Ghost Walk

“Glad I ate something earlier,” Tom said. “This might take a while.”

“Listen, did you take off work tomorrow?”

“No.”

“Well, shit, Tom! Why don’t you go on home, too? I can handle this by myself.”

“No, you can’t. And besides, I don’t have to be at my desk until nine. I got time.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. This might be a wild-goose chase, but I appreciate the help. Ghost Walk or not, those woods are kind of creepy after dark.”

“Terry, do you really think they’re okay?”

“Do you really think Cecil is laying out there drunk?”

“No. I wish I did, but I don’t. This just isn’t like him at all. I think something’s happened.”

“So do I. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s those kids going missing, or maybe I’m just tired, too. Or maybe it’s these fucking woods. But I’m starting to get a bad feeling.”

“Me, too,” Tom said. “You think maybe we should call the cops?”

“Not yet,” Terry said. “I mean, maybe we should. But I want to hold off. This time tomorrow night, we’ll be open. The last thing we need right now is law enforcement and search parties traipsing through the woods.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

Terry shrugged. “I don’t like it either. Hell, Russ and Tina are friends of mine, and old Cecil seems like a good guy. But I’ve got other responsibilities to think about, too. Ken’s been my best friend since high school. A lot of folks drift apart after they graduate, but that never happened with us. He’s like a brother to me. This Ghost Walk means the world to him. It’s the first time I’ve seen him excited about anything since Deena died. If the cops suspect foul play, they could shut us down before we even open. That would kill him. Not to mention the negative publicity.”

“You don’t reckon the police think we had anything to do with this?”

“No,” Terry admitted. “Probably not. But you never know. And if those fucking reporters start sniffing around and asking lots of questions, Ken’s not going to be able to deal with it. Not right now, on top of everything else. He’s got other shit to worry about.”

“Not necessarily. He handled that girl from the newspaper pretty well.”

“Yeah, but she was just writing a fluff piece. Look, I don’t like it any more than you do. And you’re right. My gut tells me we should call the authorities right now. We probably should let someone know. It’s the right thing to do. But humor me just a little bit longer. Let’s have one last look ourselves. If we don’t find them, then we’ll call somebody. At least this way, Ken will get some sleep before we wake him up.”

“I guess you’re right.”

They retrieved two high-powered flashlights from the storage trailer. Terry grabbed a first-aid kit, as well.

“Think we’ll need that?” Tom asked.

“It’s just a precaution.”

As an afterthought, Terry stuffed two road flares into his jacket pocket.

“Another precaution?” Tom’s expression was grim.

“Yeah,” Terry said. “If they are hurt—and I hope to fucking hell that we’re wrong about that—and one of us has to come back up here to call 911, then the other one can light up these flares so the paramedics can find us easily. Especially if we’re off the trail.”

“That’s good thinking.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t need them.”

Terry and Tom began the long hike across the field, heading toward the forest. They zipped up their jackets against the late-night chill and slipped on their leather work gloves to keep their hands warm. The high weeds were wet with dew and their pants quickly became soaked below the knees. Neither spoke much. They were too tired, too cold. Too apprehensive. They tried once again to reassure each other that they were probably overreacting, but secretly, both men were becoming more and more convinced with each passing moment that something was seriously wrong. Their fear grew as they neared the forest, as if the darkness magnified it. Unlike the moonlit field, the woods were draped in shadow. They turned on their flashlights. The beams only penetrated a few yards beyond the trees. Somewhere in the branches overhead, a bird cried out. Both men jumped.

“First bird I’ve heard out here in a while,” Terry whispered.

“That was a whip-poor-will,” Tom said.

“Oh, yeah? That a good thing?”

“My granddaddy used to say that if you heard a whip-poor-will, it was waiting to carry away someone’s soul.”

“Now there’s a cheerful fucking thought.”

“Well, he was drunk most of the time. Used to piss in a coffee can. Nasty old fucker, but I loved him just the same.”

“I think,” Terry said, “I liked it better when we weren’t talking.”

Snickering, they stepped into the forest. Their laughter dried up beneath the trees.

“It’s dark in here,” Tom said. “I can barely see the lime.”