Rachel Hawkins Eyes in the Dark

As soon as I see the truck parked behind the Smart-N-Sav, I know I’m in trouble.

Lindsey knows it, too.

“Nooooo!” she groans as I freeze in the doorway. My heart races and I have enough self-respect to remind myself that it’s kind of pathetic to get all flustered just from seeing some guy’s car.

But he’s parked right under one of the few streetlights that hasn’t blown out, and now I can see him, sitting in the front seat of the truck, his long fingers tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

And just like that, I go from flustered to straight up twitterpated.

“He’s waiting for me, right?” I ask Linds. “I mean, he knows I work here—why else would he be waiting in the Smart-N-Sav parking lot at night?”

“We are having a sale on sliced ham tomorrow,” Lindsey says, squinting out into the darkness. “Maybe he’s trying to get a jump on that.”

Scowling, I start tugging on the strings of my apron. “Linds, there is a chance Kelley Hamilton has come to get me from work for the express purpose of making out with me. I’m gonna need you to get real serious real fast.”

Linds gives the huffy sigh that always accompanies an eye roll, but I’m still watching Kelley. So far, he hasn’t noticed me and Linds in the doorway, which I am very grateful for. No girl looks her best in a bright red apron with SAV SMART! ASK ME ABOUT OUR FRESH MEAT! scrawled across the front.

“Sam, we have been over this,” Linds says as I stuff the apron in my purse. “That way?” She nods to the truck. “Lies madness. Sexy, sexy madness with really nice hair, but madness nonetheless.”

She is right. There are three major reasons—all with their own subset of accompanying reasons—I should not walk out to that truck. I know this because last week during Government and Economics, I made a list. I used highlighters and different colored pens and everything.

But then Kelley sees us. The corner of his mouth lifts, and even though it’s not a full-blown smile, it does all those clichéd things. It turns my knees to jelly. It gives me a sudden case of stomach butterflies. It makes my blood feel hotter and thicker.

It also blows my organized, reasonable, extremely colorful list to pieces.

“Okay,” I say, turning to Linds. “So I’m supposed to be sleeping over at your place tonight, anyway.”

“And you are.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m serious, Sam—you are not spending the entire night with that guy.”

“Duh,” I tell her, fishing my phone out of my pocket. “I’m not that kind of girl. I promise, I’ll be at your place by”—I check the time—“midnight. Maybe half past. How much trouble can I get into in two hours?”

Linds glances toward Kelley. “With him? Probably too much.”

“Eleven thirty, then,” I tell her, and when she keeps frowning, I tug on her sleeve and widen my eyes. “Pleeeeease?”

Finally, she laughs. “Oh, God, not the anime eyes. Fine. Eleven thirty. But after that, I’m calling a SWAT team. Or worse—your parents.”

There’s someone else she could’ve mentioned calling. That she didn’t is yet another reason Linds is my best friend. “Thank you,” I tell her, giving her a quick hug.

“You’re welcome. And understand that I expect payment in the form of a thoroughly detailed account of what making out with Kelley Hamilton is like.”

“Done.”

I turn and start walking to the truck, wishing I’d thought to put on some lip gloss while I was arguing with Linds.

As I approach, Kelley gets out, coming around to lean against the passenger door. He stands there, legs crossed at the ankle, and grins at me. “Samantha Porter. Fancy meeting you here.”

My brain races for some witty retort, but he’s smiling and leaning and his dark hair is falling in his face, and it’s a wonder I can think to breathe, much less banter. Still, I manage a weak “Are you stalking me?”

His grin deepens. “No, I’m stalking the Smart-N-Sav. Last week, she sold me canned peaches for fifty cents, so I’m pretty sure she likes me.”

“Hate to tell you, but she actually sold everyone her peaches for fifty cents.” By now, I’m standing right in front of him, close enough to breathe in the clean, soapy smell of his skin. I lean closer, dropping my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And today? They went down to just a quarter.”

“That skank,” he says, and I laugh.

In a series of easy, graceful moves, Kelley reaches behind him, opens the passenger door, and bows. “Since Lady Smart-N-Sav has broken my heart, may I at least escort her handmaiden home?”

