13 Tales To Give You Night Terrors (16 page)

Great, a
witness.

“
Came down with something.
Not really feeling up for talking.”

“
Oh. All right. Well I
guess I’ll see you at the next party?”

Or during the
trial.

“
Looking forward to
it.”

“
Bye, Hunter, feel
better.”

On his third day of solitude, Hunter
checked Facebook and froze when he spotted a memorial page for Bart
Gregory.

War vet fallen on hard
times crossing the country on his way to family in Sylvanville, New
Hampshire.

Hunter’s blood ran cold. It had to be
a coincidence. He licked his lips and read on.

Sergeant Gregory’s body was found in
the woods just off Birch Street. Exactly halfway between Hunter’s
house and Melissa’s. Hunter pictured the curve in the back
road.

Someone crying out. A body flying
through the air into the woods. Tires screeching.

He read the memorial post again and
the following fifteen comments.

It was almost a relief to hear the
news. No more wondering. It happened. Hunter knew.

I killed him.

He shouldn’t have been out
there that late!

He found a steely resolve that carried
him to his parent’s liquor cabinet. One corkscrew later and a glass
of red wine stilled his shakes.

The wine tasted like home as he
swallowed his second glass.

His phone vibrated.

“
What’s up?”

“
Hey, you coming out
tonight?” Corey asked.

“
I completely forgot.”
Hunter clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Innocent
men went to parties, but wasn’t there a lesson in all of this?
“I’ve been pre-gaming, man, I can’t drive.”

“
I’ll pick you up. Throw in
a couple bucks for gas? If that’s cool.”

“
Sure. Mom and Dad left me
two hundred while they’re gone and I’ve only spent half on
pizza.”

“
Cool. See you in a
few.”

Hunter ended the call and downed the
last of his wine.

Everything’s fine. If they
do come for me, I’ll look completely innocent. Carefree at a party
for three or four blissful hours. No murderer could pull that
off.

Hunter poured himself another glass of
wine while he waited.

● ● ●

HUNTER
pounded beers as Corey joked with their old
classmates.

Don’t worry. Relax. Big
smile. Everything’s all right. There aren’t cops getting a warrant
at this very minute.

He gritted his teeth and rummaged
through the refrigerator for another beer.

“
Can you believe we finally
graduated?”

Hunter jumped. It was only Julia. She
twirled a finger through her long black hair. Was she prettier than
normal? Better makeup? Bigger boobs? Or was he just that
buzzed?

“
Yeah. Like twelve years of
schooling finally over.”

“
Until college.”

“
Uh, yeah. ’Till
then.”

“
Sorry, are you not going?”
Julia asked.

“
Taking some time off
first.”

“
Guess I assumed you’d be
rooming with Corey at Prescott.”

“
Maybe next year.”
Hopefully there’d be another year. His next year could be spent in
state penitentiary going to classes online. “Did you hear about
that dead vet over on Birch Street?”

“
I heard the animals got to
him. Probably passed out drunk and got mauled by a
bear.”

“
What do you—I mean, is
that, like, official?” Hunter asked. “Like the CSI guys think it
was an animal attack?” He tried to play it cool. He leaned against
the countertop and slipped, nearly skidding to the ground. He
caught himself and smiled stiffly.

“
You okay?”

“
Sure. So animal
attack?”

“
My uncle works for the
sheriff,” Julia said. “My cousin said they’re ruling it an
accident. It’s not like they’re going to drive in some forensics
expert to waste money on a victim with no family who was most
likely killed by wildlife.”

“
Damn wildlife. They’re a
menace!” Hunter had to stop himself from pumping his fists in the
air.

“
You’re really into this
case, huh?”

“
No, no. I mean, I just
assumed it was a hit and run. That road is real dark and twisty at
night. Like maybe his body was hit on the road and thrown into the
brush where the animals screwed around with it afterward. Or
something. I should go. I mean, Corey is probably looking for me.
Later!”

Hunter scrambled away from Julia. He
couldn’t let himself succumb to the relief.

Julia sounded confident, but what if
her intel was off? What if the cops were lying to lure the killer
into a false sense of security? What if they were springing a trap
on him at that very moment?

She could be a spy. Plain
Jane Julia, international woman of mystery.

What had he told her? Did she suspect
him now?

He pictured Julia
testifying against him.
He told me he
thought the vet was run over and that he thinks Birch Street is
very dark at night. He was super specific.

Guilty!

Hunter couldn’t focus on finding
Corey. There was the Julia problem to deal with.

She’s buzzed now, so she
won’t piece it together, but by the light of day it’ll be a
different matter.

Hey, Hunter was awfully
interested in that dead hobo. He sure had a great theory on the
murder. What if Hunter was involved…

He wiped the sweat off his forehead.
Julia had to be taken care of. She couldn’t wake up remembering
what he’d said.

What could he do? He’d committed
murder but he wasn’t a murderer.

This all happened because he’d drunk
too much. Maybe he could use that to his advantage. Hunter returned
to the kitchen and mixed a Post Nap Funk for Julia.

“
Drink up!”

“
But I
never
drink this much.”

“
We’re
celebrating!”

“
Ok.” She looked dubious,
but she still tilted the mixed drink to her lips.

“
You and me, let’s have a
chugging contest. Three beers to win.”

“
I don’t know. What’s the
winner get?”

