Ghost Walk

CHAPTER TWELVE

Russ and Tina Farnsworth finished lashing together a stack of dried cornstalks and then stood back to admire their handiwork. The air was cool in the shade between the trees, but their clothes were soaked with sweat. They’d worked hard all morning on last-minute preparations. The visit from the police, and the subsequent delay while they were questioned, had set their schedule back an hour, and now they rushed to complete everything.

“I wish some of the others would get here,” Russ complained. “Seems like we’re doing all the work.”

“Wait until tonight,” Tina said, wiping her hands on her jeans. “We’ll take a break while everyone else busts their ass. We’ve earned it.”

“Yeah.” Russ fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket and lit up. “Still, it seems quiet today. Hard to believe tomorrow is opening night.”

“I know.”

“Wonder what happened with those kids?”

“Rhonda and Sam? They probably just skipped town. Ran away together.”

“Maybe,” Russ said. “Or maybe something else happened to them.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You see stuff on the news all the time. Boyfriend kills the girlfriend, buries her in the woods, and then tries to run. Like that Scott Peterson guy.”

“You think Sam killed Rhonda? I don’t know, Russ. Isn’t that a little far-fetched? I mean, sure, he had some anger issues. We saw that here, while he was working. He could be hotheaded and arrogant, and sometimes he was belligerent to Ken and Terry, but that doesn’t make him a killer. I never heard that he beat her or anything like that.”

“Yeah, but who really knows these days? Look at all those people that got murdered right here in these woods a few years ago.”

“They were a witch cult, Russ.”

“Well, still. You wait and see. I bet you she’s buried right out here in these woods.”

“Terry said that Ken saw her leave last night, you dork. They found Sam’s car in a grocery store parking lot across the river.”

“You never know, Tina.” He took a deep drag off his cigarette and smiled. “You just never know.”

“I know one thing,” Tina said. “You promised me you’d quit those things.”

“Don’t start that again. I’m going to. On New Year’s day.”

“That’s three months from now.”

“Well, I can’t just quit cold turkey. Got to wean myself off them.”

Grinning, she playfully smacked him. He reached around and tapped her ass.

“Love you,” Russ said.

“I love you, too.”

Russ and Tina had been married for twenty-eight years. Graduating the same year but from rival high schools, they’d met in Ocean City, Maryland, during Senior Weekend and had been together ever since. They’d had two wonderful children together, owned a nice home nestled deep in a secluded valley in Red Lion, and had no major debt. They stayed involved with their community. Decorated their house for Christmas and Halloween. Kept their lawn mowed. Were kind to their neighbors. Bought Girl Scout cookies every year. Life was perfect. They were happy and still in love. They shared everything.

Still, they had their ghosts, unknown to each other.

When her mother was in the final stages of Alzheimer’s disease, Tina had faced a tough decision. The assisted care home her mother was in was expensive, and her mother’s money had run out. Russ and Tina didn’t have the funds to keep her there, not even with a second mortgage. Although her mother’s mind was gone, her body was still in fine shape. The doctors said she might live for several more years. Tina cried as she pressed the pillow over her mother’s face and held it there. She did it with love. When her mother was gone, she leaned over and gently kissed her cheek one last time.

Russ had a gambling addiction, bordering on obsession. There were weekend trips to Atlantic City, long hours spent at the off track betting parlor on Route 30, and many late nights spent online at various gambling sites. The problem—and his debts—both grew to enormous proportions. He’d eventually broken free, put it behind him after months of secretive counseling without Tina or his family’s knowledge. But he had to hit bottom before he got the help—bottom being burglarizing his own home and pawning Tina’s jewelry, including her great-grandmother’s diamond ring, just to satisfy his debts. He’d called the police and reported it as a break-in. Russ had watched enough cop shows to know how to make it look like a real robbery. The regional cops never suspected otherwise. But when Russ saw the pain that he’d caused his wife, and the fears he’d stoked in his family—fears that their home was no longer safe—he’d shed the habit once and for all. Sadly, shedding the guilt was much more difficult.

Hand in hand, they double-checked the cornstalks one more time.

“Perfect,” Russ said. “No way will people see behind them as they walk down through here.”

“Whose hiding place is this?”

“Doug’s. He’s going to be dressed as a werewolf. He’ll hide here and let folks walk by, unchallenged. Then, Shane’s going to be hiding a little way up the trail. Doug will creep out behind the last person in the group and follow them. Then, when Shane jumps out, Doug will scare them from the rear. It’s gonna be—”

Tina held up her hand, abruptly silencing him. Frowning, she tilted her head and listened.

“What’s wrong?” Russ asked.

“I heard something.”

“Russ? Tina? Somebody help me!”

Tina gasped. “That sounds like Rhonda!”

“Come on,” Russ urged. Still clasping her hand, he led Tina forward, off the trail and into the woods. Their quick pace turned into a run as Rhonda called out for them again. Low-hanging branches tugged at their clothes, and Russ almost tripped over a root jutting from the soil. They followed Rhonda’s shouts until they found her.

“Jesus,” Russ breathed. “She doesn’t look very good.”

Rhonda leaned against a tree. Her clothes were tattered and dirty. Her face and hands were caked with mud. Dried blood covered one cheek, directly beneath a shallow, untreated cut. The most shocking aspect of her appearance, however, was the tremendous amount of weight that she’d apparently lost in the last twelve hours. Her arms and legs were rail-thin. The flesh hung off them like sallow curtains. Her face was sunken. Much of her hair was missing, revealing raw, glistening red patches on her scalp.

Then she raised her head and they glimpsed her eyes: two black holes full of swirling darkness.

“Rhonda!” Tina ran to the sickened girl. “Are you okay, honey? What’s wrong?”

“I need help.”

“It will be okay,” Tina soothed, stepping closer. “Just calm down.”

“I’m glad you both found me. Is there anyone else with you?”

“No,” Russ said. “It’s just us. Everyone else is up in the field. What’s wrong with you, Rhonda? You look like you’ve been exposed to radiation or something.”

“Russ,” Tina snapped, glaring at him.

“I need help,” Rhonda repeated.

“We’ll get you some help,” Russ promised. “Can you tell us where Sam is? Do you know?”

Rhonda smiled. “Sure. I can tell you where he is. He’s right behind you.”

“What?”

Russ turned in time to see Sam and a man he didn’t recognize step out from behind a tree. Both men were obviously suffering from whatever malady Rhonda had. The stranger was especially gaunt, almost skeletal. Their eyes were like Rhonda’s. Russ held up his hands as the man pointed a deer rifle at him. Sam clutched a machete. Russ recognized the weapon. It belonged to Cecil Smeltzer, one of the volunteers for the Ghost Walk. The old man had been using it to cut undergrowth earlier this morning, between nursing cups of coffee. Russ suddenly realized that he hadn’t seen the old veteran since shortly after the cop had left.

“Hello, Russ,” Sam said.

Russ struggled to keep the alarm out of his voice. “What the hell’s going on here?”

Behind him, Tina whimpered. Russ whipped around again. Tina cowered against a tree trunk, flanked by Rhonda and Cecil. But that wasn’t what had her terrified. It was the coyote that stood in front of her, legs spread, haunches rigid, teeth bared. A low growl emanated from its chest. It turned briefly and glanced at Russ. The beast’s eyes were black, just like those of the humans. Although it wasn’t emaciated like the others, some of its fur was missing.

“Russ,” Tina sobbed. “Do something.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Russ whispered.

“No,” Cecil said. “Not even close.”

The old man’s eyes were black, but physically, he was in much better shape than the others.

“Cecil,” Russ pleaded, “that’s a coyote.”

“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.