Raven's Rest

by Stephen Osborne

  “No, it’s my head. I—”

  I sank to my knees, and the shovel clattered onto the deck. Somehow I managed to keep hold of the flashlight. I felt sick and rubbed my forehead, dislodging the baseball cap in the process. It tumbled off my head, hit the wooden boards, rolled, and went over the side into the abyss.

  “I lost your hat,” I said miserably.

  “Fuck the hat,” Trey said. He was closer now. I sensed he was only a few feet away, but my eyes were shut tight, so I wasn’t sure.

  “I think it’s Coleman,” I said. Maybe he was experiencing intense emotions at being here, and they were affecting me. For I was sure Coleman had been here before. Hell, I was sure he was buried not far from where we were. Why else would we be out in the middle of the night armed with shovels?

  I felt Trey’s hand on my shoulder. “What can I do?” he asked. “Here. Let me help you up. I’ll lead you across.”

  I bowed my head in agony. Gritting my teeth, I said, “I think I’m going to throw up. I—”

  And suddenly the feeling passed. Another took its place, though. I gasped as I felt the headache leave me, but my sinuses and mouth seemed like they were full of a dusty smoke. As I sat there on the wet, rotten boards, a misty stream burst from between my lips and out of my nostrils. The foggy strands met and shot forward, forming a cloud that quickly moved across to the other side of the bridge until it disappeared into the darkness.

  Trey watched the phenomenon in awe. “Was that…?”

  “Yeah. He’s out of me.” I blinked. Yes, Coleman was gone. I was totally myself again. Slowly, with Trey’s help, I got to my feet. “I’m okay,” I told him.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. People have another personality residing in their noggin all the time. Careful! You’re still shaky.”

  I had made a little lurch but grabbing the girder kept me upright. “I guess I’m still a little woozy.”

  Trey asked worriedly, “Do you think you can make it? I can go on my own, you know. I’m sure old Coleman will show me where he wants me to go. You can stay in the car.”

  I shook my head. I really was feeling better by the second. “No, I’m good.”

  Trey had dropped his shovel when he’d rushed to help me. Now he bent over to retrieve it. Looking off into the trees, he said, “I can just see a little glow in there. See it? I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to follow old will-o’-the-wisp.”

  I followed Trey’s gaze. Through the rain, I could just see a faint glow in the gloom ahead. “I think you’re right.”

  Armed again with our lights and shovels, we slowly crossed the bridge. It seemed to take an eternity, but it probably wasn’t more than five minutes before I was on solid ground again. I wasn’t even aware that I’d been holding my breath until I finally stepped off the deck onto the road. Trey was right by my side, and he flashed me a grin.

  “You did it!”

  I didn’t really feel like celebrating. We still had a trek ahead of us, I assumed, and I was chilled to the bone and soaking wet. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Just to add to the mood, right then there was a flash of lightning and a peal of thunder.

  Trey pointed with his flashlight toward the spot in the woods where we’d seen the glow. It was no longer there. “I think that’s where we’re supposed to go. There doesn’t seem to be a path.”

  If I thought traversing the bridge had taken forever, our journey through the woods was just as bad. The going was tough, and our shoes were soon coated with mud. The terrain was uneven, and I slipped twice, falling on my ass, getting my jeans muddy as well as wet. My bones, already sore from nearly getting run over, protested with each tumble. Every now and then, we’d catch a ghostly glow emanating from between some trees ahead of us—Coleman’s way of keeping us on track, I supposed. At one point, Trey led the way through a thicket of bushes, pushing branches out of the way as he went. One branch whipped back, scratching his face. We paused to assess the damage.

  “Just a little blood,” I assured him, shining my light on his cheek.

  He touched the wound with his grimy fingers. “Figures I’d find a way to mar my face even more.”

  I started to say something, but the sight of a pale figure ahead of us stopped me. Coleman Hollis’s spirit was standing at the edge of what seemed to be a ravine, watching us patiently.

  Trey noticed him as well. “I think we’re there.”

  The ghost nodded and then pointed down into the ravine.

  “That’s where it is,” I said. “That’s where Coleman’s grave is located.”

