The Forgotten Child

by Melissa Erin Jackson

  Which way had he gone? Where was he?

  Something crashed behind her. A large body making its way up the curving, equally crude path. And fast.

  C’mon, c’mon, c’mon …

  A slight flash of blue in her peripheral vision to her left. His jacket. And she was off again. If she ran fast enough, maybe she’d be deep into the woods by the time he reached the fork. Maybe he’d choose the wrong direction.

  Another flash of blue through the trees.

  She ran harder.

  The ground was hard and dry, and though she tried to stay on the balls of her feet as she ran, she was sure she still sounded like a plodding elephant. The pine boughs slapping her arms as she wove around trees didn’t help mask her presence. She hoped she wouldn’t step on a fallen pinecone and twist an ankle.

  The boughs were a blur of dark green on either side of her, broken only by the white space between trees. Brown, green, white. Brown, green, white. Then—blue. To her right.

  She made a sharp, crashing turn between two pines, swatting away the branches that snatched at her hair like grasping fingers.

  A small, startled yelp escaped as she stopped abruptly, almost crashing into the boy. He stood in the middle of a few feet of flattened earth. Like someone had leveled the area for a garden way out here in the middle of nowhere, then gave up before planting anything. Two worn stumps marked where trees once stood.

  The boy was a tiny, delicate thing. Like he’d been ill for most of his young life. The undersides of his eye sockets were dark, almost purple, as if he hadn’t slept in days. His pale skin was nearly gray in places; the veins in his neck and on the back of his hands stood out like blue rivers. Under his thick blue-and-black-checkered jacket, zipped up to his throat, must have been a thin torso, ribs visible. He wore a maroon knit cap pulled down, almost covering his ears. Wild brown curls poked out from underneath.

  Riley’s chest heaved. “What’re you doing out here?”

  The boy opened his mouth to speak, but then his dark eyes widened and he stumbled back a step. Riley’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the man behind her—that large body she’d heard crashing through the trees after her. Felt the heat of him.

  The boy kept stepping back, back, back, shaking his head. He tripped over something—one of the tree stumps—and fell, squirming on his backside like an overturned beetle. Crying like a wounded animal. The man was suddenly not behind Riley, but in front of her, stalking toward the fallen boy.

  She tried to go after him, to knock the man aside so the boy could run to freedom, but her feet wouldn’t move. Her shoes sprouted roots, holding her fast to the earth—like she’d become one of the watching ponderosa pines.

  The man was like an upright grizzly bear clad in a thick, camouflage jacket. A long, black, rectangular patch stretched along his left elbow. While he wasn’t plump, he was tall—at least 6’2”—and wide across the shoulders. She couldn’t see his face.

  The boy still whimpered, still scooted away. On his stomach now, scrabbling across the ground, his legs and checkered jacket picked up a fine layer of dirt. His foot hung at a weird angle; his stumble over the stump must have broken something.

  He was too busy struggling to crawl away to see the man reach under his coat to unsheathe a hunting knife strapped to his hip. Riley screamed until her throat was raw, but no sound came out.

  The man lunged forward, grabbing the boy by the ankle and twisting him around so he landed on his back. Another bone snapped, his skull hit the hard ground, and he choked out a cry. Riley kept screaming for him, screaming at the man. No one heard her.

  “Hold still,” the man said, “and this will be over quickly. You’re too weak to keep now.”

  Then he plunged the knife into the little boy’s side.

  Riley woke with a yelp in the dark, a hand to her own side. Someone was next to her. No, hovering over her. Her chest tightened, her breath came in shallow gasps as she shoved the person away. Stumbling to her feet, she darted away, then whirled around with her hands out. “Don’t! Don’t touch me!”

  Light flooded the room and Riley shielded her face.

  “What the hell, Ry?”

  Riley slowly lowered her arm, blinking. Jade sat on the bed they’d both been asleep in, her curly hair a wild mess.

