James Moore - The Haunted Forest Tour

Mindy looked up at Christopher. He shook his head wildly and mouthed, “ Don’t do it! ”

She took another step towards Pestilence.

“That’s the way to do it,” said Pestilence. “One small step at a time. That said, I can’t keep the forest creatures away forever, so you might want to pick up the pace a bit.”

Mindy took another step. Now less than five feet separated her from the demon.

“I need proof that you’ll keep your side of the bargain,” Mindy said.

“What sort of proof would you like?” Pestilence asked, stepping forward and closing the gap between them to three feet.

“Let them go.”

“All of them?”

Mindy nodded.

“I’m not sure I see the logic there. If I’m asking you to sacrifice yourself to save the others, why would I let them go before you’ve made the sacrifice?”

“I’m an old woman. Where the hell am I going to go? Do you think I’m going to kick you in the balls and run away?”

Pestilence walked forward and put his scaly hand on her shoulder. “So if I let them go free, you’ll willingly sacrifice yourself to me?”

Mindy nodded, her face glistening with tears.

No! Please no! Don’t do it!

“That’s very selfless of you, Mindy. Are you sure?”

“You have to let them leave the entire forest.”

“Of course.”

“All of them. Including my son.”

“That can be arranged. So if I do that, you’ll offer yourself up as my sacrifice?”

“Yes.”

“Look me in the eyes.”

Mindy looked into Pestilence’s eyes. Christopher thought his lungs were going to rip free of his chest from his silent screaming.

“I need to believe that you’re telling the truth.”

“I am.”

Pestilence’s grin widened. “You are. And unfortunately for you, that’s all I need.”

The blow caught her underneath the chin. Her head was not merely ripped from her body, but it seemed to explode in a shower of blood and gore that drenched Lee and the others.

Christopher’s screams were no longer silent.

The bird dropped him and he fell to the ground, crying out in both pain and anguish.

Pestilence shook some of the blood off his hand and let out a loud, cackling laugh. “Now the real fun begins, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy the show.”

Jake Steiner spit a stream of tobacco juice into his coffee cup. It was either spit or swallow and he didn’t much feel like gagging that shit down. He’d given it up for a while on numerous occasions, but every now and then he just needed a fix.

Since he was on his way to the place that had given him more nightmares than he ever wanted to think about, he was pretty sure this counted as “every now and then.” It was that or pop open a few beers, and he guessed that would go against the three years sober he’d managed so far in AA.

Two damned trees had eaten most of the road, and he slowed down the cruiser and carefully eased between them, cursing under his breath when he scraped up the left rear of his vehicle.

Something big and black jumped from one tree to the other and looked down on him as he passed under its territory. Whatever the hell it was, it made both trees shake.

He picked up the radio handset and called to the other cars behind him. “Got company, boys. Something up in the trees. Keep your wits and turn off your safeties, because we ain’t here to interrogate any of the things living out this way.”

“Amen, chief! Let’s get ready to rumble!” That was Wilcox answering. The boy was enthusiastic about his law enforcement and almost as crazy about his side career as a professional wrestler. Would have worked better for Jake if Wilcox looked like he could wrestle more than a Twinkie.

“Save the battle cries,” Jake said. “You might need ’em before we’re done. Don’t take this shit lightly. We’re here to see if we can stop whatever’s happening.”

Wilcox didn’t answer. He was too busy dying.

The black thing had dropped out of the tree and landed on the third cruiser, the one that carried Wilcox and his partner O’Brien. Jake couldn’t make out too many details but near as he could tell, the thing looked like it was covered in scabs and had too many arms.

He pulled over to the side and called out on the radio for everyone to stop and render aid.

By the time he was done talking, Sheila Hannigan was out of the car. Sheila was his second in command, and more than capable of handling herself in a nasty situation. They didn’t get a lot of murders in Dover’s Point, but they got more than their fair share of drunks on the weekends.

Sheila pulled her .38, sighted carefully, and put a bullet into the thing on top of Wilcox’s car. Whatever the hell it was, it fell down and stayed there.

“What in the name of shit ?” Sheila ran over to the squad car and looked at the caved-in roof. Wilcox was dead and so was his partner.

Jake made it back to where she was standing and looked at the mangled bodies. “Poor bastards.” He spit out the tobacco in his mouth in honor of his fallen comrades. Wilcox had a fine little wife at home, along with two boys—the twins—and a baby girl on the way. He might have been a clown, but he was a good cop and a better man.

O’Brien was engaged. No kids. But his folks were long-time friends and now he had to tell them he’d let their only son get himself killed.

He rubbed at the back of his neck and felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather, especially since it was still hot as sin and the sun was just going down.

“Guys, I don’t much like saying this, but Tony and Micah here are gonna call an ambulance and wait for it to show up. The rest of us have to go forward.”

The other cops protested, as Jake knew they would. No one liked to leave a fellow cop behind, even if they were already dead. It wasn’t respectful.

Of course, neither was the laughter.

Jake looked around, trying to decide which ex-employee of his had decided that two deaths were funny. All of them were looking around too. No one was laughing.

The first of the things landed on the car directly behind him, cackling away as it hunched down and bared some nasty-looking teeth. It was furry, dark with spots, and it seemed to be hunched over but standing on two feet. Both of the front arms were too long and almost scraped the paint off the black and white.

“What the hell?” That was Sheila again. She moved up next to him and started to aim. The laughing thing jumped into the air. It barely even seemed to flex its legs, just sort of shot skyward like it was on a springboard.

Sheila and Jake both watched it, and then tried to get out of the way. Jake made it, Sheila did not. The powerful hind legs of the thing landed on her chest and drove her backward and into the ground. Before she even finished bouncing, the front paws took two swipes and peeled her neck away.

Jake pissed himself right then and there. There wasn’t much he could do about it, and he didn’t have enough time to feel embarrassed before the thing crouched low and laughed in his face.

Big, golden eyes stared at him with slitted pupils that were as wide as his cat’s at home when it was angry or hunting.

The laughter started up again, coming from in front of him. It was immediately answered from several other locations.

Jake didn’t dare take his eyes off the thing. He’d seen how fast it was.

Teeth grinned at him in the dark furry face and the eyes almost seemed to shimmer. Not far away, he heard a gunshot and Sheila’s leg exploded. The obvious target stayed on her chest and laughed.

“Son of a diseased whore!” That was Peters. He always had the most colorful curse words.