The Hunting Tree

by Ike Hamill

  “You invented it?” asked Katie.

  “Yes,” said Mike. He turned to the van and started pulling equipment. “Gary, can you get this on the roof and aim it at the bottom part of the dam?”

  “No problem.” Gary made a show of hauling the tripod up the ladder on the side of the van.

  Mike handed the end of a cord up to Gary and swiveled a rack of equipment so it faced out the back of the van. He reset knobs and powered up the equipment as Gary mounted and pointed the antenna.

  “So what’s it do, exactly?” asked Katie.

  Mike ignored her for the moment—“Hey, Gary, what’s your compass direction?”

  “One ninety-seven.”

  “You can think of it like a power supply for paranormal activity,” Mike explained as he began his calibration process. “Gary and I measured specific types and frequencies of energy that were being drawn, or tapped into, by paranormal activity. You ready, Gary?”

  “Yup,” Gary called down from the roof.

  “First,” Mike said to Katie, “we’re going to calibrate the baseline." He pointed to a display which showed a jagged horizontal line. “Gary’s going to do a slow spin of that antenna to find the natural hotspots." They watched the display closely as noise moved quickly across the line. A giant spike tracked across the line from right to left.

  “What’s that?” asked Katie?

  “Probably just the sun,” said Mike. “Too big to be anything local. What’s your bearing Gary?”

  “I’m in the two-forties,” said Gary.

  “Yeah, see, that’s about west,” said Mike. “We always get a big hit roughly west. It’s probably some lingering effects of the sunset." They waited for almost a minute before their next spike. This one rose only a fraction of the previous reading.

  “You’re back at south?” Mike asked Gary.

  “Yup,” he replied.

  “So that’s the thing we’re here to measure tonight. You can see that it’s pretty small right now, but we’ll be able to jack it up when we turn on the emitter,” Mike informed Katie.

  Gary jumped down from the ladder and landed beside Mike and Katie. “Ready for cameras?” he asked.

  “Yes. You want to show Katie the ropes while I finish the calibration and tuning?” asked Mike.

  “I’d be glad to,” said Gary. “If you could grab a reel of those cables, Miss Katie?”

  “Just Katie,” she replied.

  Mike smiled at his dials.

  * * * * *

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, all the equipment and cables had been properly deployed. The three researchers gathered inside the van to monitor the displays.

  “If you could just slide in a little and shut that door, Katie?” asked Mike. “We like to make sure that people driving by don’t get curious when we turn on the video equipment.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said.

  Their control center showed them the river at the base of the dam, the rocks, and a group of drunk teens passing a bottle around their small circle.

  “As you can see from this meter,” Mike said, continuing his tutorial, “there’s some activity down there, but we don’t see any visual, infrared, or thermal evidence. Those kids don’t seem too impressed either. But, if we use our amplifier, we should be able to find a resonant frequency for the entity to tap into.”

  “And does that make it visible?” asked Katie.

  “Well, we don’t know yet,” said Gary.

  “Really?” Katie asked.

  “It’s true,” said Mike. “We’ve detected this energy drop several times, and we surmise that the activity is limited by the amount of energy in the area, but this is the first time we’ll attempt to amplify it.”

  “That’s cool,” she said, “so this is groundbreaking.”

  “We certainly hope so,” said Mike. “Let’s start small. Give it an amp Gary.”

  “Roger that,” said Gary. He made an adjustment. “Okay, we’re there.”

  “Nothing yet,” said Mike. “No change from the ambient levels at all. We might need to cross a threshold to see results. Try ramping up to five over thirty seconds.”

  “Will do,” said Gary.

  He held out his watch and slowly turned the large dial. After ten seconds the three looked up to the roof as the humming sound grew in intensity. When the dial read three, a set of headphones hanging from a hook began to rattle. Mike pulled them down and sat the headphones on shelf, but they resumed rattling when he let go.

  “Keep going?” asked Gary.

  “Yeah,” said Mike, studying his meter. “I think it’s about to start absorbing.”

