Crooked Hills

by Cullen Bunn

  “Boring? Boring?” Marty clutched at his chest, as if my words caused his heart to ache. “This rock may not look like much right now, but this is the site of one of the most awful events in the history of Crooked Hills.”

  He paused for a second, holding his breath and looking back and forth between Alex and me, letting the drama build.

  “This,” he said, “is where Maddie Someday was murdered!”

  Murdered, I thought, and felt another chill.

  After spitting, Marty continued his tale with the flair of a natural-born storyteller. “Folks around these parts knew the witch was behind the kidnappings, but they didn’t have any evidence, and the county sheriff wouldn’t do anything about it. So they took the law into their own hands.”

  “They killed her?” Alex said.

  “They didn’t just kill her.” Marty tipped his face forward so shadows darkened his features. “They chopped her apart.”

  “Ugh!” Alex said.

  But Marty wasn’t quite done milking the shock value out of the story. He stretched out his arm theatrically and pointed to the stone. “And they did it on this very spot! See how the stone is stained red on top? Her blood marked the stone! That’s why the grass doesn’t grow around here. No plant can feed on witch’s blood and grow naturally.”

  I took an instinctive step away from the Bleeding Rock. I couldn’t help but think of my Uncle beheading the chicken on the old tree stump. Had Maddie run around flapping her arms wildly when they butchered her?

  “When the gruesome job was done,” Marty said, “they buried what was left of her in six different graves around the county, two for her arms, two for her legs, one for her body, and one for her head. But they say every year on the anniversary of the witch’s death, her body parts crawl through the earth to meet back at this spot, and fresh blood spills out of the stone where she died!”

  My mouth felt dry, my tongue swollen like a rolled pair of socks.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Alex said.

  “I didn’t scare you, did I?” Marty laughed. “All right, all right. Let’s go down to the creek. A good swim will take your minds off all this.”

  Marty took off through the woods. He was moving so fast we could hardly keep up with him. He climbed over a huge, fallen tree covered with moss, then leaped down to the other side and out of sight. It looked like he’d climbed the log hundreds of times. I had a little more trouble, but I made it to the top and helped Alex. Stinging sweat dripped into my eyes and stuck my shirt to my back and chest, but I guess it really didn’t matter since we’d be swimming soon.

  Marty waited for us up ahead. He stood at the edge of a gravel road cutting through the forest. I was pretty sure it was the same stretch of road we’d traveled to get to my aunt and uncle’s house, although I saw no recognizable landmarks.

  “We can follow the road to the creek.” Marty pointed down the path. “Should be a little easier trek, and it will take us directly to the best swimming spot.”

  We walked for what seemed like miles along the curvy road. My legs ached—and they were starting to itch again, although I refused to whine about it—but at least we weren’t running to keep up with Marty any longer. The sun was high overhead, the heat pressing down on me and scorching my arms, face, and neck.

  “We’re not far now,” Marty said. “Just around the next bend—”

  I heard the roar of the engine before I saw the black sports car. The vehicle—I think it was an old model Firebird—tore around the curve, shooting a cloud of gravel and dust high into the air. The windows were down and thunderous heavy metal music blared from the stereo. The sun glinted on the windshield, and I couldn’t see the driver’s face. He must have been going at least sixty miles-per-hour—far too fast for the dirt road. The car shot in our direction, bearing down on Marty!

  My cousin froze as the car rocketed forward without any sign of slowing down. Either the driver didn’t see him or didn’t care. The headlights and grille gave the car the appearance of an evil grin. If I didn’t act fast, Marty would be road kill for sure!

  At the last second, I grabbed my cousin by the shoulder and yanked him back. He lost his footing and fell. The car blasted past. A shower of rocks and pebbles whipped over us like a swarm of killer bees. I covered my face and coughed in the cloud of dust and car exhaust.

  “Slow down, jerk!” I yelled. I couldn’t help myself, not after what had happened to my father. I couldn’t stand to see someone driving recklessly. Didn’t really matter. No way the driver heard me over the sound of the radio—

  The brake lights flared. The back end fishtailed a little. The Firebird skidded to a stop.

