Page 17 of Sweet Silver Bells
A low rumble, a hum, deep and coarse, seemed to vibrate up from the ground, and the dirt underneath Hunter's feet became death and decay, calling to him, crying to him, singing to him, a song of longing and pain and hurt, a song that promised revenge.
Hunter put his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying not to absorb any more of the shaking and vibrations, trying to block out the cracking, the sight of a tree splitting in two, unsheathing itself right before him.
“Sarah, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, so terrified that his silence was forcibly broken, as his will bent to the trees, to the haunting that the forest saw fit for him. The spiraling lunged closer, but he kept his eyes shut.
This can’t be real.
His mind was surely playing tricks on him.
His eyes squeezed tighter, thinking of Sarah.
The entire town would lock him up if they realized how insane he was becoming. The writhing branch, moving like invisible hands were steering it, was no monster from a children’s nightmare. It was just a ghost story to lure tourists to a crumbling old house.
Then why did his heartbeat rise? Why did his inner voice tell him to flee?
There was a tug on his shoe. Something hard wrapped around his ankle. His stomach lurched, bile rising. Hunter’s eyes flew open, and a branch was coiling up, moving as if it were alive, there to claim him.
A final crack split the night as the tree broke vertically in half, the moving branch disconnected and now limp. Something new slid out from the bark.
Quiet. It was suddenly so quiet.
Hunter couldn’t even hear his own ragged breathing.
There was a foot, bare and petite, that touched the dirt. Then another, a pale leg, hips, a torso forced through the too-tight gap. Hunter stared at skin that nearly glowed, so pale, as if it had never touched the sun.
A ghost.
He had to be hallucinating.
Fingers clutched bark. Skinny arms pushed the rest free. A woman, small, with tangles of dark hair that fell down past her waist. She had eyes that absorbed the colors of the night emerging under heavy lashes. She wore no clothing and made no effort to hide herself. She circled her wrists slowly, eyes locked on Hunter.
Branches were still entangled with his lower half as if they were holding him there for her. He felt like an animal caged in a trap.
Her head tilted. Her pupils dilated. Lips, dark like bruised berries, parted. Her nostrils flared.
Either bile or words would come out of his mouth next.
“H-hello,” he choked out. “Do you need help?”
At least it was words.
She was very real. She was flesh, solid, sturdy. It was absurd of him to believe that he was staring at a ghost.
How long have you been out here?
Hunter’s fear flipped. A protectiveness suddenly overrode the terror twisting his gut. Whatever she was, whatever nightmare he’d just witnessed, she had to be scared too. The mystery of her coiled around him like smoke, blurring the warning screams in his head. He was entranced, even as his conscience hisseddanger.
What have you been through?
She lurched forward, limbs awkward at first but gaining power with every step. With her head tucked low, she slammedstraight into Hunter’s chest. The impact was so fierce from someone so small.
He was on the ground. Blood trickled down his neck after hitting his head on the side of a branch. His vision slightly blurred from the impact. There was a weight on top of him, a body.
Her.
Before he could react, plants and vines coiled around his arms, sprouting from the soil to hold him down and make sure he couldn’t run.
“Why did you stop singing?” she asked, her voice low, a savageness in her words, a threat in her question.
