The Devil's Tree Read online

  That’s when I noticed I was shaking. Not shaking scared. Shaking cold. The temperature had dropped by at least twenty degrees.

  “Hunter?”

  No answer.

  “Kaitlyn, do you see this?” Keisha’s voice was stretched thin, like a balloon overfilled with water, and she showed me the digital thermometer. “The temperature just dropped from eighty-five to sixty.”

  Dylan kept snapping photos. “Just keep watching the gauge.” He walked around the tree, near where Hunter had been peeing.

  Keisha gave me a quick I’m-scared-as-hell glance and followed Dylan.

  Click. Click. Click.

  “It’s even colder over here. It’s dropped into the fifties.” Keisha’s voice broke the dark silence, and I wished she hadn’t left my side.

  A deep moan like a tree branch breaking or a man dying filled the air and a scream escaped my throat.

  “Let’s go.” I stumbled forward and grabbed Hunter’s arm. Hunter stood there, transfixed, a strange glaze over his eyes. Keisha’s mouth was agape. Dylan kept snapping pictures.

  “Let’s go,” I screamed, but no one moved. “What’s wrong with you people?”

  I pulled Hunter away from the tree. Away from the deep moan that echoed in the marrow of my bones. I ran to the truck, threw open the door, and leapt in.

  They were all moving now. Fear lit Keisha’s face as she jumped in the backseat. Hunter, breathing heavy, slid into the driver’s seat, put the key into the ignition, and revved the engine.

  The moan grew louder and my body trembled, adrenaline shooting through my veins.

  “Where’s Dylan?” Keisha sounded on the brink of hysteria.

  Dylan’s back was to us, camera raised, but useless. He gaped at the tree.

  “Dammit, Dylan. Get your ass in the car. Now!” Hunter roared.

  Dylan snapped out of his trance, took one more shot, then lumbered toward us. Face white, sheened in sweat, he climbed in just as a frigid, not so Texas wind ripped through the car.

  I slammed the door shut and hit the lock button. “Go,” I yelled. “Go now!”

  The wheels of Hunter’s truck spun on the gravel shoulder before gaining traction and we shot back onto the road, headed toward town.

  I sagged against the truck window and closed my eyes, the cool glass soothing me. I swallowed. I didn’t believe in ghosts. But something was there. Something real. Something evil.

  Hunter’s ragged breath beat against the stale air in the cab. Keisha sobbed. Dylan was silent. I opened my eyes.

  Hunter’s gaze was transfixed on the rearview mirror.

  Lights were reflected there. Headlights.

  “Where’d that car come from?” My voice sounded like a stranger’s, deep and totally freaked out.

  “I don’t know . . .” Hunter’s voice was frantic, afraid. “It just—just appeared. Out of nowhere.”

  “Oh, God . . . Oh, God . . . Oh, God.” Keisha’s voice rose with each syllable. “It’s just like what happened to the boys who came to visit from up north . . . Just before they were run off the road and died!”

  “Shut up, Keisha,” Hunter growled, and gunned the accelerator.

  “Just get us back to town,” Dylan said, forcing calm into his voice.

  The rattling thrum of an engine revved behind us. I looked in my side-view mirror. A black truck had pulled up right on our tail.

  “Go faster,” I whispered. “Can’t you go any faster?”

  “I’m trying.”

  The speedometer reached sixty-five, but the road ahead curved. The posted speed was thirty-five. Hunter’d have to hit the brakes or we’d crash.

  “Slow down,” I screamed.

  “I can’t.” Hunter’s white-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel. “My foot—it’s—it’s stuck on the accelerator.”

  “Oh, God,” Keisha cried.

  Tears streamed down my face. My hand slid over the door lock. Maybe I should jump?

  The trees whipped by. No way. I couldn’t jump. I’d never survive. Hands shaking, I tugged on my seat belt. Buckled it. Crap—Hunter didn’t have his seat belt on. Did anybody else?

  The speedometer read seventy. Hunter took the curve.

  A big tree. Coming fast.

  Time slowed.

  Our tires squealed and my world turned upside down. Glass. Metal. Wood. Splintered. Screaming. Broken.

  Silence.

  Chapter 2

  My pulse pounded in my ears.