  Marty scrambled to his feet. “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Oh, no no no.”

  The bright white reverse lights flared. The reflection of the surrounding trees undulated on the waxed body of the vehicle. The driver cut the engine. The music died down. Dust settled like powdered bone on the car’s jet black skin. Waves of heat danced over the hood, warping the air. Beneath the hood, the engine popped and clicked, cooling down after running hot.

  The driver’s side door opened up, and a young man stepped out.

  He wore jeans and a faded and frayed polo shirt. His blonde hair was shoulder length, and he had the cruelest eyes I had ever seen. The kind of guy, I thought, who only looks happy when he’s making someone cry uncle. He was at least sixteen—obviously, since he had his license—but I would have guessed he was a little older. He regarded us for a second, tilting his head from side to side, then stomped in our direction. His face was a mask of rage.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  Beside me, Marty kept on whispering. “That’s Greg Crewes. Oh, we’re in trouble. Apologize, Charlie. Say you’re sorry.”

  But I just couldn’t do that.

  “I said you need to slow down,” I snapped at Greg. “You’re going to hurt somebody if you keep driving like an idiot.”

  Marty winced like I’d punched him in the stomach.

  “An idiot, huh?” Greg continued walking right up to me. “Kid, I don’t know who you are, but you’re in for the beating of your life.”

  “We’re dead!” Marty said.

  I wanted to run, but I couldn’t make my legs work. They were cemented in place. My only option was to try to talk my way out of this mess.

  “We don’t want to fight,” I said, my voice shaky. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

  Greg towered over me. He leered, and I saw his yellow teeth. On the left side of his mouth, it looked like extra teeth pushed out of his gums, like he had the beginning of a double row of choppers. He hooked his fingers over the collar of my shirt and drew me close. The cloth started to tear, and I had to stand on my tiptoes.

  “Well, whether you want trouble or not,” he said, “you’ve got it. When I’m done with you, you’ll wish you got hit by a car.”

  He drew his other arm back. His knuckles cracked as he clenched his hand into a fist pointed right at my face.

  This is it, I thought. Lights out!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I SQUEEZED MY EYES SHUT and mentally prepared myself for pain and certain death. I’d never really been punched before, not by someone who wanted to knock my block off. I couldn’t count on much help from Marty or Alex, either. While I couldn’t see them with my eyes closed, I heard Marty whimpering next to me, and it wouldn’t have surprised me if Alex was halfway home already. I felt a shadow pass over my face as Greg’s fist eclipsed the sun.

  Something whizzed past my ear. It sounded like a hornet on steroids. Suddenly, Greg released me.

  “Ow!” he cried.

  My eyes snapped open. Greg Crewes hopped a foot or so away from me, and the hand he was going to use to pummel me into oblivion was now clapped over his right ear. An angry red stain spread across his cheeks, and tears glistened in his eyes.

  I heard the hornet sound again, and something struck Greg hard, right between the eyes.

  “Ouch!” the
bully squeaked. He staggered. Now he covered his forehead with his other hand. The object that had struck him fell to the ground—a rock about the size of a large marble. I glanced over my shoulder, but couldn’t see where the projectile had come from.

  Greg bellowed with anger. The assault only stunned him for a second or two, and now he was fighting mad. Growling, he charged Marty, Alex, and me. I didn’t know who he planned on ripping apart first.

  Another rock zoomed out of the woods but it missed Greg by a couple of inches. It struck the gravel road with a small puff of dust.

  Greg’s arm shot out like a striking serpent. Spinning me around, he locked his arm around my throat, putting me between the unseen attacker and himself. I’d seen this in cop shows before—the criminal using a hostage as a human shield.

  Marty couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk.

  “Let him go!” Alex shouted, biting back his fear. He scrambled forward, but Greg kicked at him. My brother stumbled, and his foot caught on his untied shoelaces. He had a real problem keeping his sneakers tied. He fell on his rump, bruising both his tail bone and his pride.

