piercing cries but, unable to shake free, his hands remained fixed, clenched to the bars.
The visions hit him next, a web of horror, smeared glimpses of bloodied faces painted with grisly makeup like macabre dolls, rotting corpses, dismembered body parts. Bobby struggled to pull free as blurred snippets of the same figure flashed over and over before his eyes—a man with a shock of wild red hair sticking out like licks of flame from under a black ski mask.
He couldn’t find the breath to scream.
“Pete!” he finally managed to gasp. “For the love of God, Pete, where are you?”
The horrifying sensations continued to batter him, the images multiplying, distorting, repeating and looping like watching a thousand movies in fast-forward with his eyes crossed.
Like the blow of an axe splitting his skull in two, the pain came, slicing easily through the flimsy shield of his blindfold. Staining the moonlight that seeped under the blindfold, the red blindness followed on its heels.
“Pete! Damn it! Where are you, boy?”
Leaning his forehead against the bars, Bobby wriggled off the pointless blindfold. It was no use. His vision was smeared with red and fading fast. There was no sign of Pete.
But there, dark against the dimming moonlight, was the silhouette of a figure advancing toward him from behind the gates.
There was no time to decide if the figure running toward him was real or otherwise. His heart galloping, Bobby finally freed himself from the gates and staggered clumsily backward. The onslaught of sickening images strobed in front of him, mingling with the little sight he had left. Scrambling to his feet, Bobby ran for his life.
The distant echo of Pete’s bark bounced through the woods. With the blindfold off, the moonlit woods were coated in a bloody glow, the compass dial a final bright spot in the gloom.
Bobby sped through the woods, not risking a glance behind him. Tasting something salty in his mouth, he swiped at his nose and felt a trickle of warmth.
What is happening to me?
The numbers on the compass dial faded to reddish black, the sound of Pete’s bark swallowed by the silence of the woods. Totally engulfed in darkness now, Bobby had lost his way completely. For all he knew, his pursuer was right on his heels, ready to pounce. His fool’s mission would end in his own death.
He raced on, breathless, boots crunching over unseen terrain, until his foot caught on a toppled tree trunk and he fell forward. Rolling head over heels down a steep incline, branches cracking under his weight, Bobby slammed to a stop face down in the cold waters of a rushing stream. Dragging himself onto the banks, the last thing he heard was the hoot of an owl, his awareness sifting with fragmented images and sounds, then slipping down a deep, dark rabbit hole.
CHAPTER
11
T he first thing Bobby became aware of was the searing pain on his forehead, a line of fire reaching down to his cheek. He felt around near the pain and touched a gauzy bandage. Under him was the soft surface of a mattress, rather than the damp leaves he’d fallen into. From the beeping sounds and the smell of bleach climbing up his nose, it was clear where he was. Why they’d had to bandage his eyes was beyond him.
“Hello?”
“Bobby. Finally,” said a voice. Dad.
“Dad? What the hell?”
He heard the squeak of Dad’s wheelchair tires drawing closer. Dad took his hand.
“Hey, champ. You’re lucky to be among the living.”
“Shit,” Bobby said. “How’d I get here?”
“You can thank Pete for leading Coco to you. Luckily, it was Jerry’s poker night. Coco was asleep on the couch in the back office. He heard Pete whimpering and scratching at the back door.”
Dad laughed, but his tone turned harsh. “Which begs the question, Bobby, what the hell were you doing in the woods in the middle of the night? The sheriff and the guys from the state police want to have a word with you. I take it you weren’t looking for
The visions hit him next, a web of horror, smeared glimpses of bloodied faces painted with grisly makeup like macabre dolls, rotting corpses, dismembered body parts. Bobby struggled to pull free as blurred snippets of the same figure flashed over and over before his eyes—a man with a shock of wild red hair sticking out like licks of flame from under a black ski mask.
He couldn’t find the breath to scream.
“Pete!” he finally managed to gasp. “For the love of God, Pete, where are you?”
The horrifying sensations continued to batter him, the images multiplying, distorting, repeating and looping like watching a thousand movies in fast-forward with his eyes crossed.
Like the blow of an axe splitting his skull in two, the pain came, slicing easily through the flimsy shield of his blindfold. Staining the moonlight that seeped under the blindfold, the red blindness followed on its heels.
“Pete! Damn it! Where are you, boy?”
Leaning his forehead against the bars, Bobby wriggled off the pointless blindfold. It was no use. His vision was smeared with red and fading fast. There was no sign of Pete.
But there, dark against the dimming moonlight, was the silhouette of a figure advancing toward him from behind the gates.
There was no time to decide if the figure running toward him was real or otherwise. His heart galloping, Bobby finally freed himself from the gates and staggered clumsily backward. The onslaught of sickening images strobed in front of him, mingling with the little sight he had left. Scrambling to his feet, Bobby ran for his life.
The distant echo of Pete’s bark bounced through the woods. With the blindfold off, the moonlit woods were coated in a bloody glow, the compass dial a final bright spot in the gloom.
Bobby sped through the woods, not risking a glance behind him. Tasting something salty in his mouth, he swiped at his nose and felt a trickle of warmth.
What is happening to me?
The numbers on the compass dial faded to reddish black, the sound of Pete’s bark swallowed by the silence of the woods. Totally engulfed in darkness now, Bobby had lost his way completely. For all he knew, his pursuer was right on his heels, ready to pounce. His fool’s mission would end in his own death.
He raced on, breathless, boots crunching over unseen terrain, until his foot caught on a toppled tree trunk and he fell forward. Rolling head over heels down a steep incline, branches cracking under his weight, Bobby slammed to a stop face down in the cold waters of a rushing stream. Dragging himself onto the banks, the last thing he heard was the hoot of an owl, his awareness sifting with fragmented images and sounds, then slipping down a deep, dark rabbit hole.
CHAPTER
11
T he first thing Bobby became aware of was the searing pain on his forehead, a line of fire reaching down to his cheek. He felt around near the pain and touched a gauzy bandage. Under him was the soft surface of a mattress, rather than the damp leaves he’d fallen into. From the beeping sounds and the smell of bleach climbing up his nose, it was clear where he was. Why they’d had to bandage his eyes was beyond him.
“Hello?”
“Bobby. Finally,” said a voice. Dad.
“Dad? What the hell?”
He heard the squeak of Dad’s wheelchair tires drawing closer. Dad took his hand.
“Hey, champ. You’re lucky to be among the living.”
“Shit,” Bobby said. “How’d I get here?”
“You can thank Pete for leading Coco to you. Luckily, it was Jerry’s poker night. Coco was asleep on the couch in the back office. He heard Pete whimpering and scratching at the back door.”
Dad laughed, but his tone turned harsh. “Which begs the question, Bobby, what the hell were you doing in the woods in the middle of the night? The sheriff and the guys from the state police want to have a word with you. I take it you weren’t looking for
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