The Hunting Tree

by Ike Hamill

  Contents

  Title Page

  Stage of Possibilities

  Chapter One - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Two - Davey

  Chapter Three - Mike

  Chapter Four - Davey

  Chapter Five - Mike

  Chapter Six - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Seven - Davey

  Chapter Eight - Mike

  Chapter Nine - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Ten - Davey

  Chapter Eleven - Mike

  Chapter Twelve - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Thirteen - Davey

  Chapter Fourteen - Mike

  Stage of Hunger

  Chapter Fifteen - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Sixteen - Davey

  Chapter Seventeen - Mike

  Chapter Eighteen - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Nineteen - Davey

  Chapter Twenty - Mike

  Chapter Twenty One - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Twenty Two - Davey

  Chapter Twenty Three - Mike

  Chapter Twenty Four - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Twenty Five - Davey

  Chapter Twenty Six - Mike

  Chapter Twenty Seven - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Twenty Eight - Davey

  Chapter Twenty Nine - Mike

  Chapter Thirty - Davey

  Stage of the Hunt

  Chapter Thirty One - Mike

  Chapter Thirty Two - Ken Stuart

  Chapter Thirty Three - Davey

  Chapter Thirty Four - Mike

  Chapter Thirty Five - Davey

  Chapter Thirty Six - Mike

  Chapter Thirty Seven - Davey

  Chapter Thirty Eight - Mike

  Chapter Thirty Nine - Davey

  Chapter Forty - Mike

  Chapter Forty One - Crooked Tree

  Chapter Forty Two - Davey

  Epilogue

  Blood Ghost Excerpt

  More - Blood Ghost

  More - Migrators

  More - Transcription

  More - Camp Sacrifice

  More - Lies of the Prophet

  More - The Vivisectionist

  More - Skillful Death

  The Hunting Tree

  BY

  IKE HAMILL

  WWW.IKEHAMILL.COM

  Special Thanks:

  Terry Baldwin

  Marydale Abernathy

  Cynthia Hamill

  Erin Cunningham

  Cover design by BelleDesign [BelleDesign.org]

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events have been fabricated only to entertain. If they resemble any facts in any way, I’d be completely shocked. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the consent of Ike Hamill. Unless, of course, you intend to quote a section of the book in order to illustrate how awesome it is. In that case, go ahead. Copyright © 2012-2013 by Ike Hamill. All rights reserved.

  - Stage of Possibilities -

  CHAPTER ONE

  Crooked Tree - 3141 B.C.

  HE STOOD IN BACK between his brother and his father, but he really wanted to be nearer to the edge of the cliff. On the journey he’d caught a glimpse of the spectacular view through the trees. From up here they could probably see all the way to where the big rivers came together—the place they would meet with the other families at the end of summer. On his toes, he could at least spy the fuzzy, purple horizon. At sixteen, Crooked Tree already stood taller than any of his relatives. He was even taller than his brother, Running Deer, who was the strongest and most popular youngster of their whole group.

  Crooked Tree flexed his legs. His muscles ached from travel. Their four-dozen family members had walked for days to arrive at this cliff on this warm spring day, but Crooked Tree had run most of it—back and forth between his father and Talking Bird. Talking Bird led the group and his father brought up the rear. The tall boy was their messenger, repeating each string of words verbatim.

  Now at the front of the group on a black rock, at the very edge of the cliff, Talking Bird explained their duty: “Our people were once herded by the Snake. He kept us as his pets; he watched over us. When we turned sour he culled with a swift bite and a tight coil.”

  They had left in a hurry four days before, collecting meager rations and water along the way. Talking Bird had surprised everyone with this trip and had only conferred with Big Bear, who was the natural leader of the clan. Such a trip wasn’t completely unprecedented. As they began their journey, several people remembered another spring day when Talking Bird had uprooted the group and sent them up the hillside just before a flood washed through and destroyed their home camp. The old man was wise and trusted. When his voice broke the still morning everyone straightened and listened.

