Blood Ghost (The Hunting Tree Book 2)

by Ike Hamill

  “Barney?” she whispered. The question came out as barely a breath. The German Shepherd’s pointy ears rotated towards her. “What are you doing here? We must be two miles from the house.”

  Chelsea heard a laugh from her father’s SUV behind her. It was Brandon’s throaty laugh—the one that meant that things were about to get more serious between him and Alexa. Chelsea shifted a foot in the direction of the car, but didn’t take her eyes off the dog. She still wasn’t completely sure it was Barney. It looked just like him, and the leather collar looked like his, but lots of dogs could have that same collar.

  “I can’t give you a ride, Barney. You’d probably get mud in the car or something,” she said. Her voice wavered at the end, ruining her attempt to sound casual.

  The dog folded its ears down.

  She took another step.

  Chelsea stumbled on the ragged edge of the asphalt road and her flashlight beam jumped higher. That’s when she saw the figure standing behind the dog. She didn’t even recognize him at first. She hadn’t noticed how much he’d changed in the past month.

  “Don?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. He took a step forward—now he stood directly behind the dog. Her brother was naked from the waist up. His eyes were vacant. They looked straight out without recognition. The flashing light from the car gave him an intermittent yellow outline down his side. She recognized his pajama bottoms—they were the spiderman pajamas he always used to wear as a kid. They were way too tight and only reached halfway down his calves.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. She took another unconscious step towards the SUV.

  He didn’t answer.

  She heard a rustling from behind her brother and another figure stepped forward into the light. The second person put his hand on Don’s shoulder. Chelsea shuddered when she recognized Kyle. He looked remarkably good for someone who’d been dead and buried for weeks. From what she could see—his body was mostly behind Don’s—Kyle stood naked. Chelsea’s free hand flew to her mouth. Her lips formed a scream that wouldn’t come. She could barely breathe, let alone emit sound.

  After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, a small croak was all she could muster.

  The blare of a car horn surprised Chelsea and brought a new level of panic. The car swerved as it honked but it missed her by only inches. Chelsea was blasted with the hot wind of the car and it spun her around. Her feet tangled and she collapsed to the asphalt. She dropped the hubcap as she fell. It hit the road and rolled away. She saw the taillights of the vehicle and the brake lights flashed twice. The car kept going.

  Chelsea swept her light back to the side of the road, where she’d seen Don, Kyle, and Barney.

  She saw nothing but tall grass. The light danced as she crawled backwards in a crab-walk. Chelsea looked up the road for approaching traffic and saw only the retreating taillights of the car that had nearly run her down. She spun and ran for the car, scooping up the hubcap as she found her feet.

  Chelsea found her voice as well.

  Her scream tore through the night. She ripped at the handle and threw open the door. She slammed it closed behind her and stabbed at the panel, trying to lock the doors. She threw the second hubcap on the passenger’s seat. With each breath, she screamed again. In the rearview mirror she saw a bloody face coming forward and she screamed again.

  “Jesus, Chelsea,” Brandon said with his half-swollen smile, “shut the fuck up.”

  She put the car into drive and launched a rooster tail of gravel as she spun the tires. They chirped when she finally gained the pavement and the car lurched forwards. In the mirror, Brandon’s face retreated as he was thrown backwards with the acceleration.

  “What’s wrong?” Alexa yelled.

  Chelsea finally got control of her voice and stopped screaming. She leaned forward and stared intently at the road ahead as she wrestled the car into the proper lane. With each exhale, she voiced a chattering hum. By the time they reached Alexa’s house, Alexa had crawled into the passenger’s seat and Chelsea was able to tell her friends what she’d seen.

  “Just your imagination, Chelse,” Brandon said.

  “Yeah, or like a psychic vision or something,” Alexa said. “Those can’t hurt you. They’re just a sign of grief of something. I read something about it online.”

  “Looked real enough to me,” Chelsea said.

