“Yeah,” Jason said. Travis Young, the fat kid, walked up behind Blake. He grinned at Jason, but it was the mean, hard grin of someone who got off on inflicting pain—like a kid who enjoyed squashing bugs.
The three boys crowded him, sweaty, breathing hard, primed for violence. Jason didn’t have space to run or even to swing a fist.
“We’re gonna take a trip to the woods behind the store,” Blake said. A switchblade appeared in his hand as if by magic. “If you give me any shit, Brooks, I’ll skewer you like a shish kebab.”
“Yeah, sure, anything you say. Just don’t kill me.”
Blake laughed. “Don’t worry, dude, if you stay cool, I won’t kill you. I’ll only do what I’ve been wanting to do all along: kick your ass so bad that, when I’m done, you’ll wish you were dead.”
He poked Jason in the stomach with the knife. Jason held back a cry of pain. Travis grabbed one of his arms; Bryan grabbed the other.
“Get moving,” Blake said.
* * *
As they rounded the side of the supermarket, moving out of view of the people in the parking lot, Jason heard a noise like keys jingling on a chain. The next thing he knew, Travis and Bryan wrenched his arms behind his back, and they slapped a pair of cold handcuffs onto his wrists.
Like a match enkindling tinder, the click of the engaging handcuffs ignited Jason’s imagination. What were they going to do to him?
Imagining their possible schemes escalated his anxiety. His tongue felt stuck to the roof of his mouth, as if he had tried to eat a spoonful of glue. Sweat streamed down his chest and back.
He attempted to force apart his bound wrists. No good.
He still wore the .22 in the ankle holster, concealed under his jeans. He would’ve used the pistol to scare the kids away if his hands weren’t chained. So much for the usefulness of a gun.
About two hundred yards behind the store, thick forest thrived. The huge elms, oaks, and maples cast such deep shade that it seemed as though night had fallen underneath their leafy boughs. The area looked deserted, too.
Dark, desolate woods. Bound hands. A knife at his back. What did all of that add up to?
Maybe a beating. Or maybe murder.
The thought of murder did not seem to be a product of his overactive imagination. Sure, Blake had promised that he was only going to beat him up, but how reliable was a promise from a person like him? A kid who, from all available evidence, was as psychopathic as a convicted killer? His chances of winning the state lottery were greater than the chances of Blake’s word meaning anything.
And these days, kids slaughtered one another all the time. Bullies no longer stole your lunch money and sent you home with a black eye. Instead, they stole your money, your jewelry, your designer clothing, beat you half to death with a pistol, then used that same gun to blow your brains out just for the hell of it. Blake could do anything to him. Anything.
His heartbeat raced.
They left the asphalt behind the supermarket and entered the forest. Dank shadows embraced them like old friends, and the humid air smelled of rotted wood and dead things. Tall weeds crunched underneath their feet, clouds of buzzing insects fleeing out of their path.
For an instant, Blake eased the blade off Jason; Jason heard him slam the bike to the ground. Then Blake was on him again, pressing the knife in his back.
“Are you getting scared?” Blake said. “Are you about to piss your pants?” Jason did not reply. He did not want to hear the fear in his voice, afraid that hearing it would somehow intensity his terror.
Blake poked him with the blade.
“Answer me, boy. Are you scared?”
“Yeah, man, I’m scared, okay? Who wouldn’t be scared?”
“Did you hear that, dudes?” Blake chuckled. “The dick-head’s gonna shit his pants.”
Travis and Bryan, both of them gripping Jason’s arms, laughed.
“I’m gonna get you for kicking me in the nuts, asshole,” Travis said. He giggled. “I’m gonna smash your balls until you puke.”
Bryan tightened his hot grip on Jason’s arm. “I’m gonna beat you just because I feel like it. I haven’t kicked anyone’s ass since ... oh, yesterday, I guess.” He laughed.
I’m dead, Jason thought. I’ll need plastic surgery after these guys finish with me ... and if Blake goes overboard, maybe a casket.
