Crooked Hills

by Cullen Bunn

  “We better get a move on. We’re going to be late as it is, and Lisa won’t wait for us forever. Is Alex sleeping?”

  “Like a rock,” I said. “I was worried he’d have trouble sleeping after the nightmares he had last night, but he’s out cold.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  We quietly moved through the house to the back door. I didn’t even want to imagine the trouble we’d get into if we were caught sneaking out. No witch’s curse would be worse.

  Getting out the back door without being seen was easy enough, since all the adults slept upstairs and Marty was an expert on opening doors without a peep from even the rustiest of hinges. As we crossed past the stairs, I thought I heard a tap-tap-tap sound from above. Mom typing away at her romance novel? It might have been my imagination. Mom wasn’t much of a night owl.

  I felt as though the eyes of every ghost in Crooked Hills watched me. I thought about how black the woods could be at night, and how the cries of birds and possums sounded like the voices of restless spirits echoing in the dark. The shadows seemed deeper, more sinister. I tripped on roots erupting from the earth like the curved back of a dinosaur roiling out of Loch Ness. Mosquitoes and other insects buzzed warnings in my ear. The surrounding trees took on an unfamiliar, foreboding nature, strangers in the darkness. Color slipped away, and blacks and grays painted the forest.

  Marty, of course, seemed right at home. He whistled under his breath, but even his tune seemed ominous, sad, and eerie.

  Something sticky swept across my face. I spat and brushed the silky strands of a spider’s web out of my eyes and off my lips. Something tickled at my collar. I swatted the back of my neck, but found no spider. Marty looked back at me and smiled.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “Peachy.”

  I must have wiped imaginary webs from my face a dozen times.

  A twig snapped in the darkness behind us.

  Someone—something—followed us in the shadows.

  Marty’s whistle trailed off into silence. He held still, listening.

  I looked over my shoulder. Foggy shapes flitted through the trees like moldering ghosts. A few gauzy spider webs crisscrossed between gnarled branches.

  The forest grew quiet. Everything grew still. The silence was even creepier than the odd noises. It was unnatural, like the entire forest held its breath in anticipation. My blood, rushing to my head, thundered in my ears like a waterfall.

  Maybe I was hearing things. Letting my imagination play tricks on me.

  Marty and I shared a wary look.

  I took a few steps—

  And heard the shuffling in the brush again. Someone or something was definitely trailing us through the trees, taking steps in time with us, holding still when we stopped.

  Marty whirled around. A slash of pale moonlight crossed his face. His eyes were wide, his face sweaty.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  I saw only darkness swelling between the trees. Anyone could be hiding in the shadows. Anything.

  The fetch?

  I sure hoped not. But if the dog could enter our dreams, maybe it somehow knew we were looking for it. Maybe it was turning the tables on us.

  Now the sound grew closer. It sounded like someone running through the woods, feet crunching twigs rapidly, swatting low-hanging branches aside, coming straight at us. Coming closer.

  Closer.

  My legs tensed, ready to spring in a run that would put an Olympic track star to shame.

  The sound stopped, letting silence swallow it whole.

  “What is that?” I whispered.

  “Probably nothing,” Marty said. “A raccoon or possum.”

  “Sounds bigger,” I said, although I really had no way of judging how big it was.

  “I’m going to check,” Marty said.

  “What?” My voice jumped from a hushed murmur to a shout. “You’re not serious, are you? You can’t wander off like that.”

  “It’s probably nothing anyway, but I want to make sure. I can get a lot closer without you making a bunch of noise. I’ll be just fine.”

  He sounded like a character from just about every horror movie I’d ever seen—but in all the movies the character wandered off never to be seen again.

  “I won’t go far,” he said, “and I’ll flick my flashlight on and off every couple of minutes, so you’ll see me the whole time.”

  “Promise?”

  Marty turned the flashlight on, holding it under his chin. The light painted his face in a phantom snarl. “You’re not scared of a little old ghost, are you?”

