Blood Ghost (The Hunting Tree Book 2)

by Ike Hamill

  Don was starting to feel better now that the dream was fading. He was almost accustomed to the dream after all these years. He’d wake up with his heart beating fast and remind himself that it was all over. He’d already lived through all that pain and regret, and the worst of it was over. Someday he’d learn to completely forgive himself and then the dreams might disappear completely. It would be easier if he didn’t still get the letters.

  As far as he knew, Don’s parents didn’t know about the letters. They came in a nondescript business envelope bearing only his name and address. There was never any return address, and the postmark just said Manchester, NH. Inside, the woman blamed Don for all her trouble. She told him how difficult everything was without legs and how she couldn’t earn anywhere near enough to live a good life. She told him that if he’d had the sense to drive a normal car, she would have come out of the accident with only a couple of scrapes. She firmly believed that all her problems were due to Don’s poor taste in cars.

  Don told himself that the woman was crazy and that the accident was all her fault. Deep down, he didn’t believe it. He knew the accident was retribution for all the times he’d driven like a maniac and come away unscathed. All that recklessness just caught up with him.

  “Wait a second,” Chelsea said. “We’re not going in the right direction to go to a lake. We have to be going to the ocean. If there are waves, can I get a wetsuit? I want to learn to surf and it’s too cold to be out there very long without a wetsuit.”

  “I’m sure it’s warm enough,” Wes said.

  “Ha! I knew it was the ocean. You pretty much just admitted it,” Chelsea said. She smiled back at Don.

  “I’m going to need a surfboard too, but I can just rent one of those. I don’t know which kind to get yet, so I don’t need you to buy me one yet.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” Wes said. “Perhaps you could spend some of your own money if you want a surfboard.”

  “I can’t,” Chelsea said. “You said I have to pay for my own car insurance, remember?”

  “And sometimes the things we want are precluded by the things we need,” Wes said.

  “This isn’t a teachable moment, Dad. You forced me to go on this trip to the beach, and I’m simply outlining the tools I’ll need to acquire so I won’t be miserable. After all, if I’m miserable, then I’m likely to act in ways that make you miserable. Does that make sense to you?”

  “I see we have more negotiations in our future, young child,” Wes said with a smile.

  Don leaned his head against the window and watched the passing scenery. After changing roads, Wes exited the highway and found a gas station. He spent a long time on the phone while his kids sat in the car. Don decided to take Barney for a quick walk and passed by his father. He didn’t catch any of the conversation, but he heard the frustrated tone. When they were all back in the car, Wes’s mood seemed much darker.

  “Can you tell us where we’re going now?” Chelsea asked.

  “Yes. It’s a private house on the ocean in Pritchett, Maine,” Wes said.

  “I knew it,” Chelsea said.

  “And Barney has to be on his best behavior,” Wes said over his shoulder. “These owners normally don’t allow dogs in their house. They’re making a special allowance for us, so we don’t want to make them regret their decision. Do you understand?”

  When Don didn’t reply, Wes adjusted his mirror to make eye contact with his son. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Don said. “No problem. Is that what you were arguing about?”

  Wes moved his mirror back and took his time before answering the question.

  “No,” Wes said. Wes scratched the back of his head. “Your mother will not be able to join us on this vacation, at least not at the beginning. She may be able to get away for the end.”

  “What?” Chelsea asked. She was trying for, but fell a little short of, righteous indignation. She was unable to hide the joy in her voice. “This whole trip was her idea. Why do we even have to go if she doesn’t have to?”

  “Chelsea,” Wes said with a frown. “We should feel privileged to get to spend a week at a beautiful house with a private beach. This isn’t punishment. Please try to pull together a little sympathy for your mother, who is literally saving lives every day. She was pulled away at the last minute.”

  “She’s always pulled away. Everyone’s more important than her family,” Chelsea said.

  “If you’re suggesting that saving a child’s life is more important than a beach vacation, I don’t think anyone would argue with you,” Wes said.

  Chelsea crossed her arms. “Isn’t vacation important too? Don’t you need some time away to refresh yourself so you can continue to function at the top of your game?”

  “Is that something your mom said?”

  “Yup. When she told me I had to go skiing with you instead of staying home to study for my finals last November. She just didn’t want me in the house so she wouldn’t have to trouble herself with any parenting,” Chelsea said.

  “One day you’ll look back and regret how hard you’re being on your mother,” Wes said. “Just remember not to say anything so mean you have to regret it forever.”

  “Whatever,” Chelsea said. “I haven’t even said anything that mean.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Cousins

  MORRIS CAME IN AND kicked the door shut behind him. He set his big box down on a chair.

  “What are those for?” he asked, pointing to the coffee table.

  “I’m making rock salt rounds,” Roland said. He gestured with his knife. On one side of the table, he had a box of shotgun shells. In the middle, he had a bowl of discarded birdshot and and box of rock salt. On the far side, he’d stacked several reloaded shells.

  “There’s about six things wrong with what you’re doing,” Morris said as he took a seat.

  Merritt came from the direction of the refrigerator. He popped open the top off a ginger ale and sat down.

