Believe, page 17
“Forget about it,” Luke said. He looked at his phone. “It’s 5:30. I’ve got to get home to help Gran with the trick-or-treaters. You know how we always get a lot.”
“She puts out all those carved pumpkins and stuff—the kids love that. Hey,” Caden looked down, shoving his hands in his pockets, “want some company? My neighborhood’s usually pretty dead. I could, you know, help out…”
“Weren’t you and the guys going to get together? Tom said something about TP-ing the trees in the school parking lot.”
“Nah,” Caden looked away, then back at Luke, making eye contact. “I’d rather hang with you and your gran tonight. If that’s okay, I mean.”
Luke shrugged. “Sure. We’d better get moving, though. Trick-or-treating starts at 6:00.”
“Hey Luke?”
“Yeah?”
Caden ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Seriously, what was that? You got me away, but it didn’t feel like dogs or bears when it was pulling on me. It was…hot. And—whew!” he waved his hand in front of his face and wrinkled his nose. “I’ve never smelled anything like that!”
“Brimstone,” Luke said. “I think that was brimstone.”
A block away from Gran’s house, a few early trick-or-treaters were marching up and down the street, ringing doorbells and holding out empty bags. Under a street light Caden stopped walking suddenly.
“Um, does brimstone do this?” he pointed to his right ankle. The bottom of his pant leg was wrinkled and browned, ragged at the edge, seared. They both stared, silent.
Luke cleared his throat. “Let’s not mention this, okay? I wouldn’t want Gran to…worry.”
Caden frowned. “But maybe she might, you know, know something about it? She always told us to stay away from those woods…”
Luke shook his head. “Just…don’t tell her. At least not tonight, okay?”
Caden looked at him for a long minute, then shrugged. “Whatever you say. She’s your grandmother.” They started walking again, closing in on the house. “But sometime I think we should ask some questions, find out more. Don’t you?”
Luke didn’t answer. He knew all he wanted to know about the Ekimmu and their dark world, and he knew he would never again walk through those woods during the dark months between equinoxes.
Acknowledgements
I am grateful to my many readers, who helped me create and compile this collection of stories: to Beren and Amelia my children, Judy and Paul my parents, and Ron my husband. Their feedback, questions, suggestions and cheerleading are the bread and butter of my work. I must also thank the many people whose ghost stories I have read since childhood, though I don't remember them all and can't name them. Their influence has guided and informed me here. In particular I am thankful for a small volume of "true" ghost stories I picked up while waiting for a ferry in Scotland, in 1993. "Scottish Ghost Stories" by Elliott O'Donnell kindled and defined my love for true ghost stories, ghost hunting, ghost books, and tales of the supernatural, and is the original inspiration for this volume.
About the Author
Elisabeth Wathen is a teacher, writer, poet, and musician. She lives with her husband and a loving orange tabby cat in their historic (and probably haunted) farmhouse, teaching and writing in the peace and beauty of the Catskills in Upstate New York.
Elisabeth E Wathen, Believe
