Blood Ghost (The Hunting Tree Book 2)

by Ike Hamill

  “Come on. You used to come to every game night.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Kyle said.

  “You come to game night or I’m not going to the movies.”

  Kyle paused and thought about it for a minute. His stuffed his hands down in his pockets.

  “Yeah, okay,” Kyle said.

  “Good,” Don said.

  Don opened the door and stepped out. Kyle’s house was still cool—most of the windows were closed so the air inside hadn’t received the message about the sultry, humid air that had invaded their northern climate. At school, Don loved nights like this. He would turn out the lights in his room, open the windows, and enjoy the embrace of the night air. Here, so close to the woods, the moist air seemed oppressive.

  When he got to the garage, he turned right and headed for the road.

  No cars passed him on the road, and there were no street lights, but it still seemed safer than walking through the woods. Don walked fast. He had his headlamp strapped on, but he didn’t use it. He let his eyes adjust to the starlight and kept them on the road ahead.

  When he reached the end of his own driveway, he had that feeling again, like he was being watched. For a second he wondered if Kyle had followed him, to play another joke. He didn’t care if it was Kyle, and he didn’t care if Kyle teased him for the rest of his life. Don was done being out here alone. He ran up his long driveway and didn’t stop until he’d closed the basement door behind himself. He stared out into the darkness through the glass and then reached down and locked the door. Even in his bedroom with the windows closed and the blinds drawn, he didn’t feel safe. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something in the woods that was waiting for a chance to sneak up on him. It had followed him home from Kyle’s and now it was watching his house and waiting.

  Don turned on his television and put the volume all the way down so he would hear anything creeping around in the woods. He turned away from the window and lay on top of his covers as he watched the flickering light of the TV cast its shadows on the floor. Sometime before dawn, he drifted to sleep.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Soucoyant (3 years earlier)

  SHE MANEUVERED AROUND THE rock carefully, so it wouldn’t touch any part of her skin. Every time she had to pick up and move to a new place, it was because of skin. A careless scrape against a tree or a rock and they’d be on her. They’d track her down like a rabbit in the bushes, if she gave them half a chance. She didn’t want to have to move again. She was too old to move again. Her home here in the north was the coldest place she’d ever lived. Snow on the ground for half the damned year, it seemed. It was worth it though. Up here in the north the people were too damned stupid to track her down. Maybe the snow made their brains too cold to work properly. Whatever the reason, she certainly had no intention of moving. So she left her cave very carefully, and didn’t leave any skin behind. Not there, at least.

  Once she got past the rock and made her way out into the night, the old witch practically flew through the forest. She felt fifty years younger, since she’d met the young man who lived in the trailer. New love brought vigor to old bones.

  She stopped and sniffed the air.

  Something was wrong. Something new, and big, and scary had invaded her little patch of woods.

  She wouldn’t be meeting her lover tonight.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Game Night

  DON SAT AT THE counter between the kitchen and dining room and watched his mom making the salad.

  His mother, Gwenith Stott-Covington, was an accomplished surgeon and devoted parent, but she was a lousy cook. When they got together for family dinners, Wes usually tackled the main dish, Don and Chelsea did the sides, and Gwen was allowed to assemble the salad. Tonight, Don wondered if she would even be able to accomplish that easy task.

  She was frugal with her motions. She pulled a bag of lettuce from the drawer and turned with it held in front of her body. She set it down on the counter. When she opened the drawer for the scissors, she pulled those and the corkscrew from the drawer before closing it.

  Wes, Don’s father, came in through the door to the garage.

  “Don, that lasagna smells magnifique,” Wes said, kissing the bunched tips of his fingers.

  “Thanks,” Don said.

  “Although why you’d want to hunch over a stove on the hottest day of the year is a mystery to me.”

  Don smiled. He flipped the page on the magazine laying in front of him.

  Gwen jumped into the gap in the conversation. “Honey—where did we put that bottle of pinot from last fall?”

