Dark Hollows (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 4)

by Scott Langrel

  “Mark!” Trevor hissed. “Wait up, man! I’m coming!”

  Mark had been right about one thing—the bag was heavy as hell. The weight kept threatening to throw Trevor off balance as he made his way along the path, and the bulky tripod kept getting caught on saplings and low-hanging branches.

  “Mark! Damnit! Wait up! I can’t move as fast as—”

  From up ahead came a surprised shout, followed quickly by a gunshot. There was a brief but violent scuffle, and then a scream that was cut off almost immediately.

  Trevor came to a stop and listened. The woods were silent once again. Nothing moved.

  He dropped the equipment, no longer caring about what Caleb would say. Dropping behind a bushy shrub, Trevor grabbed his radio from its holster and keyed the mic.

  “Base camp. Base camp, come in.”

  There was no answer.

  “Base camp! Damnit, it’s Trevor! Somebody answer! Something’s happened up here!”

  A large shadow fell over him, blotting out the sun. Behind him, something snorted.

  “Base camp,” he said weakly, and then the radio was torn violently from his grasp.

  Chapter Five

  The Jeep handled so well that McCoy almost forgot about feeling guilty for leaving Boo behind. The vehicle was equipped with a soft top, and since the weather was hot and the forecast called for clear skies, he’d elected to drive with the top down. The wind felt good on his face and arms, though more than once he’d had to grab at his cowboy hat to keep it from sailing off his head.

  The interstate, as always, had been monotonous and boring, but now the scenery reminded him of the area around Shallow Springs, the town in which he’d been born and raised. Like Patton’s Point, Shallow Springs had begun its existence as a coal mining town, and many of the hollows still housed the remnants of the old coal camps. In years gone by, those camps were small communities unto themselves; each had rows of company-owned houses and a company store, making travel into nearby towns an infrequent necessity.

  Like southwestern Virginia, eastern Kentucky had seen its share of violence and bloodshed associated with the mines. Clashes between the mining companies and the unions were the stuff of local legends, and the coal camps were some of the most haunted areas in the Appalachians. Many a trapped spirit owed its pitiful existence to either a mine collapse or a clash between the company and the union.

  For his part, McCoy had never worked in the mines, though he had nothing but respect for the hardy men and women who did. For many years, mining had been the only viable option for people who wanted to earn a decent living in the Appalachian Mountains. Times had changed, of course, and new industries had been lured into the area by the promise of a cheap and plentiful work force. But some of the mines still hung on, despite the industry being a shadow of its former self.

  The Jeep clung to the curvy roads as McCoy navigated his way into Patton’s Point. He passed a motel but paid it no mind; Pru had insisted that he stay with them and had already cleared it with her mother. McCoy wasn’t sure if Becky Pridemore totally trusted him yet, and it would be good to spend a little time with her as well as with Pru. Becky had had a lot on her plate since the business in South Carolina, and McCoy supposed she hadn’t completely come to grips with her daughter’s—talents.

  There wasn’t much to the town proper; the business district consisted of three blocks of ancient buildings which lined each side of the main street. Here and there, some of the older buildings had either fallen down or had been demolished and had been replaced by newer structures or paved over to provide additional parking. There were several convenience stores, a hardware store, a couple of diners, and various buildings which housed local government agencies. A sign on one of the buildings declared it to be the library, but it looked dark and abandoned.

  There were two traffic lights on the main drag, and McCoy took a right at the second one. A few minutes later, he pulled the Jeep in front of Pru’s house. He’d barely had enough time to put the vehicle in park before the front door burst open and Pru came running out, the smile on her face going from ear to ear. McCoy did a double take upon seeing her. A little over a year had passed since he’d last seen Pru, and it was hard to believe that this was the same girl who had aided him in battling the Nixes on White Pine Island.

  “McCoy!” Pru squealed as she ran down the sidewalk. McCoy, just exiting the Jeep, was nearly bowled over as the girl rushed into him and applied a bear hug of respectable strength.

