Dark Hollows (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 4)

by Scott Langrel

  There was no visible path which led through the brush and brambles, forcing McCoy to pick his way through the dense foliage. He walked in an awkward crouch, being mindful of where he placed his feet. Snakes were always an issue in the Appalachian wilderness; rattlesnakes and copperheads were common to the area. If he were unlucky enough to step on one of those, he would be attempting to summon the demon from a hospital bed.

  It took him what seemed like an hour to circumvent the field, though in reality no more than fifteen minutes had passed. He was relieved when he finally reached the tree line and stepped into the woods. The air was much cooler under the shade of the trees, and the brush was not as thick, as the plants living there were forced to make do with much less sunlight.

  He paused to take another look back at the field. All was quiet; there was still no sign of the deputy. Either he was sleeping soundly, or he had left the area completely. McCoy had not heard the slightest sound of movement since he’d arrived.

  He walked only twenty or thirty feet before being confronted by a steep slope. To get to the trail, he would either have to scale the incline or double back through the woods, along the edge of the field, to get to the point where they’d taken the path the night before. Though going back would be much easier, it would take him in close proximity of the cruiser. McCoy decided that it would be safer to go straight up.

  Securing his knapsack, he started up the mountainside, using rocks and saplings as handholds to pull himself along and to steady his balance. In his younger years, he would have been able to traverse the slope as easily as a mountain goat, but the passing years had conspired to rob him of much of his agility.

  At least his leg was holding up pretty well. He’d been concerned about it when he’d left home, but the drive up hadn’t seemed to bother it, and even a night of running up and down a mountainside had failed to make it anything more than slightly sore. That was a relief. A little over a year ago, the seven hour drive down to White Pine Island had been pure torture, and he hadn’t even been driving. Though he knew the leg would never be back to one-hundred percent, he was happy that it was no longer noticeably affecting his mobility.

  About halfway up the slope, it occurred to him that he had once again forgotten to call Pru. Worse than that, his phone was still in the Jeep. He’d meant to go back for it after canvassing the area, but it had slipped his mind. He mentally kicked himself. Pru would be going crazy by now, and if she didn’t hear from him soon, she was liable to do something stupid. Yet it would be silly to go back for the phone now; he’d almost made it up to the trail, and going back to the Jeep would set him back at least thirty minutes.

  He could only hope that she would keep her promise and stay put inside the house. She had surprised him earlier by agreeing to stay behind. It showed a streak of maturity which she would sorely need if she were to survive the difficulties of being a sensitive and a handler. Her fierce spirit and boundless energy were true assets, but they would only take her so far.

  Deciding to trust that Pru would keep her word, McCoy continued upward. Eventually, he came upon the rocky trail. Though everything looked different in the light of day, he could tell that he was close to the spot where he and Pru had run into Caleb and the two women the night before. A ten minute hike up the trail would take him to the general area where he had encountered the Goat Man/demon.

  As he stood catching his breath, a familiar scent drifted down the side of the ridge. It was noticeable only for the briefest of moments, but there was no mistaking its origin.

  Demon.

  The fiend, possibly growing comfortable in its surroundings, had let its guard down for a split second. But it had been enough for McCoy to ensure that he was on the right trail, no pun intended. The scent had been as faint as it had been brief, so the entity was not in the immediate area, though it was still relatively close.

  Given the fact that the demon had chosen to take on the guise of the Goat Man, and knowing much of the local legend, McCoy suspected that the entity had taken up residence near the old trestle, possibly underneath it. Such a location was both a boon and a curse for McCoy.

  On the plus side, the area was remote. Other than the potential prospect of a train passing overhead, there was little chance that McCoy would be interrupted as he sought to banish the demon. That same seclusion, however could work against him if something went wrong. In the event the demon somehow escaped McCoy’s trap, he would be toast. Literal toast, because he had seen firsthand what a demon’s hellfire could do.