“You may,” I tell him as he helps me up into the truck. Inside, it’s shockingly clean and smells like Kelley. The leather seat is cold through my jeans, and I wonder how long he’s been waiting for me.

Kelley cranks the engine, and stale warm air rushes out of the vents. The radio blares to life, some pounding rock song, and Kelley and I both jump, laughing nervously when he turns the music off.

“I have to say,” I tell him, “you don’t seem like a Truck Dude.”

He shrugs, looking over his shoulder as he backs up. “My dad got it for me. Figured since I was moving back to Alabama, I ought to try and fit in with the locals.”

“Are you glad? To be back in Hellburg?”

Kelley snorts at the nickname. We live in Haleburg, but in a deep Southern accent, it sounds like Hellburg. And, to be honest, that name feels more fitting sometimes.

“I’m not not glad, how about that?” he says. He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the two-lane highway. “It’s not the worst place I’ve ever lived, that’s for sure.”

Ah. And there we have it. Coming in at the bottom of the list: Reason Number Three I Should Stay Away from Kelley Hamilton: his super-weird past. I wrote that in green highlighter.

Until we were in the sixth grade, Kelley lived in Haleburg with both his parents. His dad was a doctor in Dothan, the nearest big town, and his mom taught at the high school. Even back then, I’d had a crush on him. I mean, I still had a drugstore valentine he gave me in kindergarten.

But when we were twelve, Kelley’s parents got divorced. His dad moved to Dothan, and Kelley’s mom took him back to her hometown, somewhere in Georgia.

But Haleburg is a small town, and people still talked. When I was in eighth grade, my mom heard from a nurse who used to work with Kelley’s dad that Kelley was having . . . issues. And then the next year, that same lady said that Kelley’d had to go to Atlanta and live either in a hospital or reform school. No one was ever really sure.

And then of course there were rumors that he was messed up on drugs, and someone else said they’d heard he was homeless in Nashville. But just as many people said that it was nothing like that, that yes, he’d a rough time with the divorce, but nothing out of the ordinary.

And then, a few months ago, at the beginning of our junior year, Kelley suddenly reappeared. He sure as heck didn’t look like someone who’d been a junkie and/or homeless. And there was his easy grin, his quick laugh. If he were all psychologically damaged, he wouldn’t be so nice, right?

I mentioned that to my mom just the other night, but she got a funny look on her face. “Maybe, but I still don’t want you hanging around him. Just to be on the safe side.” (That, by the way, was Reason Number Two I Should Stay Away from Kelley Hamilton.)

We come to a four-way stop, and Kelley glances at me. “Since I’m not stalking you, I actually don’t know where you live. Which way?”

“I’m staying with Lindsey tonight.” Now he’s looking at me, and the next words come out in a rush. “She’s not expecting me for a few hours, so we can hang out or . . . whatever.”

Oh, God. Or whatever? I’m so glad it’s dark in the truck so he can’t see the blood rushing to my face.

Or whatever. I hate myself so hard right now.

But Kelley nods. “Excellent. You, uh, wanna drive around then?”

I’m not sure if that’s universal code for “go kiss each other’s faces off,” or if it’s just a Southern Guy Thing. I do know that I’ve never just “driven around” with any boy.

So even though my voice is light when I reply, “Yeah, sure,” my hands are twisting in my lap, pulling at the hem of my sweater.

Kelley makes a right, and soon, we’re leaving Haleburg behind, the truck speeding down the dark road, nothing on either side but peanut fields. Overhead, there’s a crescent moon, and the stars look bright and cold against the dark blue sky.

Kelley opens his window, and I roll down mine, too. Even though it’s a chilly November night, I have to fight the urge to stick my head out like a dog. I settle for dangling my hand in the air, my skin quickly going numb. Ever since Kelley strolled into homeroom in August, I’ve felt like we were circling each other, heading for this night, this moment. And now—

A chime rings from my purse. I fish out my phone, expecting a text from Linds. But the name flashing on the screen is JUSTIN, and the text reads HEY, U AT LINDSEY’S? MISS U!

