“Do you think you’ll get through?”
Amanda didn’t acknowledge the question. She handed Megan her gun. “Hold this.”
“Amanda…”
“I want you to stay in the Jeep, don’t come out unless you have to.”
“What are you going to use for a weapon?”
Ignoring the question, she said, “Remember, don’t come out unless you have to. Keep the doors locked.” She shut the door, then pressed the remote.
Megan jumped at the thumping of the locks.
She watched Amanda step back to the front of the car, holding the phone in the air in search for a stronger signal.
“Well this beats all, doesn’t it?”
Megan looked beside her and found Allison sitting behind the wheel. “Wha…? You?”
“I’m back.” She smiled, and there was a staccato of pops in her neck when she turned to Megan. “Miss me?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Well…” She chewed on her lip. “I came to take you with me.”
Megan stared blankly at her.
Allison added, “I couldn’t go to the other side unless you were with me.”
“I don’t…what?” The confusion that altered her face was so strong it hurt. “What are you talking about?”
“See…at first I thought it was you that he wanted…and maybe it was for a while, but then it became clear that it was her.” She pointed out the windshield. “They had to be brought together, so that’s what I did. I led her to him. I tried to get you all together at the hut. Remember the place?”
How could Megan forget? She’d spent time being cozy with a corpse, the insects infesting its rotted flesh trying to invade her own.
“I failed. She wasn’t close enough yet. She eventually found the hut but you two had already moved on.” Allison shrugged a crackling shoulder. “Can’t blame a girl for trying, right?”
Megan couldn’t bring herself to react. Her mouth moved, small squeaks escaping, no words.
Allison gave Megan a look like she was about to tell her she was going to be downsized. “I’m sorry, sweetie. But…I think you were supposed to die at the camp, too. For some reason, you didn’t, and that threw everything out of whack. I believe she was supposed to find all our bodies, and that was going to get him and her together. Like yin and yang, you know. Two sides of every coin, etcetera. But, it didn’t happen like that. And…these woods, this mountain? It’s wicked land. Haunted. And, it gets what it wants. From what I understand…that woman is supposed to be his adversary, his final girl. Not you. I believe only she can stop him.”
“You’re not making any damn sense, Al!”
“It doesn’t have to make sense, Meg. You’re part’s done, my part’s way past done. And her role in all this is just beginning. It’s time for him to wrap things up with you so he can go after her. Don’t worry, it’ll be fairly quick, then we can get out of here.”
Megan looked through the windshield and could see Amanda cussing at the phone. Several yards ahead of her, a figure emerged from a field of waist-high weeds. This person was cloaked, head hidden underneath the hood-like veneer. An old withered branch was being used as a walking stick. The jut of a huge hump on her back. Even from here Megan could tell the skin was haggard and old, with threads of white hair slung out from the hood.
Megan knew who it was without having to be told. Those ghost stories that had given the Judds many sleepless nights were real.
Missy’s voice reverberated through her head, echoic and ethereal: A witch…a witch…a witch…
Amanda hadn’t seen her.
“She’s not going to see her,” said Allison, answering the question that hadn’t formed in Megan’s head. “Just you. I saw her right before I died, too. I had to bring her to you. I couldn’t leave until Zeb slayed you. We belong to her now.”
The witch woman raised her arm and pointed an arthritis-gnarled finger directly at Megan. A scream tickled the back of her throat.
Then Megan heard a scuffle of movement behind her. Saw a flash of skin just before a large, beefy hand slapped over her mouth. She could feel the damp wrappings of a provisional bandage on its hand. A bandage that covered a wound she’d supplied. The stench of filth and rot wafted up her nostrils. Her screams were muffled behind his hand.
He yanked her head back against the seat. There was a metallic swish, followed by tearing fabric, then came a cold pinch at her back. It became a searing heft as the machete tore its way through her front.
Eyes rolling back in her head, she gargled as blood splashed against his hand, leaking through the cracks of his fingers in tiny rivulets. Her body twitched, jerked. The machete spun this way and that, twisting as she coughed, choking on the blood flooding her lungs.
“All right,” said Allison. “Let’s go. She’s waiting for us.”
Megan felt herself being pulled from her body. Below her, she could see the man crouched in the back of the Jeep, holding her by the head with his left hand and using the right to wiggle the machete. Her blood had coated the dashboard and windshield in hot red spatters and splashes.
As a finishing touch, the maniac wrenched her head, snapping her neck in a cracking holler.
27
Amanda heard the click in her ear of the phone call connecting. It rang once, twice, then beeped twice. She looked at the screen and saw Lost Signal displayed in the tiny square.
“Dammit!”
If she couldn’t reach the tower, that meant they would be walking. She doubted Megan could go much further. And, she definitely didn’t want to leave her here and hike back without her. With the condition the Jeep was in when they’d gotten here, she wouldn’t want to stay by herself either.
Camp.
Maybe that was the best idea. The two of them should set up camp for the night. By morning they will probably have been found, either by searchers in the woods, and by that point, the chopper would be in the sky looking for them. Someone was bound to find them.
