Song of a Lost Child: A Horror Novel (Invasive Species Book 1)

by Craig Wesley Wall

  Warmth crept into his cold limbs, and the slurping sounds of the feeding woman faded into the distance. The terrible ache that had filled his head dissipated, the burning at his throat a memory. Glad I'm out of there. Now I can finally head home, he thought, as his lids slid down over unseeing eyes.

  28

  Lewis followed Jason Reed, the moonlight guiding him along the intimate trail. He pursued at a safe distance, his eyes watering from the rank air left in the dead boy's wake. The deeper they went into the woods the more Lewis became convinced he was being led to the tree. Jason marched on with blind resolve. Lewis had the feeling he trailed an automaton hell-bent on destruction; however, unlike the robot from one of his favorite films, The Day the Earth Stood Still, he doubted “klaatu barada nikto” would have any effect on the thing that had once been Jason Reed.

  The pair approached the fork in the trail and to Lewis's astonishment, Jason chose the left hand side without slowing, vanishing into the thick vegetation like a ghost. Lewis and his friends never used the path, they never even dared one another to use it, never questioning why either, it just naturally seemed like the wrong way to go.

  Even now, as the mouth of the trail swallowed Jason, Lewis hesitated to follow. Then it dawned on him, making perfect sense. The spell from Mr. Boyd's story. The one cast by the old shaman all those years ago, weakened now, but still working its protective magic.

  Lewis inched forward on leaden feet until he stood at the mouth of the forbidden trail. He could hear the diminishing sounds of Jason plowing through the brush. Lewis inhaled as if to jump into the deep end of a pool, and for the first time in his short life, entered the dense tunnel of vegetation. The caress of the leaves made his skin crawl, and Lewis exhaled the stale air from his lungs. He struggled to pull in another breath as his fear level increased a notch.

  He took a single step and his fear lessened.

  His panic subsided in increments with every step, vanishing altogether after just a few yards. Despite Jason's lead, Lewis could still hear the boy's movement further down the trail, sparking him into chase mode once again. Lewis tracked the dead boy, thankful for the commotion the lumbering beast made, using it to cover the racket he caused himself as he parted the wild vegetation of the under-used path. Lewis moved deeper into strange territory, the sounds and smell of his quarry the only indications he still followed the possessed bully.

  The trail meandered through the woods, a twisting tunnel carved through the overgrowth. Lewis had the sensation of traveling through the bowels of a giant snake. Suddenly, the trail opened up, widening, the moonlit sky visible overhead. He turned another corner and saw the dark form of Jason squirming through a wall of tangled vines. Lewis halted, much closer to the creature than he had realized. If Jason decided to turn, Lewis would be exposed in the moonlight as plain as day. Luckily, Jason didn't turn; he vanished behind the dark wall blocking the path.

  Lewis crouched and slithered his way to the barrier. Peeping through the vines, he could discern the dark shape of Jason against the moonlit glow of white sand. The large boy knelt, filling a glass jar with the sparkling substance.

  This must be the clearing, Lewis thought, and glanced beyond the silhouette of Jason. A tree stood like a sentinel, protecting the genuflecting shape at its base.

  Lewis instinctively tried to step back, but his feet ignored his pleas. He knew without a doubt that this was the tree. He had found it, here in his woods all this time. He could feel its malevolent power drape over him, like a hovering storm cloud swollen to capacity, the pressure a tangible force on his small body.

  The surface of the tree, blacker than the night, absorbed the moon's rays. It appeared to be a tree-shaped hole against the backdrop of the woods and sky, a doorway to another world. Lewis would have thought the tree dead if not for several healthy leaves suspended from its skeletal branches, the moon glinting off their smooth surfaces. As Lewis studied the wicked tree, another leaf sprouted from the dark wood, like a time-lapse scene from a nature film.