  “Of course not,” I lied.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Marty ducked between a pair of thick trees and vanished into the darkness. I heard the soft crackle of his footsteps through the twigs and leaves carpeting the ground, saw the bouncing beam of his flashlight piercing the shadows as he flicked it on for a second or two, then off.

  On, then off.

  I waited.

  The flashlight flared in the darkness. Marty was another dark shape amidst the shadows, hunched over, creeping.

  The light flipped off.

  On. And now he was even farther away, peering around the trunk of a large oak. I inched after him, just a little. I didn’t want him to get too far away before the light switched—

  Off.

  I waited.

  Come on, I thought. Turn on the light.

  With every passing second, my heartbeat quickened.

  “Marty?”

  I stood glued to the spot for what seemed like forever. I saw no sign of my cousin. Didn’t hear him.

  “Marty?” I kept my voice low and steady. “Where are you?”

  The darkness, closing in around me, deeper now, refused to answer.

  We shouldn’t have split up. What a stupid idea!

  “If this is a joke,” I said, “it isn’t funny.”

  I hesitated to turn my own flashlight on. If I scanned the beam through the shadows, would I see something awful? Would I see Marty’s body? Mutilated? Or just sitting rigidly, a look of terror on his face, as if he’d been frightened to death?

  I pushed the thought from my mind and turned on the flashlight. My hand trembled, and the batteries inside the light rattled like bones. The surrounding fog bounced the glow back at me. I could almost see better without the flashlight.

  I opened my mouth to call out again.

  Sticks and twigs snapped nearby. Right next to me.

  “Marty, is that you?”

  Why didn’t he answer me?

  Something scrambled through the twigs and weeds, too big to be an animal, snapping tree limbs back, coming right for me, moving quickly.

  “Marty?”

  No answer.

  Whatever the thing in the darkness was—running faster now—it wasn’t my cousin. I saw the bushes shaking as something pushed through.

  I didn’t wait around to get a good look. Taking off full speed through the woods, I fumbled with the flashlight and it fell from my butterfingers. The beam of light spun around, casting a strange, slow-motion strobe effect through the woods. The flashlight must have broken as it hit the ground. I was plunged into darkness. As I ran, tree limbs slapped me in the face. Briars snagged and ripped my clothes. Knotted roots tugged at my feet. Somehow, I managed to keep from screaming.

  I might have been heading for the old concrete bridge, but couldn’t be sure. Who cared as long as I escaped whatever horrible thing chased after me? I imagined the fetch’s hot breath blasting across the back of my neck, its teeth nipping at my heels. I no longer heard it, but I knew—just knew—it was right behind me.

  I staggered to a stop, leaned over to catch my breath. I turned in a circle, trying to find a recognizable landmark. But in the dead of night, I saw nothing even remotely familiar.

  I was lost.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I REMEMBERED WHAT MARTY HAD 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.

  And, if anything, I felt unlearned.

  Even the Bleeding Rock would have been a welcome sight, haunted or not, even if blood fountained from the pores of the stone and phantoms pranced around upon the trampled, withered grass. At least I’d be able to get my bearings. No such luck.

  Instead, I stumbled upon a tall tree—or least what was left of a tree. It stood in the middle of a clearing of maybe thirty feet, as if the other trees wanted nothing to do with this old, half-rotted giant. Even now, with all the branches rotted away and the upper boughs decayed to a jagged crown, the trunk must have stood twenty feet tall. The trunk—dotted with numerous gaping knotholes like open sores—was hollow. Empty, I realized, like the cast-off shell of a snail, like the pulpy innards had slithered out in search of an even larger covering of bark and moss.

  I shivered.

  It was just a tree—on old dead tree, once massive and proud, but now rotted away from within.

  Maybe I can climb it, I thought. It’s a lot taller than any of the others around here. I might be able to get a bird’s eye view of the area, maybe see something—or someone—I recognize.

