with surgery, cancer, or saving lives. This persona was thinking about another family, across the state line in Maine. Two of them had a strong sense about what was going to happen tonight. Two of them had woken up from dreams of what the night would hold. She couldn’t tell exactly where they were, but she was fairly certain that they were still too far away to be a threat. As the real Gwen submerged beneath the prescription, this new persona took over completely. Gwen’s body stood and walked confidently to the door.

  # # # #

  She waited for the men to circle around the other side of the house before she slipped out through the garage door. They weren’t waiting for her, and they were only watching the door at the back of the basement. She used some indefinable sense to collect this information—reaching out into the night to locate the men and eavesdrop on their thoughts. Two of them meant to spring a trap and the third would act as bait. They were waiting for a young man who wasn’t home, and the succubus who had already shed her skin and fled north. Their plans were already dashed, but they didn’t realize it yet.

  The thing in Gwen’s body slipped into the brush. It walked Gwen’s body down the little path to the neighbor’s house. It smiled with Gwen’s mouth as it sniffed the air—the dog wasn’t even there. The dog wouldn’t even alert the neighbors that Gwen’s body was approaching.

  When the thing guided Gwen’s body up the back stairs it stopped and probed the inside of the house with its unnatural senses. It found two people—together but alone. The mother was downstairs with her son’s things. The father sat upstairs in the kitchen. She would take him first.

  Gwen’s hand reached out and tried the door—it was unlocked. The thing inside Gwen’s body didn’t need any special senses to know that Seth Umber wouldn’t hear the approaching footsteps. The music from his headphones was so loud it practically dripped from the sides of his head to form a pool on the floor.