  Finished with his task, Jason stood. Lewis, still captivated by the leaf, saw the movement from the corner of his eye. He wheeled around to find a place to hide, the flap of his torn shirt snagging on a vine. Before he could stop, the dry vine snapped like a firecracker in the quiet woods. Jason's head whipped around; he locked eyes with Lewis, the diseased yellow irises shining in the darkness. The jar thumped to the sand of the clearing as Jason lunged for Lewis with a bestial howl of pure loathing, vines splintering as he clawed his way through the barrier.

  Once again Lewis fled for his life. He ran back down the trail, the overgrowth drawing blood from his hands and face, the predatory sounds of pursuit close behind.

  29

  Deputy Jack Dixon arrived at the Norton residence and parked his cruiser in the driveway behind the chief's car. He sprang from his vehicle and started up the drive to get filled in on the situation, still buzzing from collaring Dave Burton. The arrest had proved easy enough—the man was soused—but hauling in a possible murder suspect had been a first for the young officer. This was a feeling he could get accustomed to.

  He stepped onto the Norton front porch and stopped with his finger inches from the doorbell when a light to his left caught his eye. A figure on the porch of the house next door signaled him, turning a flashlight on and off, begging for his attention. The porch light above the figure blazed; the deputy recognized the chief straightaway, even though the man wore his favorite aviator sunglasses, which seemed a little strange. He also noticed the leather jacket the chief wore, zipped all the way to his chin, and thought to himself how hot the man must be. He shrugged and greeted the chief with a friendly wave.

  Chief Richards waved the flashlight in a come-hither-motion, then disappeared into the open door, swallowed whole by the house. Deputy Dixon shrugged again, trotted across the manicured grass, and stood on the front stoop, staring into the dark doorway of Clyde Boyd's home.

  “Chief?” he asked the empty doorway; a flicker of light from within answered him. He wiped his shoes on the mat and entered the dark house, stopping at the sharp edge of light spilling in from the porch.

  “Chief? What happened to the lights?”

  The front door slammed shut behind the deputy like the jaws of a crocodile, shutting out the meager light, leaving him blind in the pitch-black belly of the house. As he jumped and spun around to face the closed door, an odd tingling burn traced the curvature of his neck. The thick sound of liquid splashing on the wall and carpet confused the deputy. He reached up to his throat, the tingling burn building into a searing white hot fire, and felt hot, sticky liquid coat his hands, spewing from a wide opening in his flesh. Moaning in the dark, the deputy cupped his draining blood in his hands, trying his best to save the vital fluid.

  Deputy Jack Dixon dropped to his knees in the black room, tilting forward, plunging into an even deeper darkness.

  30

  Lewis ran as fast as he could through the tangled brush. His leg muscles burned, threatening to seize up as sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes. Panting, he pressed his hand to the stabbing pain in his ribcage, using his other to push the slicing sawgrass away from his face. Despite his pain and tiring muscles, Lewis managed to outpace his pursuer. Jason's lunatic growls faded further behind.

  Lewis needed a place to hide while out of sight of the beast, but this section of the woods was too dark and unfamiliar. He had to make it to his part of the woods, the woods he knew like the back of his hand. It seemed to Lewis he should have reached the fork and the mouth of the trail by now, causing panic to take root in his mind. Had he somehow gone the wrong direction and gotten lost?

  As if in answer to his query, he burst into the open air of the fork, his panic subsiding at the sight of the familiar surroundings. Now he had to make a quick decision: go toward home, or run deeper into the woods down the trail he knew well, the intimate forest providing him with coverage.

  The thought of home brought a string of emo
tions. First, sorrow for his mother and Mr. Boyd. Second, rage at the creatures, or creature, that had taken them away from him. Then fear, hopelessness and guilt needled their way in as well.

  Thrashing and snarling grunts from behind Lewis forced a decision. He veered left and continued running, deeper into the woods, racking his brain for a possible hiding place that would extend his life a little longer. His newfound anger rose up above the sadness and fear, clearing his mind.

  He knew of the perfect place to hide

  31

  Quicker than he expected, Lewis found himself balanced on the edge of Horse Crap Lake, the foul humid vapors rising from the boggy lake attacking his nostrils as he bent over, struggling to catch his breath.

