The Lurking Season

by Kristopher Rufty

  “I dreamed about him.”

  Chad took in a slow breath, realizing. “So that’s it.”

  “That’s what?”

  “You’re mad at me because you think I caused the dream.”

  Heather wanted to scream at his immaculate ability of interpretation, but only said, “Don’t be silly.”

  Chad chuckled. “You woke up and I wasn’t there, so you looked for me. Does that sound about right?”

  Heather felt the pressure of her squeezing fingers on her thigh. “That’s so not it.”

  “Thought I was in the shower?”

  She shrugged. “Whatever.”

  “And I was in the kitchen, whipping up a great breakfast for you.”

  “I saw Steph and Ted screwing.”

  Chad laughed. “I’d be freaked out too. It’s funny. You can stop being mad.”

  Heather let out a heavy breath. Her cheeks fluttered. He was absolutely right. She had no reason to be mad, and if she wanted to be honest, never had one to start with.

  “Friends again?” he asked.

  “Friends,” she said.

  Now she felt terrible. He’d handled her attitude like a professional, and she guessed he was one, after years of seeing similar instances with his mother.

  Is that why he likes me? I remind him of his mother? He wants to take care of me since he can’t take care of her anymore?

  More paranoid babble she didn’t need.

  “Wow,” said Chad. “This place really is…something.”

  Heather looked out her window to see the crumbling farm set far off in an overgrown field. The house was losing its siding, curling down like a stamp on an envelope, about to fall off. Machinery sat abandoned in the field.

  She recognized his sarcasm.

  “Think Randy made a mistake?” she asked.

  “Too early to tell.”

  Chad’s honesty caused something to grip her chest.

  “Do you?” he asked.

  She wasn’t sure, and supposed Chad was right with his answer. Lying, she said, “No. It’s going to be good here.”

  Chad nodded once. “Good approach. With positivity, I might be proved wrong.”

  “What is it that makes you think we screwed up?”

  “I don’t think you…”

  “Chad. Please.”

  He took a deep breath. “Okay. The location.”

  “The house is perfect.”

  “It is,” he agreed. “But he could’ve found perfect places in other cities.”

  “Not for the price.”

  “No, I guess you’re right there.”

  “People coming to the center won’t care about what happened.” Even as she spoke the words, she realized how incredibly wrong she was.

  “I disagree. I’m worried that’s what will keep them away.”

  Heather didn’t say anymore. There was nothing she could add to make his opinion any less true. She hated to agree, but couldn’t disagree. If they failed, the town of Doverton would be the blame.

  Not the town…

  The Haunchies.

  “You think they’re real?” asked Chad.

  Does he read minds?

  “No.”

  Chad was quiet as they drove past that sign that welcomed them to Cradle Elk. It was a happy font plastered across a green background. Might as well have said: We Don’t Have Haunchies!

  “Do you think they are?” she asked him.

  “Of course not, but you have to wonder where a story like that came from.”

  “Hey, come on, every town has a similar story.”

  “Do they? And you know this how?” He was smiling in that cutesy way of his, which brought out a smile of her own.

  “I researched it a bit back home.”

  “Of course,” Chad agreed, still smiling.

  “While I was seeing what I could find out about Doverton, I came across a website devoted to the Haunchies. I mean—there were a bunch of them, but this one was the best. It was really detailed, with a lot of comparisons to other legends across the nation.”

  “Share some.”

  “Well, there’re these things called Moon-Eyed People in the North Carolina Mountains. Very similar to Haunchies. The only difference I could tell was the eyes were bigger.”

  “Let me guess. They looked like moons.”

  Heather feigned a startled gasp. “How’d you know?”

  “Well, to be honest, the name gave it away.”

  Heather laughed.

  “What else?” he said.

  “There’s supposedly a community of dwarves in the Virginia Mountains. Everything is like our society, just smaller. Tiny houses, tiny cars, tiny stores…”

  “Tiny trees and tiny pets?”

  She stuck out her tongue and made a face. “Smart-ass.”

  Laughing, he held up his hand as if patting the air. “I was just asking.”

  “Sure you were,” she said.

  Everything about Cradle Elk was the opposite of Doverton. People walked along the sidewalks of the main drag, some even stopped to wave as they drove past. She saw the restaurant they’d eaten breakfast at yesterday, the small gravel parking area packed with cars. A small building with the faded sign on the front declaring Groceries was booming with business from last-minute buyers before the snow.

  “Here we are,” said Chad.

  He clicked on the blinker and steered the car into the lot. There were no empty spaces, so he drove around to the back of the building, found a spot and parked. They’d made it here in record time. She guessed Chad’s heavy foot was good for something after all.

  “Think they have a dryer part here?” she asked.

  “Nope. We’ll have to go over there.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder. Heather turned and saw a hardware store across the street. The OPEN sign on the door faced outward. “We’ll go get the part first, if they have it. Then come back here for the groceries.”

  “And Steph’s cigarettes.”

  “Yep. Can’t forget those.”