  Chapter EIGHTEEN

  THERE WAS a place where the incline leading to the ravine was just barely manageable, and Trey and I tossed our shovels down first before we attempted to make our own descent. It was messy going, as the rain was now pouring down, making the ground soggy and hard to find a good foothold. A young sapling growing sideways out of the incline helped, as Trey and I both grabbed hold of it to steady ourselves.

  By the time we reached the bottom, Trey was coated with mud. I was sure I was the same. He tried to wipe some of the grime off his leather jacket, with little success. I’d already decided that everything I was wearing was going straight to the garbage rather than try to clean it.

  I removed my glasses and tried to wipe away the rain. It was futile. “I don’t see Coleman anymore,” I said, “but I can still sense he’s near.”

  Trey looked around us. The ravine had likely once been a stream, probably running down to the Rock River. Now it was just a gully. Trey played his flashlight beam over the rocks, stumps, and sodden ground. “I wonder where we’re supposed to dig.”

  I stood near a large stone. “Right here.”

  “You sure?”

  I felt it in my bones. It was the right place. “Yes.”

  We took turns digging, although Trey was much better at it than I was. I’d either try to slice the blade too far into the ground and then find I couldn’t shift it, or I’d end up with only a quarter of a shovelful of earth. We’d made a fairly good hole in no time, though, thanks to the soft ground.

  “You sure this is the right place?” Trey asked, tossing clumps of mud off to the side.

  “Positive.”

  Trey paused, looking up at the top of the ravine. “Shine your light up there.”

  I did, although I could see nothing.

  “I thought I heard something,” Trey said.

  “An animal, maybe?”

  Trey shrugged. “It may not have been anything. It’s easy to spook yourself out here. I can’t imagine why.”

  He slammed the shovel blade into the ground but then paused. “What’s that?”

  I crept closer to our hole, and the flashlight picked up something dirty white in the mud.

  “It’s a bone,” I said.

  WE UNCOVERED most of what we decided was a leg before figuring we had what we wanted. Trey tried to call the sheriff’s department, but there was no signal.

  “Let’s head back into town,” he suggested. “We can take Deputy Hughes out here, or whoever is on duty. They can do the rest of the dirty work.”

  Now that we were finished, of course, the rain began to dwindle. I looked up. There was no glowing figure. There hadn’t been since we’d uncovered the bones. I wondered if the discovery had brought an end to Coleman’s ghostly existence. If so, that made me slightly sad. Despite everything, I’d miss him. We had, after all, bonded in a way that few people could ever claim.

  Eyeing the muddy slope before us, I asked, “And just how are we supposed to get back up?” We’d mostly slid down on our butts. Well, I had.

  “We’ll leave the shovels down here and get them later, for one thing,” Trey said.

  “They aren’t ours.”

  “Who’s going to steal them? A beaver?” With a sigh, Trey braced himself for the climb.

  Several times I decided we weren’t going to make it. On my first attempt, I didn’t get very far. I got maybe two feet up when a clump of dirt
I was using as a handhold came loose and I stumbled back, nearly ending up on my ass once more.

  Trey fared better. He grunted as he grasped the trunk of the little tree growing out the side of the incline, which was about the halfway point. There was a snapping sound as one of the branches came off in his hand. “It’s not so bad once you get this far,” he said. “More footholds.”

  Actually, it looked worse, but I kept my doubts to myself. My flashlight tucked in my armpit, I tried again. “I hate nature. Have I told you that?”

  By the time I got to the little tree, I was exhausted. I held on to that little sucker for dear life. I could see Trey ahead of me, hauling himself over the ledge. He turned and extended down an arm. “Just get close enough and I can haul you up.”

  “I weigh more than you!”

  I couldn’t see his face as I was unable to point the flashlight beam properly with it in the crook of my arm, but I knew he was beaming encouragement at me. “You can do it, Michael!”

  The sapling made a cracking sound as I tried to haul myself up farther. I looked back down to see just how far I’d fall if it gave way. Dawn was just beginning to break, and I could make out a little. The drop wasn’t huge, but there was a big old rock right below me, and I certainly didn’t want to slam against that. If I broke a bone, I’d have to wait until Trey went to get help, all the while knowing a body was buried just a few feet away.