  Crooked Tree tried hard to focus on the old man’s words. Whenever Talking Bird would begin his low, slow cadence, it was all Crooked Tree could do to pay attention. His mind would wander and he’d always miss a crucial part of the message. He’d wait for his father to explain it later. The rest of the group seemed to sense something important. The extended family stood as still as the rocks that dotted the rough clearing. Even the children and babies knew that it was time to stay perfectly quiet.

  “When the Man Who Created Himself opened this valley, he stood before the Snake and said ‘We will decide now,’” said Talking Bird.

  Several heads nodded. At Crooked Tree’s right, Running Deer whooped, punctuating the story.

  “But he really meant that he would decide who should come together to bring more children,” Talking Bird reminded the group. “It was much later that we bore that burden.”

  “Now our mothers and fathers choose the wisest pairings,” said Talking Bird. This was met with more nods from the clan. “And we alone are left to decide when our blood has become poisoned. This is the dream I’ve had.”

  Crooked Tree saw fewer nods at this last line, and many heads dropped. Mothers with young children hugged them close. His own mother wasn’t among those standing in the perfect spring sun. She had died just after Running Deer had weaned. Crooked Tree and his brother had been raised by many of the women standing in the group, and that had made it awkward for him to find any of their daughters attractive. They seemed like his sisters. At the next gathering he planned to find a young woman from another clan and follow her home. That would leave Running Deer able to step into his father’s role eventually without being blocked by him, the older son. He closed his eyes, thought of the approaching summer, and inhaled the beautiful wet edge of the air from the forest behind them.

  “We have come to this moment,” said Talking Bird, “when Sun Bringer tells us through our dreams that dark spirits are in our blood, and in the blood of our children. We carry the mark, and it will always be.”

  Talking Bird had to raise his voice to be heard over the wails of the women. “We may weep, but we have a duty, just as it would be our duty to fill this valley with our children if we ran strong.”

  Crooked Tree snuck a glance at his father, Big Bear, to his left. His father’s face was a mask of grim resolve. He wanted to ask his father what was happening, but Talking Bird wasn’t done with his speech.

  “So I ask you to follow me. I will lead the way. Step with me now,” ordered Talking Bird. With his eyes moving across the crowd, Talking Bird took a small half-step backward and then leaned way back until he was almost overbalanced over the cliff edge.

  The women’s wails drew to a crescendo as the group began to move.

  Before Talking Bird could fall backwards over the edge of the cliff, his extended family rushed forward and threw themselves over the edge. Some mothers clutched their children to their chest before jumping over the ledge. Others threw their babies, tossing them in high arcs past the tumblin
g bodies.

  “Help them,” Big Bear said to his sons.

  Bringing up the rear, Big Bear, Crooked Tree, and Running Deer herded the group to their death and waited for stragglers or cowards to bolt away from the edge. Their family was strong and proud and took their duty seriously. In the end, the father and two sons reached the cliff and found no stragglers. Their family lay dead in a bloody heap, hundreds of feet below the black rock where Talking Bird had delivered his final address.

  “We are strong,” Big Bear told his sons, “this is a proud day.”

  Crooked Tree and Running Deer watched their father gather his legs and leap; their father folded his arms back to his sides and smiled.

  “Let’s go, brother,” said Running Deer.

  He still hadn’t figured the whole thing out, but his heart told him that he belonged with the rest of his family, and he should follow them.

  They jumped together, feet first, and fell at the same pace. Just over the edge their eyes locked and Running Deer whooped for the last time in his young life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Davey — Two Years Ago…

  “JUST A QUICK ONE?” Davey begged. He sat up in his bed while his father, Christopher, waited to tuck him in.

  “Not tonight, bud,” said Christopher.

  “But I’ve been seven for a month, and you said you couldn’t tell me the old stories until I was seven,” said Davey.