  It would be tough going without branches, but the knotholes would serve as suitable hand and foot holds. I wiped my sweaty palms against my shirt. Standing on my tiptoes, I hooked my fingers over the edge of the first hole. I pulled myself up, my sneakers slipping on the moss-slickened trunk a couple of times before catching hold. A warm sweat broke out across my forehead, and I stretched for the next gaping hole. Some of the bark crumbled beneath my touch as I tested my grip.

  My fingertips brushed something.

  Something furry.

  A hideous, sharp-toothed beast leaped out of the hole, glowing eyes, snapping jaws, and slashing claws. I jerked my hand away just in time to avoid losing a finger. As I let go of the handhold, I tumbled to the ground. I hadn’t climbed very far, but when I landed my foot buckled beneath me. My ankle twisted in the damp earth, and I cried out in pain.

  A possum, needle-toothed and hissing, crawled from the hollow, growling at me.

  I clutched my ankle, hoping I hadn’t sprained it—or worse. I didn’t want to look, afraid I’d see a bone as jagged as the old tree’s crown peaking out from my skin. The possum, hanging from its nest, yowled and spat and bared its teeth.

  Just stay where you are, I thought.

  I was pretty sure possums ate meat—or at least this particular possum wouldn’t mind taking a bite out of me. A nightmarish image danced through my mind—the possum, along with a horde of squealing young racing over me and picking my bones clean.

  I slid my butt along the ground, dragging my leg.

  Please don’t be broken.

  A terrible screeching and fluttering came from within the tree. The snarling possum looked up, and so did I. My mouth flopped open.

  A cloud of flapping, screeching bats surged out of the tree, from almost every knothole and fissure in the decaying wood, from the rotting peak, thousands of them, so close together they covered the moon in a fluttering curtain. The bats must have been nesting in the tree, along with the possums and who knew what else.

  Forgetting all about my injured leg, I rolled to my feet, threw my hands over my head, and ran like a hapless victim in a vampire movie. I wasn’t worried about having my blood drained—vampire bats weren’t native to Crooked Hills—but bats sometimes carried Rabies, or so I’d always heard. Getting Rabies meant getting loads of shots, which was much worse than a vampire’s bite in my estimation.

  My ankle throbbed as I limped along, but at least it wasn’t broken.

  I burst from the tree line and sucked down a big breath of air as if I’d been drowning in one of the creek’s deep pockets. I lost my footing and stumbled down a slight incline. I rolled down the muddy hillside and sprawled at the bottom. My left leg had gone numb below the knee.

  I felt around, my fingers digging in the cold, hard pebbles surrounding me. I lifted my head. The pale banner of the gravel roadway stretched into the darkness to my right and left.

  The gravel road.

  I stood and kept moving, hoping to follow the road to the bridge, to home, to town. It didn’t matter—anywhere but here! The night mist felt like steam against my skin. My lungs ached with every breath, and I wanted nothing more than to collapse and rest. I dragged my feet in the gravel, clouds of dust puffing up behind me. I rounded the corner—

  And saw the bridge.

  I couldn’t believe how close I’d been without even realizing it.

  I nearly fell over by the time I made it to the bridge. I collapsed against the cool, stony side of the structure, closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath. I massaged my ankle. The babbling rush of the creek helped to calm me... but only for a moment.

  My eyes snapped open.

  “Lisa? Marty?”

  No answer. The sound of the creek water made me think of the gurgling chitter of—

  Goblins.

  Even if something had happened to Marty, Lisa should have been here by now, armed with her trusty slingshot and lucky stone, ready to drive the shadows back into hiding. She could have helped me find my cousin.

  I was still alone.

  Now the flow of the creek below sounded like the static-filled hiss of a dead television screen.

  I stood, putting as little weight as possible on my left leg. The feeling was coming back, but now I wished it was numb again. Pain pulsed through my ankle, like the tiny waves lapping at the stony beach, easing up every now and again, then rushing back with a vengeance.

