“Down!” McCoy shouted, and John dropped to the floor just as a volley of salt sailed over his head. The spirit vanished with a frustrated wail. Scrambling on all fours, John dove back inside the circle.
“Watch your aim,” McCoy told Amanda. “Don’t hit the candles, whatever you do.”
“Where’d she go?” Amanda asked, searching the darkness. “I don’t see her.”
A gust of frigid wind blew in from behind them. McCoy spun around to see the spirit, arms outstretched. She was concentrating her blast low, towards the floor.
The red brick dust scattered.
“The circle’s gone!” McCoy yelled. “Everyone get out! Now!”
As if anticipating the move, the Yuki-Onna swept her hand toward the door. It blew shut in a barrage of wind.
“Amanda!” McCoy yelled. “Beside me! Everyone else get behind us!”
“I can’t see!” Frank yelled, and promptly ran into a wall. He hit the floor with a thud and lay unmoving.
John, Deidre, and Basil rushed to get behind Amanda and McCoy. One at a time, they fired into the spirit, and each time she reappeared in a different spot, closer than before.
“I’m out!” Amanda shouted as she pulled the trigger on an empty chamber. McCoy, having lost count, fired twice more before his own gun fell silent.
The Yuki-Onna, sensing that the fight was over, slowly drifted toward them. It was clear that she intended to toy with them as punishment for their resistance. McCoy chanced a quick look at the door. They would never make it. One or two of them, possibly, but not all of them.
“Okaachan?” a child’s voice came from the darkness.
The Yuki-Onna froze, her eyes wide. She swung her head around, searching for the speaker.
“Okaachan?” the voice called again, full of surprise and hope.
McCoy turned to see a small boy emerge from the shadows. He approached the Yuki-Onna hesitantly, recognizing his mother but sensing that something was not right.
“Oh my God,” Basil wheezed. “Chikao? Oh, sweet Jesus. Is that my boy?”
The spirit-child turned toward the sound of Basil’s voice. “ChiChi!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up.
The Yuki-Onna looked from the boy to Basil, her expression at first confused, then pained. As McCoy and the others watched, her pale skin began to take on the hint of color. Ghostly tears began to stream down her face as she slowly recognized her son and her lover, both of whom had been lost to her for so long.
“Chikao?” she asked, looking down at her son. The boy’s face beamed.
“HaHa!” he cried, and flung himself at her. Harumi bent low and scooped her son into her arms, sobbing with joy. Around and around they spun, clinging to each other, lost for so long but never to be separated again.
Abruptly, Harumi stopped and looked toward the group of people. Slowly, Basil walked from behind the others. He stared in wonderment at his lost family, tears of joy streaming down his wrinkled cheeks.
Harumi gently put Chikao down. She stared at Basil, seeing not the old man he had become, but the strapping young Marine he had once been.
“Basil,” she said, smiling.
“Harumi.” He rushed to her, somehow managing to embrace what he should not have been able to. They hugged each other tightly, both spirit and human overcome with emotion. When at last they separated, Basil bent down and took his son into his arms. He kissed the child and held him close, the joy erasing the years from his face.
McCoy turned to find both Amanda and Deidre ready to bawl. Even the big lug of a sheriff was misty-eyed and sniffling.
“Come on,” McCoy told them. “Let’s give them some privacy. They don’t have long.” He went to the door, opened it, and walked out into the wintry night.
***
“I still don’t understand,” Deidre said as they huddled together in the snow. “I saw the fire come from John’s hands.”
“It’s a trick I learned from a Middle Eastern swami,” McCoy said. “Or was it a yogi? I can never keep them straight. A simple enchantment. You saw me touch his head and speak the words.”
Deidre looked doubtfully at John.
“Don’t look at me,” the sheriff said. “I am but a vessel.”
“So what did those words mean?” Amanda asked skeptically.
“Ancient Chinese secret,” McCoy replied.
“I’ll bet.”