  Brandon and Alexa got out at the end of Alexa’s road. They would walk together to the halfway point between their houses and then split up for the night. Alexa would sneak back in through her garage, and Brandon would scale the side of his house to get into his room. His parents didn’t really care—he just liked scaling the side of the house.

  Chelsea drove home alone and stopped at the end of the driveway. She didn’t want to, but she collected the hubcaps and unlocked her door. With the car still running, she jumped out and ran to the front tire and then the back. She kicked the hubcaps into place until they stuck.

  She backed down the driveway and killed the lights halfway down. The red glow of the brake lights helped her ease the SUV back into its spot. When she was a few yards from the normal parking place, she turned off the key and rolled silently uphill. Chelsea put the vehicle in park and eased the door shut behind her. The hubcaps were still in place. She’d already decided—if they were missing, she would just forget about them and hope for the best. She wasn’t about to search the driveway trying to find them tonight. As it turned out, she didn’t have to.

  Chelsea made one more stop before she went to bed. She crept down the stairs to the basement. The sliding door was shut and locked. She used the display of her phone to make her way down the dark hall where her brother’s door stood about halfway open.

  Chelsea poked her head through the opening. Barney raised his head and she saw the same green reflective eyes that she’d seen by the side of the road. Past the dog, on the bed, Don was sprawled on top of the sheets. He wore the same Spiderman pajamas. Chelsea backed down the hallway. When she’d climbed the two flights of stairs to her own room and dressed bed, she pulled an extra blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around herself.

  “Psychic vision,” she said to herself. She pulled her sheet up over her head. The air conditioner’s fan turned on and Chelsea pulled her knees up to her chest. In her last burst of bravery for the night, Chelsea threw off her covers and ran to the door. She locked it and then jumped back to her bed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Vacation

  “WHY NOW? WHY ALL of a sudden?” Chelsea asked.

  Wes stood in front of the couch where Don and Chelsea sat. The dog sat on the floor between them. It had been a quiet Saturday until Wes had called the impromptu meeting. Both of Wes’s children seemed intent on sleeping the day away, so he roused them and called them together in the living room to announce the big news.

  “Why not? We’re between big deliverables at work, so I can get the time off. I can certainly get time off for you two, and your mom has space in her schedule. Could there be a better time?”

  “What about Barney?” Don asked.

  Wes frowned. This was the part that he and his wife had not agreed on. She was a strong proponent that Barney should go back to the Umbers, at least during their vacation. Wes thought it would be easier on Don if they found a way to take the dog along. Sure, Barney couldn’t come to the beach. Sure, one of them would have to leave the beach and go take Barney out at least once or twice a day. Looking at Don’s pale, sickly skin, he thought it might do Don some good to have an excuse to get out of the sun every couple of hours.

  In the moment, he broke his agreement with Gwen.

  “Barney can come too,” Wes said.

  “What if he doesn’t want to?” Don asked.

  Wes cocked his head and Chelsea turned to look at her brother.

  “Pardon?”

  “I mean, what if mom doesn’t want him to?” Don asked.

  “I’ll speak to Gwen,” Wes said.
He already knew what he would say. He would tell his wife that Don had put his foot down—no Barney, no Don. She would go along with that.

  “I’m actually doing stuff at work. And what about my friends?” Chelsea asked.

  “It’s only a week,” Wes said.

  “When do we leave?” Don asked.

  “Today,” Wes said. “That’s the best part. We’ll just pack up a few things and hit the road. Your mom is going to meet us when her shift is done.”

  The kids dropped into mumbled complaints.

  “Let’s go. You’re wasting time we could be spending on the beach.”

  “You haven’t even said which beach,” Chelsea said.

  “You’ll find out when we get there,” Wes said.

  “He doesn’t know,” Don said. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “I might be awaiting exact instructions,” Wes said. “I know we’ll have a place to stay and I know which direction to start in. I’m sure we’ll get more information as we need it.”

  “Great,” Chelsea said. “It’s the house of one of Mom’s doctor friends. Probably smells like boiled beets or curry.”

