Crooked Hills

by Cullen Bunn

  I sat up. From my bed, I could look right out the window. Moonlight filtered into the room, casting an eerie glow over the walls and floor, over the beds and my brother’s sleeping form. Outside, the trees were black shapes in the darkness. But something moved just beyond the tree line. A shadow. An animal of some sort, probably a large dog. It moved back and forth through the trees, then stopped. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like it was digging a hole.

  I heard the howl again, and the dog turned its head toward me—

  I jerked away from the window and retreated across the bed until my back touched the wall. Cowering there, I tugged the covers around me. It took me a second to catch my breath and steady my nerves enough for another gander. When I looked again, the dog was gone.

  But I knew no matter how many years I lived, I’d never forget that moment when the dog looked at me, and the moonlight glowed in its eyes.

  Pale, human-looking eyes.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “A GHOSTLY CRY IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT?” Marty scratched his chin as he considered the description of the creature. “Could be any number of beastie from around these parts. Could have been the Ozark Howler, I reckon, but the Howler looks more like a bobcat than a dog. Heck, you might have spotted the Gallywumpus.”

  I was pretty sure he was making names up on the spot.

  But Marty didn’t laugh or break into a telling smile. He thought for a few seconds, then asked, “Glowing eyes, you say?”

  “Not just glowing eyes. These were human eyes—almost anyway.”

  “So maybe you saw a person sneaking through the woods.”

  I shook my head. “It was definitely a dog or a wolf or something.”

  “No wolves around here. Coyotes, maybe, but not wolves.” Marty squinted at me and pursed his lips. “Are you positive you’re not trying to spook me? You aren’t trying to get me back for the spiders last night, are you?”

  “This isn’t a prank.”

  “So what do you think it was?”

  This is your neck of the woods, I thought. You tell me.

  But instead, I swallowed my pride and told him what I really believed.

  “I think it was a ghost.”

  After seeing the strange apparition, I’d spent a good part of the night searching through my ghost book for references to a spectral hound. I didn’t have any luck. Had I discovered a new specter haunting the hills? The spirit of a bloodhound killed in a hunting accident, maybe?

  “The ghost of a dog?” Marty shook his head. “Whatever you do, don’t tell my dad.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s scared to death of dogs. Doesn’t want anything to do with them. A dog coming back from the dead might be too much for him.”

  I found it hard to believe anything scared Shorty, living, dead, or otherwise.

  “Didn’t you hear the howling?”

  “Nope. I conked out before my head hit the pillow. I didn’t even get the chance to read those funny books you let me borrow.” He must have seen the look of disappointment and concern etched on my face. He thought about it for a moment, then said, “Tell you what, we’ll keep watch tonight. Maybe it will come back.”

  That made me feel a little better, and I nodded. “But don’t tell Alex. He gets nervous about things like this.”

  I probably shouldn’t have been so quick to exclude my younger brother, but I didn’t dare let him know about the ghostly dog or our plan to keep a look-out for it. You’d have to know Alex to really understand. For starters, he was a bit of a klutz, always tripping and taking nasty spills, always knocking things over. Second, he was a jinx—bad luck followed him around like a lovesick puppy. To make matters worse, he was the kind of kid who jumped at his own shadow, which is to say he was a big scaredy-cat. He couldn’t even watch a scary movie without whining and covering his eyes.

  He’d botch any plans for sure.

  “We’ll just keep this between you and me,” I told Marty.

  “My lips are sealed.” My cousin closed his mouth tight and mimed locking his lips shut and tossing away a key. He brushed his hands together as if sweeping away dust. “Now are you ready for me to show you around?”

  “You bet!” I said.

  “Good!” Marty beamed. “I just want to get a couple of things.”