  That thought spurred me on. I scrambled up the side of the hill, finally getting to where I could grasp Trey’s outstretched hand. He helped me haul my weary carcass over the edge. Just before my legs swung onto solid ground, I dropped the flashlight. It hit against the rock and the light went out as we heard the glass break.

  “The sun’s coming up anyway,” Trey said.

  It was true. I could not only see him, but could make out some details of his face as well.

  We sat near the edge of the ravine for several minutes, catching our breath. Trey and I exchanged glances.

  “You’re filthy,” I told him.

  “So are you. And your glasses are crooked.”

  The lenses were smeared with mud anyway, so I left them as they were. “At least now I’ll be able to see going back over that fucking bridge.”

  “Yeah. You ready? Let’s get going.”

  We stood but didn’t move. Behind us a twig snapped, and we heard a shuffling sound.

  Turning around, we saw Darryl Hollis emerging from behind a tree. “What are you guys doing out here?” he growled.

  “You followed us!” Trey accused.

  Hollis didn’t answer, but I figured Trey was only half-right. Hollis hadn’t been there the whole time. Otherwise he’d have stopped us from digging up the bones of his dead son. So he must have just arrived. Maybe someone reported to him that they’d seen Trey’s car go down Cedar Road. That would be enough to get him to come out and investigate, and he’d know just where to check.

  “We found the body,” I said, hoping my fear didn’t show in my voice. “It’s over. We know you killed your son and Bryan Finn. Bryan’s buried in the vacant lot. Your son is here.”

  Although it was getting light, Hollis was still far enough away that it was hard to make out his expression. Was he angry? Despondent over finally being found out? All I knew was that my adrenaline was pumping.

  It went into overdrive when he took a step closer and I could see that he had something in his hand. He was holding a tire iron close to his side.

  Hollis noticed that I’d spotted his weapon, so he held it up. “Normally I don’t go anywhere without my gun. Wouldn’t you know it, the one time I forget it is the time I really need it? But I figured this would do the trick just as well.”

  “We don’t want any trouble,” Trey said, his voice shaking.

  “You asked for trouble when you dug up my son’s body.” Hollis began slowly walking toward us, his grip on the tire iron tight.

  I gulped. “You can’t get away with killing us. Deputy Hughes knows what we’re doing. No one will believe that Trey and I ran off like they did with Coleman and Bryan.”

  Technically, Hughes didn’t know that we were out in the wee hours digging up a body, but she knew enough that Hollis would come under immediate suspicion if we went missing.

  I wasn’t sure, by Hollis’s face, that he was listening to reason. There was a snarl on his lips as he brandished the iron, ready to bring it down on my skull.

  I started to back up and realized in time that I’d only go over the edge into the ravine. Bringing up an arm to ward off the blow (fat lot of good that would do!), I cried out and moved to the side, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to dodge the blow entirely.

  Trey shouted, “You fucker!” and dove at Hollis. He didn’t reach him in time, but it threw Hollis off enough that the iron hit me on the shoulder and not my head.

  I fell, yelling in pain and clutching my left arm. I was only inches from the ravine’s edge, and my feet were dangling in the air. Vaguely, I saw Trey trying to tackle the bigger man. He knocked him off balance but not off his feet. Hollis swung again, but as Trey was plastered to his side, the best he could do was to smack the weapon against Trey’s back. He got in two good hits.

  It was enough. Trey went down, moaning. He tried to hold on to Hollis but ended up sliding to the ground holding on to the man’s leg. Hollis kicked Trey off, and Trey rolled onto his back, his face contorted in agony. Still, when Hollis attempted another kick, Trey made a grab for the man’s foot.

  Hollis shook himself free and gave Trey one more kick to the side before returning his attention to me. Trey was pretty much out of it, holding his side and groaning.

  I shifted, giving myself more space between me and the edge. Hollis loomed over me, the tire iron held high. He was blurry, and I realized my glasses must have fallen off when he hit me the first time. “You little fucker,” Hollis snarled. “Couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

  “Daaaad!”