They could get a fire going and stay up all night keeping guard. They had her gun, and if they were doing third shift hunts, they would see the flames. So, staying here and waiting for help was probably the wisest choice.
Amanda hated the idea but it was all they had.
She heard the click of the Jeep door opening—Megan probably coming to check on the progress. She dreaded telling her they would have to wait here until someone came to rescue them.
Some hero she was. Rescuing Megan only to tell the poor girl they would now both need to be rescued.
Turning around, she expected to find Megan limping towards her, using the Jeep as a crutch. Instead, she found no one. Just the door hanging slightly opened, rocking a little from the subtle breeze.
Her eyes panned to the right. Locked on the blood smeared windshield.
Bringing her hand to her mouth, she loosed a shrill gasp. “Megan?”
The door flew open. She heard the hinges gripe as they were pushed back too far in their crevices. The Jeep bounced, swayed, as something big moved around inside.
Amanda took an involuntary step back.
The man arose from the Jeep. His squalid boots slapped the ground one after the other as he stalked his way to the front of the Jeep. No way could he have survived what Megan did to him and yet here he was. Drenched in his own blood. Purple welts and gashes covered the exposed areas of his body like giant, bloody measles.
Trying to find her breath, Amanda lowered her hand. The phone slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground.
He lowered the machete down by his side, the hefty blade hanging by his ankle. He leered at her through scowling eyes.
She felt for her gun. Then she remembered she’d let Megan keep it.
It’s still in the Jeep!
Amanda took another step back, and he took one more forward. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing nothing but darkening woodland behind her. The last of the golden glow being smothered by a blanket of fog.
Her
speed increased with each step back. So did his with each one forward.
Finally, she put her back to him and ran, arms pumping, kicking up dirt behind her. She stole a glance over her shoulder and saw he was now running as well, coming after her.
Invisible to Amanda, the witch watched the new girl in scope run. Smiling as her boy trailed in pursuit.
LOVE SEAT
“I see ya eyein’ her,” the old man said. “I’ll sell her to ya for ten bucks.” He spat a wad of brown phlegm onto the concrete.
The old man was dressed in a tan colored shirt, long-sleeved although it was nearly a hundred degrees, with a rolled pack of chewing tobacco in the chest pocket, and pants an even darker shade of brown. His gut wilted over his belt, dimpling the fabric around the buttons on his shirt.
Jacob Carlson had been at the Hickory Grove flea market for two hours, and his shirt was sodden with sweat. His mother had told him if he wanted a good deal on a couch, he should try the flea market.
You can find good stuff there, cheap, she’d said.
Until coming across this booth, he hadn’t found anything nice or cheap. A foul-mouthed Mexican was selling some furniture still in its plastic off the back of a truck, but his prices were absurdly high and he wouldn’t haggle.
Jacob was contemplating a trip to Goodwill when he stumbled across this couch: A two-seater, red-violet in color, with a high back and heavily bolstered arms that looked as soft as marshmallows. It had to be a used furnishing, or the popularly coined term ‘Previously Owned’ but when Jacob glided his hand across the back cushion it felt too soft, too warm, for someone to have soiled it.
“You like her, dontcha?” The man wiped his mouth, coughed, but didn’t hock any odd colored mucus this time. “She’s something special. You’ll never find a couch like her.”
There, he’d done it again—referred to the couch as her.
“Why are you willing to sell her—it—so cheap?”
The man smiled. “Because she chose you, that’s why.” He rubbed his hands together. “I was packing up, ‘bout to head home for the day when I heard her calling. She told me the one had finally come to claim her.”
Jacob restrained a shiver. The man might not look it, but he was quite a salesman, albeit a creepy one.
“But, before I can rightfully give her up, I have to ask you some questions.”
“Wuh-what kind of questions?” Jacob hadn’t realized there would be a background screening just to buy a damn couch. But, looking at its ample cushions, he could almost understand why there was. She was too lovely to be handed off to just anybody, and he could accept that.
“Why are you in the market for a new couch?”
Frowning, Jacob looked up as if the reason he was here hovered above him, and for a couple weeks everything had felt that way, like a black fog following him everywhere. Why did he need a new couch? He couldn’t remember. Trying to recall it was like looking through a frosted window. Something had happened, recently, and that was why he’d spent most of his Saturday off shopping for furniture, but his mind couldn’t quite grasp what it was. It was painful, that much he could remember, and nasty and bitter.
Hannah.
Then the memory crashed down on him, so heavy on his shoulders he began to slouch.
He remembered it all.
He’d come home from PC Problems, where he worked, early to avoid overtime and found a foreign, yet vaguely familiar, Mazda parked in the driveway of the two bedroom house he shared with his fiancée Hannah. The car sat in the spot where he normally parked his car. And, because the short narrow driveway was occupied by Hannah’s Jetta and this Mazda, Jacob was forced to park at the curb. On Mable Street, he could do that without having to worry someone would bust his windows and steal something.
Plus, with him parking at the curb, Hannah hadn’t heard his arrival.