  “I’ll get it,” Wes said. He lowered his voice and asked, “Are you allowed with those pills?”

  “I skipped them,” Gwen said with a smile. “No worries.” She cut the green tops off a bunch of carrots.

  “Magnifique,” Wes said again. This time, instead of his fingers, he leaned forward and kissed his wife on the cheek. He pressed his hands on the counter and only touched his wife with his lips, if at all. He kissed her like she was made of cotton candy and she might dissolve.

  “Just get the wine,” she said with a wink and an even bigger grin.

  Don looked up from the magazine when Chelsea came down the stairs. She hit every step with amazing force. Don almost expected a half-dozen girls to round the corner and charge into the kitchen.

  “I’m going to make garlic bread to go with your pasta,” she said to Don while she was still halfway down the hall.

  “That sounds delish,” their mom said.

  “It’s a lot of starch though. I don’t know. Maybe something green,” Chelsea said, still talking to Don.

  Don shrugged. “I love garlic bread.”

  “Bread then,” Chelsea said. “Mom, tell me when you’re done in here so I can do my bread.”

  “It’s okay,” Gwen said. “We can work around each other.”

  “It’s too hot to be climbing all over each other,” Chelsea said.

  “Just give me a second then. I’m just finishing up,” Gwen said.

  “Let me know,” Chelsea said. She turned on her heel and retreated down the hall. Don heard the jingle of the car keys before the front door banged shut.

  “She practices in the driveway,” Gwen said to Don. “She can parallel park, but I swear that’s all she can do. Your father is going to have to replace half the lawn by the time she learns to do a three point turn.”

  “I should let her drive me around,” Don said. “It might be nice to have my own valet.”

  “Nope,” Gwen said. “You have to be over twenty and have had a valid license for at least two years.”

  “Oh,” Don said. He met the age requirement, but not the other.

  “Shit,” Gwen said. She stopped cutting and looked at her hands.

  “What’s wrong?” Don asked, straightening. He looked for blood in the pile of carrots, but saw none.

  “I should be making for five, not four. Your dad said that you invited Kyle?”

  “Yes, is that a problem?” Don asked.

  “No, it’s no problem. I just forgot. Shit,” she said. Then she whispered—“shit, shit.”

  “I can tell him not to come. It’s no big deal. It’s just Kyle,” Don said.

  “No, honey, no. I haven’t seen Kyle in forever. It will be nice. I’m just disappointed. Don’t listen to me. I’m just being crazy.”

  Wes came back through the kitchen door. “Look who I found,” he said. He had a big grin as he held up a dusty bottle of wine.

  “That’s not the pinot. What is that?” Gwen asked.

  “You remember that bordeaux that we bought after Chelsea was born?”

  “Oh, Wes! I thought we finished that case years ago. That has to be vinegar by now,” Gwen said.

  “Yes, but very expensive vinegar.”

  He reached around his wife for the cork puller.

  “Let’s save it for dinner.”

  Wes adopted a French accent. “A wine like zis
must be appreciated right away.” The cork made a low “thoonk” as Wes pulled it from the bottle. He pulled two dusty glasses from the overhead rack and rinsed them quickly before setting them down. He poured an inch of wine in each glass and swirled his until the wine threatened to slop over the edge.

  “Maybe Don wants to try some,” Gwen said. She lifted the cutting board and swept her carrots into the bowl.

  “I’ll try some later,” Don said. “You want me to go get Chelse?”

  “Please.”

  # # # #

  Don sat on the front porch watching his sister back up towards the garage. The car—their father’s old SUV—crept towards the door and then jerked to a stop. The reverse lights shut off and then the brake lights went out as well. The car rolled forward and the engine revved. Don thought about yelling to her that it was in neutral, but she figured it out. The brake lights flashed and then the car lurched forward, weaving down the long drive.