I hold the phone for a second, debating whether or not to answer. Because this? This is the Number One Reason I Should Stay Away from Kelley Hamilton: I have a boyfriend.

Or I kind of do. I mean, Justin and I have never had a conversation that involved words like boyfriend or girlfriend, or exclusive. There’s been no, like, jewelry exchanged or anything. So I have no reason to feel guilty, really.

But thinking that doesn’t stop my stomach from clenching as I slide the phone back into my bag.

“Anything important?” Kelley asks over the rush of the wind. By now, we’ve passed the peanut fields and are driving through the woods that encircle Haleburg. Thick copses of evergreens block the moon.

I smile back at him. “Just Linds, checking on me. So are we driving anywhere specific, or . . .”

He grins, and I catch my breath, hoping he doesn’t notice. “I thought we might go check out the covered bridge.”

“Cater Creek Bridge? We can’t.”

Something crosses Kelley’s face, and for a second, I think it’s annoyance. But it’s gone as soon as it appears, and he shrugs. “I know we’re not supposed to, but—”

“No, I mean we actually can’t. They blocked the road.”

The covered bridge used to be kind of famous in Haleburg. My parents had taken me there a lot when I was little. Sometimes we’d had picnics under its broad red roof, sometimes I’d played in the icy-cold creek running under it. It had been a pretty spot.

But over the years, fewer families came to the bridge for picnics, and more teenagers went there to get high or have sex. The bridge, which had been so picturesque and quaint, had started to feel seedy and sinister.

I couldn’t remember if Kelley had been here when Cater Creek Bridge started going downhill, but then he says, “So did the county finally get sick of picking up joints and condoms?”

I laugh nervously, even though him saying the word condoms brings another rush of heat to my face. “No, um, it’s actually kind of weird. There was a couple from Dothan about three years ago who went down there. Never came back.”

“This is the part where I start humming The Twilight Zone music, right?”

“Well, it’s not that mysterious. I mean, they found their car but none of their stuff. Everybody thought they just ran away together. But it was still enough of a big deal that the county decided to close off access to the bridge.”

Kelley slows as we reach the little dirt road that winds through the woods. There’s still a sign that reads, CATER CREEK BRIDGE: ALABAMA’S LARGEST COVERED BRIDGE with a fluorescent-white arrow pointing into the trees. Under that, block letters scream, ACCESS FORBIDDEN. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

“Why not just take down the sign?” Kelley mutters.

Branches scrape against the roof of the truck, and I bite my lip. PROSECUTED blares in my brain. All the happy, euphoric feelings rush out of me, replaced by that awful twisting sensation that’s your stomach’s way of saying THIS IS A BAD IDEA.

But it’s not like we can even get to the bridge. They brought in mounds of dirt and clay and piled them into hills about halfway down this road. We’ll get to those, Kelley will see that the whole bridge idea is impossible, and then we’ll leave. And maybe go somewhere else to make out, although, I have to admit, I’m not much in the kissing mood anymore. There’s even a small part of me wishing I’d just gone home with Linds tonight.

But then Kelley takes my hand. It’s the first time we’ve touched (if you don’t count a round of duck, duck, goose in second grade), and it sends a pulse through me. Keeping his eyes on the road, Kelley rubs his thumb in little circles on my palm. “You’re awfully quiet over there.”

My mouth is dry as I say, “Signs that say ‘forbidden’ and ‘prosecuted’ tend to freak me out a little, that’s all.”

I want him to say something like “Okay, we’ll leave then.” Instead, he says, “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

But as we pull up to the hills of dirt blocking the road, his grin fades a little. “Whoa.”

I’d expected pretty big piles. Tall enough to discourage people from trying to climb them in trucks or ATVs, but not so high as to make it impossible. But these hills tower over the truck, nearly eight feet high, and steep. Not only that, there are branches, pine straw, and all shapes and sizes of rocks mixed with the dirt, making the mounds seem dangerously unstable.

“Oh, bummer,” I say, hoping I sound legitimately regretful. “Those are way higher than I thought they’d be.”

