“Call for backup,” Phillip pleaded.
“I am the backup. The entire department has tried entering these woods. One way or another.”
Phillip paced. He looked as if he were coming out of his skin. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He alternated between hugging himself and swinging his arms about. “There has to be a way inside. We’ve got to come up with a plan. We can come up with a plan!” He looked—and sounded—delusional. Yet his intense desperation, mixed with his sincerity, could’ve drawn sympathy from the most cynical. Besides, what else were we to do trapped in the netherworld between demons with insatiable vortices hidden beneath their cloaks and giant skeletons with the strength to hammer us into jelly? Plus, the cop had the same goal as us: to find Ginger Young.
“It’ll be dangerous. But maybe, with the three of us, there’s something we can try,” she offered. With Phillip more than eager, we heard out her crude plan. And before I knew it, I found myself wildly charging toward the monsters like some foolish barbarian. It was laughable, us with our small statures rushing an armada of giant, swaying skeletons. But we had no delusions of winning a war against them. We merely wanted to penetrate their shield.
The closer we came, the tighter they huddled. Their long limbs swayed side to side in unison, forming a line of swinging pendulums. As we approached, the nearest skeletons bent forward in an attempt to bowl us over. If one were to break out of line, it could’ve easily flattened us. But the monsters fought their instincts and continued to stand shoulder to shoulder, restraining themselves for the greater cause: to assure no soul enter the woods.
Standing before the wall of powerful, clanking knuckles was as hypnotic as it was intimidating. Phillip and I retreated a few steps. But the officer, her height barely up to their knees, boldly stepped forward. She was closer than she had been before yet managed to stay just out of reach of the closest lurching skeleton. She raised her pistol and began firing rapid shots. She was a good shot before, but at closer range, she fired with precision, concentrating on its neck bones. As she carried out her damage, Phillip and I cautiously moved in. She fired until its massive skull detached from its neck and was sent plummeting through its rib cage. On its descent, its skull fractured its ribs, causing a chain reaction that dismantled the rest of the frame.
That’s when Phillip and I made our move. We ran through the shower of giant bone fragments and headed for the fleeting gap the carcass had left in the line. The skeletons on either side of the opening swung for us. From behind, the cop yelled, “Get down!” We ducked just as two giant fists collided over our heads like cars in a head-on crash. Phillip rolled on the ground ahead of me. When he came out of his roll, he leapt to his feet and stumbled backward. He had made it into the woods! He watched from inside as the officer and I attempted to squeeze our way in as well. But in the next instant, bone clashed with bone. Shoulders locked. It was an awful sound. And an even worse feeling—being sealed out of the woods within terrifyingly easy reach of those lethal fists.
The next thing I knew, I was flying. I must’ve been scooped up and tossed through the air. As I sailed through the cloudless night sky, the moon came closer and closer. I studied its colossal magnificence. At the peak of my arc, it seemed as if, had I been able to reach only a bit higher, I could’ve touched it, felt its dust and gray craters with my fingertips. I would’ve been content to forever float beneath the black sky punctuated by the dim glow of the moon. Yet gravity worked to pull me back to the earth. Despite the assuredly dramatic height from which I dropped, my landing was painless. I landed in a deer’s bed, a soft and comfortable patch of matted weeds. And like a curious deer, I lifted my head above the tall weeds to assess my surroundings.
That’s when I learned I had fared much better than the officer. I spotted her clasped in the hand of a skeleton. Her limbs jerked uncontrollably as it shook her with anger. Then, with all its might, it flung her across the field. She reached into the air, attempting to grab hold of something where there was nothing to grab hold of. She landed on the other side of the narrow field, near the edge of the corn. I knew she was still alive because I could hear her whimpers. I stood and was able to faintly see her on her stomach, attempting to crawl on her elbows. With multiple bones likely crushed, she was too easy a prey for the monsters in the corn to pass up. One dared lunge out from the stalks. It grabbed her swiftly by the ankles and dragged her into the corn without so much as a struggle.
