Return to Red Creek Nathan Hystad (e books free to read .txt) 📖

“No. I think the detective’s right. Go with him, and we’ll see you later. Protect Mom and your aunt, and watch Stevie like a hawk,” Paul said.

Taylor’s jaw clenched. “But, Dad…”

“Don’t bother. You’re not winning this one. Now go!” Paul shouted, then hugged his daughter. They were both soaked, and he felt her body rack out a soft sob. She was scared and didn’t want him to go without her. He was lost for words. It wasn’t herself she was worried about; it was him.

“Fine,” he whispered in her ear. “Convince Tom to take you to the dealership with him. You’ll be safe there.” Paul had no doubt in his mind that the Gilden dealership had nothing to do with the missing children. The employees were nothing but a coincidence and didn’t seem all that incidental to Paul’s mind.

“I think you’re wasting your time, Bartlett,” Paul said as Darrel wordlessly got into the driver’s seat of his truck, firing up the engine.

“Be careful out there,” the detective said.

Rich Stringer walked over to the police officer, and they spoke to each other in hushed tones before separating, Tom Bartlett heading toward his car with Paul’s daughter, niece, and whatever Brent was to him. Taylor got into the car, taking the front seat, and she watched Paul with sad eyes through the windshield.

He lifted a hand in the air, a silent goodbye. Paul glanced to his old house, boarded up and decrepit, and felt sorrow wash over him. He had so much to be grateful for in his life. Last time he was here, he’d been miserable; his wife and daughter were living in LA, and he was trying to sell his townhouse so he could get a fresh start. Contrary to the horrors he’d been through because of the Smiths and Red Creek, he was also accepting of it. He was blessed to be so successful and to be able to provide for his family; to send Taylor to the finest schools, to travel around the world with his beautiful wife, and to be able to make a great living at writing horror stories rather than living them.

Tom Bartlett’s car drove by, and Isabelle waved at her dad and Paul as they continued on. Darrel rolled down his window, calling for Paul. “You coming or what? Jesus, man, let’s go.” The window slid up, and Paul got into the front seat; the deputy had already relegated himself into the cramped backseat.

All three men remained noiseless as they headed away, and toward the land that used to be Granny Smith’s Orchard: the land where Paul had been taken when he was a kid, and the same place where he and his friends had thought they ended the threat once and for all. Jason had died that night, as had Cliff, and there wasn’t a day that went by that Paul didn’t think about those two men.

Conway had died that night too, and Paul could often see the image of the blood pooling from the old man’s gunshot wound as he closed his eyes. The memory strengthened him as the truck splashed through pools of water on the streets.

_______________

“Fine, but you’re going to stay in the car when we get there.” Tom gave in to the kids’ pleas. He knew they were technically adults, but that didn’t make him consider them anything but children still. They seemed resilient and committed to figuring this all out, so he decided to give in to Taylor’s incessant demands that he bring them along.

Taylor gave a satisfactory grin, and Tom noticed her hand reach behind her seat to touch her boyfriend’s fingers. Young love. Tom couldn’t even relate to the feeling any longer and averted his gaze, not wanting to intrude on their private moment.

A few minutes passed and they were on the highway, heading for the neighboring town. Tom would be so close to his house and wondered when he’d get to go home to sleep next. At this point, his body was already running on fumes, and he wasn’t sure how much more he had left in the tank. He needed caffeine but didn’t think any of the local businesses were open this late, even on a Saturday night. Maybe a bar would fix him up a stiff cup of coffee. He knew a place on the outskirts of town. They’d be there in three minutes.

Sheriff Tyler’s number came up on the caller ID as a phone call rang out inside the car. Tom shushed the passengers and accepted the call.

“Where are you, Bartlett?” Tyler asked.

“On the way to Gilden. I think there’s something connected to the dealership there,” Tom said, and Tyler cut him off.

“Tom, listen to me. Rich told me they talked to you about the monster in Red Creek. I know you don’t believe it, but it’s true. It’s true.”

Tom heard the emphasis in the sheriff’s voice. He didn’t know what to believe, but the more time he spent with these people, the tenser he was getting. “It can’t be,” he said quietly, watching Taylor’s reaction from the corner of his eyes. “There’s got to be a person behind this. There’s an old lady. She’s popping up around some of the sites.” Tom couldn’t believe he was backing Taylor’s theory from the snippet the Hayes kid had given her in the mental institute.

“What lady?” Sheriff Tyler’s voice was a whisper.

“Witness saw a lady behind the fields during the storm around the time Brittany was taken, only he claimed it turned from a black form to her between lightning strikes. I didn’t pay him much mind until I heard about a woman around the same age at a similar sighting of this ‘shadow creature.’ I think she might be a copycat, or one of the Smiths.”

“Then how does this connect with Gilden at all?” Tyler pressed him.

Tom sighed heavily. “It doesn’t. I don’t know.” He ran his left hand through his hair and felt the building