  “No fair,” Susan interjected from the doorway. “I was seven three years ago, and I’ve never heard those bedtime stories.”

  “I told you,” explained Christopher, “that they’re not to be told to kids one at a time.”

  “So tell us now,” said Susan. She came into Davey’s room and climbed over the frame at the end of his bed. She propped a pillow against the wall and made herself comfortable.

  “This just isn’t a good night for it,” said Christopher. He was thinking about Melanie. She was still downstairs, muttering at the TV with a full glass of wine. Up until three glasses she was fine, but her anger always came out with the fourth. This wasn’t a night he wanted to be caught telling old ghost stories to the kids.

  Susan stretched out her legs and pushed her blond hair behind her ears. Davey stared at Christopher with unwavering intensity.

  Christopher wasn’t a pushover, but he knew when he was beat. He reached behind him and pulled Davey’s little chair from under the desk. It was a tiny room, just big enough for the single bed, a bureau, and a cramped desk. Christopher had to maneuver around the chair just to spin it. When his foot caught on the edge of the bed he nearly flipped over backwards.

  When he’d finally put his legs to the side and found the seat, he agreed—“Okay, but just a short one.”

  The kids nodded.

  “Which one do you want to hear? There’s the one where the twins slept too long side-by-side and their hair grew together,” said Christopher.

  “Scarier,” said Davey.

  “I don’t know,” said Christopher, “that one’s pretty scary. What about the Stages of the Night?”

  “Yeah,” said Susan.

  “Yeah,” repeated Davey. He flopped back down, pulling his covers up to his big grin.

  “Okay,” said Christopher. He snuck one more look over his shoulder to make sure his wife wasn’t within earshot and then started his story—“A long time ago, in the middle of winter, a little family was snowed in for the night. They lived in a little cabin in the woods and they had a good fire going, so it was nice and cozy inside. The dad put his kids to bed early, so they could get up at dawn and help him dig out once the snow quit drifting. The kids, a girl and a boy, had never known their mother—she died at childbirth.”

  “What were their names?” asked Susan.

  “What do you want to call them?” Christopher asked her.

  “Susan and Davey!” his son interjected.

  “No, let’s give them make-believe names,” said Christopher.

  “Liam and Ava,” said Susan.

  “Really?” asked Christopher.

  Susan nodded.

  Christopher continued—“So the dad, we’ll call him John, he put the twins to bed, but he had to go back out into the night. He had a night job watching over the town granary.”

  “What’s a granary?” asked Davey.

  His sister tsked and rolled her eyes—“It’s where they kept the grain, retard,” she said.

  “Don’t use that word,” said Christopher automatically.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. Susan rearranged her nightgown and tried to seem nonchalant.

  “So yes, John watched over the community supplies of food and livestock,” said Christopher. “He felt bad leaving his kids alone all night when he worked. They were only about your age, Davey, but they were good kids and didn’t make any trouble when Dad had to work at night. At least until that night: the snowy night, when Liam found out firsthand about the Stages.”

  Christopher saw Susan’s right hand move up to her mouth and then away. She knew she wasn’t supposed to suck her thumb, but it was a deep-rooted habit. Davey still had his big smile. Nothing seemed to scare Davey; he was happiest amongst the spooky and ghoulish.

  Christopher continued—“That night, when the whole world was covered with a thick blanket of snow, and the blowing flakes spattered against the side of their cabin like sand, that was the night that Liam decided to see the Stages for himself. He wanted to know if the old stories his uncles told were really true. The uncles always warned the kids to be asleep before the Stages started, or else they’d be sorry.”

  “What are the Stages?” asked Davey.

