Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“I’ll worry about that. You show me what you got and I’ll figure out the rest,” said Bill.

“Our technology is still private,” said Mike. “We haven’t published anything yet.”

“Look,” said Bill. “I’ll make this simple for you—I reverse engineer stuff all the time. You give me an iron-clad non-disclosure agreement and I’ll turn over all my findings at the end. But we are getting way ahead of ourselves here. You need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Please,” said Mike. He pulled up a stool from the workbench and pushed it towards Katie before grabbing one for himself.

The two smokers stood while Bill explained. “This started almost two years ago, when I had the upstairs re-done. The contractor was a good guy until his tools and stuff started going missing. He asked me one time where my kid was, but I didn’t think anything of it. His guys had been hearing stuff, but eventually figured it was just the radio or something.”

Mike nodded, trying to keep pace with the story.

“Anyway, one day his good carpenter was cutting some boards for a header. I talked to him later in the hospital. You know, bring him flowers and shit? He was using a chop saw, like that.” He pointed to a compound mitre saw mounted to his bench. “He said he had a good grip on the two by ten when something yanked it. So he’s holding the board like this,” Bill said, demonstrating, “and cutting with the saw with his right hand. Halfway down with the blade, the board was jerked to the right and he just cut his own hand off." Bill nearly hit Gary with his cigarette as he demonstrated.

“The contractor grabbed the hand and put it in a plastic bag and put the whole thing in my ice bucket,” Bill explained. “They couldn’t put it back on. Said there was too much tissue damage.”

“And you think this was connected to the activity?” asked Mike.

“I know it was,” said Bill, taking another deep drag on his cigarette.

“How’s that?” asked Mike.

Bill stubbed out his cigarette on his heel and tossed the butt to the trash as he crossed to the back of the garage. “Next day,” started Bill. He opened a chest freezer positioned along the back wall. “I found this in my bed.” He pulled a plastic bag from the freezer and tossed it to Mike.

While the bag was still in the air, Mike began to pull back. Fear of the object grew overwhelming as it approached, but he couldn’t stop himself from catching the bag as it hit his chest. He immediately tossed it on the workbench.

Mike and Katie just looked at the bag while Bill continued.

“I tried to bury the thing,” said Bill, “but it was right back in my bed the next day. I took it to the hospital and threw it in the dumpster. I dropped it in the river. I even pitched it into a bonfire. It’s indestructible and it comes back to my bed every night.”

Mike couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bag. The inside was filled with ice crystals, so he couldn’t see much, but he thought he could make out a dark black splotch near one corner of the bag. Gary leaned between Mike and Katie and picked up the bag, unrolling it to get a better look at the contents.

Mike opened his mouth and spoke—“How do you know it’s…” he began.

“It’s got the guy’s wedding ring. On the fourth time it showed up, I pulled the ring to check it. It’s not incontrovertible, but it’s beyond a reasonable doubt—it has his name inscribed.”

“There’s the ring,” Gary held up the bag and pointed to the ring with his cigarette.

“It looks like it’s been in that bag for a while,” said Katie. “I thought you said it always comes back to your bed.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s another reason I think the garage is a special place. It can’t seem to find the hand when it’s here,” said Bill as he lit another cigarette. “The first night I put the hand here, the thing was really pissed. Kept me up all night knocking over lamps and shit.”

“Why do you stay here at this house?” Katie asked.

“Where am I going to go?” asked Bill. “I can’t afford to take a huge loss on this place, and the market is shit. Trudy took off last year when this really heavy shit started. So I’ve got alimony, too. It’s either here or I’m homeless.”

“Was it damaged at all when you burned it?” asked Gary. He handed the hand back to Bill, who placed it back in the freezer.

“Not that I can tell,” said Bill. “But it was always black, from the first day. I think it was probably black by the time they got it to the hospital.”

Mike tried to regain his composure. “Any other activity?”

“Sure,” said Bill. “Tons.”

“Such as?” asked Mike.

Bill stubbed out his half-finished butt on his shoe and tossed it away—“Come find out. You have any cameras or recorders or anything?”

“I probably have some in the trunk,” said Mike, patting his pockets for his keys.

“No, don’t,” said Bill. “In fact, if you’ve got cell phones with cameras or anything, you should probably leave them here.”

Mike sighed and glanced to Gary.

“When people say that, it usually means that they’ve got their house rigged for special effects and stuff, Bill,” Gary explained.

Bill laughed. “Yeah, okay. Go ahead then, take your cameras. You won’t get any good pictures, but I guarantee that you’re camera’s going to get fucked up. This thing does not want to be documented. You’ll see some shit either way, but it might be expensive for you if you take equipment.”

Gary shrugged and Mike nodded.

“Lead the way then,” said Mike.

“Okay,” said Bill. “Let me just say: aside from the carpenter, nobody has been physically hurt. Plenty of people have had the shit scared out of them. Literally, in one case. Just keep your cool and don’t let it know you’re afraid.”

“Got it,” said Mike.

Katie brought up the rear and paused when she caught up to Mike. “Should I come too?” she asked.

“Of course,” said Mike. “It’s your case.”

Bill grabbed the handle of the door to the house and turned to address his company again—“This is the last time we talk openly about it,” he warned. “Once we’re in that house, nobody is to acknowledge anything they hear or see. It only makes it more feisty, and I have to sleep here tonight.”

Gary and Katie nodded.

“Got it,” repeated Mike.

“Okay,” said Bill. “Keep your wits. When you’re ready to go, you ask me to see something out in the garage.”

“Got it,” Mike said a third time.

Bill narrowed his eyes at Mike and nodded slowly. He pulled open the door and showed them into the house. Once through the door, they found themselves in a small mud room with two steps up to a modest kitchen.

Mike scanned the room and found it clean and well-appointed. He glanced at the light fixtures and the ceiling corners, but found no sign of dust or cobwebs. His eyes darted down to the floors. The old wide-pine boards showed wear from the years, but were well-finished and as clean as the counters.

“So you live alone?” he asked.

“Yup,” said Bill.

“How old is the house?”

“This part is eighteen-seventies,” said Bill. “The living room is older, maybe eighteen-ten, but that sunroom and the garage were added about twenty years ago.”

“And the second floor is being remodeled?” asked Mike. He was attempting to extract further information without violating Bill’s request to not mention the entity.

“Yeah, you want to see?” asked Bill, playing along.

“Sure,” said Mike.

“Right this way,” said Bill. He led them past a warm dining room to the front stairs. He gestured for them to head up. Mike went first, looking up and around as he scaled the stairs. He gripped the handrail tight.