  “Hey, squirt. Did you miss me?”

  Pru released him and stepped back, attempting to assume the air of casual indifference common to teenage girls, but she was just too excited.

  “I did, as a matter of fact. I mean, it’s good to talk on the phone and all, but it’s way better seeing you in real life.”

  “Look at you,” McCoy said, still marveling at the physical changes in the girl. “You’re growing like a weed. Another year and you’ll be taller than Amanda.”

  “I’m already almost as tall as Mom.”

  “I’d believe it.”

  “Come on. I’ll help you with your things.”

  McCoy waved a dismissive hand. “I’ve only got a few bags. I’m not so old yet that I can’t manage.”

  “Suit yourself, Pops.” She studied him as he walked to the rear of the vehicle. “The gimp leg seems to have mended.”

  “No thanks to you,” McCoy said, referring to the way Pru had taken him down during their first meeting when she had mistaken him for a Nix. “It still gives me fits when the weather turns, but mostly it does okay.”

  “That’s good. Come on in. I made some lemonade.”

  McCoy followed Pru up the walk and into the house, instinctively pausing at the door to inspect the line of red brick dust which lined the bottom of the entranceway. It was an old Hoodoo trick, and it was effective as hell at keeping out unwanted supernatural visitors.

  “Did I do good?” Pru asked from the hallway.

  “I’ve taught you well,” McCoy replied proudly. “Another few years and you won’t need me at all.”

  “I doubt that. Do you want that lemonade now, or would you rather put your stuff in the guest room first?”

  “Let me stow my gear first. Then we’ll have that drink.”

  Pru led the way up the stairs to the spare bedroom. It was small but cozy, and the bed looked comfortable and inviting. McCoy tossed his bags onto the mattress and turned to follow Pru back down to the kitchen.

  “So, tell me about this demon,” he said, plopping into one of the wooden chairs at the dining table.

  “It was pretty late last night,” Pru said. “I don’t know if you got any bad weather down your way, but it stormed like the dickens here. I couldn’t sleep. I was just lying there, tossing and turning, when all of a sudden I sensed something bad. I knew it was close, so I got out of bed and looked out the window. It was standing out there in the storm. I can’t be sure, but I think it was looking up at my window.”

  “Did it give any indication that it saw you?” McCoy asked.

  Pru shook her head. “It was gone too quickly. As soon as I saw it, I backed away from the window. And then the scent was gone.”

  “How many demons have you seen here in Patton’s Point?”

  “I dunno. Maybe four or five in my whole life, but I think they were just passing through. I’ve never seen the same one twice. And I’ve never had one notice me before.”

  McCoy was silent for a moment. Demons, as a rule, were highly intelligent entities, and they were always working some sort of angle. They constantly schemed to inflict death and suffering on humans, and their ruses could sometimes be quite intricate. Invoking or trapping a demon could be tricky, as they responded only to strict ritualistic rites. McCoy considered it cumbersome, if not downright inane, but he wasn’t the one who made the rules.

  “So you don’t feel like it was just a random sighting?”

  “In my own backyard? Come on, McCoy.”

 
; “Yeah, I guess you’re right. And what about this guy who was murdered?”

  “Like I told you earlier, there’s a bunch of idiots in town shooting a documentary on the Kentucky Goat Man.” Pru paused to take a sip of lemonade. “I don’t know many of the details, but apparently one of them managed to get himself killed last night. Rena—that’s my best friend—told me that her cousin Greg said the man had been butchered. Greg’s an EMT, so I guess he was one of the first on the scene.”

  “And you think the demon you saw might be connected with the murder?”

  “I don’t know. It could be a coincidence, I guess. It just seems awfully strange.” She paused, weighing her words, not wanting to sound stupid. “Do you think that the film crew could have unleashed the demon, somehow?”

  McCoy shrugged. “Anything’s possible, I guess. But that sounds more like something from the plot of a cheap horror movie. I take it the film crew split?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been inside all day, and there really hasn’t been much on the news.”

