again, I think, taking a closer look at
the body. It does appear something nibbled on him. Maybe he
doesn’t taste good.
I bark out a laugh, then suck it in when
Conn gives me a look.
Yeah. Probably not a good idea to laugh at a
dead body.
I glance around quickly, wondering if the
person who killed him is around somewhere, but the only footsteps I
see are ours.
“No footsteps,” Conn says, echoing my
thoughts. “More than likely the body was dumped somewhere else and
washed up here.”
I nod. “We should stay alert, just in case,”
I say.
I stand, brushing the sand from my hands. I
glance over to the woods and see a shadow pass through the fog.
Shuddering, I think of all the superstitious bullshit regarding
ghosts.
“They say if a body isn’t buried properly
the soul walks around haunting the place it died because it can’t
find peace,” Conn says.
A chill runs over my skin, making goose
bumps pop up all over, but I say, “That’s crap. When people die,
they just die. They don’t come back to haunt other people,
especially some stupid island.”
I glance down at the body. “But we’d better
find a spot to bury him. Doesn’t seem right to just leave him out
here.”
And that’s the only reason. Because it’s the
right thing to do, not because of some stupid ghost story.
Conn makes a face, but helps me drag the
body closer to the trees. We have only our hands for shovels and
the sandy beach is much easier to dig in, so we don’t go farther
into the forest.
We quickly dig a shallow grave and cover him
with sand. Conn disappears for a second, returning with a somewhat
large and unusually shaped rock that we use as a grave marker.
We stand quietly for a minute, paying our
respects to a boy we never met. I think how glad I am that I didn’t
bring Tristan.
Ever since Dad died, I’ve been responsible
for him, and the family, taking over where Dad left off. Tristan
had been just a baby. I’d helped feed him, change his diapers,
learn his alphabet, shoot his first rifle. I was even there with
mom for his first day of school.
I would never admit it, but seeing him sit
in that little bitty classroom, the same one with the same teacher
I had, made me a little teary. Maybe it was because he was growing
up or, more than likely, because my dad would never get to see it
and I had to stand in his stead. Tristan had never really known our
dad; he’s always looked up to me . And it was hard enough on
me to see the body; I can’t imagine what it would have done to him.
Especially if the killer is still on the island somewhere.
The thought makes me grip tighter to my
rifle and take one more glance around. Even though it’s obvious
Conn and I are the only humans alive on this island, I can’t shake
the feeling we’re being watched.
Feeling a little creeped out, Conn and I
silently grab our gear and make our way into the foggy forest.
Despite how promising the wooded area
looked, we’ve spent all day hunting without so much as a rabbit to
our name. It’s not that there aren’t animals; there’s a ton, but
each time we get close to one, they seem to just…disappear in the
fog. As if they were never there in the first place -- not even any
tracks to prove we saw anything at all.
If it wasn’t for Connor seeing them too, I
would wonder if I was delusional.
We cross the island several times setting
traps. I’m not going home empty-handed. I refuse to. We’ll catch
them one way or another.
We eat lunch on the far side of the island,
where the forest ends in a sudden drop off at a set of cliffs that
overlook the ocean. The fog has settled over the water far
below.
Where is all this fog coming from? Is the
ground temp and the air temp that different?
The spot between my shoulder blades itches
and I turn to look around. I’ve got the feeling we’re being watched
again.
Connor does a whole body shudder and looks
away from the forest to me.
“I didn’t really believe the stories about
this place,
the body. It does appear something nibbled on him. Maybe he
doesn’t taste good.
I bark out a laugh, then suck it in when
Conn gives me a look.
Yeah. Probably not a good idea to laugh at a
dead body.
I glance around quickly, wondering if the
person who killed him is around somewhere, but the only footsteps I
see are ours.
“No footsteps,” Conn says, echoing my
thoughts. “More than likely the body was dumped somewhere else and
washed up here.”
I nod. “We should stay alert, just in case,”
I say.
I stand, brushing the sand from my hands. I
glance over to the woods and see a shadow pass through the fog.
Shuddering, I think of all the superstitious bullshit regarding
ghosts.
“They say if a body isn’t buried properly
the soul walks around haunting the place it died because it can’t
find peace,” Conn says.
A chill runs over my skin, making goose
bumps pop up all over, but I say, “That’s crap. When people die,
they just die. They don’t come back to haunt other people,
especially some stupid island.”
I glance down at the body. “But we’d better
find a spot to bury him. Doesn’t seem right to just leave him out
here.”
And that’s the only reason. Because it’s the
right thing to do, not because of some stupid ghost story.
Conn makes a face, but helps me drag the
body closer to the trees. We have only our hands for shovels and
the sandy beach is much easier to dig in, so we don’t go farther
into the forest.
We quickly dig a shallow grave and cover him
with sand. Conn disappears for a second, returning with a somewhat
large and unusually shaped rock that we use as a grave marker.
We stand quietly for a minute, paying our
respects to a boy we never met. I think how glad I am that I didn’t
bring Tristan.
Ever since Dad died, I’ve been responsible
for him, and the family, taking over where Dad left off. Tristan
had been just a baby. I’d helped feed him, change his diapers,
learn his alphabet, shoot his first rifle. I was even there with
mom for his first day of school.
I would never admit it, but seeing him sit
in that little bitty classroom, the same one with the same teacher
I had, made me a little teary. Maybe it was because he was growing
up or, more than likely, because my dad would never get to see it
and I had to stand in his stead. Tristan had never really known our
dad; he’s always looked up to me . And it was hard enough on
me to see the body; I can’t imagine what it would have done to him.
Especially if the killer is still on the island somewhere.
The thought makes me grip tighter to my
rifle and take one more glance around. Even though it’s obvious
Conn and I are the only humans alive on this island, I can’t shake
the feeling we’re being watched.
Feeling a little creeped out, Conn and I
silently grab our gear and make our way into the foggy forest.
Despite how promising the wooded area
looked, we’ve spent all day hunting without so much as a rabbit to
our name. It’s not that there aren’t animals; there’s a ton, but
each time we get close to one, they seem to just…disappear in the
fog. As if they were never there in the first place -- not even any
tracks to prove we saw anything at all.
If it wasn’t for Connor seeing them too, I
would wonder if I was delusional.
We cross the island several times setting
traps. I’m not going home empty-handed. I refuse to. We’ll catch
them one way or another.
We eat lunch on the far side of the island,
where the forest ends in a sudden drop off at a set of cliffs that
overlook the ocean. The fog has settled over the water far
below.
Where is all this fog coming from? Is the
ground temp and the air temp that different?
The spot between my shoulder blades itches
and I turn to look around. I’ve got the feeling we’re being watched
again.
Connor does a whole body shudder and looks
away from the forest to me.
“I didn’t really believe the stories about
this place,
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