  Smiling, Heather climbed out of the car. Chad followed. She walked to the back of the car to wait for him. The temperature had dropped even more since they’d left the house. Bundling her coat in the front, she held it tight to keep the stabbing cold of the wind out. It helped, but still managed to feel as if she’d been dipped in icy water.

  She scanned the shops and buildings around them. Some were either closed or empty, but most were open. People walked here and there, some with families, others by themselves. It was kind of like being on vacation, stopping in an unfamiliar place to sightsee. Felt nice, though she knew their reasons for being here were work related.

  I can pretend.

  And she would.

  Chad appeared beside her. “Ready?”

  “I am.”

  He held out his arm like a father about to walk his daughter down the aisle. She hooked an arm around his, hugging him.

  Together, they crossed the street, heading for the hardware store.

  Erin

  Erin felt like she was falling and jerked herself awake. The light, though dim in a golden swath, assaulted her eyes like flames, triggering her wounded head to throb through her skull in all directions. Screwing her eyes shut, she gritted her teeth and huffed through her nose. The short breaths helped ease the pain in her eyes, and that seemed to retract the lightning bolt drilling its way through her brain.

  When she attempted to open her eyes a second time, it wasn’t nearly as bad. Still hurt, but she could handle it.

  She was lying on her side and noticed right away that her body felt weird, her hands behind her back. She tried moving them, but they were tethered together. Wiggling her wrists seemed to make it worse, tighter somehow. As her knuckles swished back and forth, they str
uck something rubbery.

  My shoes?

  Now she could feel that her legs, pulled up to meet her hands, were tied as well. She was a human pyramid. And though she was on her side, the position of her appendages put deep pressure on her back, pulling at her spine, almost snapping it in half. Her injured hand felt tight and wrapped, as if bandaged with something brittle.

  Leaves?

  Giving up, Erin looked around. She saw a small paper lantern hanging from the center of whatever strange room she was in. Meager flames danced inside, throwing writhing shadows across walls assembled from what looked like cornstalks. Her chin hurt. Wiggling her jaw, she felt something firm and stiff on her chin, like dried glue, crackling as she worked her mandible muscles. A warm wetness trickled down the hump of her chin.

  Blood.

  Whatever abrasion was there, she’d just opened it up again.

  Erin could see the wall ahead of her in the bronze glow of the lantern. It was definitely a stalk design, its rigid surface glazed under a glossy sheen of some kind of adhesive. She moved her head, working it up so she could see the other wall. It matched in both design and material.

  Some kind of shack…

  Now that she was alert, the stench became noticeable—rancid and foul, with a hint of decay, as if a den of skunks had loosed their spray over dead bodies baking under a summer sun. The odor was unbearable, becoming a flavor that she could taste on her tongue.

  “Smells awful, doesn’t it?”

  The voice caused her to flinch, which triggered a jolt of pain in her head that pushed against her eyes.

  “You get used to it after a while, so that’s a plus.”

  The voice was female, slightly raspy from thirst. It came from behind her. Rolling onto her stomach, Erin was able to turn her head and see the woman.

  Naked except for a burlap dress that barely fit, her exposed skin was streaked in black muck. She sat in the corner inside a recess on a pile of hay that resembled a bird’s nest. The way it dipped down reminded Erin of a hammock sagging between two trees. Her bare legs hung over the edge, massive breasts pushed against the burlap garment, her puffy nipples, like fingertips, poked in the front over the hillock that was her stomach.

  This woman was very pregnant.

  Her distended belly rose above a thickly tufted pubic mound that the ragged edge of her dress couldn’t quite cover. Her skin, glossy in the firelight, was welted in red dots and narrow stripes under the filth painting it. She’d been beaten, recently, and the older ones had left scars behind.

  Though her hair was a wild hood of tangled locks on her head and her face was daubed in filth, there was something very familiar about her. Erin had seen her before, but couldn’t recall where.

  “So where’d they get you?” the woman asked.

  “Where am I?”

  “Your new home,” she said, puffing out her cheeks. “Sucks, huh? I guess I should give you the proper introduction. Welcome to Haunchyville. I hope you enjoy your stay. There are complimentary robes for all our guests.” She tugged at the front of the burlap dress.

  Erin felt tears forming in her eyes. How this woman could speak so humorously about their situation was absurd. “I asked where—”

  The woman held up a hand tipped with very long fingernails. “Yeah yeah, I get it. Don’t start yelling or you’ll just bring them to us.”

  Erin shut up right away.

  “I was telling you the truth,” the woman said. “Your new home. I don’t know what they call it, but it’s Haunchyville to me. And you’re going to be here until they don’t need you anymore. Maybe once these little fuckers get out of me, they won’t need me anymore.” She rubbed her large belly. The burlap seemed to pulsate where her hand touched it.

  Erin felt revulsion flow through her. “When they don’t need you? Then what?”

  “Then you die.”

  The tears did come.

  “Stop that shit,” the woman said, struggling to lean forward. Her belly made it difficult. “They can smell your fucking tears. Sounds crazy, I know, but it’s true. Just look around you, sweetheart, crazy is the normal out here. Everything you’ve never believed in, or were taught was just make-believe? Start believing in it. If these fucking things are real, then I’m willing to bet even the Tooth Fairy is.”