  He stared up at the full moon and said a heartfelt thanks; falling into the lake would have been the end to his plans. It would have also been the end of Lewis. The heavy rain had filled only the deepest part of the lake. Lewis stood above the shallow edge, the moon's light glistening from the saturated loam and pools of disgusting water pocking the surface, revealing the dark bog before he could fall into its sucking clutches. Lewis looked down again, twelve feet above the crusty quagmire that stagnated at the bottom, and released a huge sigh. A fall into that morass would’ve pulled him down like quicksand and never let go.

  His plan had been to hide in the old oak tree residing on the rim of the lake, wait for Jason to come near the edge, and jump down, shoving the beast into the swampy soup. That plan was shot when the approaching din of the ravenous boy filled Lewis's ears.

  “Shit,” Lewis spat, realizing his hopes of climbing the tree unseen were dashed. Lewis did the only thing he could think of—he dropped to his hands and knees, crawled to the lake's edge, and latched onto the oak’s exposed roots protruding from the lip of the lake wall.

  Lewis sucked in a deep breath, gripped the roots, and swung his legs out into space above the lake. He held the breath, willing himself to be light as a feather, and prayed the roots wouldn't snap as his feet dangled above the gaseous bog. When he stopped swinging, he reeled himself in until his back slapped the cool, moist soil of the lake wall, partially hiding him under the ancient roots. He dug his heels in for purchase, tightened his grip, and waited.

  The animal grunts of his pursuer drew closer until they were directly above Lewis. His heart pounded so hard against his chest he was certain Jason would hear it. Lewis prayed again, he prayed the Jason-thing lacked the intelligence to look over the edge.

  Soil cascaded into Lewis's hair. Looking up, he knew his simple request had not been granted. Jason stood above him, one hand held onto a limb of the tree, the other pressed to his mid-section, as if the creature was about to do a Latin dance to flaunt his victory.

  Jason leaned out, as Lewis pressed himself deeper into the soft wall until he could go no further. The dead boy locked eyes with Lewis again, and whispered a single word through the fragments of his front teeth. A word that turned the trapped boy's blood frigid.

  “Leewwiisss.”

  The voice—the same one from Lewis's nightmares—sifted down, sounding like pebbles stirred in a rusty tin can, yet the malice behind those two syllables were unmistakable, clear as day. Lewis wondered how much of the real Jason remained in the animated husk of his archenemy.

  With his left hand anchored to the tree, Jason squatted and reached out for Lewis, once again releasing the innards from his decaying abdominal cavity.

  Lewis clung to the roots, revolted, as Jason's intestines showered down on his face and shoulders, bouncing off, falling through the roots and hitting the lake’s surface with a soft slap. Anger and disgust rushed through Lewis as cool, viscous fluids drizzled into his hair and ran off his face, the putrid juices smelling of road kill simmering in the summer sun. Lewis shook his head like a dog after a bath, released a growl, and latched onto the dangling guts with both hands. Freeing his heels from the wall, Lewis hung onto the soft intestines with all of his weight. A limb cracked above, and he felt the tightness of the guts slacken. He released the repulsive rope and grasped the tree roots once again.

  Jason Reed's body plummeted past Lewis without a sound, headfirst, one hand grasping a broken branch. The bully hit the lake bottom like an Olympic high-diver, no splash, sinking in up to his belt, legs kicking the air.

  Lewis hung above the lake and watched as Jason continued to struggle, causing him to settle deeper into the muck until all that showed were a pair of combat boots twitching above the surface. Between the moving boots, the boy's entrails were stretched taut like a deep-sea diver's lifeline, snared in the roots next to Lewis.

  Gathering his strength, Lewis hauled himself up over the edge. He collapsed onto his back in the grass below the tree, gulping in the night air, grateful for the awful smell of the lake. Anything beat the smell of Jason's decomposing innards. He dragged himself to the rim and glanced down at his handiwork. Jason's boots still wiggled like a child throwing a tantrum.

  Lewis barked laughter. His plan had worked.

  Basically.