  “I think you’re about to get another lesson from the master hunter,” Merritt said.

  “Didn’t we decide that salt was the right way to go? Isn’t this an efficient way to deliver salt to a target?” Roland asked.

  “What did you just tell me yesterday—this lady is too fast to get a good shot at. Isn’t that what you told me?” Morris asked.

  “In some circumstances. You’d rather go out unarmed?”

  “Yes I would,” Morris said. “I’d rather go out unarmed than be shot in the side accidentally with rock salt and die slowly while in terrible pain.”

  “Come on, Morris,” Merritt said. “We’ve been in a lot of scrapes, and nobody here has ever shot anyone accidentally.”

  “Unless you have any other objections, I’m going to finish reloading these shells,” Roland said.

  “Suit yourself,” Morris said. “You might want consider re-crimping the ends of those things though. Unless you want to misfire every other round, that is.”

  “I thought I’d seal them with wax, like Grandpa used to.”

  “That would work if they’d been wax-sealed to begin with. Grandpa’s rounds had an extra plug under the wax. Your rounds rely on the crimp to give them a kick,” Morris said.

  “Okay, forget it. We’ll just go out unarmed then,” Roland said.

  Merritt laughed. “I can’t believe you’re going to fall for his bullshit. He’s working you like a donkey.”

  “I’m trying to keep you guys from killing each other, is what I’m trying to do,” Morris said.

  “Are we going to bitch at each other all afternoon, or are we going to make a plan?” Merritt asked.

  “You got any ideas?” Morris asked.

  “I think I might,” Merritt said. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot. We’ve been talking about following the kid when he leaves the house and then sneaking up while she’s taking his blood, right?”

  “Yes,” Roland said. “I’ve seen her when she’s clamped onto y
ou. She was dead to the world. That Mike guy walked right up and put a lighter under her ear when she was hanging from your neck.”

  “Right, but this time’s going to be different,” Merritt said.

  Roland and Morris waited for Merritt to finish his thought.

  “You’re forgetting about the dog,” Merritt said. “When that kid walked back to his house, he was oblivious. The dog though—that big dog seemed pretty tuned in to what was going on. I think if we hadn’t been downwind, he would have been right on us.”

  “So the dog is trained to keep watch for the kid?” Roland asked.

  “Maybe not trained. Maybe entranced or something. When she gets you, it’s almost like she takes over your brain. I think maybe she’s controlling the dog or at least has some sway over him.”

  “So we try to sneak up on the lady and that young man…” Morris began.

  “And that dog is going to be all over us. He’s got a better nose than we do, and he sees better in the dark. In the woods, he’d be pretty dangerous.”

  “I’ve dealt with wolves before. A dog is no big deal,” Roland said.

  “Maybe not, but maybe the dog just slows us down enough for the lady to get away. Doesn’t have to hurt us, just has to raise the alarm,” Merritt said.

  “And then we’ve lost another opportunity. So what’s your plan then?” Morris asked.

  “How about instead of following the dog and the guy, we drive them?” Merritt asked.

  “Where to?” Roland asked.

  “To a place where we’ve set a trap. It will have to be subtle. They can’t know that we’re pushing them in a specific direction or else she’ll never meet up with them. We just maneuver them to a spot where we’ve got the advantage,” Merritt said.

  “I thought the lady dictated where to meet. I thought she called him to her,” Morris said.

  “Within reason, yes,” Merritt said. “So we’ll have to drive her somewhat as well.”

  The three considered the idea as Roland picked up his shotgun shells. He slid the intact shells back into the box and sealed it. Then he picked up some of the birdshot and rolled it between his fingers.

  “Do we have time to execute whatever you’re planning?” Roland asked.

  “I suspect we do,” Merritt said.

  # # # #

  When they’d all agreed on the details, Roland, Morris, and Merritt worked all afternoon in the woods to set up their trap. They took down several trees and set up some hunting stands to disguise their efforts. They vacated the forest before dark, hoping that their preparations wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

  They played cards in the trailer while they waited for evening to progress to night.

  “Did you talk to the kid again?” Merritt asked.

  “Who?” Morris asked.

  “Davey?”

  “Nope. Haven’t talked to him since last week.”

  “What did he say back then?” Merritt asked.

  “I told you what he said—she’s only seeing that young man and she sings to him. All the stuff you already know.”

  “I thought there was something else you said,” Merritt said. “Maybe we should call him again. Seems like maybe there’s something we’re missing.”

  “Can’t. Like I said, he called me. He was using some other kid’s phone.”

  “We could always call the mom,” Roland said. “Is it important?” he asked his brother.

  “No, I guess not. I’m just probably misremembering something,” Merritt said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  David

  AFTER DINNER, DAVID WENT up to his room to read his book for awhile. He normally liked to read in his mom’s office—the room had a plush chair with its own lamp, and a table where he could set a snack—but tonight Susan and her friends were watching some loud movie. David stretched out on his bed, read his book, and struggled to keep his eyes open as the day’s exertion caught up with him. Baseball camp was taxing enough, but today the coach had been angry and made them all run laps in the heat.