My eye caught the moonlight reflecting off something she had left behind. I approached it cautiously, careful not to step too close to the corn for fear the gathering cloaked demons would grab me as well. I picked up the pistol and brought it back to the lumbering skeletons. Behind them, I saw Phillip waving his arms. He had waited for me. Of course he had. I should’ve known Phillip wouldn’t have left me trapped in the netherworld alone.
The menacing monster that stood between us swiped for me. I leapt back, just enough to stay out of reach, before pulling the gun on the towering thing. When Phillip saw I had the gun, he smartly darted out of the way. Attempting to duplicate what had worked for the cop, I aimed for its neck bones and pulled the trigger. Unsurprisingly, my shot wasn’t as precise as hers. Instead of hitting its neck, the bullet flew through its enormous eye socket and struck the back of its skull. The skeleton jolted backward. Splinters crept across the inside of its skull. The strike, however, didn’t take it down. It was soon back in line with the other dancing bones. I pulled the trigger again, but there was no blast. The pistol was jammed. Or out of bullets. There was nothing I could do. Phillip would simply have to go on without me.
Yet Phillip wasn’t willing to give up on finding a way for me to cross over. He began kicking and pulling random branches until he finally managed to tear off a low-hanging branch from a dead tree. Holding it over his shoulder like a spear, he charged the skeleton that kept us separated. With all his fury, he wedged the branch between the skeleton’s ribs. He kept a tight grip as he and the creature fought to gain control over one another. Phillip was lifted off the ground as the monster tried to shake him loose. Yet every chance Phillip got, he wedged the branch deeper into its rib cage. He forced his weight onto it, creating a lever that began cracking its giant ribs. He then thrashed the beast back and forth, smashing it into the monsters on either side. This threw the movements of the line from synchronicity to chaos. Like a pileup on a freeway, a chain reaction erupted, and the giant monsters crashed into each other.
“Now!” he roared. He thrust the bulky creature forward, and I found myself beneath the broken, stumbling monster. I ducked between its legs as it fell forward. And just before the line began to compose itself once more and the gap resealed, I raced into the woods. Inside, I didn’t bother looking back. I knew they wouldn’t chase us into the forest. The skeletons weren’t suited for the environment. They would’ve tangled themselves among the tall trees and reaching branches.
No, something else waited for us in the woods.
40
Come, Look
It felt like being inside a vacuum, as if the air had been sucked from beneath the canopy. It was unnaturally still. Deathly quiet. The tree limbs stood frozen. No sounds of critters scurrying could be heard. After our dramatic entrance, there was no question our arrival had been broadcast to every corner. Still, with the absence of ambient sounds, it felt as though we had a strange obligation to take slow, careful steps so as not to alter the ghostly atmosphere. One snap of a twig beneath our feet would’ve produced a sound so amplified, it would’ve been like setting off an alarm. And the last thing we needed was to draw more attention to ourselves than we already had.
Our feet disappeared beneath the umbrellas of a large patch of mayapple. Before committing to a firm step, we attempted to feel for sticks under our shoes. Stepping this way made me think of the Indians who lived in the area hundreds of years before, how they had walked on the same ground, under the same moon, had passed some of the same trees. I had read that skilled In
dian hunters knew how to walk through the forest without making a sound. I imagined Phillip and I possessed that skill as I led him toward the spot where I had seen Ginger in my dream.
Low growls began to emanate from the darkest corners, where the moonlight couldn’t reach. It was apparent far more skillful hunters lurked in the forest. As we made our way deeper into the trees, the growls came closer and closer, surrounding us until it sounded as if a demon lurked behind every tree. I didn’t want to take another step, fearing my movement would trigger an ambush. But Phillip persisted. “C’mon,” he ordered in a whisper. He wasn’t about to freeze up or turn back. He was almost there. Like the demons sensed us, he sensed her.