  But it would be just as risky whether he were performing the ritual out here or on the town square. At least out here, there was no one to get fried except McCoy himself.

  As he started up the path, he found himself wishing that he’d brought his walking stick with him. As a weapon, it was pretty much useless against anything but the Fey, but it would have made it easier to keep his balance as he hiked up the trail.

  Opening his senses in the event the demon let its guard down again, McCoy moved slowly but surely toward the top of the ridge.

  ***

  Pru paused only briefly at the yellow police tape before ducking under it and continuing along the dirt road toward the film crew’s camp site. The dirt lane was lined with deep ruts, and it soon became obvious that she would do better abandoning the bicycle and walking. It wasn’t that far to the field, anyway. She could make the trek in a matter of minutes.

  As she neared the clearing, she was somewhat startled to see a police car sitting at the edge of the field. She had been listening carefully as she walked, straining to hear any evidence of human activity at the base camp, but she had heard nothing. She had assumed that she would find McCoy’s Jeep parked here, not a cruiser. Of McCoy’s vehicle, there was no sign.

  Perplexed, Pru studied the police car and the area around it. It was hard to tell from where she stood, but there didn’t appear to be anyone in the car. Maybe the deputy had to go take a leak, or perhaps he had walked into the woods to sit in the cool shade. He might have even hiked up to the trestle to check on things up there.

  In any event, the cop’s presence was not a bad thing. Any help she might procure in finding Rena would be a blessing. McCoy might not like it if she brought the cops into the area, but he would just have to get over it. Finding Rena was the priority as far as Pru was concerned.

  With this in mind, she boldly approached the cruiser. As she got close enough to look inside, she could see that the vehicle was, indeed, unoccupied. She also noticed that the key was in the ignition switch. That should have heartened her, for it meant that the cop hadn’t gone far, but the sight seemed to unnerve her instead, though she couldn’t explain why.

  Leaving the car, Pru took the same route to the trail that she and McCoy had used the previous night. It was a lot easier to find her way in the daylight, and she hurried along, though she was still mindful to keep an eye out for snakes and yellow jackets, which tended to nest in the ground. Near the edge of the woods she stopped to regard a patch of yellow wildflowers which grew several feet high on thin, hairy stems. After examining them closely, she picked several bunches and shoved them into the pockets of her shorts.

  Though her legs still burned from the bicycle ride, Pru ascended the trail as fast as she could. She flinched as the leaves of low-lying plants brushed against her bare legs; she would probably end up taking a bath in calamine lotion later. But she hadn’t thought to change into jeans before she left home. Besides, long pants would have made the bike ride even hotter and more uncomfortable.

  As she made her way up the trail, a glint of reflected sunlight caught her eye. It had come from a spot several feet off the path, near a dense thicket of brambles and briars. Pru stopped and backed up, attempting to find the right angle again. There! The sun was reflecting off of some object, probably either glass or metal. It could have been a beer bottle that some teenager had thrown away during a past excursion, but she felt compelled to investigate.

  Carefully, she le
ft the trail and eased toward the thicket, attempting to find the source of the reflected light. As she topped a small rise, the source became regrettably apparent. A man, or what was left of him, was lying in the undergrowth several yards off the path. Pru wasn’t exactly sure what it meant to be drawn and quartered, but it was the first phrase which came to mind upon seeing the body. The sunlight was reflecting off a badge pinned to the man’s shirt. It was the missing deputy.

  It took at lot to make Pru sick, but the condition of the deputy’s body was more than up to the task. Quickly running back to the path, she bent over, hands on her knees, and threw up violently. For a moment, she was sure that everything inside her was going to come out, organs and all. Then the spew stopped, and she collapsed onto the trail. Her head swam, and she came within a gnat’s hair of passing out. Somehow, she held onto consciousness, though she lacked the strength to get up and continue on.

