Bug Man Suspense 3-in-1 Bundle (56 page)

“Who's your big rival?”

“Front Royal,” the boy growled, and the whole group sneered with contempt. “We're gonna kill them this year.”

“Front Royal,” Nick said. “I've heard of them—I heard a guy mention them just this morning. He said Front Royal is gonna jerk your jocks up over your heads this year.”

They all stared at Nick while he took another bite of his pizza.

“Who told you that?” the boy demanded.

“Like I said—I'm from out of town.” Nick pointed to the '09 on the boy's jacket sleeve. “Senior year coming up—any college prospects?”

The boy shrugged. “I've had some calls.”

“Think you're big enough?”

“You bet I'm big enough—strong enough too.”

“College football is a whole new ball game,” Nick said. “Size is important but what really matters is toughness—courage—
guts
.”

“I've got plenty of that.” The boy glanced around the group for confirmation, and his friends dutifully nodded. “We're gonna
destroy
Front Royal this season, and you can tell that guy I said so. Better yet, you tell him to come say that to my face, and I'll straighten him out personally.”

Nick did his best to look impressed. He turned to the rest of the group. “So what's it like living in a town the size of Endor?”

“Boring,” they groaned in unison.

“You must know everybody in a town this size.”

“Everybody.”

“What about the kid who sold me this pizza?”

“That's Donny,” one of them said. “He's a dork.”

“What about the old guy who runs the Skyline Motel—the one with the hair sticking out of his ears?”

“Mr. Denardo,” someone said. “He's got artificial knees—both of 'em.”

Nick let a beat pass before he asked, “What about the witch?”

No one answered.

Nick looked around the group. “C'mon—somebody here must know the witch.”

There was a pause. “We know
about
her,” someone said quietly.

“You mean nobody's actually met her? Nobody's talked to her?”

They shook their heads in astonishment. “Nobody talks to the witch. She lives up on the mountain, and she never comes down.”

“Never? What does she do for food?”

“She eats dogs.”

“She eats
dogs
?”

“It's true,” one of the girls said. “My friend Keisha saw her—at the animal shelter over in Cedarville. She was opening all the cages and feeling all the puppies—she was looking for the fattest ones to take back with her.”

“What does the witch look like?”

“They say she's a hundred years old, but she looks no older than you do. Keisha says she has long black hair that comes down to her waist. She was wearing dark sunglasses so she wouldn't give anybody the evil eye unless she wanted to. Keisha just stared at her—but then all of a sudden the witch turned and looked right at her and then she made a quick sign—sort of like this,” she said, waving her hands in front of her in a mystic-looking gesture. “And you know what? One week later Keisha had to have her appendix out. She almost died—I swear, no kidding.”

“That was a close call,” Nick said. “You know, if your friend saw the witch at an animal shelter, then she must come down from the mountain from time to time.”

They all looked at one another and slowly nodded, as though the thought was occurring to them for the first time.

“What's the best way to contact her?”

They looked at Nick in amazement. “You want to
meet
the witch? Why?”

“I'd like to talk to her,” Nick said. “Sort of a project I'm working on.”

No one responded.

“She must have a phone.”

One of the boys stared at Nick as if he had just said, “Pigs must have wings.” “The witch don't have a phone,” he said. “The witch only talks to animals, and animals don't have phones.”

“Yes, I've noticed that—it's probably because they don't have pockets.” Nick slowly leaned forward on the table and looked at each of them one by one. “Come on—do you mean to tell me that not one of you has ever snuck up there and climbed that fence just to take a look around? Just so you could come back and tell your buddies you did it? Just to feel the hair stand up on the back of your neck—to feel like you're
alive
?”

No one answered.

Nick turned to the football player and quickly glanced down at the name embroidered on his letter jacket:
Biff
. Nick almost winced—no wonder the kid was overcompensating.

Nick looked him directly in the eye. “Not even you, Biff ?”

“Me? Why me?”

“Toughness—courage—
guts
.”

“This is different,” Biff said.

“Why, Biff—I believe you're
afraid
.”

Biff glared back. “I'm not afraid of anything.”

“Then take me up there,” Nick said.

“What?”

“Take me up there. We'll climb that fence and we'll find that witch and we'll talk to her. We'll do something that nobody else in this whole town has the guts to do—and when we get back, you'll be a legend.”

Biff sat frozen with his eyes as wide as saucers—and then he shook his head. “I'm not going looking for any witch,” he said. “That's just plain crazy—that's askin' for trouble.”

Nick shrugged and slowly rose from his chair. “It was worth a try,” he said, “but if you won't do it, you won't do it. Thanks for the help with the pizza, everybody; nice to meet you, and good luck with your fall season. Oh, that reminds me—can somebody tell me how to get to Front Royal?”

“Why do you want to go to Front Royal?”

“I want to meet their football team,” Nick said, looking back at Biff again. “Maybe somebody in Front Royal has got more guts than you do.”

Nick stared at Biff and waited—and so did everyone else.

The boy stood up with clenched fists. “Okay,” he said. “I'll take you up there, but only to show you that I'm not afraid.”

“I'll meet you outside in five minutes,” Nick said, and started for the door.

“What if we can't find her?” Biff called after him.