Deep in the forest, they reached a small clearing. The area had a look that made Jason suspect this was a hideaway for Blake and his buddies. Tamped-down grass. Obscene messages etched into the bark of surrounding trees. A mound of ashes and charred wood in the center, the ghost of a recent campfire. Cigarette butts, beer bottles, and empty potato chip bags littering the ground.
“Home at last,” Blake said. Jason felt the knife leave his back, then a sharp whack against the side of his head. He cried out and stumbled forward, but the two boys did not let him go. They laughed while his head throbbed in pain.
“Goddamn,” Blake said, behind Jason. “I smack him, and he whimpers like a girl. You’re a pussy.”
“Fuck you, “Jason said. Blake grunted. Jason heard the click of Blake sheathing his blade. Putting it away in favor of another weapon?
“Turn that asshole around, dudes,” Blake said. “The fun’s about to start.”
Roughly they spun Jason around to face Blake. Blake slipped gleaming brass knuckles onto his fingers. Grinning, he clenched and unclenched his hand.
‘We’re gonna start out with some face rearrangement,” Blake said. “After that, Travis’ll crush your nuts; Bryan’ll do whatever the hell he wants, then I’m taking another turn. We believe in everyone getting an equal opportunity to kick ass, don’t we, boys?”
“Hell, yeah!” Travis and Bryan said.
I’m dead, Jason thought.
Thunder rumbled.
Jason’s heart began to pound harder. He recognized the thunder. It was unmistakable.
They were in Thunderland.
The Stranger must be there, too. What was he planning to do now?
The woods, already dark, darkened as thunderclouds covered the sky.
“Shit,” Bryan said, looking skyward. “Dude, it’s gonna rain.”
Thunder clapped, a deep-throated boom that made the trees tremble.
“I don’t give a fuck about some storm,” Blake said. “I’m kicking your ass, Brooks, even if the sky falls down on me.”
Lightning flickered, briefly illuminating the woods.
Thunder crashed, rumbles that spread like shock waves across the ground.
Blake scowled at the stormy sky. He glared at Jason. He clenched his fist.
A strange power entered Jason’s body.
A blast of shocking coldness struck the top of Jason’s head, rushing under his scalp and streaking through his brain, leaving his nerves icy and numb. Freezing energy flowed like ice water down his face, coursing through his neck, spreading through his shoulders, shooting into his arms, hands, and fingers. Intense power flooded his chest and stomach, streaming down his thighs and calves and finally into his feet, where it hit his toes and made them feel as frigid as if they were buried in snow.
Invaded by that chilling, alien energy, Jason’s body abruptly felt as though it had been given a massive dose of Novocain. He could not feel the boys holding his arms anymore, though they still held him tightly. He could not feel his feet on the ground. He could not feel anything.
He tried to turn his head. He could not.
He tried to speak. He could not open his mouth.
He was not only numb; he was unable to control his body, too.
Somehow, the Stranger must have done this to him. But how? Why? One eye gleaming hatefully, Blake came forward, brass-knuckled fist cocked.
An invisible force drove Jason’s hands apart, snapping the handcuffs in half. As if guided by puppet strings, Jason’s hands whipped around in front of him, breaking the holds of both Travis and Bryan.
Bryan and Travis stood frozen, shocked expressi
ons on their faces.
Oh, no, Jason thought. As he stared at his freed hands, he had a dreadful realization. Something so terrible, he could not bear to think about it.
Blake had halted with his fist raised. “What the hell?”
“This is what the hell,” the Stranger said, using Jason’s mouth, Jason’s voice. As Jason watched in horror, he seized Bryan’s head with both of his own hands. He twisted savagely. The sound of cracking bones filled the air. Bryan dropped like a rag doll to the ground, his head sagging between his shoulder blades.
Gaping at Bryan’s corpse, Blake backpedaled.
No, Jason thought. No.
“More secret wishes to fulfill,” the Stranger had said. He had given Jason the bike of his dreams and a fantastic sexual experience with a replica of his girlfriend. Now it was time to grant him another wish: getting rid of the bullies who had terrorized him.
Jason had wanted to be rid of Blake and the others, but never in his darkest dreams had he wanted it to happen like this.