They all turned as the door opened and Basil came walking out. The man appeared to be twenty years younger, and he wore a bittersweet smile on his face.
“Are they gone?” McCoy asked.
Basil nodded. “For now. But I know that I’ll see them again. Soon. I want to thank you, Finn McCoy. And I want to apologize for the things I said earlier.”
“Nothing to apologize for,” McCoy said. “I wouldn’t have believed me either, if I’d been you.”
“Well, just know that you’ve got this old man’s gratitude.”
McCoy nodded.
There was a sudden rustling sound from inside the trailer. Everyone turned to see Frank step out of the door, his hand on his head.
“What did I miss?” he asked.
Epilogue
McCoy removed his hat and leaned against the trunk of a tree. The bright spring sun shone down upon his face. He closed his eyes and relished the warmth. It beat the hell out of snow and ice any day of the week.
Winter had finally released its harsh grip on Shallow Springs. The day was clear and sunny, the temperature warm enough so that only a light jacket was required. A light breeze stirred the tree’s branches, which sported freshly-budded leaves. There was an overall sense of rebirth. It was a day for rejoicing and letting go of the past.
McCoy opened his eyes and saw Basil shuffling toward him across the well-manicured lawn. The old guy had a definite spring in his step, and he smiled broadly as he approached the handler.
“You’re doing a mighty fine job of holding that tree up,” Basil said as he came to a stop in front of McCoy.
“It’s one of the many expert services I provide,” McCoy said, smiling. “How are you, Basil?”
“Never better. Who could feel bad on a day like today? Just look at that sky. I bet there’s not a cloud within a hundred miles of here.”
“You’re probably right,” McCoy agreed. “Days like today are meant to be cherished.”
“All days are meant to be cherished,” Basil corrected. “I learned that lesson a few months ago, and you were the one who taught it to me.”
McCoy shrugged. “I just showed you the real world. It was up to you to make out of it what you wanted.”
Basil’s smile widened even more. “Did I ever tell you about the time your Dad and I went fishing?”
“Nope. Don’t believe you ever did.”
“It was right after I came back home. You were still several years away, and your parents were about the happiest newlyweds I ever laid eyes on. Well, your father, being the big fisherman he was, insisted that I go to Clairbourne Lake with him. I was pretty much a recluse then. After what happened in Japan, I’d kind of lost my thirst for life, you know.”
“You’d been through a lot,” McCoy said.
“Yeah. Well, Clayton saw how I was getting along, and he was never a man to watch another’s suffering in silence. So he drags me out on the lake in this rickety old jon boat. That thing leaked like a sieve. I remember we had to take turns bailing water out of that thing, just so we wouldn’t sink.”
“I remember that boat,” McCoy said. “He kept it under a shed around the back of the house. Mom used to fuss at him to get rid of it, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He was sentimental like that, with certain things.”
“I always called him a packrat, sentimental or not,” Basil laughed. “Anyway, we get out in the middle of the lake and we fished and drank beer, but mostly we drank. We weren’t drunk or anything, but I had a good buzz on. And that’s when he did it.”
“Did what?”
“I remember him reeling h
is line in and placing the pole in the bottom of the boat. Then he looked me square in the eyes, grabbed the sides of that old boat, and started rocking it.”
“You’re kidding,” McCoy said.
“No sir, I am not. And me, being a bit tipsy anyway, I go sailing right into the water.”
“What the hell did he do that for?” McCoy asked, curious.
“I’m getting to that. He picked up one of the oars. I figured he was going to reach it to me, you know, so I could climb back in the boat. But do you know what that SOB did? He started rowing back into shore.”
“What did you do?”
“What could I do? I took off after him, cussing like a sailor. I swam all the way back into shore. By the time I crawled onto the bank, I was wetter than a soaked hen and twice as mad. And there’s your Dad, sitting there, giving me this real serious look. I stomped over and threatened to drag his ass all over that lake for pulling a stunt like that. Then I asked him why he did it.”
