The Deep Wood (Sunshine Walkingstick Book 2)

by Celia Roman

  Riley.

  I flinched against the automatic hope what popped into me.

  “What?” David asked.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled, and fished my cellphone outta my pocket. I thumbed it on and, sure enough, Riley’d texted me an all’s well. Relief washed over me, so quick it took my breath.

  “You ok, Sunny?”

  “Yeah. I’m ok.” I texted Riley back around unsteady fingers and a pattering heartbeat, then tucked my phone away again. “It was just Riley.”

  “Just Riley?”

  I stuck my eyes to the darkened tree line, too stubborn to give David the satisfaction of acknowledging the pointed humor behind his question. Let him think what he wanted. Folks always did, in my experience, and usually for the worse.

  Good man that he was, David launched into a spirited description of his last trip abroad, effectively changing the subject. ‘Long and along, enjoyment got the better of me and I relaxed into my seat, and even went so far as to play along with his mild flirting.

  The scamp.

  ‘Round about seven, give or take, David pulled out the feast he prepared for us and we et it right there in the car, still nattering away whilst the conversation wandered there and back again. Danged if the meal weren’t a good’un. Fried chicken tenders, potato salad, baked beans, and the best rolls I had in a long time. We topped it off with some good ol’ fashioned sweet tea, and decided between us to leave the chocolate cake he brung for dessert ‘til our bellies settled.

  A four layer cake, each one a different kind of chocolate, held together with a fancy buttercream icing. My mouth watered just hearing the description. Man, that boy sure could cook.

  After supper was eat and packed away, David said, “Is it safe enough for a trip to the little boy’s room?”

  I clucked my tongue at him. “This is a stake out, not a picnic.”

  “Everyone has to…” He sucked in a breath and wrapped a hand around my upper arm. When he spoke again, his voice was flat and tense, and barely more’n a whisper. “Don’t look to your left.”

  I stilled my head against the reflex to do just that. “Why not?”

  “Because unless I’m sadly mistaken, that giant beast over there is Ew’ah, the Spirit of Madness and the reason Teus suggested you find a Wampus Cat. One look could drive us both insane.”

  I went rigid as a steel beam. ‘Course, it was. Only it’d showed up a mite earlier’n I’d expected it to. “Kindly need to know information, David.”

  “I was getting to it.”

  “Any reason you can look at it and I can’t?”

  “I didn’t look, darling girl. Just caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye. What do we do now?”

  A high-pitched scream erupted from the direction of the garage, and my heart leapt into my throat. That’d sounded an awful like something big had spotted us and weren’t none too happy about two scrawny humans trespassing on its territory.

  I risked a peek toward my left, careful to keep my gaze well along the ground, and near about sank through my seat. A shadow emerged from the woods and morphed into a monstrous critter, humanoid in shape, but otherwise not like anything I ever seen before. It stood upright on two obscenely muscled legs what ended in giant, clawed paws. The arms was the same, massive and muscled, and the hands was like the feet. The torso was hunched over and malformed, and its skin was an oily red-black, gleaming like a hot coal in the near black night.

  That’s all I saw in my one glimpse of the critter, but it was enough for experience to do a little talking. A gun and a knife wasn’t gonna take that thing down without it doing enough harm for permanent damage, and them was the only weapons I had with me. We was sitting ducks out here, and David, sweet, naïve David what’d only ever seen one monster, and it from a distance? Well, I couldn’t risk him, could I?

  I twisted the ignition on and backed outta the driveway quick like, squealing tires against the blacktop.

  David’s hands shot out and grasped the edge of his seat and the door handle in white-knuckled grips. Soon as we cleared the driveway and was driving down the street, he twisted ‘round in his seat and stared out the rear window. “Hurry, Sunny. It’s right behind us.”

  I glanced automatically into the rear view mirror and my heart leapt right into my throat. The Ew’ah was down on all fours, running hard straight toward us. I gunned the engine, and the IROC leapt forward. I focused on the winding road ahead, taking ever curve fast as I dared. A loud crunch came from the back of the car, and I winced. Please dear Lord, don’t let that be the Ew’ah jumping onto the car.

