9

Unsettling

We dressed hurriedly, putting our snow clothes on over our pajamas. I grabbed a flashlight and the black umbrella. Before opening the front door, I turned on the porch light and then we tiptoed outside, trying to be quiet. I put the umbrella up for a just-in-case shield, and surveyed the yard and the sky. I could see a whisper of flakes drifting through the halo of light created by the Wagners’ oversized halogen. Ken Wagner had nailed the giant light right onto a tree because it was cheaper than erecting a post. Real environmental, Ken.

“Wow, the snow’s over my knees.” I looked around. “No sign of the crow.” I set the umbrella down.

Brit scanned the area, too. “And no freaky animals looking for pancakes.” She must have been satisfied with the safety of the yard because suddenly she swooned, falling backward into the snow.

I followed her example and fell back, too. The snow was a cold feather bed. I waved my arms above my head to craft wings, and flapped my legs to make a gown. Delicate snowflakes dappled my face and melted away. Soon we’d made a crowd of angels and we stepped back to admire them. That’s when I realized I was hearing the muffled sound of an engine.

“Do you hear a car?” I asked.

“Yes, and it smells familiar.” Brit gave me a knowing look.

We peeked around the hedge, and sure enough, there was Lars’s pickup in a haze of exhaust.

“Let’s see what he’s up to,” Brit said.

Brit carried the umbrella and I grabbed the flashlight. We slogged to the car where a bass was pounding—but it was just big Tim Guthrie, dozing on the passenger side with his tunes cranked up.

Brit tapped on the window. “Where’s Lars?”

Tim spasmed awake. He turned down the sound and lowered his window, allowing a certain smell to waft out. “You scared the farts out of me!” Tim accused.

“Gross,” Brit said. “Where’s Lars?”

“He wanted to check something out.”

Brit frowned. “Check what out?”

“That Shinn guy.”

“How long has he been out there?” I asked.

“Too long. If you see him, tell him to get his butt back here. His heater is crap.”

“Why don’t you go tell him yourself?” Brit countered.

“It’s cold out,” Tim said, sounding very whiny for such a big guy.

Brit shook her head, disgusted. “Tim, you better make sure your tailpipe is out of the snow or you could asphyxiate yourself from carbon monoxide.” She stood there, scowling as he rolled up the window. Under her breath she said, “Tim is such a weenie.” She turned to me and her mouth was a tight, worried line. “Mary, I’m nervous about Lars being in those woods. We told him about Mr. Shinn, but we never mentioned that odd mist or how strange the animals were acting.”

“I know.” I gulped and summoned my courage. “We should go check on him.”

“Scoot in and get under the umbrella.” Brit linked arms with me and we started walking.

“Is that true—about the tailpipe?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s true. And now he’ll have to get out and go check it.” She gave me a conspiratorial smile.

We trudged past the garage and onto the trail, losing the light from the back porch. Since the laundry room was also Meemaw’s bedroom, she locked the back door and left the light on each night. That door was one of the few things she was nervous about.

I turned the flashlight on. The footprints we’d been following veered to the electric fence and commenced on the other side of the wire. “I don’t want to try to jump it,” Brit said. “Let’s just walk on your side and maybe we’ll see him in the field.”

When we entered the forest the silence felt heavy; I could hear my heart beating and my breathing was noisy in my ears. There was something unsettling in the air; something that made me feel afraid.

“Lars?” Brit called, but not very loudly.

No answer.

“Hey Brit, there’s that red mist.” I pointed the flashlight at it.

The little reddish cloud hovered about five feet above the forest floor, maybe fifteen feet from our trail. It was oddly centered in the middle of those six old posts.

“I think it’s brighter,” Brit observed. She packed a snowball and threw it. It missed and hit one of the posts—which didn’t sound like what you would expect from a rotten old post. It rang, like metal.

Brit adjusted her aim and threw another snowball, still trying to hit the mist, and she got it, dead center. The snowball seemed to vanish.

“It’s like the fog ate it.” I stared into the target. “Throw another one and I’ll keep the flashlight right on it.” I was aiming the beam of light—when a voice behind me said, “I told you to stay away from this place.”

I jumped and squealed—and was hugely relieved to see that it was only Lars.

“Lars, you scared us!” Brit cried, smacking her brother’s arm.

“I didn’t like what you said about Shinn carrying a gun around,” Lars said. “So I thought I’d check things out.”

“You see anything?” Brit asked.

“Naw.” He grinned a little. “It was a dumb idea and my feet are like ice cubes.”

“Tim wants you to hurry back. He said your heater sucks,” I related.

“Tim is a weenie. What are you two doing out here?” His expression had turned severe.

“I had to be sure you were okay.” Brit leaned in and shoved her brother’s arm with her shoulder. “Plus, look over there, Lars.” She pointed at the ball of mist. “Do you see something glowing?”

“Yeah, I see it; a little cloud, like the size of a basketball.” Lars moved his head from side to side. “It’s kind of a reddish color. It’s more visible if you don’t look right at it. I wonder if it’s a reflection from an arcing wire or something.”

“Throw another snowball at it, Brit,” I suggested. I held the flashlight beam steady, illuminating the cloud.

Brit aimed and threw again. The snowball disappeared like the first one, and the impact seemed to make the cloud wobble—or was it the air around the cloud?

“That’s really weird,” Lars said under his breath. “I have a bad feeling about this. I want you girls to come on.” He gave Brit a nudge and they started walking. I still had a snowball in my hand, so I tossed it and actually hit the target. The air did a definite wobble, and I started to feel sick, like the way I felt when the Wagners’ dog, Walter, got run over by the garbage truck. It was a feeling of utter dread—and horror, like the forest was haunted by evil spirits that wanted nothing more than to get into my head. My mind became a fever of icky red thoughts. I wanted to call out but my throat got stuck.

I was shocked to realize that Albert was standing next to me, but when I looked in his face his dark eyes seemed to be sneering at me. This idea popped into my head—that Albert was plotting against me. The notion burned in my brain, filling me with hatred. How dare he sneak into my mind whenever he wanted? Just because he thought he was so special and brilliant—

Pearl! Albert’s memo seemed to slap me, interrupting my dark train of thought. He filled my brain with a cold, empty memo. The cold cleanliness of it squeezed out the red fever and froze the bad thoughts. In the middle of this cool, clean memo there was a tiny red thought, and the thought said RUN!