  Alex pushed himself up, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

  “Take another step and I’ll wring his neck!” Greg tightened his choke hold on my throat and looked into the tree line. “And whoever you are out there, you fling another stone and you’ll risk hitting him.” He gave me a shake. “Now come on out of there.”

  I gasped for air. I gripped his arm and tried to pry it away, but he was just too strong. My legs kicked in the dirt. Any minute now I’d black out.

  Another stone flew out of the brush. This time, though, it wasn’t aimed at Greg. It zipped past us. The right-hand side view mirror of Greg’s car exploded into a glittering shower of broken glass.

  “Hey!” Greg released me, and I fell forward. The gravel skinned my knees and the palms of my hands, but at least I could breathe.

  Another rock flew out of the trees, this time striking the back windshield of the car with a smack!

  “Cut it out!” Greg scrambled for his car, digging in his pocket for keys.

  Smack! Another rock struck the rear windshield. This time, a spider web fracture spread across the glass.

  “You’re dead,” Greg yelled as he jumped into the car. “Dead! You hear me?”

  The engine roared to life, and Greg hit the gas, speeding down the road before any more damage could be inflicted on his precious car.

  I rubbed my throat. Marty and Alex helped me to my feet.

  “You okay?” Alex asked.

  “I think so.”

  “We got lucky.” Marty watched the road to make sure Greg didn’t come back for us.

  I was about to ask him about the bully when another voice called out from the trees.

  “Ask me, you were pretty stupid to rile one of the Crewes boys.” A figure stepped out of hiding. “Brave but stupid.”

  A girl about my age emerged from the woods. She had red hair tied back into a long ponytail. Her eyes were green and sparkling. A thick patch of freckles ran across the bridge of her nose. She might have been cute... if she didn’t look like such a tomboy. She wore rolled up jeans that had been patched more times than Marty’s, a dirty pair of sneakers, and a checkered button-up shirt that must have come from the boy’s clothing department. She carried a slingshot, but as she approached she shoved it into her back pocket.

  Marty hooted triumphantly and clapped his hands together. “I knew it! I knew it was you!” All signs of the fear he displayed in the face of Greg Crewes were gone.

  “Well,” the girl said, “somebody had to rescue the three of you.”

  Embarrassed, I looked at my feet, digging the toe of my shoe into the dirt.

  “Charlie, Alex...” Marty waved toward the red-headed girl. “. I want you to meet Lisa Summers. Lisa, these are my cousins from out of town. They’re staying with my family for a few weeks.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, and I shook her hand.

  “I’m glad you came along when you did,” I said, still feeling like a loser for almost getting beat-up. “Thanks for the help,”

  “Think nothing of it,” Lisa said. “Greg’s always looking for trouble. He deserves worse than a broken mirror and windshield.”

  “Who was that guy?” Alex asked.

  “That,” said Marty, “was one-half of the dreaded Crewes brothers. Greg and Hatch Crewes are the worst bullies in the county. They used to go to school with us, until they both got expelled for beating up one of the teachers. They’re meaner than copperhead snakes in a frying pan.”

  “Good thing they weren’t together,” Lisa said, “or this would have turned out differently. We might be able to get the better of one of them, but not both.”

  “Still, that was pretty smart thinking,” Marty said, tapping his forehead, “shooting at the car. No way was he going to let you shoot out all the windows of his car. That car is their most prized possession.”

  “If you say so.” Lisa brushed past me—she smelled like peppermints—and started searching the road. “But he’ll come looking for us one of these days, and there will be blood in his eyes.”

  “You know,” I said, “you broke a mirror. Seven years bad luck.”

  “Not for me.” She didn’t look up but continued searching the gravel. “I’m not superstitious.”

  What is she looking for? I wondered.

  “Hey, Lisa,” Marty said. “I was just taking my cousins down to the creek. You want to come with us?”

  “Sure,” she said. “You’ll need someone to look out for you. Just give me a second, okay?”

  She paced back and forth, looking down like she was counting rocks.

