Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“Okay,” said Pat. “Where?”

“I found another footprint the guy left behind on a hiking trail, west of Campton. When I heard that there was another murder in Montville, I figured out what road he must have taken. Once I drove by the place, it would have been hard to not know where the murders took place,” said Mike.

“Never hear of a phone? Never think to call us and let us know your information?” asked the officer.

Mike shrugged and tried to choose just the right words—“I’ve investigated this type of thing before, and my experience has shown me that people in your position are sometimes averse to receiving unusual theories.”

“It sounds like you’re suggesting that I don’t know how to do my job,” said Pat. “Perhaps you can explain that a little further.”

“Okay,” said Mike, trying to sound even-tempered and rational. “I investigate paranormal events. This footprint, and where I found it, suggested a paranormal source. I didn’t think it would be very helpful if I called you up and said ‘I know who killed the guy in that house—it was paranormal being.’”

Pat pushed back from the table and smiled with only the corners of his mouth. “That’s perceptive,” he said. “So how about you give me an explanation that I can believe.”

“But that’s it,” said Mike. “That’s my only explanation. I think something paranormal is heading east, and it happened to kill your guy a couple of days ago, and maybe this pair in Montville sometime today. There must be similarities in the cases. Aren’t there?”

“I can’t discuss the details at this moment,” said Pat.

“Okay, sure,” said Mike, “but you must have run across at least one footprint like the one I saw today. And I can take you up to that hiking trail I was talking about. It’s called The Ledges. I’ll show you the footprint that I found last Thursday,” he assured.

“That’s great,” said Pat. “We had a giant thunderstorm last weekend. The trail almost certainly got soaked. Probably washed that footprint down to the river. I’m guessing you knew that already,” said Pat.

“No, I hadn’t heard,” said Mike.

“So what exactly am I to do with you?” Pat looked over at his uniformed associate as he asked. The man shifted in his chair, but stayed silent.

“Maybe you could show me the scene in Montville?” asked Mike. “I am a very experienced paranormal investigator. I might be able to see something that your other officers overlooked.”

“Well,” said Pat. “Here’s the thing about your paranormal investigations: I’ve been on the phone with Rockingham county a few times this afternoon. When they heard that I was trying to nail down the credentials of Dr. Mike Markey, I found out there were a number of people down in Rockingham who already had an opinion on the matter.”

“Oh?” asked Mike. He struggled to think of anyone who might know him from that county.

“Yes,” said Pat. “Turns out that their sheriff, Sheriff Murphy, has a fully-developed opinion about Dr. Mike Markey. In fact, he seems to think that you’re a grave-robbing charlatan.”

“Come on,” said Mike, rolling his eyes. “That guy is an ignorant hick. He wouldn’t listen to any of my evidence.”

“Stop right there,” said Pat. “That ignorant hick happens to be one of my in-laws.”

“Shit,” said Mike.

“You said a mouthful,” said Pat.

Mike leaned back in his chair, trying to think of something to help him win some credibility. He took a deep breath and considered starting from the beginning, spilling his whole story, but he released the breath and idea almost immediately. Some people were intelligent and pragmatic, but had no imagination for things they couldn’t explain. Mike figured he currently sat in front of one of those men.

“Oh wait!” said Mike. A sudden flash brought an idea of how to convince Pat that this was a paranormal event, and that the two incidents must be connected. “If my theory is correct,” he continued, “and the same creature committed both crimes, then he would have to be on foot, so the murders would be separated by at least a day or two. Wait, how far apart are Montville and East Motton?”

Pat folded his arms as he listened. “Forty miles,” he informed Mike.

“So you would think that it would take him at least a couple of days to cover that distance,” said Mike, “but this guy moves fast. Probably about ten miles an hour, but he only moves at night. I bet he made the Montville couple within twenty-four hours.”

“Okay,” said Pat. “A guy doesn’t have to travel on foot to take a day between killing.”

“How about this then,” offered Mike. “I bet something was missing from the bodies. Maybe an organ, probably even the brain, because he’s trying to figure out where and when he’s at.”

“Where and when?” prompted Pat.

“Yes,” said Mike. “I think he was asleep for a while. I have data that suggests that he was in the same location for several months. I’m guessing that he was there for years before that, trapped underground.”

The other man at the table, Red Bisson, leaned forward and whispered something in Pat’s ear. Pat glanced at Red and then nodded while he frowned.

“It seems that each time you start a sentence, some new detail emerges that completely changes the nature of your story,” said Pat. He pushed up his sleeve and glanced down at his watch. “In the interest of time, start from the top, from his hiking trail, and give us one more quick run-through.”

“Okay,” said Mike, “but some of this stuff is a little hard to believe.”

“Don’t worry about that part,” said Pat. “We’ll get that sorted out later.”

Mike nodded, tilted his head back, and stretched his neck. “From the top: I conduct paranormal investigations,” he glanced to Red and Pat, pausing until they nodded their affirmation. “My former colleague, Gary, discovered a paranormal power source off that trail called The Ledges. The other day, I went to check out that place and I saw a giant footprint.”

Pat scribbled a note down on his pad and tilted it up so only he could see it.

“I didn’t think that much of the footprint until I saw the news today. On the news, channel six, the camera panned down after the press conference, and I saw another giant footprint. When I heard that another murder had happened in Montville, I put everything together and decided to come up and see the scene for myself, so see if I could find any other clues as to the origin of this giant-footprint creature.”

Red leaned forward and whispered to Pat for a second time.

“Thank you,” said Pat. “Can I get you anything? We’re going to have another officer come in and continue this interview.” Pat gathered his papers and pushed his chair back from the table. Red straightened his back and began to press down on the arms of the chair.

“Am I free to go?” asked Mike. “I thought you had to let me go if you weren’t going to charge me with anything.”

“Good question,” said Pat. “You’re actually not free to go, and we haven’t figured exactly what we’re going to charge you with yet.”

“Wait,” said Mike, suddenly more concerned for his freedom, “there are very few entities that could actually do this kind of manipulation of the physical plane.”

“Is that so?” asked Pat casually, not slowing in his preparations.

“Yes,” said Mike, rushing his explanation to try to convince the men before they left, “it could be a ghoul or a revenant, but those usually don’t have the power to kill, but certainly like to feast on the dead. Maybe if the victims were weak already?”

“Someone will be right in for you,” said Pat. He and Red moved towards the door.