  “Chelsea,” Wes said. His face was flat and serious.

  “What? I’m just kidding,” she said.

  # # # #

  They packed quickly. Don took more time packing up Barney’s pills and food than he did putting together a bag of his own clothes. When he came upstairs, Chelsea was gathering a bag of snacks from the kitchen. Don flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes while he listened to her work. Barney sat next to the couch and panted on Don’s leg. He seemed to understand that something was going to happen, and he didn’t want to be left out.

  Wes sat down a giant suitcase.

  “You kids ready?” Wes asked.

  “You need all that?” Chelsea asked. “I thought we were just going for a week.”

  “Your mom’s stuff is in here too,” Wes said.

  “Let’s go, Donny. We’re burning daylight.”

  Don dragged himself from the comfort of the couch and nearly tripped over Barney on his way to the door. The dog stayed right at his feet as he carried bags to the back of his dad’s car and hefted them inside. He contemplated whether to put the dog behind the row of rear seats, or in the back seat with him. Barney made the decision. He waited at the door to the back seat.

  Once in the car, Barney wanted to sniff every square inch of the seat. Chelsea watched from the passenger’s seat. She knew what Barney was smelling—he could smell Brandon’s blood. She’d snuck out earlier and cleaned it up the best she could, but the residue clearly remained.

  “Okay,” Wes said, climbing in behind the wheel. “Ready?”

  He pulled away from the garage.

  “Remember when you kids were little, we always used to sing a song when we drove?”

  “He’s six years older than me, Dad. We were never little at the same time,” Chelsea said.

  “He had just gotten back from his first sleep-away camp, and you were my precious little girl. We sang his camp songs and you just made noises and pretended to sing along. You don’t remember that? You were so cute.”

  “Can you tell us where we’re going?” Chelsea asked. “I want to message my friends.”

  “I told you, I don’t know. I await instructions,” he said. He tapped his pocket.

  “Great. We’ll probably get to the coast just to find out the trip is cancelled because Mom’s plans fell through,” Chelsea said.

  “I think you’ll find this trip will go better if you try to adopt a positive attitude, darling,” Wes said. “Notice that your brother isn’t complaining, and he’s here on his own free will.”

  “Wait, you mean I don’t have to come?” Don asked.

  “Of course not. You’re an adult,” Wes said.

  A light flashed on the dashboard and a bell sounded as Don opened his door.

  Wes glanced in his rearview mirror but didn’t slow down. They neared the end of the driveway.

  “I’m sure you can find a new place to stay before we get back,” Wes said. “You’ll have a whole week, and I’m sure you’ve saved up enough for a deposit on a really nice apartment.”

  Don closed his door. Chelsea laughed at him.

  # # # #

  In the back seat of his father’s SUV, with Barney on the seat next to him, Don let his eyes drift shut. He felt tired during the day more and more often lately. He was going to bed earlier, waking up at the same time, and doing nothing more strenuous than pushing a computer mouse around a desk, but he always felt drained. He reminded himself for the hundredth time that he should find his way to a doctor, but a little voice—a foreign voice—spoke up in the back of his head.

  “Don’t trust them,” it said. “They’ll poison you and steal your organs.”

  He didn’t believe the voice, but he also didn’t schedule an appointment. Perhaps the voice was having an influence after all. As the car rolled down the country road, Don felt the fog of sleep seeping into his brain.

  …The dream always started the same. In the beginning, Don knew it was a dream. He knew there were no real consequences—these were not real people, and this was not a real place. That point was underscored by Kyle, who stood right next to Don’s car. Both of these things only existed in dreams. In real life, Kyle was as dead as the car, so this must not be real life.

  Don loved that car. It was a canary yellow Oldsmobile and it was more than twice as old as Don. Don’s dad had picked it out, saying, “I’ll get you something old enough that I understand how to fix it.”

