Page 12

Jackson nods, shutting the door to Jim’s truck with the quiet delicacy of a thief. He tightens his grip on the shotgun and calls quietly for Winnie to follow.

Evan clears his throat. “Listen, gents,” he begins, ushering them in closer. “It doesn’t seem like there’s anything out here, let alone a monster. I think that Jim character might not have it all together up here, if you know what I mean.” He taps his forehead twice before pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. “This whole situation feels a bit too sketchy, don’t you think?”

“Did the gnawed-off arm inside give it away?” says Thomas.

Jackson looks around the dark parking lot and leans back against Jim’s truck. “I think Evan’s right. That Jim guy doesn’t exactly seem like safe company,” he admits, maintaining a hushed tone. “But what do we do about it? I mean, a man has still been killed, and we all heard that crazy noise earlier.”

“We don’t really know what we heard,” Thomas says, looking back at the squat brick building of Blackwell’s Country Store. The overhead lights make it easy to see everyone inside all hovering close to the glass like mannequins in a department store window.

This is pathetic, he thinks, imagining how foolish they’re going to look once the police arrive. And what the hell are they going to tell the cops, anyway?

So here’s this horrifically dead body, but don’t worry, because the boogeyman that did it is still hanging around outside.

Thomas shakes his head. “I’m not waiting for the police,” he tells them, clutching tighter to his arm as another whip of cold air slashes past them. “I’m gonna grab my sister and get the hell out of here before Jim starts up a game of quarters.”

Evan zips up his puffer vest, then shoves his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I hear that. The whole point of a spa holiday in the mountains was for my wife to relax. This kind of stress is terrible for the baby.”

Jackson assesses the parking lot again, quietly considering, while Winnie rubs her head up against his hand, whining for attention. For a moment, they all watch the dog turn amongst them, sweet and oblivious to their tasteless dilemma.

“I guess we’re all in agreement then,” says Jackson, now speaking at a normal volume. “We leave and let the cops handle the rest. The cashier can wait with Jim.”

Thomas nods. “We leave.”

“Good talk, guys,” says Evan, offering a small conspirator’s grin. He rubs a hand over his face, where some slight stubble has started to grow, and shakes the box of shells in his hand. “We probably shouldn’t be taking a gun to that guy, huh?”

Jackson laughs a bit nervously. “Yeah, probably not the best idea.”

“That’s a beautiful Wrangler, by the way,” Evan adds, tossing a glance back at Jackson’s black Jeep. “I used to want one back in my bachelor days, before I read about how often they tend to flip—”

A rustle in the trees draws their attention. Thomas glances from Jackson’s and Evan’s rigid postures toward the tree line across the parking lot. The white oaks sprawl unevenly, growing out in jagged and knobby limbs like a twisted rib cage. It’s too dark to see between them, so Thomas fishes out his phone and turns on the flashlight.

Evan raises the Taser, shifting closer to Jackson’s side. “What was that?” he asks.

Thomas shines the flashlight around, searching the gaps in the woods for signs of life. “I don’t see anything,” he says as the light glares off a pair of eyes.

He jumps back with the others, watching as the possum scurries out and toward the side of the store. A low growl catches in Winnie’s throat then, though when Thomas looks to her, he sees the dog’s eyes aren’t on the possum at all.

Winnie turns her head suddenly so that her black eyes are locked on the forest’s tree line again, staring down the skeletal trees as the wind whistles through them. She takes a tentative step forward, lowering her muzzle with bared teeth.

“What is it, Winnie?” Jackson whispers.

The shotgun doesn’t look comical in his hands, not in the way it might if Evan were the one holding it, but he doesn’t look exactly comfortable with it either. Thomas realizes with frustration that the only person likely properly equipped to handle a gun opted to stay inside, watching from beyond a pane of glass.

Winnie growls as her muscled body takes on a low stance of attack. They all silently follow her gaze, eyeing the shadows stretching out from between the trees like inky hands. Strong, cold wind picks up around them, swirling piles of red leaves up from the ground in miniature cyclones as a small colony of bats flees from the treetops. Thomas jerks his head up, watching them cast across the sky. Their frightened, high-pitched chirps fill up his ears as a new smell carries on the wind, something acrid and foul and—

Dead, Thomas thinks.

“I don’t see anything,” Evan says, though the words come out as more of a whimper as he shrinks deeper into his puffer vest.

“Me neither,” Thomas replies, feeling unease twinge in his gut as the smell of decay grows stronger, nearly eye watering.

Don’t be an idiot, he tells himself. It’s just a wild animal. You’re in the middle of nature.

But the unease feels like a spill inside him, spreading out further in a quick rush. He squints and leans forward at a shape shuffling amidst the tree’s distorted darkness. “Wait a minute,” he says, then takes a few steps closer. He follows the strange outline of long, knobby tree branches as they grow up and up in a splay of harsh edges.

Until he sees a face.

Thomas freezes, blinking hard, but it is already gone.