It’s 10:32, and I’m suddenly annoyed. It’ll take us another twenty minutes to get out of here, then who knows how long to find somewhere else to go? And Linds’s house is on the other side of town, so that’s ten more. . . . At this rate, Kelley and I will have time to maybe shake hands.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Kelley says, waggling his eyebrows.

By now, all I want to do is get the heck out of this spooky forest and go somewhere normal to make out. Like a parking lot or a cul-de-sac. Any place that doesn’t give me a major case of the creepies. And if he thinks I’m climbing up giant mounds of packed clay and dirt . . .

“There’s no way we can get over these things,” I tell him, hoping that whatever his plan is, he’ll drop it.

Kelley grabs the gearshift, and I expect him to put it in reverse. Instead, he pulls the handle all the way down. The truck makes a grinding sound as it starts up one of the dirt hills, the cab rocking alarmingly from side to side. I grip the door handle. “What are you doing?”

“Four-wheel drive,” he tells me. “One of the few awesome things about driving this redneckmobile.”

The tires spin. For one brief, sickening moment, I feel them lose contact, and all I can see is the truck rolling down the hill, crushing me and Kelley in the wreckage. And they won’t find our bodies for forever because no one knows where we are, and when they do find us, everyone will know that I was cheating on Justin with Kelley Hamilton, even though I haven’t even gotten to the cheating part yet.

I look over at Kelley. He’s gritting his teeth, hands tight on the steering wheel.

But then the tires touch the dirt again, and suddenly, we’re cresting the top of the hill. Juddering and bouncing, the truck makes its way down the other side, and when we finally come to a rest at the bottom, Kelley kills the engine.

The lights are still on, illuminating an overgrown road that should really be called a path. It winds its way through the trees, disappearing around a bend a few yards in. I’m shaking, with both fear at nearly getting killed and the elation of not getting killed.

Next to me, Kelley starts to laugh, a relieved and kind of breathless sound. And then I start giggling, too. Our eyes meet, his reflecting the blue lights of the dash. He reaches out, cups my cheek in one palm, and then I’m unbuckling my seat belt and sliding across the bench seat and into his arms.

Once his lips are on mine, I’m not scared anymore. I can’t feel anything but want and heat. Kissing Kelley Hamilton is better than I’d thought it would be, and trust me, I’d thought it would be pretty amazing. But my daydreams didn’t capture how soft his hair is, or the low sound he makes in his throat as he holds me tighter. When we break apart for air, he presses his forehead against mine.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” he breathes.

“Me too,” I confess, just as shakily.

Kelley kisses me again, softer this time, his hands cold on my lower back. He pulls away, fingers still sliding over my spine, making me shiver. “You know, we don’t have to go down to the bridge. I feel pretty good about staying right here.”

My face is pressed against his neck, so I know he can feel me smile. “I’m actually good with that.”

I lift my head and he sinks one hand into my hair as we move toward each other. But before we kiss, Kelley freezes, his head jerking to one side as he stares out the windshield. “What was that?”

Irritated, I slide back. “Don’t do that.”

His eyes flick to my face for a second before turning back to the woods. “No, I’m not being a dick. I saw something. Like, for real. Lights or something.”

Kelley turns the key, and with a click, the headlights go out, plunging us into darkness. “Just watch,” he tells me. “Over there, to the right.”

I cross my arms as I settle back into the passenger seat, squinting out into the darkness. “I don’t—” I say, but then, suddenly, I do.

They’re dim, but several yards away, twin orbs of red light are glowing faintly. They’re maybe the size of quarters, and as I watch, they disappear for a second, only to then reappear in exactly the same place.

“They look like—”

“Eyes,” Kelley finishes. “They look like eyes.”

Goose bumps prickle my arms. “Shut up,” I tell him, but I’m still staring out in the darkness. God, he’s right, they do look like eyes. They vanish again for a second, but just like before, they come back almost immediately.

“See?” Kelley points at the lights. “They’re blinking. What the hell has eyes like that?”

There are all kinds of creatures in these woods. Possums, raccoons . . . my mom even thought she saw a mountain lion out here when she was a teenager. So my brain races, trying to match those glowing circles to one of those animals. But none of them seem to fit. These eyes are too big to belong to a possum or a raccoon; they’re too red.