But when a low gurgle came from beneath the blanket of mayapple just ahead, I froze again. This time, so did Phillip. Before us, a set of horns rose from the foliage like a pair of shark fins appearing from underwater. Slowly, it sat up, waking from its slumber. Seeing it awake from its bed of soil, covered in dirt and leaves, seeing its green skin next to the green mayapple, I understood how it could’ve originated from nature like everything else. But as Everett had taught me, monsters were also once removed from nature. Corrupted. Bastardized.
I thought of how each species of demon had found their apt dwelling after escaping from my wall. The reclusive cloaked monsters preferred the cover the cornfields provided, where they could stealthily stalk their prey. The skeleton creatures settled in the open fields between the corn and the woods, where they could lumber freely with their tall frames blending against the backdrop of the trees. And the horned demons dwelled in the tiny forest, where they could burrow underground, staying hidden from sunlight during the day.
The demon before us worked to clear blood and mucus from its throat before slowly twisting its neck to face us. A vast and sinister grin spread across its face. Its oversize teeth glistened in the moonlight. Its wide, circular eyes did not blink. I braced for it to arch its pointy fingers and hold them beside its horns in the creatures’ usual position of menace. Yet instead, it extended its arms and slowly turned over its hands so that its palms faced upward. This curious gesture seemed to signal some sort of appeasement. It relished our fear, of course. But it did not approach. Did not attack. Rather, it spoke. “Cooomme,” it said in its eerie childlike voice filtered through a lacerated throat. After taking a few steps, it turned to assure we’d follow. “Cooomme,” it repeated.
Keeping our distance, we cautiously followed the monster as it led us out of the mayapple. It stepped forward in a trancelike state, keeping its palms upward. As we made our way deeper into the forest, growls and deep groans drifted from behind the trees and from within the shadows. We passed the old beech tree with the deep hole in its trunk. We passed the dozens of unmarked Indian graves. I couldn’t help but think of the two graves, somewhere among them, that did not belong to Indians.
Ahead, a beam of moonlight illuminated a small patch of barren forest floor. The monster stepped into the light. Its shadow stretched across the clearing and up into the trees, making it appear as a towering devil with sickle-shaped horns. Still displaying its persistent grin, it waited patiently for us to join it in the clearing. When we finally stood beside it, it cocked its head up to us. Slowly, it turned its palms over and used its extra-long index finger to point to the ground. It continued to stare up to us, saliva beginning to drip down its enormous teeth. What I had first interpreted as another attempt to clear its throat of congealed, bloody phlegm, I soon realized was laughter. It cackled in the most perverted way. When it finally finished its fit of evil merriment, it spoke once more. “Looooook,” it told us. It turned its gaze to the ground and then cocked its head back to us to capture our reactions. “Looooook,” it said again.
We studied the ground as it had asked. But I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. It was just the forest floor covered in sticks and dead leaves. Yet when I looked closer, I began to notice small strips of bark tied into knots. The knots held together sticks that were woven into a matting of compressed leaves, feathers, and small animal bones. I wasn’t wholly comprehending what this tapestry was—or why it would be in the middle of the woods. But Phillip, thinking quicker than me, leapt forward and grabbed the edge of the organic tarp. And as he did, the forest erupted in dark laughter. Phillip was overcome with horror as the removal of the camouflaged covering revealed an oval-shaped pit.
The monster eyed me intently. “Looooook,” it said, encouraging me to step forward and peer into the pit along with Phillip. At first, all I could see were roots jutting near the surface. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness below. And when they did, several feet into the pit, I saw her.
She was on her back, encased in a swarm of roots and vines. The thickest roots crisscrossing beneath her suspended her body in midair, while the others acted as restraints. Roots wrapped around her wrists, forcing her hands beside her head. They coiled around her ankles, twisting her legs beneath her torso. One root, reaching from the bottom of the pit, formed a loop across her forehead.
If I hadn’t known it was the work of the horned demons, I would’ve guessed she had fallen into the pit, and upon struggling to climb her way out, the roots had come alive to ensnare her. Her eyes were slightly open, as was her mouth, locked in an eternal scream. Her fingers were clenched, appearing to have been desperately clawing for the surface. Yet even in death by certain torture, she was graceful. Her loose curls extended delicately onto the roots above her head. Her skin, although covered in dirt, cuts, and bruises, had retained its golden hue. She was simply—a frozen beauty.