  The laugh quickly changed to choking sobs as his nerves settled and the rush of adrenaline wore off. He stared at the kicking boots, thinking of his mother and Jerry standing on the porch, anger welling inside him

  “FUCK YOU!” Lewis cried, tossing a rock at the boots. He’d thought of this phrase many times before, but it was the first time he’d used it out loud. It invigorated him, filling him with courage. He’d bested Jason. He knew now that he wasn't powerless against them. There actually might be a chance of defeating them. He also knew where to find the tree; down the left hand path. Maybe there was hope after all. He stood, brushing the vile sludge from his hair and wiping the tears from his cheeks.

  Mr. Boyd insisted the tree couldn't be destroyed by fire, but Lewis was keen on testing this theory out for himself. The image of the gas can, nestled next to the lawn mower in his garage, flashed in his head.

  He shot one last glance at the twitching boots, and then started toward home.

  He had another plan.

  32

  Cautious, expecting to run into Andy around every turn, Lewis made his way back to the edge of the woods without incident. The open field of grass loomed before him, seeming much larger than usual, like a football field void of all players. He stopped and scanned his street. The quiet disturbed him. Lewis thought that if Mr. Boyd was correct about “her being them”, and “they being her”, then the witch knew what had transpired at the lake.

  Why hadn't they come after me?

  Lewis could see his mother's car in the distance, parked in the drive. The house seemed miles away and every dark window he had to pass to reach his home appeared to be watching him. Disabling fear crept into his mind, rooting his shoes to the ground.

  I can still run …

  No. I can't. I have to do something.

  The welcome sight of two police cruisers across from his house lifted some of his fear. Lewis coaxed his feet into moving in the direction of his destination.

  He sprinted across the open field, reaching the first home on his street. He leaned against the brick wall until his breathing slowed, listening for signs of trouble, then started toward his home once again. He kept to the bushes, slinking from house to house, avoiding any windows when possible, the feeling of being watched threatening to push him into panic mode. He passed Maggie Burton's house, the yellow police-tape strung across her front door glowing in the moonlight. Lewis kept his cool and continued on, past the cop cars parked in the Norton's driveway on the opposite side of the street.

  It was too quiet.

  Where were the cops to go along with these cars? Every house remained dark and still, nobody in sight.

  The light on Mr. Boyd's porch still burned, giving Lewis a fleeting glimmer of hope. Maybe the old man was home, he thought. He recalled the image of the naked maniac and decided he wouldn't like what he would find if he went back into the old man's house.

  Lewis reached the side of his own house and conce
aled himself in the bushes lining the wall of the garage. He hid in the dark for a minute, letting his pulse slow, catching his breath again as sweat crawled through his hair and ran down his face, the lingering scent of Jason's insides returning in force. Lewis reached out in the shadows, grasping the outdoor spigot. He turned the handle, cold water spewing forth. He splashed water onto his face and hair, and drank directly from the spigot. Refreshed, he turned the valve off and waited several more seconds before continuing his journey.

  In a crouch, Lewis skulked from the bushes, around the corner, to the big garage door. He grabbed the handle and tried lifting it. Locked, just as he had expected. He checked his street for signs of movement again, and crept to the front door. The porch light was off now. Lewis began to wonder if the witch doused the lights to mark the houses she'd already visited. He looked up his street, and noticed most of the homes had their porch lights extinguished—he hoped he was wrong.

  His shoes squished on the welcome mat. Lewis knew what he stood in, but refused to look down, realizing that doing so would probably send him running for the woods, never to return.

  Lewis tested the handle, it moved freely in his grasp, unlocked.

  He paused, straining his ears for any movement within the house, listening for sounds of danger. He eased the door open and entered the structure he’d called home his entire life. The once welcoming front room now felt long abandoned, like an ancient mausoleum. Lewis stepped further into the shadows, and froze when something brushed the back of his calf, forcing a yelp from his throat. Lewis spun, expecting an attack. He released a shaky breath at the sight of his cat.

  Stretch purred softly, rubbing against his leg again, twirling around his feet.