The Lurking Season Read online

  Debbie approached the deck. She wore a beanie, her long pigtails curling around both sides of her face. Curvy hips flared out from under her big coat. Arms hugging her chest, her mouth was stretched back, showing her teeth. She was hissing as she approached the deck. “It’s cold!” she bemoaned through a clenched mouth.

  Mom laughed. “It’s supposed to get even worse. I hope you brought plenty of blankets.”

  “God, I hope so,” said Debbie. “No heat yet. Just space heaters and a fireplace.”

  Mom’s frown threatened to overpower her face. “There is power, right?”

  Debbie nodded. “There is, but it’s an old house, so there’s no central heat or air-conditioning. The furnace is busted. But the guys are supposed to come next week, I think, and install central heat and air.”

  Mom wrinkled her nose, looking at Heather with her teeth bared. Heather could read the question behind the grimace: You’re really going there?

  Heather shrugged. She expected Mom to voice her disapproval, but surprisingly she kept it to herself.

  As if on a remote, the driver’s side door and both back doors of the SUV flung open.

  “How many people are in that thing?” gasped Mom.

  Smiling, Debbie said, “All of us. Thought we’d save a little cash and ride together.”

  Mom looked back at Heather, her eyes narrowed. Heather pretended she didn’t see her.

  Shaun hopped out from behind the wheel. His hair was gelled back with a few strands dangling across his forehead in a molded curve. Although it wasn’t that bright outside, he wore sunglasses. Through his clothes, Heather detected his solid mass. Even if she didn’t already know he was a personal trainer, she figured she would be able to guess his occupation by the way he presented himself. “Good morning,” he said, hurrying to catch up to Debbie. “Help you?”

  “Thanks,” said Mom, leaning over to hand him the suitcase. Her robe dipped open. Having nothing but a flimsy silk gown on underneath, the view was probably more than Shaun had expected.

  Heather could tell where his eyes were aimed, even behind the shades. She couldn’t blame him. Stress lines aside, Mom was still in decent shape, with a nice rack.

  “We’re going to be a little cramped,” said Debbie. “We’ll make it work, though.”

  “It’s fine,” called Shaun on his way to the SUV. “I’ve got three rows. The luggage’ll go on top.”

  They must have noticed Mom’s displeasure about their travel arrangements.

  Steph, emerging from the other side of the SUV, leaned against the vehicle as Shaun walked by her. Dressed like she was going skiing, she had on tight leggings that looked painted on and a heavy white coat that hurt Heather’s eyes to look at. Her light-red hair was held away from her face with a headband.

  Heather had only associated with Steph a handful of times. But she’d never said or acted in a way that made Heather think negatively of her. She had a trusting smile, one that stretched wide across her face and raised her cheeks up to her eyes.

  Ted slid out from the backseat, lighting the cigarette poking out from between his lips. He saw Heather looking and offered a solitary wave. His longish hair, looking oily and unkempt, hung in his eyes. He flung his head, moving the hair, only for it to drop right back in place. He was sexy in a rugged sort of way, but other than being Debbie’s cousin, she had no idea why he was coming with them. Randy vouched that Ted was good with tools. Plus, he needed a job. And Randy, being such a nice guy, had given him one.

  “Does anyone want coffee before you go?” asked Mom.

  Debbie closed her eyes, smiling as if Mom had offered to pay her bills for a year. “Sounds great. Do you have some already made?”

  “Not quite, but it’ll only take a minute.”

  Shaun poked his head around from the back of the SUV. “We don’t want to trouble you.”

  “It’s no trouble at all.”

  Shaun smiled. “Great. That’ll save us from having to stop somewhere to get some.”

  “My treat,” said Mom, twirling a band of hair with her finger.

  Heather noticed how Mom’s eyes teetered when she spoke to Shaun, the slight swirl in her shoulders. Maybe she’d also noticed where Shaun’s eyes were staring earlier. It was hard not to laugh as her mother all but pranced back inside.