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Slowly my vision cleared. I hung upside down from my seat, wet hair dangling in front of my eyes. I turned my neck and pain shot down my shoulder. My face burned and I tasted the bitter salt of blood on my lips.

  I smelled gasoline and pushed back the puke that threatened to spew out.

  “Hunter?”

  No answer.

  What if the thing that chased us was still out there? Waiting?

  “Hunter?” I focused on him and my voice cracked with panic.

  Hunter was crumpled against the broken windshield. I reached forward and tried to touch him. Something dark and wet and sticky covered his skin. Blood. I started crying again. I scrabbled for my seat-belt buckle, but couldn’t find it. My hands kept groping.

  “Dylan? Keisha?”

  Dylan moaned, but didn’t answer.

  “We gotta get out of the car.” Away from the fumes. Away from whatever was chasing us.

  There. My shaky fingers brushed the buckle and I pushed. The seat belt released me and I fell onto the smashed windshield next to Hunter. I let my hand graze his cheek. Still warm. Ragged breathing. Thank God.

  I reached for my door. Pushed. Being upside down, it was jammed shut. I aimed my heel-less shoed feet toward the passenger-side window and kicked. The glass cracked, but stayed intact. I kicked again and cleared a space, then I twisted around to face the busted-out window and looked into the backseat. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

  “Keisha.” Dylan shook her bloody shoulder. “Keisha!” He shook her harder. “She’s not breathing. Kaitlyn, help me!” Panic laced his voice. The smell of gas grew stronger, mingled with the metallic scent of blood.

  “We’ll go around to the other side of the truck to get them out.” I slithered over broken glass, sharp against my skin.

  Dylan stopped, eyes wide. Wild. “What—what if it’s out there?”

  Fear congealed in my veins, and I tried to clear my head. “We don’t have a choice,” I said, sounding way braver than I felt. “We have to get out. Now.” I pulled myself forward, a few shards of metal slicing my palms and shredding my knees.

  Dylan climbed out after me. Blood smeared his pale face; his normally pristine shirt was torn and dirty.

  I crawled around the mangled wreck to Hunter’s door, but Dylan pushed past me and grabbed Keisha.

  Whoosh. A strange sucking wind whipped my hair into my mouth. Salt and blood and smoke.

  I grabbed Dylan under his arms and yanked him backwards. Hard. We both fell, the pain of the concrete exploding up my tailbone and into my spine.

  Boom!

  “Hunter!” I screamed and lurched forward, the heat searing my face. My gut twisting in agony. I crawled toward the twisted, burning heap that had been Hunter’s pride and joy. Tears burned a cut on my face. My legs ached as I dragged them across the ground.

  Then Dylan’s arms were around me. Solid. Real. Alive.

  Sirens blared in the distance. Someone must’ve seen. Must’ve called. They were coming. But they were too late. We were all too late.

  His wet cheek pressed against mine. “We can’t help them. We can’t . . .”

  I pulled against his too strong grip and screamed and screamed and screamed. But he didn’t let me go. I collapsed into him, sobbing into his skinny chest. Hating him for being alive. Wishing he was dead instead of Hunter.

  Three raps on my door drew my attention from the reflection in the mirror. My reflection. My face was thinner than normal, a still-healing cut along my lip and chin, a purple-blue bruise on my cheek, my blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. I used to hate ponytails. Now I didn’t seem to care about doing my hair. Or makeup. Or much of anything else.

  I’d wanted to get gussied up for Keisha and Hunter’s funerals. So I’d managed to put on a dab of what remained of my Siren in Scarlet lipstick before tossing the tube in the trash. The lipstick was for Keisha. And for Hunter, I slipped on a little black dress he’d liked. Maybe he could see it now. That made me smile. Maybe Hunter was still alive somewhere—even if he wasn’t with me. The clothes clung to me like the cobwebs in my brain. But staring at myself, I only saw a ghost. A ghost of the girl I’d been just days ago. They were gone. Dead. And somehow a piece of me had gone and died right along with them. All those dreams about Hunter and me leaving this loser town next summer, leaving behind my trailer park life, gone. Now there was nothing. Nothing but work and my drunk mama. Nothing but broken dreams.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Mama usually wasn’t so persistent unless she was out of whiskey. She knew I didn’t want to talk. “What is it?” My voice was gravelly. I’d hardly spoken since the accident. “I already put out your breakfast, Mama.”