  David hissed in a breath. “Shit. It’s right on us.”

  Well, that weren’t comforting a’tall. I floored the gas pedal into the curve ahead of us. The IROC skidded sideways, fishtailing through the curve, and I gritted my teeth. We was almost back to Warwoman Road. If that thing chased us that far, what in the world was I gonna do? We was right on the outskirts of Clayton, and even on a Monday night, the streets wasn’t exactly empty, ‘specially around supper time.

  “Ok.” The word sighed outta David. “It stopped.”

  A sneak peek in the rearview mirror confirmed that. The Ew’ah was planted dead center of Polly Gap Road, staring after us like it meant business. I shuddered. Close call. Too close, really. What in the world was I thinking to bring David along like I done?

  David turned back ‘round facing forward and sighed out a huge breath. “That looked nothing like the last monster I saw.”

  I near about laughed as I slowed for the turn onto Warwoman Road. If I hadn’t knowed for a fact he was joking, I woulda schooled him on monster anatomy.

  Me, Sunshine Walkingstick, teaching a muckity muck a thing or two about life. Never thought I’d see the day.

  I cleared my throat and said, “That Ew’ah shouldn’ta showed up for another hour or two.”

  “Clearly, it had other plans.”

  I did laugh then, couldn’t help it. “How’d you like your first monster hunt?”

  “Second, darling girl,” he corrected. “I’m just sorry I didn’t get a picture.”

  “You reckon it woulda took?”

  He grinned and his hands loosened on his seat. “We could always go back and try.”

  The monster’s malignant form popped into my head and I shuddered. “Thank ye kindly, David, but I reckon we best get that Wampus Cat before we tackle the Ew’ah again.”

  We drove in silence for a while, winding our way through the late supper traffic toward Hwy. 76 and home, me mulling over the Ew’ah. Its paws was about the same size as them I found out at Jazz and BobbiJean’s. The scream had been about right, too, ‘less BobbiJean heard wrong. Whatever kinda monster the Ew’ah was, a demon like David said or something else, I figured its belly needed filling, too, just like ever other critter I encountered.

  But this’un was one of the more dangerous, if what David dug up was true. The Spirit of Madness. I shoulda never brung him along with me ‘til I knowed what I was up against.

  David laid a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t say that.”

  “Say what?”

  “That you shouldn’t have brought me along.”

  I winced. Me and my dadgum mouth. “Sorry. Guess I’m too used to my own company.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said, firm and tough. “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

  A laugh sputtered outta me before I could stop it. “You call facing down a monster fun?”

  “What would you call it?”

  Dangerous. Stupid. And a lot of other words besides. I finally settled on, “Not fun.”

  He laughed and squeezed my arm, then settled down to take notes for me whilst the memory of our encounter was fresh and new and still a mite more terrifying than was comfortable.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Soon as I got home, I called Miss Jenny and delivered the bad news to her voicemail. Weren’t no getting rid of that Ew’ah without a good, stiff dose of help.

  Ha
ng it all. I hated admitting Teus was right, but he nailed it in one. Which sorta suggested to me that maybe he shoulda been more explicit in the dadgum details instead of making me and David sit through a monster sighting. A little more intel and we coulda stayed home and had ourselves a picnic at the kitchen table.

  Or planned the fall party David reminded me of on his way out the door and home.

  I picked up my resident critter’s cage and set it on the sofa beside me. Its eyes was huge and glimmering, and maybe a little sad. Shoulda had it figured out by now. It’d been in that cage too long for health and well-being, no matter what it was.

  I flicked a finger gently against one of the bent wires. “I’d let you outta this thing if you told me what you was.”

  Which was the God’s honest truth. If it was a good critter, it could go free long as it kept its nose clean and off my radar. If it was bad, well. It’d be outta the cage, anyhow.

  It blinked them big eyes and sniffed, and I thumped my head against the back of the sofa, too tired to drudge up an ounce of concern one way or t’other. Let the stubborn cuss hold its tongue. Weren’t no never mind to me.

