Brian Keene - Ghost Walk

“Once. Now it is us. Soon, you will be, too.”

“Come with us,” Rhonda commanded. “If you scream or try to run, Rich will shoot you.”

The coyote backed away, allowing Tina to step forward. She stumbled away from the tree, swooning. Russ hurried to catch her. They sank to their knees on the forest floor.

“What’s this all about?” Russ demanded. “This is crazy!”

“We need your help,” Rhonda explained, her voice calm.

“Help? What kind of help?”

Sam ran his thumb along the machete’s edge, drawing a thin bead of blood. He smiled as the blade parted flesh.

“We need you to move some rocks,” he said. “That’s all.”

Blood dribbled down the blade. Russ was mesmerized by it.

“Now get up.” The stranger, Rich, motioned with the rifle. “Follow us. We don’t have far to go.”

Russ got up and pulled Tina to her feet.

“Or what?” he challenged.

“Or we’ll kill you right here. The roots of this forest have drank much blood over the years. Yours will just be the latest to feed them.”

Ken pulled alongside one of the storage trailers that were parked at the edge of the field. He left the truck on while he got out to open the trailer door. The engine idled choppily. Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson rumbled from the truck’s speakers, singing about a good-hearted woman in love with a good-timing man. Ken had been a metal-head when he was in school, but as he got older, he found himself gravitating more toward the country music of the seventies. Listening to it reminded him of when he’d been a kid. His father had always liked Willie and Waylon, along with the other outlaws, Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson.

The song drifted across the field and into the forest. If anyone heard it, there was no indication. There were other cars parked near the entrance to the Ghost Walk: Russ and Tina’s SUV, Tom’s Dodge Charger, Cecil’s old pickup truck, and Terry’s Jeep. Jorge’s truck was absent. Ken swore, wondering if Jorge had made it back with the bags of lime he’d sent him for that morning. But despite the vehicles, there were no signs of activity. The forest was silent.

Ken checked his watch. He had two more hours before the other volunteers arrived for the walk-through and staff meeting—and a shitload of things to do before then.

Grumbling to himself, he began unloading the costumes and masks, putting them inside the trailer. The interior was full of items for the Ghost Walk: gas generators, extension cords, lights, tools, spools of rope and wire, plastic sheeting, landscape fencing, dry erase boards and markers, propane bottles, and numerous other odds and ends. He cleared a space for the costume boxes and sat them down. Finished, he exited the trailer and locked the door behind him. Waylon was now asking, “Are you sure Hank done it this way?”

Ken started to hum along, but his song turned to a shout when a hand fell on his shoulder. He spun around, fists raised, and almost punched Terry in the face.

“Jesus Christ,” Terry laughed, scampering backward. “Didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“I didn’t hear shit,” Ken said.

“That’s because you play this honky-tonk bullshit too loud, man. Hell, Ken, you’re worse than my kid.”

“Your kid likes country music?”

“No. But he drives around with that rap music playing loud enough to shake the goddamn windows.”

Ken turned his truck off and shut the door. “Better?”

“Much. My ear drums thank you.”

“So where is everybody? Jorge make it back with that lime?”

“Yeah. We got it spread. Then him and Tom took off to get something to eat before the staff meeting. They took Jorge’s truck.”

“Where’s Tina and Russ and Cecil?”

Terry shrugged. “Don’t know. Tom was working with Cecil for a bit. And Russ and Tina were way back in the woods, near the spot where the trail loops around and starts heading back up here. I haven’t seen them for a while. Probably still down there.”

“I wish cell phone coverage worked down here,” Ken complained, not for the first time. “It would be a lot easier if we could communicate with walkie-talkies or something.”

Terry grinned. “Ken, do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Take a deep breath and calm the fuck down. You’re worrying about everything, and you don’t need to. It’s fine. This is gonna go off without a hitch. Russ and Tina and even old Cecil are good people and hard workers. If they’re not here, then that means they’re busting their ass somewhere along the trail.”

“I know,” Ken agreed. “You’re right. It’s just…I’ve got this feeling. Like something is going to go wrong.”

“That’s just the jitters. Only thing that’s going to happen is we’re going to make a lot of money for charity starting tomorrow night.”

“Let’s hope so. Speaking of which…” Ken climbed back into his truck and grabbed a stack of newspapers. He exited the vehicle, smiling proudly. “Check it out.”

“That the article?” Terry took a copy from Ken and flipped it open.

“Front page of the local section, and then it continues on page four. And they’ve got a photo on the front page of the main section, too.”

Terry whistled. “Nice! And look there—she mentioned my name, too.”

“Yeah,” Ken replied, his tone dry. “Seeing your name in there will really sell tickets.”

“Fuck off.”

Laughing, they walked toward the entrance to the trail.

“I think we’ll have everybody gather right here,” Ken said. “That way, everybody can hear me. Then we’ll do the walkthrough.” He glanced up at the sky, and then added, “Might have to do it by flashlight. It’s getting darker already. Weird.”

“Not really,” Terry said. “It’s late October. It gets dark early. The days are growing shorter.”

Nodding, Ken zipped up his jacket and shivered.

Not only are they getting darker and shorter , he thought. They’re getting colder, too .

Evening rush-hour traffic was in full swing, moving at a crawl along Route 30, through the heart of York County. Construction signs substituted as mile markers. One of Maria’s first impressions upon moving from New Jersey was that orange traffic cones seemed to be Pennsylvania’s state plant and road workers were the state animal. They were everywhere. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she crept by fast-food restaurants, run-down shopping malls, abandoned industrial complexes, shuttered factories, and dilapidated ware houses. Like the traffic cones, all were part of the natural landscape of this stretch of highway.

She watched, shaking her head in dismay as other drivers talked on their cell phones, applied lipstick and mascara, and in one particularly disturbing case, read a comic book—all while driving. Cursing, Maria gave the finger to no less than five different drivers, for offenses ranging from tailgating to cutting in front of her.

Despite the annoyance, she was actually glad that traffic was moving so slowly. Her head felt foggy from the lack of sleep, and her eyes were red and gummy. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep behind the wheel at sixty-five miles per hour. If it happened at the current pace, she could just gently bump into the car ahead of her.

Exhausted as she was, Maria was worried that if she went to bed, she might sleep through her alarm clock’s annoyingly shrill wail and miss everything. She still had her doubts that Levi could actually get them face-to-face with Adam Senft, despite everything she’d seen. But if there was a chance, then she wanted to be there. So when she arrived back at her apartment, instead of going to sleep, she made a fresh pot of coffee. While it was brewing, she stripped out of her clothes and took another shower. The combination of caffeine, hot water, and scented body wash stimulated her senses, waking her up. Wrapping herself in two oversized, fluffy towels—one for her body and another for her hair—she decided to log online and check her e-mail.