  “Well,” McCoy said, “one thing’s for sure. It wasn’t the Goat Man that killed that fella. And if it wasn’t another human, then the demon would be our prime suspect. The question is, why?”

  It was Pru’s turn to shrug. “Demons like killing people.”

  “Yeah, but not randomly. A demon is like a con artist. It always has a master plan, some ultimate goal it’s working toward. They like to use smoke and mirrors, and they like to draw things out for as long as possible. They get more kicks that way.”

  “Perverted jerks,” Pru spat.

  “Exactly. If the demon killed that man last night, it was only to start spreading fear among the community. It wants people to be afraid.”

  “Well, it’s working.”

  McCoy finished off his lemonade and sat back in his chair. “What time will your mother get home?”

  “About an hour,” Pru said, looking at the clock on the wall. “I think she’s bringing pizza, if that’s okay?”

  “Fine by me. I have a cast iron stomach.”

  “So, what do we do first?”

  “About what?”

  “About the demon, numbskull.”

  “You need to work on that whole respecting your elders thing. And we’re not doing anything. After dinner, I want to ride up to the old trestle.”

  “Wait. No. No way. You’re not shutting me out of this one. I’m not a little kid anymore.” Pru’s face was set in a determined mask.

  “I’m not shutting you out. But we’re not joined at the hip, either. Do you honestly think your mom is going to let me take you to the scene of a recent murder? She still doesn’t completely trust me.”

  “I don’t care,” Pru said, her eyes flashing angrily. “If you go, I go. If you don’t want to tell Mom, we’ll go tomorrow after she leaves for work.”

  “Oh, because hiding the truth is always better.” McCoy rubbed his temples in exasperation. “I’m just going up there for a look. It’s what, maybe fifteen minutes from here? I won’t be gone an hour.”

  “Then let’s leave now. We can be back before Mom gets home, and it’s still daylight out.”

  “No dice, pumpkin. You can get mad if you want, but I’m flying solo the first time out. There’s probably not even anything out there to see.”

  “Then why can’t I go?” Pru’s voice was now pleading.

  “Because I promised Amanda, that’s why. And you wouldn’t want me getting in Dutch with her, would you?”

  “She won’t know if you don’t tell her.”

  “There you go with the lying again. It always gets you into trouble.”

  “So you told Amanda about the guy getting hacked to pieces?”

  McCoy’s eyes widened, He couldn’t believe he’d stepped into her trap so blindly.

  “Um. I may have forgotten to mention it.”

  “So what’s the difference?” Pru asked gleefully. “You didn’t tell her about that, you don’t tell her about this. No problem.”

  “I guess it’s really happened,” McCoy said ruefully.

  “What?”

  “You’ve turned into a woman.”

  Chapter Six

  Caleb Goins was not a happy camper. Apparently, asking any of the idiots surrounding him to do a simple job was just asking too much. He’d sent Trevor and Mark up to the ridge over two hours ago, and they still weren’t back yet. And neither buffoon was answering his radio. Few things on this earth annoyed Caleb more than being ignored. He was the director, for Christ’s sake.

  To make matters worse, he was running out of flunkies. With Randy gone and the two muscleheads missing in action, he was down to the girls, Claire and Erica. And neither of them had the brains to go looking for Trevor and Mark without becoming lost themselves.

  The day had started out on such a positive note. Randy had been a chump, but his death had more than made up for his previous shortcomings. Already, the social media sites were buzzing about Caleb’s upcoming film, and he hadn’t even wrapped up filming yet. The media attention was due in no small part to Randy’s mysterious and untimely death, the details of which Caleb himself had ‘leaked’ to several sites as soon as he had Internet access. Thanks to Randy, Caleb might finally have a hit on his hands.