“And what did he say?” McCoy asked.
“He looked me right in the eye and told me he figured I needed to learn how to swim again. Said he’d been watching me for a while, and as near as he could figure, I was drowning. He told me he wouldn’t stand by and watch that happen.”
“That sounds like Dad. He never met a problem he couldn’t make his own.”
“I’m glad he did make it his problem,” Basil said. “That day, I started swimming again. But I’d almost forgotten how again when you came along. In your own way, you threw me back into the lake. I want to thank you for that.”
“No problem,” McCoy said.
Basil gave a contented sigh. He turned and looked across the lawn at the small church nestled near the tree line.
“Well, I guess I better be going,” he said. “I got people waiting on me. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate all you’ve done.”
“It was my pleasure,” McCoy said. “See you around, Basil.”
“Yeah. See you around.” Basil looked up at the crystal blue sky again. “It really is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
McCoy looked at the sky as well. “It really is, Basil. It really is.” But when he looked back down, Basil was already gone.
“There you are,” Amanda said, walking across the lawn. John followed behind her, looking like a gorilla in a suit. “Why did you duck out like that?”
“Just needed some fresh air,” McCoy smiled. “You know how I am with crowds.”
“The service just ended,” John said. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m ready to get out of this monkey suit.”
“It looks good on you, John,” Amanda teased. “You look like a secret agent or something.”
“Yeah,” McCoy said. “A secret agent who happened to fall into a vat of growth hormones.”
“Finn!” Amanda chuffed. “You’re terrible.”
“And I’m hungry. How does Mary Lou’s sound to everyone?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” John said.
“Mary Lou’s it is then,” said Amanda. She looked at McCoy. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah. I’ve said my goodbyes.”
As they walked to the parking lot, McCoy looked back over his shoulder.
Under the pristine sky, a young couple walked across the lawn. The man wore a military uniform. His companion, young and vibrant, tossed her long, black hair and laughed at something the man said. A boy of about five or six tagged closely behind them, jumping and giggling.
McCoy blinked, and when he looked again, the lawn was deserted.
He caught up to his companions and smiled.
“You know, it really is a beautiful day.”
The End
Preview of Dark Hollows: A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller #4
Randy Peterson had discovered that he was a gofer, and he was none too happy about it.
Sure, he had the fancy title of technical assistant, and that had been a major selling point when he’d been offered the job. Randy figured it would look good on his resume, so he’d decided to sign up. It sure as hell hadn’t been for the pay, which was virtually non-existent.
He tripped over an exposed tree root and nearly went down. Cursing, he steadied himself and switched his flashlight on. He was losing daylight fast; he’d be lucky to make it up to the malfunctioning motion sensor before dark, and it was a certainty that he would be making the return trip to base camp in the pitch black. On top of that, the gathering clouds signaled an approaching storm, and Randy had left his raingear back at camp.
Increasing his pace, Randy continued up the wooded slope toward the ancient train trestle. Even in broad daylight, the thing looked rickety as hell; in the gloomy shadows of the coming darkness, it appeared downright dilapidated. Randy found it hard to believe that trains actually crossed the ramshackle bridge on a daily basis. He wouldn’t have crossed the thing on a handcart for any amount of money.
On the plus side, his time in this God-forsaken rural craphole was nearly over. With any luck, filming would wrap up tomorrow or the next day, then it would be back to civilization for editing and post-production. Randy couldn’t wait to be rid of rural Kentucky. He had to drive for nearly twenty minutes just to get to a McDonald’s, for Pete’s sake. And he hadn’t seen a Starbucks in over a week. The quicker he got to return to Cincinnati, the better he would like it.
Randy paused to catch his breath and check his bearings. He was pretty sure he was close to the spot where they’d placed the motion sensor several days before. It had been functioning properly up until thirty minutes ago, when it had suddenly gone offline. Caleb, the team leader, was nothing if not a stickler for perfection. As far as Randy could tell, it was the man’s only redeeming quality. Caleb had no imagination. How he’d ended up making documentaries about the supernatural was a mystery to Randy.