  Debbie tugged at the carry bag hanging from Heather’s shoulder. “I’ll get this.”

  “Thanks.” Heather dipped her shoulder so Debbie could slide the bag off. Felt better not having the bag lugging it down.

  “Ready to start changing lives?” asked Debbie.

  Heather smiled. “Starting with ours? I’m sure, after the ride out there, we’ll never be the same again.”

  Smiling, Debbie tilted her head to the side. A pigtail dangled straight as the wind nudged it. She made a smirking gesture with her lip while also winking. Then she turned to look at their motley crew.

  Ted was yawning.

  Steph was messing with her hair.

  And for whatever reason, Shaun was doing some kind of odd stretching routine with his foot propped on the rear bumper and swinging from side to side with his elbows out.

  “Wow,” said Debbie. She looked back at Heather. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

  “Best not to ask or we might just figure it out.”

  “And change our minds?”

  “Too late for that.”

  Debbie laughed. “Looks like we’re stuck.”

  In this moment, Heather didn’t mind.

  It didn’t take long to get packed up. Shaun stood on the running board as the rest of them passed the luggage up to him. Organizing them into a pile on top, he used bungee cables to strap them down to the rack. When he was done, he tugged the cables. They seemed tight and secure.

  He dropped down. “All good.”

  “Great,” said Heather. “Let’s grab some coffee and hit the road.”

  As a group, they climbed the steps onto the deck and went to the back door. Heather pulled it open, stepped inside and held it so the others could enter. It felt much warmer inside. The aroma of coffee hung in the air.

  Heather inhaled a giant whiff as she mentally prepared herself to tell Mom bye.

  Randy

  Standing on the ladder, Randy Bishop held the gutter in place with one hand and used a drill to screw the brackets into the rafter tails. The fascia board wobbled slightly as the screw vanished into it. Finished, he shook the gutter to check its durability.

  Perfect.

  He set the drill on the top rung of the ladder and admired his work. He couldn’t help being proud of the accomplishment.

  Who would’ve thought I could do this?

  Not Randy, for sure. Never would he have considered himself to possess even a smidgeon of construction skills. He’d also saved several hundred dollars doing the work himself.

  Randy grabbed the drill, then climbed down to the ground. Next to the ladder Randy had concocted a workbench from a piece of drywall placed on top of two sawhorses. He walked over to the makeshift table, set the drill down and sighed. He was already exhausted and the day was just starting. He checked his watch and was shocked when he saw the work had only taken him two hours.

  I’ve gotten good at it.

  Most of yesterday was wasted from his clumsy attempts at hanging gutters. Sundown came quicker than he’d expected, so he’d stopped before finishing this small section by the front porch. This morning was a piece of cake.

  Maybe I’m in the wrong profession.

  Smirking at the thought, Randy headed for the storage building. It was located in the backyard, at the edge of a large pasture that used to be cornfields. Now it was a weed-choked terrain before the adjacent woods.

  A row of abandoned dog kennels stretched along the backside of the building. He would replace the fencing and eventu
ally fill it with puppies for the residents to enjoy. Nothing brought smiles quicker than dogs licking faces. He planned to have a variety of breeds for the residents, big and small.

  But he planned to keep one just for him, one that could run free. He pictured himself walking along the property, his loyal companion by his side. There was plenty of land to rove, and having a dog to explore it with would make the experience even better. The vision caused him to smile as he reached the kennels.

  A small corridor separated the gates from the rear wall of the building underneath a tin shelter. Shadows swallowed him when he stepped inside. The dirt floor felt moist under his shoes as he walked.

  He found the ax leaning against the first kennel. Stepping around the chain saw on the ground, he grabbed the ax. The handle was cold and smooth in his hands.

  Randy had been here for a week, working his ass off to get as much done as he could before the gang arrived. He wanted to show them he was a boss who slogged alongside them. When they saw the gutters were finished they’d appreciate him more, possibly even respect him.