  “So that thing is supposed to go down?” asked Katie.

  “No, this display is inverted, but if we see a spike it would represent the energy decreasing. The theory being…” he trailed off. “Wait a second. Hold it there, Gary.”

  “Okay, but we’re pulling some serious power. We’ll only have a couple minutes of output,” said Gary.

  “I think that might just be enough,” said Mike. He tapped the display and Gary and Katie looked over his shoulder. “See this?”

  “Looks like it’s gathering or something,” said Gary.

  “Exactly,” said Mike, transfixed by the jagged green line.

  “Dr. Mike?” asked Katie. “Dr. Mike?” she said louder.

  “What?” asked Mike. He snapped around. Katie pointed at the video display which showed the output of one of the infrared cameras. The picture showed green teens, drinking on green rocks, next to a green river. At the center of the image a green blob slid slowly uphill towards the teens. “What is that?” she whispered.

  “Off, Gary, turn it off,” said Mike.

  Gary fumbled for the big dial and spun it with both hands until the knob clicked off. Mike turned back to his readout, horrified. “It’s still drawing,” he informed them. “It’s drawing more than ever.”

  “I think they see it,” said Katie, drawing their attention back to the video displays.

  On the screen, the teens had dropped their bottle and their circle had flattened, with all five members scrambling backwards, away from the water’s edge. One boy, in the direct path of the creeping entity, seemed paralyzed.

  “Why doesn’t he run?” cried Katie. “We should go help him.”

  “This is amazing,” said Gary. “We’ve never caught anything this good.”

  “But what’s going to happen to that kid?” Katie scanned the various displays, distressed.

  “They can’t hurt you,” said Gary. “They’re like psychic movies.”

  “We’ve never seen anything this powerful, Gary. She might have a point,” said Mike.

  Before they had a chance to act on any decisions, the blob leapt towards the drunk teen, gaining definition as it moved closer. Even through the crude night-vision, the researchers could discern a gaunt woman with shoulder-length hair and tattered clothes resolving from the green blob.

  “It’s a woman,” said Katie.

  “A girl,” corrected Mike.

  When the girl from the river reached the closest teen, the spell on the other four seemed to break. She clamped down a thin hand on the boy’s leg as the others ran, fleeing up the rocks. The boy in the white t-shirt remained motionless, until the girl from the river backed up, pulling him by the leg. He made no attempt to escape her grip.

  “Go, go, go,” said Mike. “Let’s get down there, now!” he shouted.

  Gary fumbled for the door, trying to open it without taking his eyes from the monitor.

  “Go!” yelled Mike, pushing Katie into Gary’s shoulder.

  Gary looked down and threw open the door. The three researchers spilled into the gravel parking lot. Mike was the first away, running down through the scrub and vaulting the chain-link fence. His eyes had barely adjusted to the night when he arrived at the rocks, and he nearly plunged over a small ledge. Mike turned left at the last instant and ran along the edge of the drop, waving his colleagues to follow.

  He arri
ved at the clearing just as the boy’s legs slipped into the roiling river. Mike threw himself to the ground and grabbed the boy’s shirt.

  “Hey, kid, hey!” he yelled, but the boy’s gaze remained on the turbulent water.

  Gary arrived as the boy’s shirt tore away and Mike shifted his grip to under the boy’s arm. Gary grabbed his other arm and they both pulled against the single boney arm dragging the boy into the river.

  In the starlight, the river’s surface was black. Their tug-of-war was a standoff. Mike strained against the shore, trying to keep his grip while pushing with his legs to drag the boy back. His jaw dropped when he saw another thin arm appear from the water, moving towards his own foot. Just before it reached his shoe, the world lit up from a bright flash behind them.

  Gary and Mike jolted back with the flash. They pulled a few inches away from the river and the hand near Mike’s foot had disappeared. Mike looked back to see Katie pointing a camera.

  “Do it again, make it flash again,” grunted Mike.

  Katie obeyed and they jerked back again, gaining more ground.

  “Fast as you can,” said Gary.