  But all of that depended on getting the film into post production as soon as possible, before the buzz had a chance to die down. Right now, time was literally money. Caleb only needed to record a few more sequences, then he was done. And after he somberly bemoaned the horrible fate of his crewmate Randy Peterson (and dedicated the film to the schmuck, of course), Caleb would be laughing all the way to the bank.

  But it wasn’t going to happen if he couldn’t get those last few scenes filmed. Caleb spat angrily at the ground. Where could those two be? Probably off in the woods getting high or drinking. Caleb had a suspicion that those cigarettes Mark constantly smoked weren’t filled strictly with tobacco.

  “Okay!” he announced loudly, causing Claire and Erica to jump in surprise. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go find those two dimwits and make sure the camera is set up and ready. It’ll be dark soon, and we can’t afford to miss this.”

  “Call them again on the radio,” Claire whined. “I’m not up for a hike to the top of the mountain.”

  “Fine. Then you can stay here. By yourself. Erica, you’re coming with me.”

  Erica looked back and forth between Caleb and Claire. She didn’t want to go, either, but she didn’t have the luxury of being Caleb’s bedmate. If she wanted to keep her job, she would have to do as she was told.

  “You go find them,” Claire said defiantly. “You’re the man, after all.”

  “And what if I slip and break an ankle?” Caleb grunted. “Those two have our only mobile radios. No, someone’s going with me. One or both of you, I don’t care which.”

  Claire and Erica looked at each other. Erica pretty much had to go, and Claire didn’t want to be left alone, not after Randy’s murder. They lowered their eyes.

  “That’s pretty much what I thought,” Caleb said. “Now come on. We don’t have a lot of daylight left.”

  Obediently, the two women followed Caleb out of the camp toward the rocky path which led up to the summit.

  ***

  The man in the motel room awoke with a start. The dreams were getting stronger and more detailed. Whatever was going to happen, it would happen soon. He needed to get ready.

  Though still groggy and sleep-deprived, he rose up in the bed and swung his legs over the side. He rubbed at his chest, his fingers tracing the gnarled scars left by things he would rather forget. Of all the scars that marred his body, the one directly over his heart was the least noticeable, by far. Yet he felt its presence the most.

  He decided that a quick shower might sharpen his senses, as well as improve his standing in social situations. The small, courtesy bottles of shampoo and conditioner were barely enough for his long, dark mane, but he didn’t feel like going
out for extra. It would have to suffice.

  After toweling dry, he rummaged through his bag for the cleanest set of clothes he could find. It was a toss-up between the shirts, but he finally decided to go with the one sporting a mustard stain over the one with the sweat rings under the arms. They both smelled practically the same.

  Before leaving the room, he tucked the .45 into his waistband and checked his funds. Three-hundred dollars. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  With the sun on the wane, the temperature was slightly cooler than it had been earlier, though it was still hovering in the eighties. He decided to leave his leathers; he wanted to attract as little attention as possible. Straddling the Harley Sturgis, he cranked it up, feeling the bike’s vibrations flow through his body.

  The first order of business was to check on the girl. He supposed that the mother would be home by now, so he would need to make sure to keep a low profile. As he idled by the house, he saw that there were two vehicles parked out front: an older Ford Taurus and a newer Jeep Wrangler. Perhaps the father was still in the picture, after all. Or maybe the mother had a boyfriend. The lights were on inside, but there was no sign of the girl or anyone else.

  He left the girl’s street and took a few random turns before he saw what he was looking for. He circled the block once before pulling up beside the building and cutting the bike off. He sat on the bike for a few minutes, listening and watching. Though there were houses nearby, only a few were lit, and no one came outside or looked out of their windows.

  He dismounted the motorcycle and moved quickly to the front door. It was locked. Not long ago, buildings such as this were left unlocked day and night, but those times were no more. He would have to find another way inside.

  Moving like a large cat, he slipped around the side and found a small entrance door. This one was locked as well, but a tall hedge and the lack of a streetlight offered considerably more concealment than the front of the building. Pulling an old library card from his wallet, he began to work on the striker. If luck was with him, there would be no deadbolt.