  A wave of despair washed over her. What if she stumbled across Rena in a similar condition? She didn’t think she would be able to handle that. Rena was her best friend, and had been for as long as she could remember. Sometimes Pru felt as if she could strangle the other girl, but deep down, she loved Rena with all her heart. Losing Rena would be a devastation that she wasn’t sure she could recover from.

  For a brief moment, all of Pru’s usual optimism abandoned her. She placed her face in her hands and began to cry. If Rena had come to the trestle last night, and if the demon had found her, then she was dead. Not only that, but she had met a terrifying and painful demise out in the darkness, alone, with no one to comfort her in her final moments. And what about McCoy? Where was he? Had the demon anticipated McCoy’s actions and been lying in wait for the handler?

  The thought occurred to Pru that both her friends might be dead, as dead as that poor deputy, and that she might be alone on the mountain, alone and waiting for the monster to come kill her, too. It was all more than she could stand, and her cries became sobs which wracked her body and threatened to take her breath.

  Slowly, she brought herself back under control. No. She would not allow herself to think such thoughts. She was stronger than that. She had to be strong, not only for Rena’s sake, but for McCoy’s, as well. She would not live with the knowledge that she failed her friends, because she would not fail them. If she had to take on the demon herself, then so be it. She would make sure it was the sorriest son-of-a-bitch this side of Hell for messing with the people she loved.

  Armed with a renewed sense of purpose and a resolve that could not be broken, Pru picked herself up and marched up the trail.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By the time Wolf reached the outskirts of town, he was feeling better. Not great, not by any stretch of the imagination, but better. He was at least able to maintain his balance on the bike without wobbling all over the road, and that was something.

  He hoped that the visions would not return. That last round had been among the strongest he’d ever experienced, and another bout of equal or greater intensity would likely leave him incapacitated for hours. It was something he could ill afford if he were going to have any chance at all of saving Pru.

  As much as he wanted to Find Pru, he wanted to find McCoy, as well. McCoy was undoubtedly adept and skilled, but Wolf thought that the handler had no idea what he was walking into. Wolf didn’t know whether or not McCoy had ever squared off against an archdaemon before, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be a walk in the park. Wolf had taken out some fairly powerful demons in his time, but none of them even came close to the powerful foe he now faced.

  As he approached the dirt road turnoff, he saw the police tape but plowed right through it, snapping it in half. The time for caution and tact had passed; things would be happening quickly from here on out. He’d seen the deaths of at least two people, and the murder of a third had been strongly implied. If the cops tried to stop him, there had better be a lot of them, and they’d better be good.

  He was so intent on getting there that he almost missed the bicycle lying in the weeds by the side of the lane. He didn’t know for sure or not if it was Pru’s, but he was willing to bet it was. Either that, or it belonged to the other girl he’d seen in his visions. In the end, it really didn’t matter. He was sure that they were both here.

  Instead of a battalion of law enforcement personnel, he was greeted by a single and deserted cruiser. Wolf parked his bike next to the police car and shut off the engine. Dismounting the motorcycle, he looked inside and saw that the key was in the ignition. He walked around to the front of the car and placed a hand on the hood. The only heat had come from the sun’s rays; it had been sitting there for some time.

  Walking back to the side of the car, he opened the driver’s door pulled a lever to pop the trunk. He went to the rear of the cruiser and retrieved the cop’s riot gun from the rear compartment. The twelve-gauge shells probably wouldn’t faze the demon, but it felt good in his hands. Besides, he liked to be prepared for any eventuality.

  Wolf gave the rest of the car a quick search, but came up with nothing even remotely useful. Turning from the cruiser, he headed for the trail he’d taken last night. He had no idea how much of a head start Pru had on him, and he had no clue as to McCoy’s whereabouts. The handler’s Jeep had been conspicuously absent, and if Pru had ridden the bicycle, then it was obvious that the two were not together. Yet his visions suggested that McCoy was wherever the demon was, and Wolf had no doubt that the evil entity was close by.