  As it turned out, they never really had to fix much. The car had been lovingly maintained by a man who was currently way too old to drive. The worst problem when they bought it was a dented drive shaft. Once they pulled the shaft and trucked it down to a shop that could balance it, the car ran smooth as silk. The engine was a powerhouse, easily accelerating the heavy car up to insanely illegal speeds. Don never found the limits of that engine as he and Kyle sped around the country roads.

  Wes helped the boys tighten up the suspension, so the car wouldn’t roll as much in the turns. The performance brought a more jarring ride—you could really feel every bump and pothole—but the car was responsive, especially in turns. That’s probably what kept Don out of the hospital, and kept him from having to face a manslaughter charge.

  On the day of the accident, Don didn’t drive recklessly at all. His parents had just dropped Don from their car insurance and forced him to purchase his own. It cost a fortune. More than half his take-home wages from his summer job at Crooklin’s would go to paying insurance, and Don studied carefully the rate increases he would incur if he got a speeding ticket. With just one ticket, his insurance cost would double. That would mean putting the car away before he even got to drive it to school in the fall. Don was on his best behavior.

  Thick afternoon fog was commonplace on the coast, but hardly ever came inland as far as Don’s house. It was a sunny summer afternoon, but the air had the chilly edge of fall. That chill reminded Don of changing leaves, and of school, and of his insurance. He kept the big yellow bomb five ticks below the speed limit.

  The woman looked right at him as she pulled out. Her driveway led right out to the main road, so you’d think she would be accustomed to waiting for traffic. Don saw her surprised eyes finally recognize the oncoming threat, but somehow her car kept rolling forward. He dragged his wheel to the left, trying to avoid the nose of her car, which had entered his lane.

  The fog was so thick. Don couldn’t even tell if someone was coming the opposite direction. All he could see was the woman and her little, modern import, about to be compacted by his two tons of old Detroit steel.

  The tight suspension responded instantly, and Don managed to swerve a few crucial feet to the left before the impact. Her airbags fired and her car crumpled. Everything worked exactly how it should, but the newer car couldn’t compete with the weight and strength of Don’s ancient vehicle. The Oldsmobile w
as built to withstand. Its frame was never meant to crumple, or bend, or give any ground. The bumper alone was a deadly weapon.

  As the two vehicles collided, Don’s body launched forward. Don and Wes had installed aftermarket seat belts—to satisfy the law, not because they anticipated the need. Don snapped to the end of the tether and flopped back to his seat as he watched the woman’s vehicle disintegrate on the other side of his windshield.

  Apart from the hole in his radiator and a flat tire, Don could have driven his huge Oldsmobile from the accident. All the damage was incurred by the woman’s vehicle, and her body, of course. She would walk again, but only with prosthetics from the knees down. The bottoms of her legs had been eaten by Don’s canary-yellow bomb. The crash also took one of her fingers and her left eye. Don walked away with a sore neck and a fear of driving. He’d let his license expire and only got a new one when he turned twenty-one—mostly so he could go out and drink legally in bars.

  He woke covered in sweat. Barney’s head was in his lap and the dog had his ears folded back, like he was worried. They were on the highway.

  “Are we going to Hampton Beach?” Chelsea asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wes said.

  “Old Orchard?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Cape Cod?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Acadia?”

  “I don’t know.” Wes made his voice sound robotic.

  “He said beach, Chelse, he didn’t say ocean,” Don said.

  “Oh gross, are we going to some stupid lake? Please tell me we’re not going to spend a week at Winnipesaukee or Sebago or something. Seriously? I’ll die.”

  Wes didn’t say anything, but a smile had crept to the corner of his mouth. They were going the wrong way for any of those lakes, but Don didn’t bring up that fact. He liked to watch Chelsea imagine the worst. Even with her complaints, he could see that she was warming up to the idea of the trip. She was probably already thinking of how she might sneak away and find summer parties with new people. She thought that Don didn’t know about her late night socializing, but he did. After all, he’d done exactly the same thing several years earlier. Who would be better at recognizing the sounds of someone rolling the car down the driveway in the middle of the night?