Haunted

Twelve

"What are you talking about?" I glance around uneasily. "Like, right where we're standing?"

I knew he died in the woods. I just never expected to end up in the spot where his bones might be buried.

Sam's face is in shadows, making the fear in his expression that much more palpable.

The lowering sun doesn't shine as brightly down here because of the trees, and it's making it several degrees cooler than the grassy field we came from. But the coldness that rushes through my veins isn't because of the lack of heat. My hands start to shake, so I press them against my thighs to keep them still.

"I died right here." Sam crosses to the center of the clearing and kicks a small chunk of charred firewood across the dirt. "It's weird. I remember dying in the woods, I remember seeing the evil spirit that killed me, and I even remember staring up at the moon as my life ended. But until now, the rest of it was pretty blank."

"You couldn't remember your own death?" I ask in surprise.

I notice Caleb and Myka glance at each other nervously.

Sam nods. "After I left Delilah, I went on a walk in the woods because I thought it would clear my head. But it was dark, so I brought a flashlight. I had already come to this spot several times before for parties and alcohol. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even realize that this was where I was headed until the wind started howling."

A breeze rustles through the leaves as he examines the area.

"At first, I ignored the wind, but then it got bad. I thought there was a freak tornado, but it was only the trees around me that were shaking. Then I saw it." He glares down at the ground. "I didn't even fight. I caught sight of it, and I ran like a coward."

"You didn't know what you were facing," I remind him. "You weren't a coward."

"I was," he argues. "Until that moment it had never shown itself, and now that it had, I was so scared. Terrified, more like. I was more scared than I had ever been in my entire life. It was . . . it was like this black fog, but it seemed off. It felt wrong. So incredibly wrong."

As he speaks, I lower the boxes of salt to the dirt before slowly taking small steps towards Sam. He doesn't even notice. He's lost in his story. Sure, his eyes are looking at the ground, but that's not what he's seeing.

"When I reached the clearing, I tripped on a piece of firewood and fell. Then it was on top of me." He flinches. "I tried to keep running, but these arms —" He pauses and shudders. "They reached out of the dark mass. It was awful. They were rotten and coated in oozing scabs, and it was like the dead had risen and were trying to drag me to Hell."

Now halfway to Sam, I keep pressing my hands against my thighs to keep Myka and Caleb from seeing them shake, knowing their eyes are on me.

"It hurt so bad," Sam admits, his voice breaking. "Every time they touched me, I thought that was going to be it. I thought I was dead. But somehow, I kept breaking free, and I kept trying to run. I should've fought harder."

He raises his hands and places them on top of his head as he grows more distressed. "It threw me across the clearing, like I weighed nothing. I remember hitting a tree. There was this intense pain in my spine, and then my bottom half went numb."

He still doesn't notice when I stop a couple feet away, waiting for him to finish his story.

"I tried to get up and run again, but my legs wouldn't work. The thing floated closer, and the hands started to claw at me. Their nails cut into my skin as I covered my head." His hands lower so he can examine his arms, like he's searching for evidence of the attack.