  As soon as it was around the first corner, Kyle darted out of the woods and ran across the driveway to the walk. He took a seat next to Don.

  “Where’s Barney? She’ll run him over for sure,” Don said.

  “He stayed at home. Still not feeling good. Although he looks a little better today. He ate most of his breakfast.”

  “That’s good,” Don said.

  The SUV came barreling down the drive, headlights first. She must have turned around in the road.

  “She’s a menace,” Kyle said. “You teach her that?”

  “Very funny.”

  “How much is your insurance now?”

  “Don’t ask,” Don said.

  “How are you going to afford that when your dad kicks you out?”

  “Hey,” Don said, hitting Kyle’s shoulder. “Don’t say shit like that.” He looked over his shoulder through the screen door. “Everyone hears everything around this house.”

  “You know,” Kyle said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about getting a place of my own. Maybe we could find a place to split in town.”

  “What are you two conspiring about out there?” Don’s father asked. The young men turned around and saw Wes through the screen door, about halfway down the hall.

  “I told you,” Don said, smacking Kyle again.

  Kyle laughed. “Hey, Pops, how’ve you been?”

  “Good, Kyle. We don’t see you around enough. You’re always welcome on Saturdays, you know. Another face might help take the chill off. Chelsea doesn’t have much use for the good doctor anymore.” Wes pushed open the storm door and stepped out onto the slab of granite that served as the front porch.

  “I’m not going anywhere near that feud,” Kyle said. “She’s dangerous, and now you’ve given her a two-ton weapon.” Kyle pointed to the SUV disappearing behind some trees as it backed down the long drive.

  “I’ve had that same thought,” Wes said. He opened the door and stepped back inside. “Tell your sister to get in gear. We’re only waiting on the bread.”

  “Okay,” Don said.

  When Wes had made it down the hall and turned to the kitchen, Kyle turned back to Don. “So, what do you think? Maybe we could get a place in the old mill.”

  “Those apartments are expensive,” Don said.

  “Not if we split it. I’ve got a decent income now.”

  “Yeah, let me see how it goes here. I’m not sure if I’m even going to stay that close to home. I might find something more interesting down in Boston or New York.”

  “Because it’s so affordable to live down there? You let me know, but I’m not going to wait on you forever.”

  “Sure thing,” Don said.

  When Chelsea jerked the SUV to a halt again in front of the garage, Don yelled to her—“Hey, Chelse. You ready to do the bread?”

  Chelsea nodded. She turned her attention down and took several seconds before swinging open the door and slamming it behind her. She normally seemed to be in a rush to get wherever she was going, but this time she came up the walk slowly, twirling the keys around her finger. She stopped in front of Don and Kyle and put one hand in the back pocket of her shorts.

  “Nice driving,” Kyle said.

  She nodded and smiled.

  “You run anyone over in the road?” Don asked.

  “I thought that was your job,” Chelsea said to Don.

  Don looked away. He pushed himself to his feet and opened the door.

  Kyle shook his head. “Poor taste, Chelse.”

  “What?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

  The screen door banged shut behind her.

  # # # #

  “Seven sevens,” Kyle said with a smile. He laid his cards down with a flourish. Without a wildcard, his play couldn’t be beat and he would take the lead.

  Chelsea was in the leader’s chair, and she had a wild card.

  “Seven sixes,” she said.

  “I gave you that wild card,” Kyle said.

  “Oh, did you? Oh, can nobody beat my sixes?” Chelsea said. She knew nobody could beat her play. Even with the other wildcard, it would be impossible to find seven fives.

  “She’s insufferable when she’s winning,” Don said.

  “Who raised this girl?” his father said to Don, behind his hand but loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Five eights,” Chelsea said as she put down her next play.

  Don did some mental math. They’d already seen several fives, so his sister would keep the lead here and she would likely keep control and win the game. Again. The only way that someone could trump her would be for them to have…

  “Five fours,” his mother said. She put them down with no drama, as if it were a normal play.