  Each time Katie took a picture and the flash lit the river, they pulled more of the boy from the water. Within a dozen pictures they had dragged him safely back.

  “What are you doing?” The boy snapped from his trance. “Shit, I’m all wet. Get off!” He shook his arm away from Gary.

  “Look, kid,” said Mike.

  “Get away,” said the boy in the white t-shirt. Before Mike could explain further, the boy was off—running up the rocks to the bridge.

  “Did you get anything?” Gary looked over Katie’s shoulder at the camera’s display.

  “Not really,” said Katie. “The flash only goes so far.”

  “Let’s get back up to the van and check the readings,” said Mike.

  They backed slowly up the rocks, not willing to take their eyes off the water’s edge until they had made it back to the chain-link fence. Katie paused to take a picture of the sign mounted on the fence.

  “Danger,” she read. “No kidding. What was that thing?”

  “I’ll tell you when we get back in the van,” said Mike.

  Safely back among his instruments, Mike told her the story: “She’s the reason we came here. Her name was supposedly Marcia Taylor, but we haven’t been able to turn up any records to corroborate. She was seventeen or eighteen; at a graduation party on the Brunswick side of the river, like twenty-five or thirty years ago. She turned down the host’s advances, and he kicked her out. She had to walk home and cross the old railroad bridge alone, but she never made it across.”

  “Why didn’t she take the footbridge? It has railings,” said Katie.

  “That part we do know. The footbridge was closed for almost six years because neither town would pay for the repairs. Supposedly they both contributed after Marcia’s death.”

  “So she fell off and drowned?” asked Katie.

  “Yeah, but there’s a little more. The story says that she was an excellent swimmer, and even made it alive over the dam. She managed to get all the way over to that shore, where those kids were. Like tonight, more drunk teens had gathered by those rocks. They saw her crawl out of the water, but instead of helping her, they ran. They didn’t want to tell anyone because then they would have been caught drinking. When the dam operators opened the gates that night, she was still unconscious on the shore and she drowned.”

  “Oh, man,” said Katie. “So now she seeks revenge?”

  “No. Well yes, I guess so,” said Mike. “Until tonight nothing has really happened, as far as we know. A couple of kids have said they saw something, but dragging people away is unprecedented.”

  “Maybe it was your machine,” said Katie, excited.

  “Maybe,” said Gary.

  Mike turned back to his instruments.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Davey

  MELANIE REACHED FOR A SUGAR PACKET and then put it back down. The tea had lemon; it didn’t need any sweetener. Something about socializing while sober still made her nervous. She still didn’t know how to act.

  “Has it been two years now? Well good for you,” Sherry congratulated Melanie.

  “Yeah, thanks. I stopped drinking just after Christopher,” Melanie admitted.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I never made the connection,” said Sherry. She reached across the small table and touched Melanie’s hand.

  “It’s okay,” said Melanie. “I mean it’s as okay as it will ever be, I think.”

  “You’re so strong,” said Sherry. “And you’re doing such a great job with the kids.”

  “Oh,” Melanie laughed and wiped the corner of her eye, “I don’t know about that.”

  “Sure you are,” stated Sherry. “Considering everything?”

  “Susan is just so difficult,” said Melanie. “Everything is a fight with her. School, friends, how she dresses, when did twelve-year-olds get so mature?”

  “It’s just different now,” said Sherry.

  “I’m worried about Davey, too,” said Melanie.

  “Why, what’s going on with Davey? He seems so healthy and happy.”

  “He is. Most of the time,” said Melanie. “He’s really good at sports, he plays soccer, and baseball, and hockey if I can still afford it next year. He’s got a million little girlfriends too. He’s one of the most eligible third-graders,” she said, smiling.

  “So what’s wrong?” Sherry prodded.

  “You remember how clumsy Christopher could be?” asked Melanie.

  “How could I forget? You remember that party at the Peterson’s?”

  “Oh, I did forget about that,” laughed Melanie. “I think I was probably half drunk.”