  “Bad dream,” she muttered, pulling up the corner of her own shirt to make sure she hadn’t been stabbed. Her skin was warm from sleep, but unbroken. She tugged her shirt back down and crossed her arms, gaze focused on her toes and their chipping red polish.

  “Hey,” Jade said softly, wrapping a hand around either of Riley’s elbows.

  Riley flinched at the touch. She hadn’t even heard Jade climb off the bed. Looking up, she met Jade’s gaze, then glanced at Pamela, Brie, and Rochelle, the latter sitting bewildered on the couch.

  “I’m sorry I woke you guys up,” Riley said.

  “What happened in the dream?” Rochelle asked. “I hear spirits sometimes try to contact people through their dreams. Didn’t that happen to Heidi once in an early episode? She fell asleep in the car and a spirit told her she needed to leave or he’d punish her?”

  Riley swallowed hard. The idea that the little boy who’d been killed—of that she had no doubt—in the woods was the same spirit who had tugged on her jacket on the patio left her nothing short of nauseous.

  But maybe this was an easier way for him to make contact.

  The sound of his spine on hard earth sounded in her head again. Crack. The muffled cry out of pale lips as the knife sliced through paper-thin skin.

  Her stomach roiled. Shit.

  Riley bolted to the bathroom to heave up her sandwich. She’d gone from avoiding places even remotely tied to the paranormal since she was a teenager to being totally immersed in it here. Like she’d been flung into the deep end of a pool before learning how to swim.

  “Probably not the most helpful thing to say, Chelle,” Jade said from somewhere just outside the door. “You know how scared she is!”

  “Sorry,” Rochelle muttered. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

  Riley flushed, then sat on the cool tile floor with her back against the clawfoot tub. The door to the bathroom had been left ajar in her haste to make it to the toilet.

  Jade poked her head in. “You all right? Need anything?”

  Riley shook her head.

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  To her horror, tears welled in Riley’s eyes. “It felt so real, J.”

  “Oh, hon,” Jade said, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. She sat next to Riley, her back against the tub and her arm flush with Riley’s. “Tell me.”

  So she did, leaving out the part about the tug on her jacket. In all likelihood, Jade would be over the moon that Riley had an “experience,” but Riley wasn’t in the mood to deal with her best friend’s enthusiasm.

  “Maybe what Nina said about a little boy ghost being around here just got in my head,” Riley said.

  “Or maybe a little ghost boy is trying to tell you something.”

  Riley shivered.

  “You should talk to Nina and see if anything similar has happened to her.”

  Riley didn’t want to talk to Nina. “Yeah, maybe.”

  “It’s almost eight. You wanna try to sleep for another hour until we have to get ready?”

  “Damn, I only slept two hours?” Riley sighed. “I think I’ll head downstairs for a while. I brought a book I can read.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep. It was just a dream. Thanks for listening.” Riley felt like she was saying that a lot lately. “We’ll have to compare notes in the morning.”

  Trying to keep her grin in check, Jade said, “I’m so stoked. I’m guessing I won’t sleep much more; I’m like a kid on Christmas morning.”

  After Riley gave Jade a hug, the two girls crept out of the bathroom. The lights were out. Riley quickly changed from pajama bottoms to jeans, grabbed her paperback, popped a mint in
her mouth, blindly finger-combed her hair back into what she hoped was a decent ponytail, and headed out the door.

  The lobby was empty.

  Riley plopped into the chair she had been sitting in earlier beside Michael. A modest fire crackled in the fireplace.

  The world beyond the bay windows was dark again. Riley could make out the silhouettes of the chairs and table they’d sat in earlier. The black forms of trees beyond them.

  At least Michael hadn’t laughed at her. Or given her a look that suggested he questioned her mental stability. She’d kept it all to herself for so long, she’d forgotten there could be people out there who’d believe her. Who wouldn’t go screaming from the room. And maybe she’d needed to gauge the reaction of a stranger before she’d consider spilling her secrets to her best friend.

  Perhaps if she knew how Rebecca had fared after moving, if she knew the haunting stopped, she’d feel less leery about it. She’d never shaken the feeling that she’d ruined the Greens’ lives because she’d dabbled in things she had no business dabbling in.