As I viewed Ginger’s contorted body, I was taken back to the first time I had stood in the metal forest. In the dream, it was the same spot. Sure, it was different. But it was the same. The patch of ice was the barren patch of forest floor. The light that lit her from below the ice was the moonlight that illuminated her from above. The same frozen beauty I had seen in my dream all those years ago was the same frozen beauty I looked upon that night with Phillip. Of course we hadn’t found her body when we dug for the Indians. She was not one of the Indians.
I heard Everett’s voice in my head say, “Dreams are tricky.” I was never in the metal forest to find a lost Indian burial ground. Nor was I there to find hidden coins. The purpose of that dream—was to find Ginger. Before I had even met her, before she had ever gone missing, I was to see her future. “It was the future,” I proclaimed under my breath. The forest of sterile, silver metal meant the future.
Two more horned monsters slunk from behind nearby trees. They stood at the opposite end of the pit, their fingers curled beneath their noses, chuckling deviously at the sight of us at last discovering Ginger. The demon that had led us to her wedged itself between us and the pit. Finally, slowly, it drew its hands into clawing formation and lifted them before its horns. It threatened us with its razor-tipped fingers as the pair of monsters behind it plunged over the edge. They balanced on the roots, positioning themselves just above her body. One sniffed her neck, while the other took in deep breaths up and down her torso. They let out disturbing grunts and snorts as they took their time absorbing her aroma.
Phillip’s anguish became only more excruciating at the sight of the monsters desecrating her body. “Get away from her!” he wailed. “Don’t touch her!” Yet I knew if the demons were enjoying her smell, if they were still able to sense the aromas of horror and misery emanating from her pores, then Ginger was more than a beautiful corpse.
41
Not Human
Revived by the sensation of the demons salivating over her, Ginger began to flutter her eyelids. At first, she focused on the foul creatures. Then, her eyes shifted to Phillip and me towering over her in the moonlight. Her hope renewed by his presence, she struggled against the roots. She tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry, her voice too weak.
Discovering Ginger was alive, Phillip was equally renewed. Boldly, he grabbed the demon before us by its horns. But the powerful monster bunted back, knockin
g him to the ground. With a quick turn of its head, the tip of its horn lacerated Phillip’s leg. Phillip rushed to stand in defiance while holding pressure to the gash. The demon held steady with its claws to its horns and delivered a warning in the form of a vigorous hiss.
As if to hammer home how outmatched we truly were, the remainder of the demons began to emerge. They crept from behind the trees and out of the shadows. They crawled from beneath the soil. They came forward slowly, stepping with precision over the forest floor without looking to their feet, their eyes fixed on the exposed pit. They drooled at the sight of it. They had been waiting so long. All that time, they had been keeping her alive, seasoning her with fear and hopelessness, waiting for the moment Phillip and I would find her. They knew, with Phillip near and in his deepest anguish, that she’d be ripe. Her scent the sweetest. Her flesh the most savory.
“My God,” cried Phillip as the gathering demons formed surprisingly ordered rows around the edge of the pit. He began to weep. He knew he was no match for the demon in front of him, much less the group of thirty that had come forth for a taste of Ginger. He was truly, completely powerless. And in the midst of his swirling despair, he turned to me. His striking blue eyes glowed in the moonlight. His stare was piercing, as if he were looking into me, behind my eyes. It forced my gaze to the forest floor. “Has she not suffered enough?” he sobbed.
I felt a chill run through my body as cold as his stare. “She has,” I agreed, my mouth dry, “suffered too much.”
“Has she not suffered enough—because of you?” he finished.
The blood drained from my face. I couldn’t process what he was suggesting. “Because of me? I haven’t done anything to Ginger.”
“I’m talking about these creatures. Your creatures.”
I felt nauseous. “But—they’re not my creatures.”
Where the Cats Will Not Follow Page 25