  My cellphone buzzed, startling me outta sleep. I yawned and scrubbed the heels of my palms across my face, then checked the notification.

  Another text from Riley.

  My heart flipped over as I thumbed into the message. Maybe he had time to talk for a while ‘stead of just texting. Don’t get me wrong. Texting was as good a way of communicating as anything, far as I was concerned, but weren’t nothing like hearing somebody’s voice, ‘specially somebody you missed.

  And dang his hide, I sure did miss the ol’ coot.

  I shook my head and read the text message, and froze where I sat.

  Your time has come, Sunshine Walkingstick.

  Oh, no. No, no, no.

  I fumbled the phone and dropped it, dug it outta the water colored shag carpeting with trembling fingers. Three times, I tried to text back, and finally give up. I thumbed in a call and placed the phone to my ear.

  The critter shifted in its cage. “No,” it croaked, and I swung around and stared. It wrapped its tiny hands around two bars and pressed its crooked nose to the space in between. “Bad mojo, sun girl. Baaaaad.”

  What the devil? I been trying to figure this critter out for a coon’s age, and it chose now to open its craw and speak?

  A female voice drifted to me through the phone, sounding ancient and smooth, like wind whispering through the lonesome deep. “You love this boy.”

  Betty Walkingstick, ten to one. My hand tightened around the phone of its own free will. “What’ve you done to him?”

  “He’s safe enough.”

  “How long is he gonna stay that way?”

  She laughed, a rich, rolling chuckle what shot icy fear bone deep, and I took that as answer enough.

  “When and where, old woman?” I said.

  The laughter cut off abrupt as it begun. “Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to?”

  Silence clicked against my ear. I yanked the phone away and stared blankly at the red call ended strip as my breath stuttered in and outta my lungs. Betty Walkingstick had Riley. Holy mother of God, what was I gonna do?

  “Baaaad mojo,” the critter said.

  “That ain’t helping me,” I snapped, and cringed. Weren’t its fault Riley was knee deep in trouble, was it?

  ‘Bout that time, hard footsteps bounded up the porch, then the front door opened and Trey burst through, his chest heaving on every breath. “We got a serious problem, Sunny.”

  I shoved myself off the couch and thrust my phone out at him. “Well, I got a more serious’un. Riley’s done gone and got himself kidnapped.”

  “Yeah, about that.” He sucked in a gulp of air, blew it out again. “There’s a mess of painters up at the trailer. One of ‘em turned human and said as how I best come get you or we was all dead.”

  I muttered a curse under my breath. I guess that answered one question, anyhow. Like as not, them painters was sent by my gramma, the scheming hag, and danged if I’d let one loose without it leading me straight to her.

  Looked like she was right about one thing. Somebody’s time had come, though I couldn’ta sworn whether it was hers or mine.

  Me and Trey grabbed guns outta my stash, him a shotgun, me my 1911 and a Glock 26 9mm to balance each other out. I only slowed down that long ‘cause Trey made me. If I’da been on my own, I woulda raced out the trailer in a blind panic, chasing my heart right into a hornet’s nest of sharp claws and sharper teeth.

  Damn Riley’s stubborn hide. Next time, maybe he’d listen to me and stay home where he belonged.

  Last thing before we left, I checked my daddy’s hunting knife, made sure it was situated just right against my ankle in case I needed it in a sudden hurry. Trey borrowed my spare and strapped it to his waist in Daddy’s old scabbard. Thank the good Lord above I was sentimental enough to hang on to ever scrap of my daddy I could.

  Less than five minutes after he come busting through my front door, me and Trey was back out it again, heading up the trail as fast as we could manage in the light of the flashlights we each carried, augmenting the thin moonlight filtering down on us through emaciated tree limbs. The deep wood was silent around us, holding its breath while we chugged up the trail toward Fame’s, like it was wondering what mess we was gonna find, same as me.

  I could near about feel the eyes of something not quite right on my skin, watching me and Trey run. No need to wonder what nature of critter it was, but I sworn, the skin on my nape crawled and jittered the entire time, all the more seeing as how not a single dead leaf rustled along the forest floor. I knowed they was there, pacing us. Stalking us, like Betty Walkingstick done me when she come after me in painter form.