  Though he had not fully recovered from the debilitating effects of the most recent visions, he struggled up the trail with all the speed he could muster. His head still felt light, as if he were running a low-grade fever or was suffering from the side effects of some type of medication. But there was no time to stop and rest. Though he realized that it would be best to reserve some of his strength in the event a battle with the demon became necessary, it was simply not an option. And, in truth, that small reserve of energy probably wouldn’t make much of a difference, anyway.

  About a third of the way to the top of the ridge, he made the same gruesome discovery that Pru had made earlier. At least he knew what had become of the deputy. The kill looked fairly fresh—the man had been murdered sometime within the past several hours. The demon was growing bolder, unafraid to attack and kill in broad daylight. Lacking the presence of a human host, whom it had managed to completely possess, it was nearly unheard of for a demon to kill so openly. But this was no ordinary demon he was dealing with. He had to remember that fact.

  As he rushed along, Wolf saw several signs that the path had been traversed very recently. Though not an expert tracker by any means, he was skilled enough to notice the small nuances—a broken twig here, a flattened shrub there. But though Wolf could tell that someone had passed through the area recently, he could not determine whether the disturbances had been made by a single person or by multiple people.

  Not for the first time, Wolf wished he had the senses that a handler possessed. Unfortunately, the only supernatural ability available to him were the visions. And, while accurate and trustworthy, the visions were random and uncontrollable. Wolf could not call upon them as he pleased, nor could he refine them to show a specific person or event. Not to mention, they could be extremely painful and disorienting, especially as they increased in intensity.

  To help make up for his deficiencies in other departments, Wolf had honed his instincts to a fine point. Though some might argue that a good guess is still only a guess, Wolf had found that his instincts served him well most of the time. Perhaps some higher hand guided his actions from time to time, but Wolf was far from convinced that it was the case. Mostly, he thought he just had a knack for guessing right.

  He topped the ridge at last, fully expecting to find someone, anyone. But it was deserted. There was no sign of Pru, McCoy, or the other nameless girl (Renee, maybe? Could that be right?). There was also no sign of the archdaemon, which was just as well. Having just run the entire length of the trail, Wol
f would have been able to do little more than pant on the fiend and hope to banish it with bad breath.

  Standing tall, he looked out over the land around him. His eyes came to rest on the old train trestle. The film crew had been filming a documentary about something called the Goat Man, and the creature supposedly resided around the area of the old bridge.

  Wolf was suddenly sure that it was where he needed to go. Maybe McCoy had tracked the entity to the trestle, or perhaps he had simply surmised that it was the likeliest place to find the fiend. Looking around, he quickly found where someone had left the trail and started down toward the ravine under the trestle.

  He was close now. His gut told him that he was closer to Pru than McCoy, that the handler was farther ahead, and that Pru was following behind McCoy. Wolf might not be able to intercept McCoy before the handler got to the trestle, but he was pretty sure he could catch Pru.

  If he hurried.

  ***

  McCoy slowed as he approached the bottom of the ravine. He’d sensed nothing more of the demon since that faint whiff back on the trail, but he was sure that he was in the right spot. Demons were drawn to decay, and the ancient wooden beams which made up the support structure for the bridge sported a fair amount of deterioration. The smell of rotten vegetation, caused by dead plant and animal matter being washed into the ravine, permeated the air.

  McCoy didn’t like the fact that he was walking in blindly. Being able to sense the presence of paranormal beings usually gave him an edge in any encounter, but he had no such advantage in this instance. If anything, the demon had the upper hand, because it would be able to observe McCoy while keeping itself hidden.

  He was, though, not without defenses. He stopped, unslung his knapsack, and sat it on the ground. From within the pack, he produced a small jar of powdered lavender. The powder, when rubbed on the skin and clothes, offered a measure of protection from the attacks of evil spirits such as demons. It worked best with minor demons, but would also foil attacks from more powerful entities.