Scenes from the Secret History (The Secret History of the World) by F. Paul Wilson Page B

the path, and then leaning over with their crooked, scraggly branches seeming to reach for him.  He could almost believe they were shuffling off the path ahead of him and then moving back in to close it off behind.
    “See that sign?” Eddie said, pointing to a passing tree. “Maybe we should listen.”
    Jack glanced at the orange letters blaring from glossy black tin:
    NO FISHING
    NO HUNTING
    NO TRAPPING
    NO TRESPASSING
    No big deal.  The signs dotted just about every other tree on Old Man Foster’s land, so common they became part of the scenery.
    “Well,” he said, “we’re not doing the first three.”
    “But we’re doing the fourth.”
    “Criminals is what we are!” Jack raised a fist.  “Criminals!”
    “Easy with that.” Eddie looked around.  “Old Man Foster might hear you.”
    Jack called to the girl riding twenty feet ahead of them.  “Hey, Weez!  When do we get there?”
    She usually kept her shoulder-length dark hair down but she’d tied it back in a ponytail for the trip.  She wore a black-and-white – mostly black – Bauhaus T-shirt and black jeans.  Jack and Eddie wore jeans too, but theirs were faded blue and cut off above the knees.  Weezy’s were full length.  Jack couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen her bare legs.  Probably white as snow.
    “Not much farther now,” she called without looking around.
    “Sounds like Papa Smurf,” Eddie grumbled.  “This is stupidacious.”
    Jack turned back to Eddie.  “Want to trade bikes?”
    Jack rode his BMX.  He’d let some air out of the tires for better grip in the sand and they were doing pretty well.
    “Nah.” Eddie patted the handlebars of his slim-tired English street bike.  “I’m all right.”
    “Whoa!” Jack heard Weezy say.
    He looked around and saw she’d stopped.  He had to jam on his brakes to keep from running into her.  Eddie flew past both of them and stopped ahead of his sister.
    “Is this it, Smurfette?” he said.
    Weezy shook her head.  “Almost.” 
    She had eyes almost as dark as her hair, and a round face, normally milk pale, made paler by the dark eyeliner she wore.  But she was flushed now with heat and excitement.  The color looked good on her.  Made her look almost… healthy, a look Weezy did not pursue. 
    Jack liked Weezy.  She was only four months older, but his January birthday had landed him a year behind her in school.  Come next month they’d both be in Southern Burlington County Regional High, just a couple of miles away.  But she’d be a soph and he a lowly frosh.  Maybe they’d be able to spend more time together.  And then again, maybe not.  Did sophs hang with freshmen?  Were they allowed?
    She wasn’t pretty by most standards. Skinny, almost boyish, although her hips seemed to be flaring a little now.  Back in grammar school a lot of the kids had called her “Wednesday Addams” because of her round face and perpetually dark clothes.  If she ever decided to wear her hair in pigtails, the resemblance would be scary. 
    But whatever her looks, Jack thought she was the most interesting girl – no, make that most interesting person he’d ever met.  She read things no one else read, and viewed the world in a light different from anyone else.
    She pointed to their right.  “What on Earth’s going on there?”
    Jack saw a small clearing with a low wet spot known in these parts as a spong.  But around the rim of the spong stood about a dozen sticks of odd shapes and sizes, leaning this way and that.  
    “Who cares?” Eddie said.  “If this isn’t what you dragged us out here to see, let’s keep going.”
    After hopping off her bike, she leaned it against a tree and started for the clearing.
    “Just give me a minute.”
    His curiosity piqued, Jack leaned his bike against hers and followed.  The knee-high grass slapped against his sweaty lower legs, making them itch. A glance back showed Eddie sitting on the sand in the shade of a pine. Jack caught