The Pineview Incident by Kayla Griffith

particularly friendly in hunting gear,” Donna said. She eyed Mark. “And you don't either. In fact, you look a little scary.”
    “I never said this would be easy.”
    “I wasn't expecting easy, but I didn't expect impossible either,” Donna said. She turned away and looked out the window, cutting off any further discussion.
    Mark drove in neck-spasming silence for the next half hour. Truth be told, he had no real idea of how to do what he'd planned without looking utterly foolish. Or frightening.
    Donna was right. The higher the car climbed up the hills, the more sinister they looked.
    The Gilbertson farm sprawled over a rocky plateau and several small hills. They'd somehow managed to find enough land to grow meager crops and raise a healthy number of sheep. Compared to the relatively “rich” farmers in the valley, the family's ranch was marginal at best.
    A half mile from the border of the farm, Mark turned off the county road and followed a rutted pair of tire tracks back into the trees. After several hundred yards, he pulled to a stop and waved his hand at the path. “This leads to a trout stream I fish at. There's a path to the farm from there.”
    Donna didn't budge.
    “It's an easy hike. Not more than a mile at most. No one will see us,” Mark said. Still, she didn't move. “Really, it'll be a walk in the park.”
    “I saw a horror movie that began this way,” Donna whispered.
    Mark's mouth twitched up and he coughed once to cover his chuckle. “I've never seen a horror movie with two middle aged busybodies walking through the woods in badly fitting hunting gear.”
    Donna nodded her head and slowly hopped down out of the truck's cab. She almost ran to join Mark at the truck's tailgate. “Fine. But if I hear even a hint of a chainsaw I'm outta here. And I'm not going through any corn. No way.”
    “They grow potatoes and raise sheep,” Mark assured her. He handed Donna a pair of binoculars and an old camera. “No one makes a horror flick about potatoes and sheep.”
    Donna looked unconvinced.
    “Just stay close to me and it'll be fine,” he said. He turned and began walking up the tire track. Donna was so close on his tail her feet kept knocking against his.
    “Maybe not quite so close,” he whispered after she tripped him the third time.
    Donna's cheeks grew red. “Sorry,” she hissed. “I just don't like sneaking around.” Her voice was so quiet he barely heard her.
    “There's nothing out here that can hurt us. Trout aren't harmful to humans,” he reminded her.
    “Really? Then why are we both whispering?”
    Mark cleared his throat. “Come up and walk beside me,” he said out loud.
    In an instant, Donna was beside him. She nodded at him and they continued on the narrow path.
    She was so close to him now that their arms touched as they walked. Mark's arm wanted to slip around her shoulders so badly it almost twitched.
    #
    “Is that a clown?” Donna nearly shrieked—if you can shriek in a whisper.
    Mark turned his binoculars in the direction she pointed and focused in on a pair of bright yellow britches bending over the chicken pens.
    The figure stood and Mark chuckled in relief. “It's Old Gil in some godawful pants and suspenders.”
    Donna let out a loud breath. “Sorry. It looked like that clown from the movie.”
    Mark had to admit, with a dark shirt and baggy yellow trousers, the old farmer did look rather clownish. “I haven't see anyone from those vans yet. You?”
    Donna shook her head and went back to scanning the house and barns, using her binoculars for the further buildings. The afternoon sun was behind them, giving them a good view of the farm and hiding them in the dark shadows under a thicket of trees.
    “I feel like a peeping tom,” she said after a few minutes.
    “If you’re done, we could go up and say hello.”
    “Nope. No, I'm good. Look, here come the kids.”
    Mark turned his focus to the large barn.
    They sat close enough to the house that they could