Still, I tell Kelley, “Probably just a trick of the light.”

I wait for him to let it go and to pull me back to him. Instead, he leans over the steering wheel, peering out. “But seriously, Sam, what is that thing? I mean, what has eyes like that?”

The mood is now sufficiently broken, and I can’t keep the poutiness out of my voice as I say, “Who cares? Let’s just get out of here. I promised Linds I’d be back by eleven thirty.”

This time, there’s no mistaking the annoyance on Kelley’s face. “Sam—” he starts, but before he can say anything else, this . . . sound fills the air. Part howl, part shriek, it’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Now the goose bumps aren’t just on my arms, they’re everywhere. The howl fades away, dissolving into a kind of chittering. I push the LOCK button on my door even though it’s already locked.

It’s just an animal. Some weird kind of animal that makes a weird, awful sound. My mind balks at calling it anything else. Still, I fasten my seat belt and tell Kelley, “I want to go. Now.”

But instead of starting the engine, Kelley grabs the door handle.

I grab him. “What are you doing?”

Still watching the darkness, he shakes off my grip. “I just want to get a closer look.”

All I can do is stare at him. “What?”

“Whatever it is, it’s weird, okay? So I want to see it.”

“You know what else is weird?” I say, already reaching down for my phone. “Getting your face eaten off by some chupacabra in the woods. Woods we are not even supposed to be in. Now let’s just forget it and go.

My fingers close around my phone. If he won’t take me out of here, I’ll call someone. Linds. Heck, even my parents. Getting in trouble with them seems way less scary than getting mauled by a monster.

Kelley laughs. “A chupacabra?”

“You know, those monsters people see in Mexico, Texas, places like that,” I say, suddenly self-conscious. “They kill goats and cows.”

“Well, since we’re not in Mexico or Texas, and neither of us is livestock, I think we’ll be okay,” he says, opening his door. “Give me two minutes, okay? I just wanna check it out.”

He’s out of the truck, closing the door with a quiet thunk before I can even reply. I don’t know if it’s fear or anger making me shake, but I suspect it’s a decent mix of both.

Kelley walks in front of the truck. He moves slowly, his hands held out slightly in front of him. For a second, I think about leaning over and hitting the horn. It would serve the dual purpose of scaring the crap out of Kelley and running that thing off. And it would probably piss Kelley off, ensuring that our first kiss was also our last. But do I really care anymore?

Justin’s face pops into my mind. He never would have taken me out here. And if he had, he would have taken me home when I said I wanted to leave. Guilt floods me, washing away all the anger and a fair amount of the fear. I read his text again. He misses me. Sweet Justin misses me while I’m out here fooling around with Kelley Hamilton, who may be hot, and may not be a junkie or a psychopath, but is something of a jackass.

I hit REPLY, and a message flashes on the screen: BATTERY POWER TOO LOW FOR RADIO RANGE. What?

But there, in the top left-hand corner, my battery bar has one little sliver of red. It’s almost the same color as the thing’s eyes. Which reminds me that I’ve been so busy futzing with my phone and being self-loathing that I haven’t been watching Kelley.

Heart pounding, I look up, and the sound that comes out of my mouth is half groan, half whimper.

Kelley isn’t there.

“No, no, no, no,” I mutter, the sound of my own voice too loud, too harsh in the quiet truck. Leaning forward, I squint out at the trees, trying to spot Kelley’s white T-shirt. But there’s nothing. Just trees, trees, and more trees. I don’t even see the red glow anymore.

Turning back to my phone, I speed-dial Linds, but that stupid low battery message comes back again. I toss the phone to the floorboard.

I could go out there, but the thought of doing that makes me shudder. At least in the truck, I have doors that lock. Speaking of . . .

I lean over to the driver’s seat. Distracted, I realize Kelley left the keys in the ignition, but how the hell am I supposed to get back over those hills? I remember the strain on his face as we climbed. Hadn’t his left hand been doing something? Was there a button to press? How did four-wheel drive even work, and damn it, why had I never learned?