  “It’s me.”

  That voice made me cringe. Dylan.

  “What are you doing here?” I kept my back to my bedroom door, just staring at the stranger looking back at me in the mirror.

  The door creaked open and Dylan walked in. In his funeral suit, he looked too dapper to be Dylan. I hated that he was here. He’d never been to our trailer before. At least not inside. But I was too exhausted to put up a fight or to give a crap. My life was ruined, so he might as well see me. The real me. Trashy home. Drunk Mama. Barely two cents to call my own. The me that Hunter knew and loved anyway. I was sort of surprised Dylan had even come inside. And yet, here he was.

  Right arm in a sling, he held the camera in his left hand. “I thought you might want to look at these with me.”

  I stiffened. I never wanted to see Dylan or his pictures. Not at the hospital. Not at the funeral. Not here. Not ever.

  But I was curious. Who or what had chased us? Would the pictures tell us anything? “I’m surprised the camera survived . . .” My voice trailed off, my choice of words not so good.

  Dylan stiffened, shrugged. “It did.”

  “And you haven’t looked at them yet? The pictures?”

  He shook his head, his lips trembling. “Maybe it’ll help give us some closure before we go.”

  I sighed and turned to face him. “Give me the camera, then.” I held out my hands, took it, and sat weakly on the bed, my cut and bruised knees and tailbone still aching.

  Dylan just stood there, gaze stuck to the floor like a fly in honey.

  I patted the bed beside me, glad he was here, but not glad at the same time. “Have a seat.”

  “They shouldn’t have died.” His voice quivered. “If—if I hadn’t—if I hadn’t had to go to that—stupid tree.”

  “Stop.” Camera in my lap, I held up my hand. I didn’t have to like Dylan being alive and Hunter being dead. But I wasn’t one to let people wallow in guilt. “Stop it right now. It’s not your fault they’re . . .” Dead. I couldn’t say the word. I could barely even think it. Like if I didn’t think it then maybe it wouldn’t be true. “It’s not your fault they’re gone. Hunter had a choice. So did Keisha. So did I. We chose to go with you. We chose to go to that stupid tree.” The same guilt that was eating at Dylan was eating at me, but I forged on. “And if we’d stayed to pull them out of the truck, we’d all be having funerals today.”

  Dylan looked up, and I was surprised to see how pretty his eyes were. Crystal blue. Like the aquamarine ring Mama’d sold when we couldn’t pay rent right after Daddy left. Huh. I’d never noticed his were so nice before.

  He slowly walked over and sat beside me on the edge of my tiny, unmade bed. I held the camera to him.

  “You do it.” He nodded toward the power button. “It should go back to the beginning of that day.”

  I swallowed. Did I really want to see these? Would there be anything there to see?

  A heavy numbness filled my fingers. And I pushed the button. The screen lit up. A smiling picture of Keisha. Fake lashes, gorgeous eyes. Same oversized boyfriend shirt she’d been wearing that night.

  Dylan’s breath stuttered.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” I gazed sideways at him, not sure if I was ready for it. “It’s only been a few days. We can always do it later.”

  Dylan shook his head. “No.” He let out a long sigh and scooted so close our legs were nearly touching. “We need to see what’s on there.”

  Mashing down the advance button, I flipped to the next picture and the next. Dylan and Keisha hanging out at the park before they came to Hunter’s place. Smiling and in love. They did sort of look good together. Happy.

  I clicked again. The Devil’s Tree in the distance. Dylan must’ve been standing right outside Hunter’s truck when he took it.

  Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a tree, barren and tortured, but still a tree. I swallowed the strangling tightness around my throat and advanced to the next frame.

  More pictures of the tree. In infrared. Black, twisted branches, reaching toward the moonlit sky.

  Click.

  Hunter. Smiling, handsome, sexy Hunter. Laughing. Warm. Alive. The tree behind him.

  Click.

  Hunter’s back. A stream of pee disappearing against the tree trunk. I’d heard him going, but this was proof. He’d done it. Gone and peed on that dang tree. Just like he said he’d do.