  Should be here in a couple hours.

  They needed more wood for the fireplace. He could have one of them chop some, but having a hefty supply ready would ensure him getting the rank of Cool Boss.

  Luckily there was plenty of wood for him to choose from. Not just from the dense woods crowding the fields, but a large tree in the back field had been uprooted by years of heavy wind. He’d already chopped it into sections with the chain saw and made a pile. The logs were still too large for the fireplace, but after a few whacks from the ax they became perfect for use. He’d visited the pile every day this week and chopped enough to last him through the night. A little old and dry, they burned up quickly, but he would keep using it until the pile was gone.

  The wheelbarrow was propped on its wheel with the tray leaning against the shed. He pulled it down and dropped the ax inside. It clamored when it struck the thin metal tub. He lifted the wheelbarrow onto its wheel and started rolling forward.

  His travel was bumpy and complicated, but he successfully reached the woodpile without any incidents. Setting the wheelbarrow down on its legs, he walked around the front, grabbing the ax on his way to the logs.

  Randy slammed the ax blade into the larger stump he had been using as a base. The handle jutted next to him. Patting his rump, he checked for his work gloves. He felt the flappy fingers dangling from the lip of his back pocket.

  As he wiggled his fingers into the gloves, he looked at the house. From this angle, it sat on a slight elevation on the ridge of a hillock. It really is a nice house. He wished he could own something like this for himself. If it weren’t for the tragic events making its price cheap, he wouldn’t be able to afford this one.

  Vincent Carlson, the previous owner, had let the house go to hell before his death. The bay window in front had been replaced. Boards that had covered the windows from inside were torn down. A new door had been put in to replace the old one, which had two giant holes in it. The realtor had told him vandals had caused the damage to the door. But he’d felt along the edges of the holes himself and realized the damage had originated from the inside. The splinters and spiky chunks of wood protruded outward. Bullet holes. Two of them, one on top of the other, as if the shooter had been trying to carve a snowman out of bullets.

  The town’s history didn’t scare him. It didn’t really worry him, either. Some bad things had happened here and now it was over. He didn’t care what any of the legends tried to make him think.

  Plus, looking at how gorgeous and peaceful it really was—not at all like the killing field the internet would have you believe—he couldn’t be regretful, no matter how hard he tried. It was the perfect location for what they wanted to do: offer a secluded residence for battered men and women to learn how to exist again.

  This was why he wanted to restore the farm to working order. Taking care of livestock and crops would give the residents purpose and reestablish their shattered faith. Years of seeing his mother tormented by her fears and phobias had made this mission an obsession. All he wanted was to prevent it from happening to others.

  And with Heather and the crew assisting him, it could work.

  Turning around, he gazed at the pond on the far side of the field. The small green blot was sprinkled with pollen, like spices added to a cappuccino. Dead leaves floated in clumps on its slightly rippling surface. It was flooded over, the ground around it swampy and dead. Once the water level was down some and the grass looked less like quicksand, Randy planned to take his fishing rod down there and see what—if anything—he could catch.

  With his gloves on, he clapped his hands together. The sound they made was like a baseball being snatched behind home plate. Randy gripped the ax handle and wrenched it from the stump. Using the head of the ax, he prodded different logs until finding one that didn’t look completely rotted. He picked it up and placed it vertically on the stump. Then he stepped back, lowered the blade to the center of the log and raised the ax.

  He brought it down, splitting the wood into halves. One piece remained on the stump, but the other rolled off and fell to the ground.

  Randy shifted the ax, grabbing it under the head as he set the piece upright on the stump. Stepping back, he raised the ax. He started to bring it down when he noticed a blur of movement in the corner of his eye. He stopped, halting the downward arc of his arms.

  I saw somebody.