I am nearly sobbing with frustration when there’s a thump under the truck. A small, stifled scream bursts from my throat, and I freeze.

The thump comes again, harder this time. The sound of my own blood rushing in my ears is almost painful. It’s like every piece of me, every last molecule, is straining to hear. Another thump. And then another.

The truck shimmies, and there’s a scrabbling that sounds like it’s right in front of me. The cab shakes again and I lower my face to the leather, trembling. I lie there for what feels like years as the truck rocks, and the harsh sound of something scraping against the plastic bed (claws, claws, oh, God, its claws) fills the air. But I can see my phone—my stupid, useless phone—from where I’m lying, and I know that only three minutes go by before the sounds and the rocking stop.

Three more minutes go by before I find the courage to lift my head. I make myself look out the windshield first. Still no sign of Kelley, no sign of anything. And then I turn to the back.

It’s dark. No red orbs. Holding so still that my muscles shiver and ache, I keep watching. I know this moment. This is the part in scary movies where the girl relaxes, only to have the creature or killer or alien fling itself out of the darkness. I brace myself, thinking that if it does happen, my mind will shatter into a thousand tiny shards. Because really, once a monster has jumped out of the woods at you, how can you ever go back to being okay?

But that doesn’t happen. I stay still and watch and breathe, but nothing jumps at me. Nothing growls. And the silence goes on just long enough to make me think that I imagined it. Somehow, that’s worse.

I’m still staring into the bed of the truck when the driver’s side door flies open.

I do scream then, but it doesn’t sound anything like those girls in movies. It sounds high and breathless and crazy, and I can’t seem to stop it, even when Kelley slides into the seat.

“Sam,” he says once the door is slammed behind him. He grabs my shoulders. “Sam. SAM. It’s okay—it’s just me.”

He’s breathing like he just ran a marathon, and even though his face is sickly pale, his eyes are bright.

“You said two minutes!” is all I can think to yell once I can finally form words again. “You said two minutes, and my phone doesn’t work, and there were things in the back, and—”

“Shh, shh,” Kelley murmurs, but he’s already letting go of me and starting the truck. The relief I feel is so intense, I sag against the seat, running trembling hands over my face. I don’t even care where Kelley was, or why he was running, or why two minutes turned into an eternity.

I want to go home. I want to see Linds. I want to text Justin and tell him that sure, he might be a little boring, but at least he’s never gotten me nearly killed.

I never want to see Kelley Hamilton again, no matter how good his hair is.

The truck lurches forward, and I wait for it to turn around, to make the climb back up the hill. Did I really think that was terrifying just a few minutes ago? Did it take less than half an hour to radically alter my definition of “scary”?

There is a crunch as we run over what sounds like a bunch of sticks, and the truck picks up speed.

It does not turn around.

I open my eyes and watch trees race past. We’re not heading back. We’re going deeper into the woods.

“What are you doing?” I shriek.

Kelley swerves around a pile of sticks and pine straw, speeding down the road. “I saw it, Sam,” he says. “I saw it, and it was not a possum with mange, or a bobcat, or a mutated raccoon, or anything.” His words come tumbling out in a rush, and I realize with dawning horror that he’s smiling.

“We are talking some kind of brand-new species, Sam. I mean, the kind of crap that makes people famous. We’ll probably get our own show on the Discovery Channel.”

“I don’t want a show on the Discovery Channel!” I reach out and punch him in the upper arm, hard enough to make him wince. “I want to go home, you douchebag! That thing could kill us.”

Kelley shakes his head. “No way. It was pretty small, like one of those miniature collies.”

“But there’s more than just one of them,” I say, remembering the rocking of the truck, the scraping of claws. How many “miniature collies” would it take to make a truck this big sway like that?

It’s like he doesn’t even hear me. “It ran this way, but if I can corner it . . .”

I lift my hands, wanting to wrench the steering wheel out of his hands. But as fast as we’re going, that would probably crash us into a tree. Instead, I tuck my legs underneath me, rising on my knees to face him. “Kelley, listen to me. There are lots of these things. And I think they have claws, and it doesn’t matter that they’re small if there’re hundreds of them.”

