F. Wilson - Secret Circles

“Don‟t!”

“Why not? I— ew ! It smells.”

Jack caught it too, a sour stench somewhere between stale sweat and spoiled meat. It turned his stomach and caused a growing sense of dread. He‟d smelled it before and he knew what it meant.

They weren‟t alone.

“It‟s not the lumen.”

Where was it? He gave a frantic twist left and then right, but didn‟t see anything. The stink said it was close by. Levi had said to run if he smelled it— like the hounds of hell’ re after you . But which way? Think!

Wait. If he was smelling it, that meant it was upwind. He calmed himself, stood statue still, sensing the breeze.

There—faint against the left side of his face, to the east. He turned in that direction and froze as he spotted a dark, hulking shape standing half in, half out of the shadows of the tree line. It seemed to be watching them and the lumen. Was this the thing that had chased Mr.

Collingswood up a tree?

Jack pressed a finger over Weezy‟s lips and pointed. In the glow from the lumen he saw her eyes widen and felt her stiffen as she saw the shape.

Without warning, the lumen rose and darted off toward the south, following its kind. Jack didn‟t wait to see what the shape would do.

He slapped Weezy on the back and whispered, “Go!”

They were only halfway off their bikes. He hopped the rest of the way onto his seat and began pumping the pedals for all he was worth. He heard a hiss and then something heavy crashing through the underbrush behind him as the tires of his BMX slipped and skidded in the sandy soil.

He heard Weezy whimpering in fear as her tires did the same. Finally they caught and he almost screamed with relief as he began moving.

He saw Weezy beside him, grunting with effort.

“Don‟t look back!” he said. “Just go-go-go!”

The slightest wobble in one of their front tires now could send them into a skidding crash.

But Jack looked back. He couldn‟t help it.

Something big and dark was racing his way through the moon-dappled underbrush. He couldn‟t tell if it was running in a crouch or on all fours, but it was fast and it was closing.

Jack put every ounce of strength he had into his legs, pushing as hard as he‟d ever pushed against those pedals.

“Go, Weez! Give it everything!”

At least they were headed west, toward Johnson. He just prayed they‟d make it.

Why hadn‟t he listened? When was he going to learn?

He kept pedaling, leaning over his handlebars, and urging the bike forward. He heard an angry screech but didn‟t look back. After traveling somewhere between a quarter and half a mile, and not hearing anything more behind him for a while, he chanced another glance. When he saw an empty trail, relief flooded him.

“I think we‟re safe,” he said, “but keep going.”

They didn‟t slow their pace until they reached Old Town.

“What was that?” Weezy said, panting as they coasted past the lightning tree.

Jack‟s sweat was cooling as he caught his breath.

“A bear … had to be a black bear like Tim said.”

“But it didn‟t roar or even growl.”

Right. Instead it had hissed and come after them, then screeched—probably when it had given up the chase.

“A bear,” Jack said. “A weird bear.”

“You‟re kidding yourself, Jack. That wasn‟t a bear. I‟ll bet it‟s connected to the pyramid back in the Pines.”

“Weezy—”

“Tomorrow, Jack. We‟re going out there tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But in daylight—in broad daylight.”

She laughed. “If you‟re expecting an argument from me, forget it.” She sobered. “You know …

they say Marcie Kurek ran away, but what if she wandered into the Pines and was grabbed by that thing?”

Jack shook his head. “Then I don‟t think we‟ll ever see or hear from her again.”

He followed her to her house—he wasn‟t simply going to assume she‟d get home safe as he had with Cody—and they split with a silent wave at her driveway. A few minutes later Jack coasted into his yard. He slipped in through his bedroom window, then pulled out the videotape. In the hallway he crept to the bottom of the stairs and listened. He heard the sound of the TV drifting down from his folks‟ room. They tended to watch the eleven o‟clock news, followed by Johnny Carson‟s monologue on The Tonight Show , then shut down and call it a day.

He stole to the downstairs TV, turned it on, then the videotape player, but lowered the sound to zero. He inserted the tape, rewound, and hit PLAY. As soon as the scene of Mr. Vivino with his wife in an arm lock lit the screen, Jack stopped. He couldn‟t bear to watch it again, but had to be sure he‟d caught the incident before proceeding to the next step.

He rewound the cassette to its beginning and ejected it. After turning off the TV and the player, he hid the tape in his room.

What a day. He wanted to talk to someone about it, but couldn‟t mention taping the Vivinos to

anyone . And as for what he‟d witnessed with Weezy, his dad would go ballistic if he knew he‟d been in the Pines at night. He didn‟t like him in there during the day.

He went to the window and stared out at the starlit sky. Looked like a long night ahead.

THURSDAY

1

The videotape cassette had been burning a hole through Jack‟s backpack all day at

school. Or at least it felt that way. Now at last, after a seeming eternity, he was returning to Johnson.

He‟d found it almost infinitely difficult to wave to Sally and Mrs. V this morning as they waited across the street at the elementary bus stop. She‟d stood there in her dark glasses and long-sleeved blouse, seeming to pierce him with her gaze as if she knew.

Did she? No way. He‟d been out in the dark, she‟d been inside in the light. She couldn‟t have seen him.

So why had she been staring at him?

Maybe she hadn‟t. Maybe just staring through him and thinking of a better life, a life without her husband.

Once in school Jack had hidden the cassette at the rear of his locker‟s top shelf. He‟d checked on it a number of times during the course of the day. He didn‟t know why he was so paranoid.

No one but he knew it existed.

He stepped off the bus and headed directly to the VFW post. This was it: Do or die. He had to find a way to get this onto the screen to night. If he failed he‟d have to wait until the next smoker. He couldn‟t bear the thought of Sally and her mother suffering through another month of what he‟d seen last night.

When he reached the post he found the front door wide open. The smell of strong detergent wafted from within.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

No answer.

Almost too good to be true to find the place open and empty. He could just waltz down to the rec room and do his thing—whatever that might turn out to be.

He stepped inside and called again.

“Hello?”

To his dismay, a familiar voice, accompanied by the sound of feet on stairs, answered.

“I‟m coming, I‟m coming.” Walt appeared from a stairwell and smiled when he saw Jack. “Hey, man. What‟s up?”

“I‟m cashing in my rain check for the tour.”

“Oh, hey, I was just about to start mopping the floor downstairs and—”

“Just a quick look?”

As Walt hesitated, Jack noticed that his eyes were clearer than he‟d ever seen them.

Then he remembered: Mrs. Clevenger asked him to stop drinking. With all that had gone on since yesterday afternoon, Jack had forgotten about the conversation he‟d overheard.

She‟d wanted him to stop because he might be “needed.” What did she expect Walt to do?