  I swallowed and Dylan shifted on the bed beside me. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  Click.

  Hunter’s back. Still peeing.

  I moved my finger to advance, but Dylan stopped me. “What’s that?”

  “What?” I looked closer.

  “There.” Dylan pointed to the branches, just beyond Hunter’s head. It looked almost like a face appearing in the darkness.

  “Probably just a shadow.” My heart sped up, hammering against my ribs.

  “Go to the next one.”

  Click.

  Hunter wasn’t peeing anymore. I could just see the shoulder of his T-shirt, but the image of the tree was clear.

  Dylan gasped. So did I.

  There was a face in the branches. In the tree. It was still there. Getting clearer.

  Click. Click. Click.

  The face grew clearer and clearer with every frame. A woman’s weathered face. Others came into focus. Black and white. Men and women. Bodies emerged. Swinging from the tree like gruesome piñatas.

  “Oh, God—” I swallowed and the camera went limp in my hands. “Is that—is that Old Joe?” He’d died in the ravine. It was just an accident. A terrible accident . . . unless the same truck that chased us off the road had chased him, too.

  Dylan took the camera from me. Looked at the picture. He swallowed, licked his lips. “I think it is . . .” He advanced the frames, his face pale and sweaty. “It can’t be—”

  I stood up, ready to leave. I had to get away. Away from Dylan. Away from the camera. Away from the nightmare that had become my life.

  My gaze flickered to the mirror, my heart leapt into my throat and strangled my scream: Hunter stood behind me. Bloody. Burned. Eyes pleading. His lips parted and his icy breath caressed my shoulder just before I bolted from the room.

  Dylan bolted after me. The front door of our trailer slammed shut just seconds after I skittered out of the house—away from whatever nightmare I’d just seen in my bedroom mirror.

  “Kaitlyn, wait!” Breathless, Dylan caught up to me near an old oak that shaded the front porch of our trailer.

  I stood panting. Hunched over my skinny, bruised knees, I glanced up at him through a few stray blond hairs that had escaped my ponytail. “Did you see anything? In the mirror?”

  Dylan squatted down in front of me, concern wrinkling his brows. “I didn’t see anything but you did, didn’t you? You looked terrified.” He shook his head. “I should never have brought the camera here; that was a bad idea. Really stupid of me. I’m sorry.”

  My arms trembled. I couldn’t help it. “Those pictures . . . they’re scary.” He hadn’t seen Hunter in the mirror. Maybe Hunter hadn’t been there. Maybe the pictures were all in my head, too. I must be going nuts. Maybe nuts like my mama when Daddy left us and she took up drinking. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t go nuts like Mama. Not now. Not ever. No matter what. Who would take care of us then? I’m just seeing things. It’s only been a few days. I’m just seeing things.

  Dylan dragged his hands through his blond hair so it spiked up in a totally non-geeky way.

  He held the camera out in front of him, took a deep, calming breath—probably to help both of us chill out—and scrolled through the photos. “There has to be a rational way to explain this.”

  Crap. He saw them, too. The pictures were real. “You think science can explain those?” I pushed the camera away from me. I didn’t want to look at the faces haunting the branches of that tree. I wanted to destroy any memory of what had happened. Of what was happening.

  Dylan pushed the power button off. “I’ll put it away. But I still think there has to be an explanation for these images. And we’re going to find it.”

  Chapter 3

  I’d only ever been to church for a funeral. My gram’s, when I was eight. What a mean old bat. While most kids’ grandmas made cookies and lemonade, mine made moonshine and rolled tobacco. She even took me on weekly field trips to a drive-through liquor store. My mama wasn’t much better.

  I peeked into Mama’s bedroom, which was only slightly larger than mine. Avoiding her bedroom mirror, which I’d been doing since I thought I’d seen Hunter lurking in mine, I stepped into her room. She was passed out on her double-sized mattress with a large brown stain and no sheets. The mess in her room was almost as awful as the thought of Keisha and Hunter somehow being ghosts. I shuddered and picked up a pair of her dirty jeans. I hadn’t done any laundry since the accident. I guess I wouldn’t get much slack. It had to be done and Mama was in no shape to do it.