  “You were all drunk. I had shrimp in my hair, one in my bra, and…” Sherry paused to catch her breath between laughs, “I shit you not, I found one down the crack of my ass when I got home.”

  “Oh my god,” Melanie was breathless from laughing. “Christopher was such a klutz at parties." Melanie dabbed her eyes with her napkin. “I told him one time that that was why I drank so much when we were out.” Her laughter slowed as her memories cascaded. “I miss him so much.”

  “It gets easier,” Sherry squeezed Melanie’s forearm. “I promise.”

  “Davey reminds me of him,” whispered Melanie. “When he’s concentrating in something, like sports, he’s just so agile and graceful. Then you see him trying to carry his dinner plate to the table and he looks like he has Parkinson’s or something. Dr. Innes says he’s fine, but I worry.”

  “Does he have vision problems, or headaches, or anything?” asked Sherry.

  “No,” Melanie said, considering, “not that he admits to, at least. The doctor asked him that, I’m sure.”

  “Well you remember Julie’s son? Did you know the Kims?” Sherry asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “They took their son in because he had double vision, and he had cancer." She lowered her voice by the end, not wanting to broadcast such a powerful word.

  “That’s horrible,” said Melanie. “No, I didn’t know them. How did they find out?”

  “The optometrist sent them to a specialist. I can get his name for you. Better safe, you know?”

  “Please do,” said Melanie.

  * * * * *

  “WELL, MR. HUNTER,” THE DOCTOR SAID, kneeling in front of Davey. “I heard that you did extraordinarily well in our little torture chamber.”

  “I guess,” said Davey. He glanced down at the video game clutched in his hands, knowing he was forbidden to play it until he was back in the waiting room.

  “Why don’t you go sit with the lovely ladies of reception while Mom and I talk a bit?” prompted the doctor.

  “Okay,” said Davey. He slid down from the bench and headed for the door. Melanie stopped him to fix his collar, put his tag back inside his shirt, and smooth his hair. She wiped a gray smudge from the back of his neck and patted him on the back.

  “I
’ll be right out, okay?” asked Melanie.

  “Okay,” Davey said. He pulled the door handle and tripped on his own feet, slamming the door shut before he could squeeze through. Davey took a resigned breath before re-opening the door and exiting the examination room.

  When Davey had clicked the door shut behind himself, Dr. Chisholm turned to Melanie and smiled. His face bore the lines of a million smiles, but his grey hair and grey teeth were stained yellow. Melanie found the doctor creepy in a way she couldn’t quite pin down; she pegged him for a closet smoker.

  His smile disappeared as he began reviewing Davey’s case. “I wanted to speak with you one-on-one, instead of ganging up on you with the radiologist, Ms. Hunter. Those guys are notorious hedgers.”

  “Okay,” she said. She inhaled and waited for bad news.

  “Oh, he’s fine,” he flashed another yellowing smile, “you’ve got that near-panic look I was trying to avoid.”

  “Oh,” she said without committing.

  “CT scans were all perfectly clean. Nothing to indicate the need for an MRI—no tumors or growths,” the doctor explained.

  “Good,” she nodded her head.

  “Yes, very good. But there are some interesting things about Davey,” he continued.

  “Yes?” She tried to concentrate on what he was saying, but her mind wanted to return to his “clean” comment, she wanted to be sure he meant that Davey didn’t have cancer.

  “We might want to play around with some genetic testing. These would be diagnostic tests simply used to rule out any genetic or chromosomal conditions.”

  “Wait, can I just ask you something?” asked Melanie.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Melanie summoned her nerve. “So, he doesn’t have cancer, or a brain tumor?”

  “No,” he stated decisively. “To the best of our ability to screen such things non-invasively, he doesn’t. Nor does anything about his behavior suggest to me that we should be looking harder.”

  “Oh good,” said Melanie. She finally exhaled.

  “But he does have some interesting traits that I think warrant further investigation,” said Dr. Chisholm.

  “Such as?" Melanie’s inquisitive, analytic nature began to surface.