Crooked Hills (13 page)

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.

I didn’t find the idea funny at all.

“I figured I should get back.” Marty ignored the talk of a goblin. Either he didn’t care or didn’t want to think about it. “I didn’t see you, though, so I thought you came to the bridge without me.”

“I got turned around,” I admitted. “I’m surprised I found the bridge at all.”

I should have been a lot more angry at my cousin for ditching me, but I was simply too glad not to be alone any more.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lisa said.

Marty snorted. “That’s a first.”

“Very funny.” She crossed her arms and made a face at him. “Anyway, I doubt we’ll be able to stay hidden from the dog. If it catches our scent, we may blow our chances.”

“So what do we do?” I asked.

“I took this from my dad’s hunting supplies.” Lisa dug a small glass bottle out of her hip pocket. “It’s mainly used for deer hunting, but I think it’ll mask our scent from the dog pretty well, too.”

“What is it?”

She handed me the bottle. Scent-Be-Gone, it read. I uncapped the bottle and smelled the liquid.

“Ugh!” I pinched my nostrils shut and held the bottle at arm’s length. The stench coming from within made my stomach do flips. “That’s awful! What is it?”

“It’s part skunk urine.”

“Urine!” My face contorted into a look of disgust. “We don’t have to drink it, do we?”

“Of course not, silly. You put it on your skin.”

“I know. I was only kidding.”

“Uh huh.” She winked at me. “Sure.”

Marty sniffed the bottle and jumped, almost spilling it all over himself. He fanned his hand before his nose and spit a couple of times, as if trying to clear an awful taste from his mouth.

“No way am I putting that stuff on me.”

“Fine.” Lisa took the bottle, capped it, and started to put it in her pocket. “If the dog catches our scent, though, we’ll just be wasting our time.”

“But that stuff reeks,” I said. “Won’t the dog smell it?”

“Chances are, it smells more natural than we do. We wouldn’t have to use much, either, just a little on our hands and necks should do the trick.”

“All right.” Marty held out his hand to take the bottle. “I’ll try it, but it better work.”

We took turns putting the smelly, slimy liquid on our hands and necks. My eyes watered like I’d been peeling onions. It dawned on me that Lisa might be playing an awful prank on us, tricking us into putting the rancid stuff on just so she could have a good laugh.

“We’ll never be able to sneak back home,” Marty said, “not with this junk all over us.”

He was right, of course, we’d stink up the house and wake everyone as surely as if we’d stuck smelling salts under their noses.

“Have a little faith, why don’t you?” Lisa held up a couple of sealed sandwich bags. Each bag contained a tiny bar of soap and a washcloth. “One for each of us. We can wash up in the creek once we’re done.”

“Good idea.” I nudged Marty. “Some of us could use a bath, any way.”

We didn’t talk much as we waited for the train. Lisa combed the pebble beach, selecting a couple to add to her arsenal. Marty lay on the wide, flat rail of the bridge, staring up into the sky. If he shifted so much as an inch to the right, he’d plummet over the side and into the creek. I hobbled in a circle, trying to work the kinks out of my sore ankle. If not for the pain—and the terrible odor of the Scent-Be-Gone—I might have gotten sleepy.

The train whistle sounded in the darkness, three long blasts echoing in the night. The sound reverberated through the ground, ever so slightly, spreading through the soles of my shoes. Lisa scrambled up the hill, and Marty jumped to his feet.

A second passed, then a minute, without a peep from our mysterious dog.

“So what now?” Lisa asked. “I thought we were supposed to hear this dog of yours or something.”

“Give it a second.”

“Marty Widows, I swear, this better not be another of your pranks. I didn’t break my curfew for a snipe hunt.”

I didn’t know why, but for some reason I took satisfaction in Lisa’s frustration with Marty.

Not a minute later, the dog’s howl echoed through the night.

It sounded close.

“He’s right on top of us!” Marty gasped.

“Not quite.” Lisa cocked her head, listening, even though the howl had trailed into nothingness. “But he’s nearby. Should be easy to track.”

She set off down the road at a trot. Marty and I trailed a couple of yards behind her. We didn’t want to cramp her style once she picked up the dog’s trail. Every once in a while, she paused, listened, and scanned the trees. Then she picked up the pace with renewed vigor.