A fierce thunderclap resounded; then rain began to fall. The downpour snapped against the trees and glittered like silver chains in the flickers of lightning.
Travis turned to run. In one quick motion, the Stranger made Jason stoop, grab a beer bottle, and bring the bottle down on Travis’s head. The bottle shattered against his skull, and Travis shrieked and fell to the earth. He lay there, groaning.
Jason stepped forward. With incredible force, he stamped his foot onto the kid’s back. The boy’s spinal cord popped like a rubber band, and his moans immediately ceased. Dead.
Jason wanted to vomit but could not. He could not control his own stomach.
Blood spattered his hands. Blood he had spilled with his own hands. Oh, God.
He caught movement in the corner of his eye. Involuntarily, his head swiveled.
Blake was taking off.
The boy ran fast but sloppily. He bumped into trees and bushes, blinded by the rain and his own terror. Even a seemingly fearless bully like Blake sensed when something supernatural was happening, and he had the good sense to flee.
For once, Jason felt pity for him. In spite of his unwillingness to continue this slaughter, Jason’s body began to pursue Blake.
He ran with inhuman speed and agility, taking impossibly long and powerful strides, effortlessly dodging trees and shrubbery, not hampered at all by the pounding rain. In seconds, he was on Blake’s heels.
“You can’t get away,” the Stranger said through Jason. “The more you run, the more pain I will give you when I murder you.”
“All right, you motherfucker!” Blake stopped running and whirled around. “You want a fight? I’ll give you one!”
Blake flicked out the switchblade. He lowered himself into a fighting stance.
“Come on, you crazy fucker,” Blake said. He lunged at Jason.
As easily as if Blake had moved in slow motion, Jason caught the hand that gripped the knife. He squeezed. Bones popped. Blake yelped, the knife dropping from his broken fingers. Still clutching Blake’s ruined hand, Jason drew back his fist and hammered it into Blake’s nose.
Blake howled.
Jason wanted to cry, too, at that act of cruelty, but he was not in control; he was only an observer in his own body. He released Blake’s hand.
Blake put both hands to his smashed nose. He stumbled backward, shrieking in agony.
The Stranger made Jason bend down and retrieve the switchblade. Raindrops glimmered on the sharp, deadly knife.
Please, God, don’t let the Stranger force me to do this, Jason pleaded. Give me the power to stop this.
Blake had backed into a tree. He covered his nose, weeping. Blood drenched his hands.
Jason stalked toward him. He grabbed the boy’s wet hair and raised his head, making him look at him.
“Are you scared?” the Stranger said through Jason. “Are you gonna piss your pants?”
Face smeared with blood, Blake stared at him, terrified.
Jason raised the switchblade to Blake’s face. Blake’s eye widened.
“Were you actually going to use this on me?” the Stranger said.
“No, dude, no,” Blake said. He spat blood. “I only wanted to make you listen, you know ... throw a scare into you. I’ve never stabbed anyone. Honest, dude.”
“Neither have I,” the Stranger said. “Honest, dude. But I’ve always wanted to.”
He rammed the knife into Blake’s chest.
Blake gasped, spluttered, wheezed. Blood seeped from his lips. He fell forward against Jason.
The Stranger made Jason twist the blade around in Blake’s chest, then yank it out. He shoved Blake away. The kid’s corpse fell lifelessly to the ground.
Jason regarded his bloody hands. The Stranger, who claimed to be his friend, had made him into a killer. He would never be able to escape the guilt. This would haunt him forever.
Thunder crashed across the sky. Rain plopped onto Blake’s corpse.
Still controlled by the Stranger, Jason turned away from Blake’s body. He dropped the blood-stained knife ...
And he was standing in the small clearing. The open handcuffs lay at his feet. His hands were clean, dry.
Shafts of sunlight pierced the forest canopy, bits of blue sky visible through the leaves. A flock of large, curious black crows perched on the tree branches.
Blake, Travis, and Bryan lay on the ground, scattered around him like forgotten, broken toys. None of them moved. Their eyes gazed sightlessly at the sky.