Nick turned and smiled. “We'll find her—there's a full moon.”

5

Nick and Biff stood in front of an eight-foot chain-link fence, illuminated by the headlights of Biff 's Ford F-150. The pavement had turned to gravel half a mile back down the road; it disappeared here behind a double gate wrapped with a thick chain and sealed with a rusted padlock. Nick jerked hard on the padlock, but it held. He put his fingers through the links of the fence and shook it. There was a sign on the gate that warned in large red letters: POSTED: NO HUNTING, NO TRESPASSING. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

“So this is it?” Nick said, glancing over at Biff.

The boy's eyes looked as wide as the headlights. “This is her lair,” he whispered.

“Well, we can't open this gate. Shut off your headlights—let's see if we can find another way in.”

Biff looked at him. “Shut off the lights? Do we have to?”

“If you want to have a battery left when we get back. C'mon, it's a clear night—we should have plenty of light.”

“I told you I'd bring you up here—that's all I said I'd do.”

“You said you'd take me to see the witch. I don't see any witch, do you?”

“I don't see what you need me for.”

“Look—I'm a total stranger here, but you're a local. You said it yourself: Everybody knows everybody in a town this size. Even if you don't know the witch, the witch might recognize you. I figure I might get a warmer reception if I bring a familiar face along—okay?”

Biff reluctantly switched off his headlights, and the entire area went black. As Nick's eyes slowly adjusted, shapes and forms began to emerge from a sea of deep shadows. The moon was a brilliant silver disk on the far horizon, glowing through the tops of the trees and silhouetting dead limbs like streaks of black lightning. The woods were dominated by towering old beech trees, with their bark stripped down from the tops until they resembled craggy old hands with the skin flayed back to the knuckles.

Nick walked along the fence, unconsciously running his hand along the links as he went. Suddenly his hand hit something soft and furry; he stopped abruptly and Biff bumped into him from behind.

“What's the matter?”

“There's something on the fence.”

“What is it?”

Nick adjusted his glasses and took a closer look. It was a dead squirrel, stretched out and tied to the fence with long strands of field grass twisted into bundles. “It's nothing.”

“Don't lie to me. That's a sign from the witch—it means ‘Keep out! Go back!'”

“Maybe she just doesn't like squirrels.”

“Stop kidding around, mister.”

“Lighten up, will you? It's just a dead squirrel. Let's keep going.”

Twenty yards farther on Nick felt another soft lump. This time it was a blackbird, tied to the fence by the neck and tail, with a strip of scarlet ribbon wound around its beak.

“I'm telling you, that's a sign,” Biff said.

“I think you're right,” Nick said. “It means ‘Are you two coming in or not?' Let's climb over here—give me a lift.”

“Climb over? You still want to go in? Are you nuts?”

Nick let out an impatient groan. “Look, we didn't come all the way up here just to look at a fence. What are you going to do, go back to Endor and tell all your friends that you went up to see the witch but a
squirrel
scared you off ?”

“They don't have to know,” Biff grumbled.

“Yes they do, because I'll tell them. Now we're going to climb this fence and we're going to find that witch, and tomorrow you're going to tell all your friends that you're the biggest stud in the whole Shenandoah Valley—and I'm going to back you up. Now are you coming or not?”

Biff scowled and formed a stirrup with his hands. Nick slipped his right foot into the stirrup and pushed upward, grabbing the top of the fence and pulling himself up. He swung one leg over the top, then the other; he lowered himself until he hung by his arms, then dropped to the ground on the other side. Biff followed close behind.

They started forward through the woods, walking in the direction of the moon.

“How do we know where we're going?” Biff asked.

“We don't—but we're walking parallel to that road, so sooner or later we have to run into something.”

After a few minutes the woods closed up behind them. Biff kept looking back nervously in the direction of the fence. “We're lost. We'll never find our way back.”

“There's a full moon,” Nick said. “How big a night-light do you need?”

They walked on for several minutes, but there was no sign of a house or building of any kind—no warm glow from a kitchen window, no welcoming flicker of firelight, not even the stark blue glare of a utility light on a pole or an outbuilding. The woods were thick and it was dark all around them, except for the tops of tall brush and trees tipped silver by the moon.

Nick was beginning to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. If the witch really did own the whole top of the mountain, her house could be set back miles from the gate. But there was no sense thinking about it now; they'd come this far, and they might as well go on.

“What was that?” Biff said suddenly.

“What?”

“Listen—I heard something—over there!”

Nick turned to his left and listened; now he heard it too—footsteps, padding softly somewhere in the darkness.

“Something's following us!” Biff whispered.

“Relax,” Nick said. “Footsteps always sound louder in the woods. It's probably just a . . . a . . .”

“A what?”

“How should I know? I'm an entomologist. It's probably just something small that sounds big.”

“Why didn't you bring a flashlight?”

Why didn't I bring a kid with a backbone?
“Take it easy—let's just keep moving.”

But the footsteps kept getting closer and louder.

Then Nick noticed something else: There were two more sets of footsteps following them—one on their right, and one directly behind.

“Do you hear that?” Biff whispered.

“I hear it,” Nick said. “Probably just three small things that sound big.”

“You think so?”