  We went to his room, and Marty pulled a scruffy-looking backpack from his closet. The bag looked like something off the bargain rack in an army surplus store. He tossed the backpack on the bed and then started searching through his dresser. When he found something he wanted to bring along, he threw it over his shoulder into a pile on the mattress. By the time he was done, he’d collected a pocket knife, compass, canteen, a pair of flashlights, a few powerful-looking fire crackers, a pair of jeans cut off at the knees, and a half-used pack of matches. He looked over the belongings for a second and nodded.

  “You really think we’ll need all this stuff?” I asked.

  “Always a good idea to be prepared.” He sounded like a Boy Scout. He started shoving the items into the bag. “Anything you want to bring?”

  I snapped my fingers. I’d almost forgotten. I rushed to my room and returned with my book. “I thought we might use it as a reference if we run into anything peculiar.”

  “Good idea,” Marty said, adding it to the bag.

  As Marty slung the backpack over his shoulder, my little brother stuck his head into the room.

  “Where are you guys going?” Alex asked. “Are you going out to explore? Can I come?”

  “Sure you can,” Marty said. “But you may want to change into a pair of jeans instead of those shorts. We’re gonna be walking through some pretty thick brush. We can pack your swimming trunks in case we decide to go for a dip in the creek.”

  “I’ll be right back!” Alex rushed off. I heard him stub his toe on the door jamb of our room. “Ow!” he cried.

  Klutz!

  “I hope we don’t regret bringing him along,” I said.

  “If we didn’t,” Marty said, “he’d go straight to our parents, saying we were being mean. Then we’d get stuck here ourselves.”

  “I guess.”

  “You might want to change clothes, too.” Marty scrunched up his face and scratched at his temple. “Wearing shorts isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked. “It’s going to be a hundred degrees today. No way am I wearing jeans in that heat.”

  “Suit yourself,” Marty said, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Almost as an afterthought, he opened the top drawer of his dresser and took out a bottle of fingernail polish remover.

  “Are you planning on doing your nails?” I asked. “Why do we need that?”

  “You’ll see.”

  While Alex changed clothes, Marty and I went to the kitchen and gathered some crackers, peanut butter, bread, and apples. Marty also filled his canteen with Kool-Aid and put some paper cups in the satchel. We packed like we were running away from home!

  Wearing a pair of faded jeans and a Spiderman tee-shirt, Alex limped into the room. He held a pair of rolled-up swimming trunks, which Marty added to the already stuffed bag.

  “We’re off!” Marty said.

  But Mom and Aunt Mary stopped us before we got out the door.

  “You boys be careful out there,” Mom said. “I don’t want you wandering too far and getting hurt.”

  “We won’t,” I promised.

  “Don’t worry,” Marty said. “I just want to show them around a little.”

  “Well...” Mom looked a little worried. “Just don’t get lost.”

  “Never fear.” Marty puffed up proudly. “I know these woods like the back of my hand. With me as their guide, there’s no chance of losing our way.”

  Mom smiled. She obviously found Marty’s antics humorous, too. “I’ll keep the search party on stand-by,” she said.

  The three of us stepped outside and started our journey. It wasn’t even 10 o’clock in the morning, but the scorc
hing heat washed over us like a tidal wave. I broke out in a sweat within seconds, and I was glad I’d decided to wear shorts instead of jeans.

  We headed across the yard and jumped the split-beam fence. Marty didn’t bother with a footpath as he strode directly into the forest. He traipsed through the weeds and undergrowth, then stopped a few yards out. He leaned over, placing his hands on his knees, then motioned for me to join him. The ground was all torn up. It looked like something large had been burrowing into the earth. Mounds of freshly turned dirt surrounded the hole, which I guessed to be at least two feet deep.

  “What are you guys looking at?” Alex asked, rushing up behind us.

  “Nothing,” I said. “A hole or something.”

  Marty and I looked at each other, and I glanced back at the house. From this spot, I had a clear view of the bedroom window. This must have been the very spot where I saw the dog the night before. I noticed the grass surrounding the hole was brittle and brown, like it had been cooked in the heat of the sun.

  “It sure likes something was buried here,” Marty said.