“Oh, God,” Jason said. Hesitant, he stepped forward, in full control of his movements once more. He bent beside Blake. He noted that Blake’s body did not have any of the wounds he’d suffered in Thunderland. There was no blood anywhere, no knife tear in his shirt. Was he still alive, in a comatose state?
Jason placed his fingers against Blake’s pale neck, seeking a pulse.
Nothing. The boy’s flesh was cool.
Jason snatched away his hand. Turning, he saw the other two kids sprawled on the ground, their faces languid, eyes as glassy as marbles.
They were gone. All three of them.
He crawled away and vomited explosively.
Blake and his friends are dead, and I killed them.
Tears spilled out of him. Although he hadn’t liked Blake or his buddies, they hadn’t deserved to die. And the fact that the Stranger had forced his body into committing the vile act sickened him to the core. He wanted to run—run far away and as fast as he could, escaping the Stranger and what the Stranger had forced him to become: a killer.
Using a tree to support himself, he got to his feet.
In the branches above, crows squawked. Jason looked up. He saw dozens of crows, big ones almost the size of falcons, lined up like soldiers. Each of them seemed to be looking down at him, their sharp black eyes condemning him.
But they were only birds. They couldn’t be accusing him. Still, he started thinking: what would happen to the bodies of Blake and his friends?
He didn’t want to ponder the question, but he couldn’t avoid it. He couldn’t bury them himself, which meant someone would eventually find their bodies. The discovery would be a major story in a small, sleepy town like Spring Harbor. There would be an investigation. People would be questioned. Witnesses might come forward.
He might be convicted as a murderer.
There was no way out of it. This was no longer a game or a puzzle. This was murder, and he was going to be held responsible.
Run.
The whispered command came to him so softly that he questioned whether it was an actual voice or a thought in his own mind.
Above, the crows jittered and squawked excitedly. The tree boughs were heavy with them; there were so many of them now that their bodies blocked out the sunlight.
Run, Jason. Now.
He heard the voice clearly. It wasn’t his imagination. The voice was familiar: it was the Stranger. Although Jason’s watch did not stop and he did not hear thunder rumble, the
Stranger’s presence permeated the air; a numbing coldness enveloped him as if the door to an immense freezer had been opened. Jason shivered, goosebumps breaking out on his skin.
A crow swooped out of the trees and landed on Blake. Wings fluttering, the crowjabbed its beak into Blake’s eye.
Jason’s stomach roiled. Dread weighed down his limbs like sand.
Crows fed on dead things, but how had such an enormous flock of them arrived so quickly? The instant he had snapped out of Thunderland, he’d noticed the birds aligned in the tree boughs, as though they had foreknowledge of the massacre. Crows did not behave like that—unless they were somehow being controlled.
The idea of someone like the Stranger being capable of manipulating an army of crows did not seem far-fetched at all.
Another bird slashed through the air and attached itself to Bryan’s neck. It greedily attacked the throat.
Last warning, Jason ... The Stranger’s voice was as clear as if he’d been standing beside him.
Jason looked up ... and saw the platoon of crows dive off the branches and funnel to the earth in a dark, roaring wave, driven by a single mind, a sick hunger. He covered his head with his arms and raced out of the clearing, directly through the teeming mass of birds. Wings flapped against his face, and beaks grazed across his skin, but the crows did not attack him. Inexplicably manipulated by the Stranger, the carrion eaters cared only about the three corpses; they swarmed across the bodies, feeding, and would do so perhaps until little trace of the corpses remained.
Jason ran with a scream trapped in his throat and did not stop running until he reached the edge of the forest.
He found his bike at the rim of the woods. He pushed it out of the forest, hopped on it, and returned to the supermarket.
The grocery bag that he had dropped lay on the pavement where he had left it. He tucked it under his arm.
He couldn’t go back to Granddad’s house yet, not after something like this. He rode directly to Brains’s place.
“We’ve got to call a meeting,” Jason said to Brains the moment he answered the front door. “Where’s Shorty?”
“He’s at home,” Brains said. He stepped onto the porch. “What’s going on? Why do we need to have a meeting?”
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