  “There it is!” Lisa said, plucking a single rock from the ground. It was one of the stones she’d beaned Greg with.

  “There are rocks all over the place,” I said. “What’s so special about that one?”

  Lisa tossed it straight up, then snatched it out of the air again. “This is my lucky rock.”

  “I thought you weren’t superstitious,” I said.

  She smiled. “When it comes to this rock, it’s not superstition—it’s fact!”

  She grabbed a small leather pouch that hung from her belt. As she undid the drawstring, the contents rattled. The bag was full of stones, and she dropped the lucky rock in with the others.

  I let the matter drop. After all, the rock had certainly been lucky for me. Without it, I would have been nothing more than a smudge in the dirt.

  After walking forever, we passed a familiar-looking path. The Widows mailbox stood by the side of the road. If Marty wanted to take us to the creek, it would have been much quicker to follow the road rather than trek through the woods. He must have wanted to show us the Bleeding Rock. Fine by me, but I wondered why he didn’t just say so in the first place. He hadn’t thought I’d be scared, had he?

  Lisa unbuttoned her shirt pocket, reached inside, and withdrew a handful of striped peppermints wrapped in plastic. She unwrapped one and popped it in her mouth.

  “Want one?” she asked, mumbling with her mouth full. She held out her hand, offering the candy to the three of us. Alex and Marty each took a piece, but I shook my head.

  “Don’t like peppermints?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Lisa likes peppermints better than anyone I know,” Marty interrupted. “Eats them all day long. They keep her hair red.”

  “Very funny.” Lisa made a face at him.

  Rounding a curve, I saw the concrete bridge we’d crossed the day before. The clear creek water rushed beneath the structure, and branches and leaves and other debris gathered around the sturdy legs. The bank was covered in tiny pebbles that crunched beneath my feet, and the water lapped at the shore.

  Marty unslung his backpack and opened it up. He tossed a pair of trunks to my little brother. The swimsuit struck him in the face. Marty started to undress, but Alex’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. He looked from the t
runks he held in his hands... to Marty... to Lisa.

  “Um,” he said. “We’re not going to change clothes right here, are we?”

  Marty tugged his shirt off. “Huh?”

  Alex jerked his head toward Lisa.

  “Oh.” Marty nodded. “Guess it wouldn’t be polite changing in front of a girl.”

  “I’d appreciate it,” Lisa said, “if you found some place a little more private.”

  Marty and Alex shuffled into the trees and out of sight. Lisa shook her head and raised her eyebrows at me.

  “Thought it was too hot for jeans, huh?” She nodded in the direction of my bare legs. “Didn’t Marty warn you about chiggers?”

  “I probably wouldn’t have listened,” I grumbled.

  “You might want to leave your shoes on,” she said. “Some of the rocks in the creek bed can be awful sharp.”

  “Won’t we ruin our shoes?”

  “It’s either that or slice up the bottom of your feet.”

  Marty and Alex came out of the woods, dressed in their trunks... and shoes. Guess Marty offered my little brother the same piece of advice about jagged rocks. Marty didn’t even slow down as he came barreling out of the trees. He built up speed with every step, splashing into the creek and sending a shower of cold water halfway up the bank.

  “Woohoo!”

  I pulled my tee-shirt off and put it on the shore along with my watch. As I waded into the shallows, minnows rushed away from my feet. It was a lot chillier than I expected. It took my breath away as it splashed up to my shins. It stung against the scratched chigger bites for a couple of seconds, but it still felt great on such a scorcher of a day. As I waded farther out, the water started tugging at me as it flowed beneath the bridge and beyond.

  Alex waded in. “Brrr!” he said, wrapping his arms around his body and shivering. His lips were turning blue.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Marty said.

  Because she wasn’t dressed for swimming, Lisa stayed at the shoreline. She only waded in about ankle deep. The water never even touched the bottoms of her rolled up pants.

  Water rushing into my tennis shoes and weighing them down took a little getting used to. I felt like I was moving in slow motion, like I had weights tied to my feet.