  “But not anymore.” I kicked at the piles of loose dirt. “Whatever was digging out here, it found what it was looking for.”

  “Come on,” Marty said. “We’ve got a lot to see.”

  He took off through the brush. I took one last look at the hole. Despite the heat, I felt a little cold. I turned my attention toward the sights and adventure my cousin promised, but I couldn’t shake the memory of the dog—or whatever it was—and its human-like eyes.

  What could it have been digging for? I wondered.

  Birds cried from high branches, and squirrels chattered at us as we passed. We climbed small hills and traversed dried-out riverbeds, hopped across shallow streams on smooth, slippery stepping-stones and carefully pushed through briar patches. The briars were the worst, especially since I wore shorts. The thorny vines scraped and stabbed at my legs, drawing thin lines of blood in a couple of places. I didn’t complain, though, because I didn’t want Marty to say, “I told you so.”

  Despite all his big talking, Marty really knew the forest pretty well. Even though we hiked quite a ways from the house, I didn’t have any worries about getting lost. He never even bothered to check the compass he brought.

  We happened upon a few big rocks, each about the size of a basketball, and Marty called for us to wait. He searched through the undergrowth and tore a switch from a bush. He approached one of the rocks, knelt beside it, and jabbed the stick underneath a couple of times.

  “What are you doing?” Alex asked.

  I figured Marty was looking for snakes or something, and poking at them with a stick would only make them angry.

  “Help me roll this aside.”

  Marty tossed the switch away and pushed on the large rock. I gave him a hand. I could have rolled the rock over all on my own, but I didn’t want to show my cousin up. Together, we moved the stone.

  Underneath, the ground was dark and damp. A couple of earthworms slithered in the dirt. In addition, a couple of nasty-looking yellowish creatures crawled around in the moist patch of earth.

  Scorpions!

  “Be careful,” I said, clutching Marty’s shoulder.

  He smiled and shook his head as he pinched the tail of one of the scorpions between his fingers, lifting the tiny, twitching monstrosity into the air.

  “Aren’t they poisonous?” I asked.

  “You’ve been watching too many movies,” Marty said. “They’re just a little worse than a bee sting, really. I’d rather be stung than get pinched by their claws.”

  We examined the scorpions for a couple of minutes. Alex and I never touched them, though. We left that up to Marty. The scorpions didn’t like being manhandled at all, but Marty showed us how to avoid being stung or pinched. When he grew bored with the scorpions, he tossed them into the weeds and we set off again.

  After about ten minutes, my legs started to itch a little. The feeling worsened with every step. By the time we sat down to take a break, my legs itched terribly just below my knees. I almost scratched the skin to the bone.

  “You all right?” Alex asked. He was breathing hard from the hike and covered in sweat. Damp patches of perspiration spread out from his underarms.

  “I think I must have walked through poison ivy or something.”

  Alex recoiled away from me.

  “I doubt it’s poison ivy,” Marty said. “I kept a pretty good eye out for the stuff. We passed a couple of patches, but we didn’t get anywhere close enough for you to pick it up. More than likely, it’s chiggers.”

  “What are chiggers?” Alex asked. He sounded like he’d just heard about some exotic fatal disease. Of course, he was just overacting, as usual. At least, I hoped so.

  “Chiggers are little bugs, even smaller than seed ticks. You can’t even see them. They get on you and their spit eats away at your skin. That’s what causes the itching.”

  “You mean my skin is dissolving?” I asked.

  “In spit?” Alex added, his face blanching.

  “It’s not enough to hurt you, but it’s gonna itch like the dickens. Put this on the bites.” He scrounged through his backpack and handed me the bottle of fingernail polish remover. “It’ll help.”

  He only put the bottle in the bag when he found out I’d be wearing shorts. He never gloated out loud, but the gesture told me I shouldn’t be so thick-skulled in the future. Grumbling under my breath, I poured a little of the liquid in my hand. The pungent smell made my eyes water. I slathered a little on my legs—

  “Yowch!”

