the scene very shortly.”
Rooster sat up. The bar he’d met Snow at earlier was on Cafferty Boulevard.
“One eyewitness told Action News 8 the man appeared disoriented and was running as if being chased, though that did not seem to be the case. It’s not yet known if the man was intoxicated or under the influence of narcotics, but—one moment...” The anchor put a hand to his ear, listened to the voice in his earpiece then paused for dramatic effect and frowned as if personally devastated. “This just in: the victim, identified as Terrell B. Snow, has been pronounced dead on the scene. As further details become available on this horrific hit-and-run tragedy, we will—”
Rooster turned the television off. The apartment was quiet. He looked to the kitchen. The TV dinners were still on top of the stove but Gaby was nowhere to be found. He hurried through the apartment to the bedroom.
Light filled the room as he flipped the switch. Half-expecting to see the horrible winged and long-tailed creatures in the book flying about, he was relieved to find only shadows, an aged bedroom set and the usual open window. He went directly to the closet and pulled an old shoebox down from the shelf. Inside, a 9mm, a full clip and two boxes of ammunition were wrapped in a cloth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even touched the gun, much less fired it, but he scooped it up, deftly slapped the clip into place, chambered a round and released the safety. Something about holding the gun steadied his hand.
A cold breeze blew through the room, disturbing the curtains. He moved to close the window but froze. Beneath a streetlight just beyond the courtyard, a lone man was watching the building.
A priest.
“What’s wrong?”
Rooster glanced behind him. Gaby stood in the doorway, a laundry basket of freshly folded clothes in her arms. “How did you know that would be on the news?” he asked.
“How did I know what would be on the news?” She noticed his weapon and her face went pale. “Michael, why do you have a gun?”
“Turn off the light,” he instructed. “Do it now.”
She did. They fell into darkness.
Rooster looked back out the window. The priest was gone.
-7-
Silence fills the night again.
“Starker’s right,” Nauls says, “six scarecrows…six of us.”
“Not anymore.” Landon makes sure he smiles at Snow before he takes the lead, moves by the first scarecrow and heads for the rotting remnants of the old farmhouse. “Scratch one Carbone. Dead guys don’t count.”
“Before this night’s over,” Snow mutters, “I’m gonna end that fuck.”
The others move on, following Landon now, who has gotten several yards ahead of them and is barely perceptible in the darkness and fog. When they catch up to him, they find themselves standing before a ramshackle two-story structure with a dilapidated porch. To the side of the house and further back on the property is a barn in even worse shape. From the face of the farmhouse, a series of blown-out windows stare down at them, opaque eyes gaping in judgment, perhaps in warning.
A rusted metal sign has been staked a few feet from the front porch steps.
~ KEEP OUT—THIS PROPERTY IS CONDEMNED~
“Yeah,” Landon says with a smirk, “didn’t see that coming at all.”
Rooster immediately feels something so unsettling it leaves him breathless. He squints through the darkness at the looming structure. “I know this place,” he hears himself say.
Snow nods, eyes fixed on the house, his mouth hanging open. “So do I.”
“Me too,” Nauls says, voice shaking.
“Like we’ve been here before,” Starker says.
“Don’t worry about it.” Landon tests the first step, and once satisfied it will hold his weight, climbs up onto the porch. “These old farmhouses upstate all look alike. You’re spooked, that’s all. Come
Rooster sat up. The bar he’d met Snow at earlier was on Cafferty Boulevard.
“One eyewitness told Action News 8 the man appeared disoriented and was running as if being chased, though that did not seem to be the case. It’s not yet known if the man was intoxicated or under the influence of narcotics, but—one moment...” The anchor put a hand to his ear, listened to the voice in his earpiece then paused for dramatic effect and frowned as if personally devastated. “This just in: the victim, identified as Terrell B. Snow, has been pronounced dead on the scene. As further details become available on this horrific hit-and-run tragedy, we will—”
Rooster turned the television off. The apartment was quiet. He looked to the kitchen. The TV dinners were still on top of the stove but Gaby was nowhere to be found. He hurried through the apartment to the bedroom.
Light filled the room as he flipped the switch. Half-expecting to see the horrible winged and long-tailed creatures in the book flying about, he was relieved to find only shadows, an aged bedroom set and the usual open window. He went directly to the closet and pulled an old shoebox down from the shelf. Inside, a 9mm, a full clip and two boxes of ammunition were wrapped in a cloth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even touched the gun, much less fired it, but he scooped it up, deftly slapped the clip into place, chambered a round and released the safety. Something about holding the gun steadied his hand.
A cold breeze blew through the room, disturbing the curtains. He moved to close the window but froze. Beneath a streetlight just beyond the courtyard, a lone man was watching the building.
A priest.
“What’s wrong?”
Rooster glanced behind him. Gaby stood in the doorway, a laundry basket of freshly folded clothes in her arms. “How did you know that would be on the news?” he asked.
“How did I know what would be on the news?” She noticed his weapon and her face went pale. “Michael, why do you have a gun?”
“Turn off the light,” he instructed. “Do it now.”
She did. They fell into darkness.
Rooster looked back out the window. The priest was gone.
-7-
Silence fills the night again.
“Starker’s right,” Nauls says, “six scarecrows…six of us.”
“Not anymore.” Landon makes sure he smiles at Snow before he takes the lead, moves by the first scarecrow and heads for the rotting remnants of the old farmhouse. “Scratch one Carbone. Dead guys don’t count.”
“Before this night’s over,” Snow mutters, “I’m gonna end that fuck.”
The others move on, following Landon now, who has gotten several yards ahead of them and is barely perceptible in the darkness and fog. When they catch up to him, they find themselves standing before a ramshackle two-story structure with a dilapidated porch. To the side of the house and further back on the property is a barn in even worse shape. From the face of the farmhouse, a series of blown-out windows stare down at them, opaque eyes gaping in judgment, perhaps in warning.
A rusted metal sign has been staked a few feet from the front porch steps.
~ KEEP OUT—THIS PROPERTY IS CONDEMNED~
“Yeah,” Landon says with a smirk, “didn’t see that coming at all.”
Rooster immediately feels something so unsettling it leaves him breathless. He squints through the darkness at the looming structure. “I know this place,” he hears himself say.
Snow nods, eyes fixed on the house, his mouth hanging open. “So do I.”
“Me too,” Nauls says, voice shaking.
“Like we’ve been here before,” Starker says.
“Don’t worry about it.” Landon tests the first step, and once satisfied it will hold his weight, climbs up onto the porch. “These old farmhouses upstate all look alike. You’re spooked, that’s all. Come
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