  What his sister had done earlier was outlandish—you almost never saw it. For his mother to repeat the move just one play later was preposterous, but she’d just pulled it off.

  “Come on!” Chelsea said. Her good humor evaporated instantly.

  Gwen closed out the game in two more plays. That put her in the winner’s seat for the next hand and dropped Chelsea down a couple of chairs. This was Don’s favorite game, and they were clearly playing it because it was his first time back in awhile. Now, watching his sister cope with defeat, he wondered if they should switch to something less competitive.

  His mom might have read his mind.

  “As your new leader, I propose we switch to that drawing game. What’s the name of it?”

  “That’s too hard with an odd number of people,” Chelsea said.

  “And a number of odd people,” Wes said.

  “We can do teams. I’m terrible anyway, so I can be on the three-person team,” Gwen said.

  “Then I want to be on Kyle’s team,” Chelsea said. “The two of us will take on the rest of you.”

  “Works for me, but you know I can’t draw for sh… I can’t draw,” Kyle said.

  The family erupted with laughter as Kyle blushed.

  Wes got up and took orders for sodas and snacks. He fetched them from the kitchen as Gwen put away the cards and hunted for the drawing supplies. People changed seats and shifted chairs so they would be arranged properly for the new game. The conversation bubbled with a half-dozen different threads.

  Wes came back with full arms including a second, not so dusty, bottle of red. He poured the last of the wine and offered some to Don and Kyle. Don turned his father down, toasting him with his Coke instead.

  “I’m more of a beer and booze guy, Pops,” Kyle said.

  “I’d like to try a little,” Chelsea said. Wes just laughed at his young daughter.

  Their new game started slowly. It was the kind of game where one person drew frantically and other people shouted seemingly random guesses. At least once each round someone made a guess that would bring an explosion of laughter. Kyle was the best at breaking up the group. He seemed totally sincere when he shouted, “It’s a duck!” at the sight of a collection of stacked boxes. When everyone laughed he said, “What? I thought that wa
s the bill.”

  By the end of the game, they slouched back in their chairs and wiped the corners of their eyes. Even Chelsea forgot the feud with her mother as she laughed uncontrollably and held her stomach with wrapped arms.

  Don had been back in this house for a week, but tonight it felt like he’d finally returned home.

  “I’ll do those dishes, Mom. I know that pan’s a mess,” Don said.

  “No, no, you cooked, I clean. Them’s the rules,” she called from the kitchen. From across the room he could see that her eyes were half-closed. She was moving fast, but she was probably in a lot of pain behind her forced smile.

  Don looked at Chelsea. She wore a huge smile and stole glances at Kyle every chance she got. Her crush had spontaneously generated at some point in the last six months. Last Don knew, Chelsea thought Kyle was a loser because he lived at home, drove a lame car, and worked with elderly people. Now, she studied Kyle’s every move. Given her track record, that meant that she would declare her love for six weeks, and then decide she hated Kyle.

  “Who wants ice cream?” Wes asked. He raised his eyebrows and held up his hands, like he expected everyone to rush to him enthusiastically.

  “I’m full,” Chelsea said.

  “I couldn’t eat another bite,” Kyle said.

  “Maybe later,” Don said.

  “Well I’m having some,” Wes said. He stood and swayed for brief moment before heading for the kitchen. It didn’t take much to get him tipsy and he’d been riding the line all evening. In contrast, Gwen had put away twice as much wine and she seemed steady as a rock.

  “What are you doing this summer, Chel?” Kyle asked.

  Chelsea blushed. Don wondered if she was going to be able to answer or if she’d just run giggling from the table.

  “I’ve got a job,” she said. “I’m going to be a junior drafter at Dad’s office.”

  “Junior drafting apprentice,” Wes called from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, that.”

  “That sounds cool,” Don said. Chelsea didn’t acknowledge his approval.

  “You make good money doing that?” Kyle asked.