  Two-natured critters. Who’da thunk I’d ever find myself descended from a monster?

  When we approached the final bend, Trey held out a hand, slowing me to a near walk without laying a finger on me. He motioned ahead and shot me a scowl, and I didn’t need a single word to hearken his meaning. Going in hot and heavy might surprise the painters, though I doubted it, good as their hearing likely was, but it’d also rob us of a chance to survey the scene.

  And we needed ever advantage we could muster.

  So slow and easy it was, each step accompanied by a ragged, foggy breath and muscles burning under the strain of sprinting uphill. Trey flicked his flashlight off and tucked it in his back pocket, then shouldered his shotgun, barrel pointed low in the direction of Fame’s trailer. I played the beam of my flashlight along the ground, lighting his way and mine, and palmed my 1911 with my free hand. Its weight was heavy against my flesh, reassuring. Calming even, in a way nothing else could be.

  Two painters stepped outta the woods onto the trail ahead of us. One glanced over its shoulder, eyed me real hard, then padded on like we was about as important as an ant was to a grasshopper. T’other didn’t even bother to look around. It joined the half dozen or so painters arrayed in front of Fame’s trailer, sliding in between two sleekly muscled cats dark as midnight and oil.

  Fame and Missy and Gentry was standing on the front porch, backlit by bright light spilling through the open door behind ‘em. Each held a gun, Fame and Gentry hunting rifles, and Missy a shotgun.

  Bless her, but she never could hit the broad side of a barn.

  I was never so relieved in all my life to see ‘em holding their own like they was. My relief was kindly short lived. An old woman stepped around the side of the trailer, bracketed by two folks I knowed all too well, my grampa Johnny and my cousin Libby. All three was nekkid as the day they was born, and I didn’t need two guesses to know why.

  Weren’t them what concerned me in that moment. Nope. Was the dozen more painters sliding outta the black night behind ‘em what held my attention. Too many critters, not enough guns. I lowered mine a mite and waited for my long lost grandma to say what she come to say.

  It didn’t take her
long.

  She stopped even with the end of the porch, haloed by the circle of light cast by a security lamp, and swung her head up toward Fame, shifting the long gray hair hanging loose around her round, ageless face. “You should’ve left her to die.”

  My heart cringed at those words. Whatever misguided hope I held that me and this woman could someday look on each other with kindness shriveled up and died.

  Fame spat onto the wood holding him above the painters. “Fuck you, old woman.”

  I swallowed past bitter regret and a longing I only just discovered, and said, “Where is he?”

  “Safe enough,” Betty said.

  I lifted the 1911 and aimed it straight at her heart. “That ain’t the answer I was looking to hear.”

  She smiled. For all the world, it was a beautiful smile, sweet and kind, topped by the rosy apples of her plump cheeks and filled with small, white teeth. Her eyes, on the other hand, glittered cold as the stars speckling the night sky above us.

  I hadn’t noticed the cold ‘til then, but when I did, it seeped into my skin, chilling me straight to the bone. Sweat froze on my skin under my clothes, felt like, and the next air I sucked into my lungs hurt, it was so cold.

  And them three was standing out in it wearing nothing but their skin. Human skin at that.

  Libby stepped forward, capturing my gaze. “Do you challenge this woman?”

  The painters shifted uneasily between us. Some glanced back at me, others snarled at Libby, growling soft and dangerous. She never blinked, just looked at me steady like she was trying to impart some hidden message to me.

  The only message I got was that she coulda told me she was my grandma’s right hand painter, so to speak. The betrayal was lost in the icy numb surrounding my heart. The only thing I could do now was hope she hadn’t lied about ever thing else when she brung her young’un to my trailer and showed me what she was.

  What I shoulda been.

  My spine went poker stiff. Weren’t no shoulda beens about me. I was who I was, the half-breed daughter of a stone cold killer and a man what run off to be with another man. My mama and daddy made me what I was from the time I was born up to that very moment, and this old woman standing so serene in front of me, she shaped ‘em both with her own cruel mindset.