Page 2 of Biker Boo
He told me to lay low tonight.Said Halloween brought out the worst in this place.
Maybe he’s right.
Hell, Kentucky ain’t big, but it’s loud on Halloween.The costume party at the clubhouse is probably raging by now.Club bunnies dressed like slutty angels and devils.Bikers trying to look dangerous when the only thing dangerous about ’em is their credit score.
Legend would’ve gone.Of course he would’ve.
A man like him can’t stay holed up too long.Not when the whole county’s daughters throw themselves in front of his boots.
But me?
I can’t face that crowd.Not after the way Prez looked at me like I was a problem to be solved, or worse, just a stupid girl with a crush she should’ve outgrown.
Wiping my tears, I pull the afghan tighter around my shoulders, even though I’m sweating.Brown and pink, my mama made it outta whatever leftover yarn she had, so no one cared when I took it after she died.Just like this trailer’s second hand, full of whatever no one else wanted from the thrift store.Fitting for a girl nobody wants.
The movie blares some high-pitched scream, a girl running barefoot through the woods.I’ve seen this one before.
Doesn’t end well for her.
I shift on the couch, eyes flicking to the dark window.
The woods behind the trailer are thick, tangled vines, thorn bushes, trees so tall and crooked they block out the waxing moon.There’s no reason to be scared.Not really.
I’ve lived here long enough to know it’s not ghost stories.And certainly nottheghost story of Crooked Creek Hollow.It’s raccoons or possums or horny teenagers sneaking off for a grope.
But tonight… something feels different.
Something primal.
Somethinginterested.
I pause the movie.Dead silence wraps around the trailer like a noose.
Then it comes.
The faintest crunch.
A footstep close enough that I can hear it.
I freeze, heart thudding.Slowly, I sit up, my pulse racing against my ribs like it wants out.I know better than to spook easy, not after growing up around my father’s lot.But this ain’t the same fear.
This is something older.Wilder.
Something that slinks in the dark and knows your name.
I grab the Louisville Slugger from beside the door.Royal gave it to me last year, all sarcastic like.“To bash some heads or hit a home run with that attitude.”
I’d laughed.Tossed him the finger.
Now my knuckles whiten around it.
I peek out the curtain.
Nothing.
Just woods and shadows and the rustle of dried leaves blowing across the gravel lot.
Turning the movie back on, I tell myself I’m being paranoid.Too many horror movies, too much heartbreak.But the feeling don’t leave.It lingers.
