Speak No Evil (30 page)

The suspense continues in
Tell No Lies,
available from eKensington in Spring, 2014.

T
he sun was going down, filling the woods ahead with long, slithery shadows.

Cody Simmons imagined there were copperheads under every rotting log he leapt over. He knew a kid once who got bit just by sitting down on a log, so he kept his eyes wide and his jumps high, watching for signs of snakes in the tall grass.

TC, who was twelve and a full year older, would make fun if he thought Cody was scared, so Cody kept his mouth shut and kept pace behind TC as they raced toward the old abandoned church.

TC was his best friend, but sometimes he got Cody into trouble and Cody’s Grandma Rose didn’t like his family much. She said they were puttin’ on airs and that you couldn’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear no matter how hard you tried, but Cody didn’t exactly know what that meant. Sometimes his grandma said things that didn’t make sense and Cody’s mom said it was ’cause Grandma Rose was still living in the past. Whatever. Cody didn’t care as long as he could still play with TC.

He heard Grandma Rose’s voice ring out in the distance, calling his name for supper. There was a roast simmering in the pressure cooker and sweet creamed corn waiting for him, but he didn’t stop. They had at least thirty minutes before she got serious about finding him, and TC said he was pretty sure they could make it to the church and back without anyone realizing they were gone.

Maybe he was a little scared, but his anticipation at seeing something he’d never seen before, except in TV shows, was way more thrilling—a real-life crime scene! TC swore on a Bible that he’d seen blood on the altar at the old church. Even though Cody didn’t really believe him, that didn’t make it any less exciting.

His new tennis shoes were muddy now because they ran through the marsh, skirting the woods until they had to go in. They spotted the little white broken-down church just as the huge ball of orange sun at their back plunged into the creek, extinguishing most of the light from the woods.

Skidding to a halt, TC waited for Cody to catch up.

“We shoulda brought a flashlight!” Cody lamented.

“Scared!”

“Am not! Bet you just didn’t bring one so I couldn’t tell if it’s blood or something else! Probably it’s just oil or something.”

“No, it’s blood!” TC assured, shooting him a keen-eyed glance.

The church building was no more than thirty feet away now, the front door ripped off so you could see right into the black interior. It looked like a yawning mouth in a mean face. Two darkened windows glared on either side of the door. The windowpanes had long ago been smashed out and not much remained, except for a sliver of jagged glass wedged in the bottom sill of the right pane. The orange glow from the setting sun reflected off it like a glint in someone’s eye.

The two boys walked slowly toward the building, past old tombstones and crosses that marked the church’s ancient graveyard.

TC’s dad had told them stories about long-ago secret meetings right here in the woods. He’d said they’d found a man hanging inside the church. Supposedly, he’d committed suicide—something about doing bad stuff with kids and feeling guilty about it—or maybe someone just did him in to make him pay for his sins. Cody guessed that was why they didn’t use the church anymore—that, and because they went and built a Harris Teeter grocery store right over the dirt road that led to the old church, cutting off the way for anyone who might have been brave enough to face the ghost of a hanged man. In the five or so years since access had been blocked, the forest had already reclaimed the dirt road.

“Whattaya think the blood’s from?” Cody asked, fighting the urge to bolt back in the direction they’d come. He was starting to feel weird—like maybe somebody was watching or something—someone they couldn’t see. It was a bad feeling he couldn’t shake.

“I heard tell of people killin’ and skinnin’ cats ’n’ things, could be something like that,” TC said, in that same know-everything-tone his dad used.

Cody wrung his shirt. One of his fists balled at his side. “That ain’t right.”

“Well, sometimes people ain’t right, my dad says.”

“I bet someone slashed themselves on that glass maybe. Looks awful sharp to me.”

TC glanced at the jagged bit of window and shrugged noncommitally. “Maybe.”

They stopped at the door and peered inside. Cobwebs stretched across the top of the doorframe, into the interior. It was filled with insects, all waiting to be sucked dry.

“Check this out,” TC said.

He fingered the remains of a dried-up cicada carcass, trying to pry it loose from the exposed wood on the doorframe. When it wouldn’t come off, he smashed it with his fist. The whack reverberated within the dark interior of the church and somewhere from the shadows something squealed.

Cody swallowed the lump that rose in his throat.

A barely visible altar rested on a stage inside. The pews were all gone but you could still see the path where people had scuffled down the center aisle, the wood worn by hundreds of Sunday best shoes. The path was obscured three quarters of the way down, disappearing into shadows.

They slid wary looks at each other.

“Go on in,” TC ordered him. “I’ve already seen it.”

“I’m not going in alone!” Cody protested.

“Why? You scared?”

“No!”

“Chicken!”

“No, you have to show me where is all—maybe it really ain’t there.”

“No, I swear—look!” He pointed toward the right of the altar. “See where those rags are hanging? Those are dripping with blood.”

Cody squinted to see in the darkness. “I just see a bunch of dirty old rags hanging like maybe someone’s been cleanin’ the place.”