  “Hello?” I called into the darkness. I hated to raise my voice, what with the something—possibly the fetch itself—lurking nearby. But what choice did I have?

  “Lisa? Marty?”

  I looked over the edge of the bridge. Water flowed below, dark and cold. The rushing water reflected the light of the stars above, my sweaty, frightened face peering up at me from the creek water.

  Where are they?

  I limped back and forth on the bridge. Bits of loose mortar rasped underfoot and skittered across the concrete. I noticed dozens of cracks spreading through the bridge like veins.

  The stabbing pain in my ankle eased a little. After a couple of minutes, I put more weight on it. It didn’t feel nearly as bad as it had earlier.

  Maybe they’re trying to scare me, I thought.

  Sure, they were waiting for the perfect moment to jump out of the shadows and watch me leap right out of my skin. They’d have a good laugh at my expense. Sounded like something Marty would do, but I couldn’t imagine Lisa going along with something like that.

  So if they aren’t trying to scare me, where—

  A couple of awful thoughts raced through my mind. What if they’d been kidnapped? The Crewes brothers had sworn revenge. Greg and Hatch might be lurking nearby right now, watching, waiting to spring upon me when I turned my back. I didn’t even want to think about what they might do if they caught Lisa and Marty.

  What if something else had happened to them? Something worse.

  Here we were, stalking through one of the most haunted areas in the country in the dead of night. We were just asking for trouble, prancing around like bait on a hook for ghosts and witches and werewolves and enough other monsters to fill a class reunion from one of my horror magazines.

  Calm down, I told myself. Maybe they’re looking for you. Maybe they’re trying to find out who or what was sneaking through the woods.

  But where does that leave me?

  All alone on a creepy bridge, that’s where!

  All I could do... was wait.

  So many awful thoughts raced through my mind. I told myself to remain calm. But my fears and worries drowned out rational thinking.

  That’s probably why I didn’t hear someone sneaking up behind me until a hand grasped my shoulder.

  “Yeow!” I cried.

  If not for the hand gripping my shoulder
, I might have jumped over the side of the bridge and into the churning waters below. More than likely, I would have broken my neck, but the risk might have been better than facing whatever ghost or backwoods butcher had hold of me now.

  My captor howled with laughter, and I recognized the voice. Marty. His giggling set my blood to boiling. He snickered and pointed at me.

  “Jerk!” I said, punching him in the arm. There wasn’t enough meat on his bones, and I’m sure the punch hurt my knuckles more than it hurt him.

  He grabbed his bicep and staggered away. He kept laughing, even when he said, “ow!”

  Lisa stood a few feet behind him, her arms crossed. At least she wasn’t laughing. In fact, she scowled at my cousin.

  “I told him not to scare you,” she said.

  “It’s all right.” My heartbeat started to slow to a reasonable rate again. Instead of pounding at the speed of a galloping horse, it was closer to a hamster in one of those spinning wheels. I shot Marty a dirty look. “Where were you? I thought something horrible happened to you.”

  “Sorry about that.” Marty rubbed his arm. “I figured you’d find your way here, but we got nervous when you didn’t show up, so we decided to go looking for you. When we heard you calling, we double-timed it back.”

  And took the opportunity to scare the daylights out of me.

  “Did you at least see what was following us?” I asked.

  Marty shook his head. “Never got a really good look at him.”

  “Him?”

  “I’m pretty sure I spotted a person out there, but like I said, I never got a close look. That’s why I turned off the flashlight. I tried to sneak up on him, but he ran off. He was small, though, and—” Marty paused, swallowed. “—and he looked like his skin was gray.”

  “Gray?” I asked. “So, what, you saw an alien?”

  “I don’t know what it was.” Marty sounded a little irritated by my joke. “All I’m saying is, whatever it is, it’s small and gray and fast.”

  “Do you think it was one of Maddie’s goblins?” Lisa said. She smiled and laughed, the rosy glow of her cheeks void of color in the moonlight. Gray.