  The book fell from his hands as he drifted to sleep.

  He saw the inside of the trailer. He saw his friend Morris and his friend’s cousins, Roland and Merritt. Along with the three men, on the far end of the couch, he saw Chester—the deputy who’d died helping David’s family. David saw this scene from above, as if he was hovering above the trailer and could see right through the roof. As he watched, Chester looked up, spotted David, and waved him down to the group. Chester looked sad. He pointed to Merritt. David heard what the man said.

  “I thought there was something else you said,” Merritt said. “Maybe we should call him again. Seems like maybe there’s something we’re missing.”

  David didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. His eyes locked with those of Chester’s ghost. David understood immediately what Merritt, Roland, and Morris were forgetting. They were forgetting about the other person. David told Morris, but the man must have forgotten.

  David had said, “It’s not the Devil, but she does give blood to someone. I can’t see who it is. That’s all I know.”

  Suddenly, whether intuition or deduction, David knew the rest. The witch in the woods, the one he was afraid to name out loud—Mare—she wasn’t just giving the blood to someone, she was beholden to that person. And these men were about to try to catch Mare. They were going to head out into the woods to drive the witch into a trap where they would try to steal her skin. But the men had forgotten David’s warning that Mare and her new boyfriend weren’t the only ones involved in this transaction. And the third—the person to whom Mare owed the blood—might be the most dangerous thing out in those woods.

  That’s why dead Chester looked sad. He looked sad because his relatives thought they were setting a trap, but instead they were about to walk into one. David thrashed in the dream, trying to flee the dark certainty of the future awaiting Morris, Roland, and Merritt. In his bed, his body twitched. He remained asleep. His little boy breath came in tiny puffs.

  # # # #

  The interior of the trailer disappeared and David was left with peaceful dark. Inky black wrapped around him like a blanket. David felt warm, comfortable, and safe. He forgot about the men and their peril. He knew only solitude and contentment. He stayed there, hugging his knees to his chest, until a thin thread of moonlight appeared. It seemed almost like white liquid running downhill as it began to fill his little nest with illumination. David felt his tiny naked body uncurl and stretch. He was a flower and the moonlight beckoned him to open to the night.

  As he wormed his way out of his underground lair, David realized that he was shedding his skin—leaving it behind so he could undertake a journey. It was time again to leave his happy home and head north on this beautiful night. He was a butterfly and this tight little earthen hole was his chrysalis. He was Mare and his Master had ordered him to leave this place forever. After all this time, he’d finally become accustomed to the short summers and terrible winters. He’d grown accustomed to the thick blood of these skittish denizens.

  David shook his head—in real life and in the dream—he didn’t want to be inside Mare. He pushed out of her consciousness. He was still tethered to her strange little mind and body, but he separated himself from her identity. He heard Mare’s thoughts like a withered old voice.

  “I could have fought off those clumsy savages,” Mare said in David’s head. “I owned one of them before, and I could have mastered him once more.”

  As David dream-watched, Mare sprang from the forest floor without her skin. The skin was left behind in her earthen den. Her body was made of cool red fire. She hovered and then rose between the branches, fluttering amidst the green leaves and weaving between them, careful not to touch. Mare’s fire gave off no heat and no light. She burned silently and the flames rippled as she turned north.

  On the air she saw conversations, like magnetic contours, and gravitated towards changes in language. It was one of her oldest secrets. If you could move to a pl
ace where people spoke differently, they would take longer to discover you. Cold hard facts move quickly between dialects, but legends and whispers bounce at language barriers and are lost. Mare saw a change as she moved north and west. She saw it in the distance, over the rocky terrain. She gained speed as she flew above the trees.

  David’s heart raced as his dream-eyes took in the landscape below. He felt no exhilaration, only fear. What if Mare cast him aside and he fell back to the earth? Some deep part of his brain understood that this was a dream, but couldn’t he still die? David wanted to break free. Instead, his fear made him clutch at Mare, afraid that leaving her would plunge him through the night air to the forest far below. They rose higher.

  “That man was almost through anyway,” Mare thought. The words echoed in Davey’s head. “I suppose that after a few more nights he would have succumbed.” She laughed to herself at the thought. “I’ll miss the dog more than the young man. What a clever companion. Such a vigorous vessel.”

  Below Mare, they passed over an enormous lake, dotted with small islands. David wondered at their speed—were they flying as fast as an airplane? Faster? He had only the distant lights of the dwellings below. Above, a thin cloud passed in front of the moon and blurred the world.

  Mare flew higher as they approached jagged, rocky peaks. David felt her shudder. She didn’t like being exposed above rocks. She wanted thick branches and leaves and soft soil to burrow into. She passed quickly down the other side of the mountains and threaded through the valleys. They crossed over a wide river and the terrain grew even more hilly and verdant. He felt Mare smile as she spied all the new opportunities below.

  “Perhaps I’ll settle near a small community and prey on a farmer,” she thought. “I love the smell of damp earth in the blood. Farmers are so much more connected to the ground than hunters. They live and breathe their small patch of land until they take root themselves in the dark, fertile soil.”