Clearly, it was all about the money. Paranormal crap was the hot ticket of the day, and every fool with a video recorder was trying to cash in on the craze. It wasn’t as if anyone on the crew actually believed in this type of spooky bullshit, least of all Randy.
As he resumed walking, however, he had to admit that he was a bit uncomfortable in the darkening woods. He was out of his element; he’d been born and raised in the city and had seldom ventured into rural areas, much less the outright wilderness. The great outdoors held little interest for Randy. Technology, not nature, fascinated him. The woods were better left to rednecks and tree huggers.
He topped a rocky outcrop and fanned his flashlight’s beam. He was sure he was in the right spot; they’d attached the sensor to a tree trunk which lined the crude path leading up to the railroad tracks. Now, it was nowhere to be seen.
Annoyed, Randy unclipped his two-way radio from his belt and pressed the talk button.
“Peterson to base.”
“Base here,” Caleb’s voice crackled from the radio’s speaker.
“I’m up here at the spot where we placed the motion sensor.”
“Did you find the problem?”
“Yeah. The problem is that it’s not here.”
There was a brief pause. “What do you mean, it’s not there?” Caleb asked irritably.
“I mean it’s gone. I’m standing beside the tree we attached it to, and there’s no sign of it.”
“Maybe it fell off the tree. Did you look on the ground around it?”
“Caleb, I’m telling you, it’s gone. I helped strap it to the tree myself. No way did it just happen to fall off.”
“Damnit, Randy! All of this equipment is rented. We can’t just lose a two-hundred dollar piece of equipment. We’re running over budget as it is.”
Randy gave the radio a look of contempt. If Caleb was so concerned about it, he could haul his condescending ass up the mountain and help look for it.
“I understand that, Caleb. But I’m telling you it’s not here. Even the straps are gone. It didn’t just fall off the tree.”
“So you’re saying someone took it?”
“Obvio
usly,” Randy answered, then paused as he realized the ramifications of that statement. If someone had taken the sensor, it was likely that the someone in question was still lurking nearby, possibly watching him from the concealment of the dark woods.
Randy fought the sudden urge to bolt back down the mountainside. He’d neither heard nor seen anything out of the ordinary since leaving the base camp. If someone were out to ambush him, they probably would have done so by now.
“Must be locals,” Caleb’s voice came from the radio. “They must have gotten wind of the project. Damn. This could compromise the rest of the shoot.”
“Yeah, well I’m feeling pretty compromised right now. I’m heading back down to camp.”
“Hold on. Just stay put. I’ll send Mark and Trevor up there. It’s probably just kids.”
“So what if it is?” Randy argued. “You think they’re just going to hand the sensor back to us?”
“We need to show that we won’t put up with this bullshit.”
“So you want us to beat up some kids?”
“No,” Caleb said, speaking slowly, as if to a child. “I do not want you to assault anyone. Just see if you can flush them out and get our equipment back.”
“There’s a storm blowing in,” Randy protested.
“I’ll send your raingear up with Trevor. Base out.”
Randy spat on the radio, then wiped the saliva off on his pants leg. That sanctimonious prick was a gnat’s hair away from being one technical assistant short. If Randy had had his own ride, he would have marched off that mountain, told Caleb where to shove it, and driven back to the city. But since he had hopped a ride with Trevor to save on gas, Randy supposed he was stuck.
If it had been kids who had taken the sensor, then the little delinquents had better hope that Randy didn’t find them.
A flash of lightning illuminated the mountainside, followed by the rumble of thunder. The storm would be upon him before Mark and Trevor could arrive with his rain suit. Swell. At least it was August, and the temperature had been blistering hot during the day, so he was in no danger of freezing. In fact, he supposed that a little rain would feel refreshing, as long as he could keep from getting struck by lightning.
Cold Chills (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 3) Page 14
