“Evening, ma’am.” He touched his hat with a hand. “I’m Sheriff Brandon Kyle.”
Was it evening? I peered around him, wondered how long I had been down in the woods. The fog had settled in the lowlands and it had started snowing. Still, I could see patches of dusky blue sky and a full moon that cast the Driscoll mansion in an eerie silhouette. A group of trick-or-treaters shuffled along the main road, clutching paper sacks that would soon be filled with candy.
“You reported a dead body in the woods?” He shuffled from one foot to the other, as if eager to get down to business.
“Yes. I did. It’s on the Ponderosa Trail.” I pointed toward the gap between the trees, where a wood-chip tongue and a throaty trail led down into a dangerous black chasm—like a hungry mouth. A shiver worked its way up my arms to my neck, but I fought it. Gauze bandages laced my arm, covering the wound that I had scrubbed until raw and bleeding. It tingled now at the thought of what might be down in the forest, waiting for me.
Were those creatures still down there?
“What happened?” The officer gestured toward my arm.
“I—uh—I must have scraped my arm in the bushes. I don’t remember. Think I panicked when I saw that body.” Oh, yeah, and by the way, there are monsters down there.
His stare said he didn’t believe me.
I shrugged. “I’m clumsy.”
“She is.” Tucker joined me at the door, nodding. “Really. She tripped and fell down the stairs back home last year—”
“Okay, sweetheart.” I put an arm around my son. “They don’t need to know what a klutz I am.”
“I’m going to need you to show me where you saw the body, Mrs. MacFaddin—”
“Miss, not Mrs. Miss MacFaddin.”
He glanced down at his clipboard. “Right. Sorry. My deputy can stay with your boy.” A woman in uniform, almost as tall and broad as Mr. Backwoodsman himself, appeared on the porch.
“Deputy Rodriguez,” she introduced herself. “Think your dog will mind if I come in?”
I glanced down at Samwise, standing beside Tucker. Well, Rodriguez wasn’t a mailman, so it should be all right. I knelt beside the dog, “Stay with Tucker. Stay.” The dog stared at me with inquisitive brown eyes, tilted his head to the side as if trying to read between the lines. Don’t follow me and don’t even think about turning into a werewolf while I’m gone. I had no idea if he could read my mind, but it was worth a try.
Then I cautiously opened the screen door, watching the dog to see how he acted. With a wag of the tail and a lick on the hand, he proved that he could be good.
If he had to.
Chapter 37
A Haze of Flies
Maddie:
The moon slid behind the tree line. A breeze followed the creek, over mossy banks, past a swinging bridge. A light snow drifted down and mixed with the fog, settling in clumps between tree trunks, drifting and stretching, now a vaporous cobweb. Wet, damp, cold. It filled my lungs as I led Sheriff Kyle down into the mazelike wilderness. We carried hefty flashlights and brandished them like weapons against the thick, steamy darkness.
I wasn’t used to being so far away from the neon-city glare, from the white noise that speaks even at night. Here, the sky was so black it didn’t seem real. The moon was full tonight, but at the edge of this wood-chip trail the darkness sang, heavy and deep. It whispered and sighed, told stories I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.
Stories about monsters with shadowy wings. Creatures that wanted to steal your dreams. Creatures that apparently only I could see.
My fingers tightened around the barrel of my flashlight. Both of our beams of light swung to the right now; they crossed each other, searching the empty pockets where trees refused to grow. A small figure darted through the woodland gloom, a charcoal silhouette against forest green. A fox or a rabbit, visible only for a moment, a flash of red eyes, and then gone.
“You were hiking down here by yourself?” Kyle asked.
“Yes. Stupid idea.” The moon stared down at us through black filigree branches. I saw his shoulders rise in a brief shrug. “You think I imagined the body?”
We passed a berry briar and the scent of wild raspberries swirled around us.
“No, ma’am, it’s just—”
He hesitated. One hand tumbled through the air as he searched for the right words.
“—visitors don’t always understand what it’s like out here. Kinda surprised me too, when I first transferred from L.A. The locals claim that this place is a sanctuary, protected from things like that.” He continued as we tramped through autumn leaves. “I can’t remember the last time anybody got murdered, either in town or in the woods. Haven’t had any problems with coyotes or bears either, not like they do up in Lake Arrowhead or Big Bear. It’s like there’s something out here that watches over folks.”