“Son?”
Jacob fluttered his eyes, shook his head to knock the cobwebs loose. “Yuh-yeah?”
“You just kind of zoned out there.” The man brandished a handkerchief from a rear pocket that had probably been white when it came out of the package, now it was forever yellowed. Then he wiped his brow, running the kerchief over his bald dome, and the horseshoe of hair around it.
“Sorry…I was …Never mind.”
“So, you were about to answer my question?”
Was he? Right. The question that had triggered the unwanted recollection. “My fiancé and I are separating…I moved into an apartment. It wasn’t furnished.”
“Ah. Okay. So, you’re single.”
“Well, sort of…at the moment, yeah, but I don’t know how long this will be going on. But, for now, yeah, I guess you can say that I am.”
“Good.” He wiped his hands, then put the dirty square back in his pocket. “She isn’t going home with someone that’s already taken. This couch is special, and not meant to be shared. Know what I mean?”
“No…actually I have no idea.”
Ignoring him, the man delicately patted the couch. “She’s not just something you plop your ass down on at the end of the day. This couch is so much more. You take her home and you are committing yourself to her. Your life will never be the same. Can you do that—uh, what’s your name son?”
“Jacob.”
“Can you do that, Jacob? Can you give all of yourself to such an immaculate piece of furniture?”
This old man was beginning to really bother Jacob, speaking like a father would about his daughter before allowing her to leave the house on prom night. He was ready to tell this guy thanks, but no thanks, when his mind went fuzzy again. All the negative thoughts, the second guesses began to dissolve, and in their place came comfort. Tranquility. These were feelings he wasn’t used to, not since he was a child on his mother’s lap being rocked to sleep. He’d felt so safe then, so loved, and was feeling that way now.
Jacob rubbed the couch again, the downy material soft and plushy against his hand. He found himself wanting to squeeze it.
“Can’t keep letting ya grope her if you don’t plan on buyin’ her.”
“Ten bucks?”
“From you I’ll take five. Like I said, she wants to go home with you, and she’s a tough one to please.”
“I’ll take her.” This time, Jacob didn’t even notice—or care—he’d started referring to the couch in the flesh and blood sense as well.
“You won’t regret this.”
“Thank you mister…I don’t know even know your name.”
“Just call me Gus.”
“Thank you Gus, for all your help.”
“Don’t thank me…thank her.” He nodded at the couch.
Jacob silently did.
Gus told him to pull around to the back, and take the gravel road that circled around the hive-like buildings. Then he shook the old man’s hand, and went out to his truck. When he got back there, Gus already had the couch’s body wrapped in plastic, and had removed the seat cushions and placed them in padded bags.
He waved at Jacob as he parked the truck. “I haven’t seen her so excited in a long time. I think she’d ‘bout given up hope the right one would come along and take her home.”
For some reason, Jacob felt himself beginning to blush.
On his way home, he went through the Burger King drive-thru, got a double cheeseburger combo, and ate it as he drove. Every so often, he checked the rearview mirror where he could see the loveseat in the bed of his truck. Afraid of going too fast and the cushions blowing away, he made sure to keep the speed five miles below the required limit.
He had finished eating and was sipping on his Coke when he pulled into the driveway. Jacob’s abode was considered an apartment, although it had been a house at one time, a very old house, and had been converted into two separate apartments—upstairs and down. No one lived above him, and the landlord had told him it would probably remain vacant since he’d gotten too old to go up and down those stairs himself. Jacob was just fine with that. The idea of having someone
above him, trampling all over his ceiling at odd hours, didn’t sound very appealing.
He dropped his trash in the can outside, then walked over to the tailgate, and lowered it. He studied the couch through the plastic wrap. Its design was so basic, yet incomparable to anything he’d ever seen, the kind of furniture Jacob wouldn’t normally want to own. But, from the first glance, he knew this couch wasn’t an ordinary furnishing; something about her was otherworldly.
She chose you, and she’s a tough one to please.
Jacob smiled, feeling good about that.
Two hours later he had the couch in the living room, unwrapped, and on display. He stood there, gazing at her proudly. She was an article of exuberance. To say she stood out was meek. She was much too beautiful for this shitty place Jacob was renting for two-hundred dollars a month.
He wondered what Hannah would think of her, then he realized he didn’t really care what she would have thought.
A couch like this isn’t meant to be shared…
He hadn’t sat on her yet. Her sloping softness beckoned him, but he was sweaty, and his clothes were filthy. He decided to shower first.
Standing under the hot streams, his mind wandered to six weeks ago, as it often did when he was alone. He was standing on the front porch, his key to the doorknob of the house he shared with Hannah, about to put the key in when a faint noise resonated from deep inside the house.
A throaty gasp.
Hannah.
Jacob didn’t kick down the door and rush to her rescue. It wasn’t that kind of gasp. It was the kind Hannah used during certain secretive pleasures, like the time he’d accidentally walked in on her with an immense dildo to the hilt between her legs as she lay sweaty and mussed on the bed. The whole room had reeked of dirty sex.
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