  He looked to the field. The dilapidated chicken coop sat farther up, its structure leaning to one side from age. The doors in front wiggled slightly in the barely evident breeze. The rust-stained hexagonal openings of the thin wire windows sagged inward. Soon they’d probably tear away from the panes and fall inside.

  He’d noticed somebody’s swift movements as they’d quickly ducked behind the tumbledown building. And they had to still be there since he hadn’t seen anyone run away.

  Randy felt a squirmy feeling inside. Nobody but him was here. Nobody else was expected to arrive until later. So nobody should be scampering around the field.

  Somebody is.

  A scurry of chills moved up his spine. Whoever was behind the chicken coop was a trespasser. He wondered if he should go to the house and try calling the police from his cell. It would be a wasted effort since cell service was virtually nonexistent this deep in the sticks. The landline wouldn’t be hooked up until next week, when he could afford to pay the deposit.

  You’ll have to go out there and address them yourself, Randy boy.

  Knowing he was about to confront someone made his knees tremble. He hated confrontation. Tried to avoid it at all times. It wasn’t that he was afraid of telling the person to leave. He was worried about what would come afterward. Would they attack him? Would they absolutely refuse to go? What would he do if they didn’t listen?

  The firmness of the ax handle in his hands reminded him he had something to persuade them with. I could never use it on anybody. He held the ax out. But they don’t know that. Randy nodded. He would pretend. Just go over there and handle it. Hopefully, whoever it was would leave without any trouble.

  His legs felt weak and stringy as he walked through the high, browning grass. Each footstep sounded like he was walking across potato chips. The weeds made scratching sounds against his pants. Dread seemed to flow all through him. Trying to conjure up something to say was pointless since he’d never been able to pull off being a tough guy.

  Why did somebody have to come out here? We’re supposed to be isolated. Nobody should be here but me.

  Maybe it was an animal. Something from the woods—a deer or a beaver.

  Even as Randy reached the chicken coop, he knew what he’d seen wasn’t an animal at all. It had been a person. No animal moved like that.

  “Hello?” His throat was painfully dry. His voice seemed to have been snatched by the breeze and taken away. He swallowed the d
ry lump and tried again, “Who’s over there?”

  Wary, he walked around the side of the chicken coop, trying to keep his movements hushed, though every footstep seemed to crack like an apple being bitten. Reaching the end of the wall, he peered around the corner. Nobody was at the backside but he could see the dancing of a shadow thrown across quivering weeds. Small lines of hair fluttered on top of an indistinct black shape.

  There you are.

  He gulped.

  No longer trying to be quiet, Randy thrashed through the weeds, wielding the ax above his head. He ran as if trying to move through water, legs spread and waddling. He shuffled his way to the opposite end, paused momentarily, then jumped out from behind the shed.

  He landed firmly on both feet, the ax gripped high. “Yah!” His rallying cry quickly puttered out to confused embarrassment when he saw the person crouched next to the shed.

  There was a flash of light that blinded him. Blinking, he saw little pops of light all around him.

  “Get another picture of him, Lawrence,” said a woman’s voice.

  Another flash. This time Randy was looking away when the camera snapped.

  “How’d it turn out?” asked the woman.

  A pause. “Not good. Can’t even see his face in this one, his mouth is wide open like he’s trying to squeeze out a hard turd in the other.”

  The woman groaned.

  Randy waved his hand, as if doing so would make the dancing splotches in his vision go away. “What the hell is going on? You’re trespassing on private property, damn it!”

  “Relax, Mr. Melodramatic,” said the woman. “We’re just taking some pictures.”

  Randy felt all his anger rushing into his head so quickly he was surprised it didn’t blow a hole through the top of his skull. Who were these people? What the hell were they doing here?

  Sensing his rage-fueled ponderings, the woman answered, “I’m Erin Monroe.”

  That was all she told him, obviously expecting the name to be a satisfying answer. Randy held out his arms, the ax clutched high up on the handle. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”