“Hey, guys.”
The men stopped hammering and turned to him.
“Howdy, Mr. Ripple.” The speaker, Cecil Smeltzer, pulled a red bandanna from his back pocket and wiped his brow. “It’s coming along good. Darned if we don’t get lost trying to find our way back out.”
Ken laughed. “Let’s hope not. Wouldn’t want to send a search party in here after you.”
“No, we wouldn’t.”
“It looks good, guys. I really appreciate your help. You’ve done a great job.”
“No need to thank us,” Cecil said. “It’s for a good cause.”
The others murmured their agreement.
“And besides,” Cecil continued, “it ain’t like we’ve got much to do during the day anyway.”
Ken allowed them to show him all they’d done, and nodded with satisfaction. Then he exited the maze and continued down the trail. The work sounds faded, and silence enveloped him. The forest was still, the quiet noticeable. Ken supposed that all the activity had scared off the wildlife, but the absence of even the birds and insects was a little unsettling.
He reached the end of the trail, which opened up into a barren field. Stubs of harvested cornstalks jutted from the rocky soil. When the Ghost Walk was up and running, hay wagons and tractors would be positioned in the field to transport the customers back to their cars. There were supposed to be two teenaged volunteers working here. They’d been tasked with roping off the trail’s end and clearly marking the exit. Since they were seniors, the high school allowed them to leave school in the afternoon and help out with the Ghost Walk; all part of the workplace credit program. The idea was that they’d learn valuable skills that could be applied in the job market after they’d graduated. But reality was something different. Instead of working for him, they’d apparently played hooky.
Ken swore under his breath. The rope lay on the ground, along with the exit signs. There was no sign of the teens.
“Hey,” he hollered, trying to remember their names. He searched his memory, to no avail. “Hey, you kids!”
His voice echoed through the forest. He paused, listening. Then he remembered their names.
“Sam! Rhonda!”
They were good kids, for the most part. Except for now, when he needed something done. He called out again but there was no answer.
“Goddamn it. Want something done right, you’ve got to do it yourself.”
Sighing, he gathered the rope and began stringing it up between the trees. The echoes faded and the unnerving silence returned.
“What was that?”
Rhonda Garrett squeezed Sam Freeman’s hand. She halted, glancing back through the forest. Sam cocked his head and listened.
“Sounds like Mr. Ripple,” Sam said.
“He’s probably looking for us. Maybe we should go back.”
“Screw that,” Sam argued. “When we go back, if he says anything, we’ll tell him we had to go piss.”
“In the woods?”
“Why not?”
“Poison ivy, for one thing.”
“It’s October. There’s no poison ivy now.”
Sam tugged her hand, leading her forward. Rhonda halted again, reluctant.
“I don’t know, Sam. We could get in trouble. I don’t need anymore drama from my mom. She’s still tripping about catching us in the hot tub.”
“She’s just mad because you’re getting some and she’s not.”
Rhonda gasped. “That’s terrible!”
“It’s true. Your mom would be a lot nicer if she’d just get laid. When was the last time she went out on a date?”
“I don’t remember. Probably years.”
“Well, there you go.”
“It wasn’t just the hot tub,” Rhonda whispered. “I think she suspects.”
“No way. She can’t. We were careful.”
“I know, but I still think—”
Sam interrupted her. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that. We need to move on. It’s a nice day. No need to bring ourselves down.”
Rhonda’s bottom lip quivered. Her eyes grew watery. Feeling guilty, Sam tried to change the subject.