  Susan let out an exasperated sigh, but Christopher continued on, incorporating Davey’s interruption—“The Stages are like the chapters the night moves through after everyone is supposed to be asleep. The first stage is the Stage of Possibilities. You see, daylight keeps everything orderly; makes everything obey the laws of nature. Gravity, physics, life, death—these are all concepts of daylight,” he glanced back and forth between their blue eyes. “If you stay up too late all those rules disappear, and the shapes and shadows of the night are free to turn into hungry monsters. The old black rock near the pond will shift and become an angry dog with huge fangs, dripping with blood. Liam thought he would be okay because everything was cold and frozen outside. He just wanted to see what would happen, so he kept one eye open and watched the firelight play against the walls while his sister fell asleep.”

  Susan had pulled her legs up close to her body. Davey’s eyelids looked heavy.

  “For a long time, Liam didn’t think anything would happen. But then he finally saw,” said Christopher. “Next to the fire, their Dad kept a pail for hauling away the ashes. That pail cast a big shadow on the wall next to the door. Where the handle attached, a hole let a little light through, and it gave the big shadow an eye, to watch over the room. As Liam peeked between his thick fur covers, the head of the shadow turned to look at him, even though the pail never moved. Liam held himself perfectly still as the shadow slinked off to the left and out of sight. He didn’t want to turn his head to follow it. He thought if he turned his head and revealed he was awake, the thing would certainly come after him. You see, Liam had stayed awake until everything was possible. There were no more rules to keep that shadow from turning into a monster.”

  Christopher assessed his children. Davey was still grinning, but his eyelids drooped and swayed. Susan was curled up, hugging her knees to her chest. He lowered his tone, hoping to lull the kids the rest of the way to sleep—“When the monster moved, this was the second stage, the Stage of Hunger. This is where everything called to life by haunted imagination roams the earth. Liam was frozen with his fear. He wanted to call out and wake Ava, but he was too afraid. His heart pounded in his ears. It was so loud he thought for sure the shadow-monster would hear. The fire popped and Liam nearly screamed,” said Christopher.

  Susan sucked in a startled breath. She forgot herself and took her thumb int
o her mouth.

  “He strained his ears and tried to ignore the sounds of the fire. That’s when he heard it. A scraping noise, barely audible at first, was getting louder and louder. Liam shrunk down under his blankets, hoping to make himself disappear into his bed. Scrape, scrape, scrape. In her sleep, Ava groaned as if she sensed what was coming. Scrape, scrape, scrape. The sound got louder and louder until Liam didn’t think he could stand it any more. He wanted to run from their little cabin, out into the night, to get away from the sinister shadow-monster. And then…” Christopher trailed off. It looked like he would get away with it—both kids were sliding into their own dream-world, the troubling story already forgotten.

  Christopher took a breath and prepared to rise from his seat.

  “Then what?” asked Davey. Christopher was startled. He looked between Davey and Susan and found them both alert and ready for more.

  “Oh,” he said. He lowered his voice again and got back into character—“And then, CRASH! The door banged open and their father, John, burst in from the cold night.”

  “Knew it,” said Davey.

  Christopher frowned.

  “That’s it?” asked Susan. She shook her head. “That’s a crappy ending.”

  “Oh really?” asked Christopher, raising his eyebrows. “But that’s not the ending, as far as I know. Oh well, I guess I must have it wrong. Ready for bed then?”

  “No!” both kids yelled.

  “Shhh!” he glanced back at the hallway. “But I thought this story was too predictable and crappy,” said Christopher.

  “Come on—please tell us the rest?” begged Susan.

  “Please?” asked Davey.

  “Okay, I guess,” said Christopher. “There’s not that much more to tell, honestly.”

  He waited a beat, until he captured their full attention.

  “John came in to the cozy cabin slapping the snow from his clothes and warming himself by the glowing fire. Liam sat up straight and threw back his covers. He ran to his dad and hugged him around the waist. John lifted him from the ground and said ‘Liam, what are you doing up?’ Liam explained about how he had defied the Stages and stayed up, inadvertently awaking the shadow-monster. John comforted his son—‘It’s okay, Liam. What you saw was just a regular shadow. You thought it walked away, but it was just the fire dying down. Now that I’ve stoked it, the shadow comes right back, see?’”