Page 31 of Haunted

How did the saying go?‘If you want something done, do it yourself.’Except Butch would’ve paraphrased that by adding the wordwell. He hated half-assed jobs, but Zeeb readily acknowledged he wasn’t the world’s best cleaner. What he lacked in domestic skills, he more than made up for with his talent for teaching the guests how to rope steers. Added to that, his natural garrulousness put them at ease.

“Coffee’s out,” Matt hollered from the kitchen area.

“’Bout time. I’d hate to cross a desert with you,” Butch called back. The showers were sparkling, and he’d done his weekly battle with the mold that loved to grow in the thin lines between the tiles.

The smell of bleach would be gone by the time the next guests arrived.

Butch washed his hands and ambled through the bunkhouse. The others were already seated on the couch or at the table, and the welcome aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air.

“How many are coming in?” Walt asked, pouring himself a cup. His eyes lit up when Matt cracked open the plastic box that sat in the middle of the table. “Oh please, tell me those cookies are for us, and not the guests.”

Matt cackled. “Relax. They’re for us. Help yourself.” He sat at the table, his gaze locked on his phone.

Walt grinned and grabbed a couple. “Chocolate chip. My favorite.” He picked the box up and hugged it against him. “What are you guys havin’?”

Butch gave him a mock glare. “Put. The box. Down. If you want to keep your fingers.”

Walt rolled his eyes but complied.

“Teague says we’re expecting seven. Four guys, three girls. And Paul’s gonna have his hands full. All newbies.” Butch glanced at Zeeb. “You’re gonna want to pick out some real easy trails to start with.” He pulled out a chair next to Matt and flopped into it.

Zeeb nodded. “Sure. I can do that. The forecast is good the whole week too.”

Butch helped himself to a cookie. “Matt, one of these days your neck is gonna lock into that position.” The guy was always on his phone. “Found something—or someone—to drool over?”

Matt snorted. “I take an interest in what’s going on. Current affairs. Nothing wrong with that.”

“So you’re telling us you’re readin’ something about world politics, is that it?” Zeeb guffawed. “Sure you are.” He gave a couple of sniffs. “Can any ofyousmell that?”

“Smell what?” Walt frowned. “All I can smell is coffee.”

“It’s real faint but it’s there.” Zeeb’s eyes sparkled. “The whiff of bullshit.”

Chuckles and cackles erupted around the table.

“So what’s going on that we all need to know about?” Butch demanded. Matt flushed, and he snorted. “Busted.” He glanced at the others. “Y’all know what he’s doing, don’tcha? He’s on that app of his or he’s watching porn, one of the two.” He craned his neck as if to get a better look at Matt’s phone.

“I amnot,” Matt remonstrated, holding the screen to his chest.

“Then tell us the name of the site you’re on.” Butch grinned. “If you dare.”

Matt’s cheeks reddened. “It’s theNew York Post.”

Laughter rebounded off the walls.

“Well, obviously,” Zeeb declared with wide eyes. “I mean, they have their finger on the pulse of current affairs, right?”

“If you must know, I read their reports on freak accidents. Every week they talk about all the weird shit that happens.”

“What kind of weird shit?” Butch asked. “It’s all fake, isn’t it?”

“No,” Matt protested. “It’s in their ‘Weird but True’ section. Stuff like the guy who had a scary work accident, and had hiccups for sixty-eight years after. Or the woman who said she had a rock in her eye for fifty years, and doctors didn’t believe her.”

“Are all the stories like that?” Walt inquired. “And I don’t know about the weird part, but they sure sound like shit to me.”

“Not all. Some of them are just awful though. Like the California dad who was struck by a car while he was helping a family of ducks cross the road. Or the one I read this morning, about an old guy who died at a drive-thru.”

“Lemme guess.” Butch straightened his face. “Food poisoning.”

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