  My legs didn’t itch any more, but now they burned like I’d poured rubbing alcohol in an open wound.

  “Stings a little, I bet,” Marty said.

  A little? I felt like my legs were going to melt below the knee.

  “Give it a minute and you’ll be fine.”

  I stomped and squirmed. I bit my lower lip to keep from screaming. I probably looked like a dancing nutcase.

  After a few minutes of excruciating agony, the burning eased up a little. My legs were red and raw, and I smelled like fingernail polish remover, but at least I wasn’t itching so badly.

  “See? I told you.” Marty pulled the canteen and cups out of the backpack. “Anyone thirsty?”

  The Kool-Aid wasn’t very cold, but it still tasted wonderful going down. I drained my cup in two quick swallows.

  Marty put the used cups back in the bag. Then he opened my ghost book, settled back against the trunk of a tree, and casually flipped through the pages. “Does this book say anything about the Bleeding Rock?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to read the whole book. What’s the Bleeding Rock?”

  He looked off to his right. “It’s a haunted place, not too far from this very spot.”

  “H-h-haunted?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Marty tapped the book’s cover. “Crooked Hills has a ton of ghosts. You can’t go very far without running into some spirit’s stomping ground. We’re pretty close to one right now.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Can we go see?”

  “If you want,” Marty said. “I was planning on taking you to the creek so we could go for a swim. This would be out of the way.”

  “What do you say, Alex? Want to go see?”

  He looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun peeking through the trees. Shadows skittered across his face. “I guess it would be all right to go during the daytime.” He was scared—I could tell—but a little curious, too.

  “If it’s not too far out of the way,” I said, “I’d like to see. We’ll go for a swim afterwards.”

  “Sounds good.” Marty packed up the book, stood up, and slung the backpack over his shoulder. “Follow me. And stay close. My granddaddy always said an unlearned man might get lost for days in the deep places, where the light of day doesn’t even cut through the thick branches.”

  Like my cousin promised, the Bleeding Rock wasn’t too far away. Rising from the center of t
he clearing, the huge, flat chunk of stone was about the size and shape of a refrigerator lying on its side. All the plant life surrounding the stone was withered and brown, and it crunched beneath our feet. The rock was the color of chalk, except for a rusty-looking stain on top. I placed my hand against the stone. It was dry and cold to the touch.

  “Years and years ago,” said Marty, “a woman lived in these parts whom everyone suspected of being a witch. I’m not exactly sure what her real name was, but folks called her Maddie Someday.”

  Marty turned his head and spat a couple of times.

  Maddie Someday?

  “She was in my book,” I said. “She was a witch who destroyed crops and killed livestock.”

  “She did worse than that. On certain nights you could hear her voice ring throughout the hills, right along with an almost tribal drumbeat. On those nights, a kid always disappeared.”

  “She kidnapped them?” Alex asked.

  Marty nodded solemnly.

  Alex shivered. “W-w-what did she do with them?”

  “No one knows for sure.” Marty smiled. “Some folks say she ate them all up—”

  “She was a cannibal!?” I said.

  “Some people think so. Others believe she turned them into twisted little goblins to serve her. But each and every one of the kids who vanished was right about our age.”

  “Wait a second,” Alex said. “When you say ‘our age,’ do you mean your age—” He pointed at Marty and me hopefully. “—or my age?”

  “I reckon she would have taken any of us if she could.”

  “Yeah,” I added, “but she’d probably take you first, Alex, because of the extra meat on your bones.”

  “You guys are just trying to scare me.” Alex pouted. “There’s no such things as witches and goblins.”

  I ignored my brother. If putting on a brave front helped him, fine by me. “What does Maddie Someday—”

  “Whenever you say her name,” Marty said, “you should spit, just to keep the spirits happy.”

  I didn’t think it would help, but I turned my head and spat.

  “Ewww!” Alex said.

  “All right. Now what does the witch have to do with this boring old rock?”