TC made a disgusted face. “Why would anyone clean this old dump?” he argued. “Ain’t nobody used it in a hundred years!”

Cody lifted a dubious brow. “Yeah, well, your dad said he used to come here to church when he was little.”

“My dad was born in the sixties. That’s a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Cody relented.

“Yeah,” TC said.

Both boys had completely lost their nerve. Neither wanted to go in, but neither wanted to admit he might be too scared, so they stood there, each clutching a frame of the doorway. At their backs, the last traces of sunlight were barely visible through the tree line. But right where they stood it seemed pitch black and growing darker by the second.

The sounds of the marsh were intensifying. Crickets chirped louder and bullfrogs croaked from their hiding places. In the heat of August the time was ripe for frog gigging. Cody thought maybe they were better off keeping their mouths shut unless they wanted to end up on someone’s dinner plate—not his, of course. He’d never tried one and since his mom was scared of frogs, he guessed he never would—not that he cared to since everyone said it tasted just like chicken. He’d rather just eat chicken. His stomach grumbled.

“I think I heard your grandma calling,” TC offered.

“Yeah. I think she’s worried.”

“Probably.”

The sound of a shuffle came from the dark interior of the building. Cody’s heart beat faster. “Hear that?” he whispered.

TC shook his head no, but his wide eyes said yes.

They froze, listening for more sounds.

“Probably just a rat . . . or a snake,” Cody whispered, but it didn’t sound like either one of those things. It sounded more like the way a smooth-soled shoe did when it brushed over a rough floor, a soft scuffle like the one he could make when he slid his Sunday best shoes over Grandma Rose’s old wood floor.

Cody didn’t have the guts to peer inside again, and TC’s gaze was fixed on Cody’s face. Both boys were frozen with indecision.

Deep inside, something crashed to the floor and both boys bolted.

Cody ran for his life, but TC was faster and Cody struggled to keep up, not quite as surefooted in his new pair of tennis shoes. He was too scared even to watch for snakes or logs and tripped into a hole in the ground, tumbling into the darkness knees first.

“TC!” he yelled as he went down, but TC was racing toward the disappearing sunset and he didn’t stop to look back even after he broke through the trees. The last thing Cody saw was the back of his bright yellow T-shirt.

Cody’s head hit the soft dirt on the other side of the hole, a wall of wet mud that oozed with stinking water. It was another confused instant before he realized he had fallen into a deep hole—like maybe a grave—and he choked on fear as he felt something squishy beneath him. It was like a person—a dead person—but he couldn’t scream, ’cause his voice stuck in his throat. His ankle hurt like maybe it was broken. Pain shot through his leg when he tried to stand.

Cody began to cry—softly, so that whoever might be inside that busted-up old church couldn’t hear him. He was alone in a hole in the woods and couldn’t see anything except for a splinter of sky above the trees. There wasn’t even enough light to be able to see what he was kneeling on, but he tried again to stand, despite the pain, and found the ground uneven and mushy and fell back to his knees, clutching what felt like a bare butt cheek. Horrified, he shrieked and struggled to his feet, but more pain shot through his ankle and he crumpled to his knees, choking on a sob.

As his vision adjusted to the growing darkness, he could see the faintest outline of a pale breast and a distorted face beneath him.

Or maybe it was his imagination.

Oh, God! He was pretty sure he was kneeling on a cold dead body.

Hot tears poured from his eyes, but he stifled his sob. What if someone was out there? He didn’t want them to know where he was. Maybe TC would come back with help. What kind of a friend left you to die in a hole in the woods? Maybe his grandma was right and TC wasn’t right in the head! Even old as Grandma Rose was, she would never have left him alone to die. He thought of his grandma getting worried about him and felt another wave of welling hysteria.

A shadow loomed up and towered above him, a form with glowing eyes, and he felt something warm trickle down the inside of his leg.

Cody froze, looking straight into pale eyes, unable to move, unable to cry.

For the longest moment, the inky shadow just stared down into the grave, saying nothing, and Cody’s mouth quivered.

Oh God, what was he going to do? He swore he would never again leave his house without telling someone if he could just go home. He would never listen to TC—never again!

“You hurt?”

It was just a man’s voice, not a monster’s, but Cody couldn’t see a mouth moving and he realized there was something covering the man’s face, except for the eyes. Cody nodded, unable to speak.

The man fell silent again, staring down at him, and Cody felt fear rush through him like a freight train. His whole body started to quake. And then the man leaned over the grave, reaching toward Cody. . . .

Tanya Anne Crosby
has written seventeen novels, all of which have graced numerous bestseller lists including the
New York Times
and
USA Today
. Best known for stories charged with emotion and humor, and filled with flawed characters, her novels have garnered reader praise and glowing critical reviews. A five-time nominee for an
RT
Career Achievement Award, she lives with her husband, two dogs and two cats in North Michigan, and grew up in Charleston, South Carolina.

If you liked this book,
check out
TUCKER’S CROSSING
by Marina Adair,
available now!

 

 

 

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