“
You name it,” Hunter said.
Julia giggled and blushed. He had to go for it. “How about the
loser pays for dinner sometime next week?”

“
For
three drinks?” Julia asked.

“
You’re right. Four would
be better.”

Julia gulped but nodded.
“Okay.”

Goodbye incriminating
memories.

When Julia finished her drink, they
lined up four beers each and faced off. Hunter knew he could have
smoked her but he didn’t want Julia to give up. She had to down the
drinks. She had to forget everything he’d said to her—blackout
wasted.

He barely cracked open his fourth beer
as she slammed her last one down on the countertop with a
burp.

“
Nice,” he said.

“
Uhhhhhh.” She swayed and
Hunter had to grab her shoulder to keep her upright.

“
You need to rest or
something? Maybe get a little sleep and forget about the
night?”

“
When
are you paying up, bitch?” she asked through a fit of
giggles.

“
Paying up?”

“
You, me,
dinner.”

“
Oh right.”
Damn her memory’s still sharp.
“Next Saturday, I’ll take you someplace
decent?”

“
It’s a date, Cute
Buns.”

He’d never seen Julia like that before
in the twelve years he’d known her.

Am I really doing this?
You have to. Sometimes you just have to buy a weird girl dinner to
stay out of jail. Age old story.

● ● ●

AT
least half of the kids had left. Hunter couldn’t find Corey.
Someone had mentioned wanting to watch
GhoulBashers 2
even though everyone
knew the original was so much better. Corey had screamed that he
wanted to watch
Supernatural
Exertion
but that was the last Hunter had
heard of him.

“
We should watch that movie
with the serial killer who tattoos his victims,” Melissa said as
she
thrust the last of the Jell-O shots at
the remaining guests.

“
No killers,” Hunter
said.

Hunter stumbled through the house.
What time was it? Did he even know anyone there? Something like
fireworks exploded outside, but he couldn’t focus to get out there
and enjoy it.

The fun was over. His spirits had
died. It was time to shore up and channel his remaining energy on
not spending the next twenty years in prison.

Melissa made her way through the halls
collecting trash and putting people to bed.

“
Time for lights out. You
sleeping over, Hunter?”

“
Naw. I’ll walk back. It’s
only twenty minutes.”

“
Really?” Melissa asked.
“I’m, like, proud of you or something.”

“
No more drinking and
driving,” Hunter said. “I have so learned that lesson.”

“
Yeah?”

“
It’s nothing, forget it.”
Hunter sighed. He didn’t know if he could get Melissa blackout
drunk, too. If he did, Hunter would probably end up swimming along
the ground driving everyone crazy.

“
One more Jell-O
shot!”

Hunter counted to ten. He breathed in,
he breathed out.

“
I’m going home,” Hunter
said. There were boos and awws but he didn’t care. He’d learned
that driving drunk was stupid. That it led to murder and trembling
hands.

Or it made you promise
dates to girls hoping they’d pass out.

Everyone can pass out.
Julia’s no exception. The cops don’t care. It’s just a homeless
bum. No one cares.

● ● ●

HUNTER
snapped to and realized he was walking back toward his house
along Birch Street. Melissa’s place was far behind him.

The woods were a black wall, too dense
for any light at that time of the night. Hunter’s legs carried him
on autopilot through the back roads toward home.

Ok,
that
was the last time
drinking.

He pictured Bart Gregory out there in
the woods bleeding to death. Scavengers clawing at the body,
tearing the flesh apart. What would the dead hobo think of him at
the moment? Would he laugh, would he taunt him, or would he scrape
at his flesh?

“
Hunter…”

He turned around and asked, “Someone
there?”

His skin tingled. It wasn’t even
windy. There was just the open road and the woods.

His feet felt sore. Why hadn’t he
driven? Right, no more drinking and driving. He stifled a yawn and
forced his feet onward. He’d be home in ten minutes and snoring in
bed in twelve.

Bart Gregory had been walking the same
stretch of road. Where was he going? Where had he been?

“
Hunter…”

“
Who’s there?” Hunter
peered through the dark. “It’s not funny.”

He picked up his pace. He needed to
get back home, back to the safety of a ceiling and
walls.

“
Hunter…”

There was no denying it any longer.
Hunter stumbled away from the woods and started running. The
sobering adrenaline rush overpowered him and he stumbled and
face-planted on the rough sand. He shoved himself back up to his
feet and made sure his stalker hadn’t reached him.

He was still alone on Birch
Street.

Hunter spotted the bend in the road up
ahead. Something told him that was the spot he’d hit Bart Gregory.
His head pounded and he threw up.

Keep moving.

“
Hunter…”

Something sparkled just behind him in
the moonlight. Was that what he’d tripped over? He approached it
and picked up. A necklace. No, a military dog tag.
Bloody.

Hunter read the
name.
Gregory, Bartholomew C.

He forced his legs to carry him past
the bend. His chest felt tight.

“
Hunter,” the voice in his
head whispered.

A light shone in the distance. The
curve in the road behind him. Hunter had just enough time to turn
around and recognize Julia’s drunken face behind the wheel as she
ran him over.

As he lay dying, Bart Gregory’s
outline hovered over Hunter in the vanishing car lights.

12.
IT’S DIFFERENT WHEN YOU HAVE YOUR OWN

Rosie Fletcher,
England