Page 12 of Sweet Silver Bells
Hunter checked his watch, deciding they must have returned already. Lunch period was almost over, and clearly, the only one lost in the Berkshires was himself.
He turned around.
Splash.
His boot sank into a shallow creek he didn’t remember crossing. The realization hit: he had no idea which direction led back to the manor.
He didn’t think he’d gone far, but he’d been searching for a solid ten minutes, according to the classic gold watch strapped to his wrist, a gift from Sarah, one he never took off even after it stopped working. The battery was never replaced. The clockhand would never move again, just as Sarah would never live again.
The forest grew darker as he moved.
Not a good sign.
Hunter pulled out his phone and saw a single bar of service. He kissed the screen and opened the map app, watching as the navigation arrow slowly turned.
He’d be fine. He wasn’t as far in as he thought. And if those students weren’t lost, their parents would be forced to sit down for a very uncomfortable one-on-one right before holiday break.
Shadows shifted while branches swayed, and a cold, unforgiving wind slapped against Hunter’s face.
His entire body shivered.
Crack.
Hunter jumped. His heart rate doubled at the sound of a twig snapping.
“Hudson?” he shouted.
No answer. No footsteps. No voice.
Maybe it was a bird.
Or maybe you imagined it.
Still, as he followed the app’s arrow, he let out a hum. His voice made no specific tune, just a low, steady vibration in his chest. The sound comforted him. His shoulders relaxed a bit as he stepped forward, hearing the stream up ahead that he’d crossed before. Recognizing landmarks was a relief. He was headed in the right direction.
His hum grew louder, eventually shifting into casual singing. It was the only thing keeping the creeping unease from crawling up his spine.
“Silent night, holy night.”
But then his body froze.
The song stopped.
He’d heard something again. This time, he knew he hadn’t made it up.
Something was there.
3
CHAPTER THREE.
“Hello?” Hunter called out. “I can hear you. Who’s there?”
The dense trees above him shed snow that melted and seeped into his cotton gloves. His hands began to ache, the joints in his fingers tight and cracking. Winter was severe, unforgiving.
He had heard another crack, too sharp and sudden for a squirrel or small critter.
“You’re getting too far into your head,” Hunter muttered, before he went down on the ground, tripping over a collection of roots that were raised just enough to catch his foot. His hand scraped against a tree branch, sending crunching leaves flying and creating a sway in the vegetation above his head. A flurry of wings burst overhead, followed by the angry caws of the ravens he’d disturbed.