  Erin held her breath until her chest started to burn. When she exhaled, she felt calmer, though her vision still glistened from the tears. “Where is…Haunchyville?” Saying the name seemed to paralyze her tongue into a fleshy nub.

  “We’re in their goddamn village. What’s left of it, anyway.”

  Erin tried to speak, but the words weren’t there. The grimace straining her face caused another dull throb in her head.

  “You’re not from the house, are you?”

  Erin’s confusion caused her brow to wrinkle, which caused the bite on her head to trickle blood into her hair. “House?”

  “Yeah, the Watcher’s old place. Apparently some people have moved in and it’s got them all riled up. That place is sacred to them. It’s where their queen came from and they still worship her like she was some kind of god or something.”

  “The Carlson place?”

  “That’s it,” said the woman, snapping her fingers. “He’s the bastard that brought me out here in the first place. That was…a long time ago.”

  “What are they going to do to the people at the house?”

  The woman made a coughing sound in the back of her throat. “I imagine kill them…”

  Randy…

  The woman was still talking, “…except for the women. They might let some of them live, like me. Like you. You’re the first one they’ve brought down in a long time. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been down here, but I think it’s been months since they brought down the last two.”

  Erin struggled to catch her breath. “A teenager and a kid?”

  The woman nodded. “You know them?”

  “Sort of.”

  “How long ago was it, then? Am I right? Has it been that long?”

  “It’s been around five months.”

  “Damn,” said the woman, sinking back in the sling of padded hay. “I was underestimating too.” She sighed. “So, if you’re not from the house, then who are you?”

  “Erin Monroe…” She let her head drop into the dirt.

  “How’d they get you?”

  Erin didn’t want to talk anymore, but this woman was the closest thing she had to an explanation as to what was going on.

  “They killed Lawrence…”

  “Sounds right. They kill the men.”

  “Why?”

  “For food mostly. And there never seems to be enough.”

  “Why do they let us live?”

  “You don’t want me to answer that, do you? I mean, one look at me and you can probably guess.”

  Erin stared at her.

  Breeding.

  “Yeah,” said the woman. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

  “We were…investigating the Hamilton place…”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “No. A writer.”

  The woman gasped. “My boyfriend was a writer…”

  It clicked. For this Erin did raise her head. She studied the woman closer now. The hair was dirty, with flakes of dirt sprinkled throughout, some leaves entrapped in her wavy lengths, and the face nearly hidden by the dark smudges that a dearth of bathing caused, but she recognized her clearly.

  The girlfriend of the horror writer Gary Butler. They’d come through Doverton with a friend. People believed they’d stopped off at Whisper Lake for some fun in the sun, but were never seen again. Credit-card receipts had traced them to a hotel in Cradle Elk. Gary Butler had paid for a few rooms for one night.

  Their Jeep was found at Whisper Lake. Trashed.


  “Wendy?” said Erin.

  The woman’s eyes rounded. “You know who I am?”

  Wendy

  Her hands flogged out first, pawing at the sky. The air was much colder aboveground. Wendy’s arms pimpled with gooseflesh as she made her way out of the hole like a Wendy reborn. It seemed to fit. She had been reborn.

  She’d been forced to become a new person.

  The air was thick with the smell of burning brush. To her, it was the most wonderful fragrance in the world. If she could bottle it up and sell it, she would. The smoldering scent meant only one thing: Haunchyville was burning.

  Wendy was thankful to have this moment, this time to relish. She had won. She’d been victorious. Everyone else had fallen, but she had made it out. Alive. She hated that Gary wouldn’t get to celebrate this new life with her, but she would always make sure he was the focal point of her past life’s pleasant memories. She owed him that much.

  She tilted her head back, allowing the ravishing scents of destruction to enter her nostrils. It tingled her skin just thinking about all the possibilities her new life had to offer.

  Cha-chook.

  The sound came from behind her. She felt the coldness of a gun barrel press against the back of her head. Her heightened spirits collapsed into a mass of dread.

  “Wendy.” The male voice sounded pleased.

  Who is he? How does he know my name?

  She nodded without turning around.

  “It’s nice to see you, again.”

  Her skin not only crawled, it ran.

  “You may not remember me, darling, but I sure as hell remember you. The name’s Piper Conwell. You’re gonna come with me and we’re gonna have a lot of fun together.”

  Wendy couldn’t believe it. She’d come this far, had lived through so much, had the blood crusting on her skin to symbolize her survival, just for it to end right here. She’d clambered out of that tube in the ground, hands slipping in blood that had thickened to paste, to reach her freedom. And for what? For her celebration to be short-lived, cut off by the one man they’d tried to avoid all this time?

  Piper.

  Amy’s abusive bastard of a boyfriend.

  Wendy felt her hatred for Amy boil under her skin like a fever. She’d killed Amy, left her to burn in that shanty with the Haunchy leader. She’d felt the heat of the flames as she’d gone back underground. It was Amy’s fault they were here, her fault Gary had been killed. If Amy wouldn’t have begged him to go pick her up, none of this would have happened.