  The sound could have been the wind, but I knew it wasn’t. Hollis must have as well, as he paused, the tire iron still ready to slam into my skull.

  “Daaaad!”

  Darryl Hollis turned his head. Standing a few yards away from us was the ghost of his son, Coleman. Coleman wasn’t solid, but you could see him well enough. The long blond hair, the sad green eyes.

  “Cole?” Hollis’s voice was uncertain.

  “Don’t do it, Dad.”

  Hollis’s lips quivered. “You’re dead,” he said flatly.

  “Dad, please!”

  Hollis shook his head. “You’re not real. You can’t be.” He turned back to me, murderous rage back in his eyes. “This is all your fault, you little bastard! You’ve got me seeing things!”

  He started to bring the tire iron down.

  I only half saw what happened, because I had shut my eyes to brace for the blow. I was aware that the wind had picked up, as it whistled in my ears. When I dared to open my eyes just a little, wondering why Hollis hadn’t followed through, I realized it wasn’t the wind I was hearing. Coleman Hollis had vanished, at least his form had. In his place was a fog, a mist. It was this, rushing toward Darryl Hollis, that caused the cacophony.

  Hollis didn’t see the ghostly cloud until it was upon him. His eyes opened wide in fear, and he screamed as he stumbled back to get away from the rapidly advancing mist.

  And he tumbled over the side of the ravine.

  As he disappeared, the spectral fog vanished.

  I heard him fall. I heard the thump of his body hitting the ground, but I heard something else as well. A cracking sound. A sickening thud, and I knew even before I peered over the edge that Darryl Hollis’s skull had hit the big rock at the bottom of the ravine.

  I twisted so I could see better. He was sprawled out in the mud, and sure enough, his head was lying on the stone. Blood was seeping out of the back of his skull, staining the surrounding area.

  With a groan I rolled onto my back. “Trey?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
r />   “Peachy,” he answered. “You?”

  “I can’t move my arm. Damn, that guy is—was—strong.”

  “What happened? Where is he?”

  “He fell over the edge. If he’s not dead, he soon will be.”

  “Can’t say I’m horribly upset over that. Guy was fucking insane.”

  I wasn’t going to argue the point. I smiled, despite the pain in my shoulder. Here we were, just having escaped being murdered, lying in the mud having a chitchat. “Shouldn’t one of us call the cops?”

  Trey fished his phone out of his pocket. After a moment I heard him snort. “No signal.”

  I got mine out, but the result was the same. “I guess we’ll have to walk.”

  “That should be fun,” Trey said.

  Somehow that made us both laugh like idiots.

  Chapter NINETEEN

  “MICHAEL, HONEY?”

  I was in the kitchen of the Coffee Cafe, preparing some sandwiches. It wasn’t easy going, as I had to do it mostly one-handed, as my right arm was in a sling. The lunch rush was over, but we still had a few customers. I looked up to see Gloria Ramsey speaking through the pass.

  “Yeah?” I thought she had some changes the customers had made to their order.

  “Deputy Hughes is out here. She’d like to have a word with you. Trey can finish those up.”

  Trey overheard and was already gently pushing me out of the way, smacking his hip against mine. “Move,” he said jokingly. “You’re in my way.”

  I stuck my tongue out at him and went out to see what Hughes wanted.

  It had been days since the police had uncovered the bodies of both Coleman Hollis and Bryan Finn. Finn had actually been buried in an old trunk that Darryl Hollis and Gary Thornton had hauled out to the vacant lot. Gloria had reveled in the gossip as it trickled into the cafe.

  Earlier, Trey’s mother had filled me in on the “consensus of opinion” from the gossipmongers of Banning. “Apparently,” she said, in that hushed tone people use for the really juicy tittle-tattle, “Bryan Finn was the first victim. Darryl Hollis spied the young man leaving his son’s bedroom late one night and followed him outside. The two got into an argument, and Hollis beat and strangled poor Bryan. Then he got his buddy Thornton to help him bury the body.”