  Sighing to herself, she pulled her legs up onto the chair, got comfortable, and cracked open her book. She was deep into the sixth book of a spin-off vampire series—the original topping out at fifteen books.

  It perhaps wasn’t the best choice of book given her reading location, but as always, she got so sucked into the world, the real one fell away.

  Until that feeling came back. Not as menacing as the man from her dream, but the undeniable presence of someone behind her. Of being watched.

  Her gut told her this wasn’t one of the paying guests.

  Swallowing, she flicked her gaze up to the bay windows. No reflection of someone standing in the dark lobby behind her. But that didn’t necessarily mean she was alone either.

  Sliding her bookmark into place, she closed the novel and then turned in her seat. A strangled gasp reverberated in her throat and she scrambled out of her chair, book forgotten on the cushion.

  The boy from her dream.

  But now … now he looked healthy. No bags under his eyes. No pale, nearly translucent skin. He looked alive—cheeks flushed with color. Perhaps she hadn’t seen his reflection in the glass due to his height and the angle of her chair.

  She stumbled back until she hit the stone of the fireplace. The crackling flames behind the gate warmed the backs of her legs.

  He wasn’t wearing that black-and-blue-checkered jacket this time, but pajamas—a T-shirt with a vintage Scooby Doo and his pals adorning the front, and Batman symbols all over his slightly baggy pants. The shirt looked cheap, the image a little off-kilter. Like it had been ironed on and shifted during the process. The tip of Scooby’s ear had come loose.

  “Hi?”

  “Hi,” the boy said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  Riley swallowed again, mouth suddenly dry. “Me either.”

  “Did I scare you? Sorry. My mom always tells me I gotta make more noise when I walk in a room ’cause I’m too quiet and I scare people.”

  Riley choked out a laugh, unsure yet if she was amused or terrified. “Where’s your mom now?”

  “I don’t know.” He bunched up the bottom of his T-shirt in his hands. “I woke up and she was gone. I’m trying to find her. She sleepwalks sometimes, you know? What if she’s lost?”

  Kids weren’t allowed on the ghost hunting investigations, but they likely were on the dude ranch.

  Though her heart thumped wildly in her chest, she inched away from the fireplace and toward the boy. Once she got close enough to see him from head to toe, she noticed he was barefoot. The cuffs of his Batman pants were filthy.

  “Did you walk all the way over here?”

  He nodded, head lowered. “What if I can’t find her? I gotta watch her ’cause Daddy’s not here.”

  “Well, let’s see if someone can help.” Riley walked past the safety barrier of the chairs and made her way to the receptionist’s desk. She moved slowly, still coiled tight as if she expected the boy’s head to turn 180 degrees at any moment and start speaking in tongues.

  The boy merely watched her, hands still clutching the bottom of his shirt. He turned on the spot where she’d first seen him—so he could follow her movements—but he took no steps closer or further away.

  He’s just a lost kid. He’s just a lost kid.

  A flash of him running through the forest to escape some creep. A knife sliding into his side. Had the dream been events of the past? The future? Riley’s hands shook.

  Focus, Ry!

  She rounded the corner of the reception desk. A monitor and keyboard—the computer must have been hidden in one of the cabinets below the desk’s surface—a binder with “Jordanville Ranch Guest Services” printed on the front, various office supplies neatly organized in mesh cups and slotted boxes. And a phone.

  Riley ran her finger down the small, handwritten labels next to their corresponding numbers. Angela was third. Riley picked up the receiver, shot a smile toward the little boy still standing in the middle of the lobby, and hit Angela’s extension.

  Though it was only just after nine now, Riley was sure she’d woken the woman up. “Angela speaking.”

  “Hey, Angela,” Riley said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. Her gaze flicked up to the boy, still looking very alive and lost and worried. “I have a little boy here who says he can’t find his mom. It looks like he might have walked here from the dude ranch. Is it possible for you to contact them and let them know he’s here?”