“There aren’t hundreds, Sam. People would’ve seen them. And besides—HA! Got you, you little bastard!”

Something bounds into the headlights. Kelley’s right—it’s not very big. Maybe four feet long, and I can’t tell how tall because it sort of leaps as it runs, almost like a deer. As it flees, it glances over its shoulder with a quick flare of red eyes. I catch sight of its long muzzle, and the briefest hint of teeth.

Lots of teeth.

Branches slap the windshield, the roof, the windows, as the truck flies over roots and rocks. I hang on to the strap by the door, but all that accomplishes is pulling a muscle in my shoulder. We’re rocking back and forth, and my stomach is somewhere in my mouth, so even though my brain screams, Stop stop STOP, no words come out. There’s a high-pitched whimpering coming from somewhere, and I suddenly realize it’s me.

Beside me, Kelley grips the wheel, his jaw set, his eyes focused right between the headlights. The thing’s powerful hind legs flex as it bounds in front of us, moving in and out of the lights.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Kelley mutters under his breath, and I wonder if he’s talking to the truck or to the thing.

The tree is there so suddenly that I don’t have time to scream. I barely get out a gasp, and then we’re slamming against the trunk of a towering oak. There’s a crunch of metal, and the surprisingly loud pop of the airbags, but even over that, I hear that shriek/howl again. It’s louder this time, and it rises in a cry of pain before trailing off. And then everything is quiet except for the tick of the engine, the creaking of the tree, and my own chattering teeth.

Kelley flings open the door and leaps out while I sit, shaking and staring at the thing pinned between the tree and the truck. Lying against the hood, mouth open, its long tongue is very pink against the dull silver paint. Its eyes are still open, and, the red slowly fades into nothingness.

Kelley leans over it, shaking his head as if he can’t believe it. He meets my eyes through the windshield. “Holy crap, right?”

My legs are shaking. Getting out of the truck is hard for me, but I manage it. I walk across the back of the truck and come around to stand next to Kelley. He’s still smiling when I reach out and punch him as hard as I can.

As his breath whooshes out and he doubles over, I stare at the ruined truck. There’s no doubt that it’s totaled, that it’ll never get us out of here. And I focus on that, because it’s a lot easier than wrapping my brain around the fact that monsters are real, and that Kelley has just killed one.

“Sam,” Kelley wheezes, “I’m sorry about this

“About what exactly? The leaving me alone part? Or ignoring when I said I wanted to leave? About ramming your truck into a tree like a lunatic?”

“All of it,” he replies, and he does look sorry. Then that grin again. “But come on. You have to admit this is pretty badass.”

“I want to go home,” I say for what feels like the thousandth time. I think about my phone, probably dead by now, somewhere in the truck. I wonder what time it is. I wonder if it’s past 11:30, and if Linds is worried about me.

Kelley heaves a sigh. “We will. Let me just call . . . I don’t know, my dad, I guess.”

While Kelley reaches into his pocket for his phone, I slump to the ground, leaning against one of the tires. It’s hot against my back. Kelley is lit up in the glow of his phone as he turns it on, so I can see the panic that darts across his face. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a signal.”

I laugh. The noise startles Kelley and he glares as giggles pour out of me. “Of course,” I gasp. “Of course you don’t have a signal! And mine is dead! Of course that happens when we’re trapped in a monster-filled forest!”

“Jesus, Sam, calm down. You sound crazy.”

That just makes me laugh harder. “Oh, right, I’m crazy. You just totaled your car chasing down a freaking chupacabra, and I’m crazy.”

Kelley scowls. “You know—” he starts, and then whatever he was going to say trails off as he stares into the trees. I follow his gaze.

Monsters are real, so maybe that means other bizarre stuff is real, too. Stuff like time travel. Or wishes.

I wish now. I wish to go back to the Sam I was just a few hours ago, the Sam leaving stupid Smart-N-Sav with her best friend. I wish Kelley Hamilton hadn’t come to get me tonight. I wish that I had gone home with Linds, and texted my boyfriend, and never known how truly terrifying the world could be.

I wish, and I watch as two, then four, then dozens of red eyes start to glow in the darkness.

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