  “Oh dear!” said Angela. “I swear this happens a few times a year. It’s a wonder the poor things don’t get lost in the woods. Give me a few minutes to make some phone calls and I’ll hurry over there to fetch him. Can you keep him occupied until I get there?”

  “Of course.”

  “You can whip him up some instant hot chocolate in the kitchen.”

  “Good idea. Thanks, Angela.”

  “You bet.”

  Hanging up, she looked at the boy and said, “How does hot chocolate sound while Angela finds your mom?”

  The boy nodded emphatically, his bottom lip sucked under his teeth.

  “C’mon,” she said, joining him on the other side of the desk. She reached out a hand to place on his back, then thought better of it. Riley’d never felt particularly skilled with kids.

  Riley flicked on the lights and the industrial kitchen gleamed to life. A couple high-backed barstools sat in the corner and she dragged one over to the island counter where she’d drunk with Michael last night.

  The boy climbed up onto the chair while Riley rummaged around in the cabinets for mugs—purposefully choosing ones that looked vastly different than last night’s—then for the box of instant hot cocoa. After some creative searching, she found both the box and mini marshmallows. She held the bag up so the boy could see, and he grinned at her.

  After putting a small pot of milk on the stove to boil, Riley turned to the boy, resting against the counter so she had a clear view of him across from her. “What’s your name, kid? I’m Riley.”

  “Pete.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Pete. What’s it like over at the dude ranch?”

  “It’s okay. There are a lot of horses, so that’s pretty groovy. I really like horses. But I guess I’m too small ’cause they only let me ride the donkeys. They’re so slow! We went on a trail ride and I ended up way behind ’cause my stupid donkey stopped to eat leaves.”

  Riley laughed. “You’ll be big enough in no time.”

  “Hope so,” Pete said. “Being small is only good when I’m playing hide-and-seek, ’cause I can fit in little places like a suitcase and no one ever finds me.”

  “What other kinds of stuff do you do at the ranch?”

  “A lot of nature stuff. Hiking. Lots of hiking.”

  “You said your dad isn’t here?”

  “No,” Pete said, rubbing a finger along the stainless-steel counter and leaving a streak. “He always has to work, so it’s just me and Mom.
”

  “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

  Pete kept his gaze fixed on the finger trails he left on the metal. “I just don’t get to see my dad a lot ’cause he’s always busy. It’s like he doesn’t like us or something.”

  “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” said Riley. “You seem like a pretty cool kid to me.”

  “Thanks,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he meant it.

  Riley turned the burner off and carefully poured the boiling milk into Pete’s mug, then added the hot chocolate mix without stirring it in—she’d always liked doing that herself as a kid—and put it in front of Pete. She placed a spoon and the bag of marshmallows on the table.

  “If you want to pour half that bag in there, I swear I won’t tell your mom,” Riley said.

  Pete stared at the marshmallows with wide, unblinking eyes.

  Riley turned back to the stove to fill her own mug. “Do you live near here?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Turning around, mixing the chocolate powder into the hot milk as she did, she found the bar stool empty. Brow furrowed, she rounded the side of the counter, finding no one. Just then, Angela opened the kitchen door.

  “Did you see him out there?” Riley asked. “I turned my back for just a second and he disappeared.”

  Angela’s gaze flicked from Riley’s mug, to the untouched one on the counter, and then to Riley’s face. “I didn’t see anyone. And no one at the dude ranch came with a little boy.”

  “Who the hell was I just talking to then?”

  Angela pursed her lips. “You are in a haunted house, Riley.”

  Rubbing the spot between her eyebrows, she closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “Shit.” Then she placed her mug on the counter a foot away from Pete’s, her hands shaking badly again. “He looked … he looked so real.”

  “Are you okay? This kind of thing happens a lot.”

  “Guests making cups of cocoa for kids who aren’t really here?” Riley placed her hands on top of the stool’s back. He’d been sitting there, plain as day.

  “I meant sightings,” Angela said. “It being a little boy is new, aside from what Nina’s mentioned.”