Simon Says: Demon Hunter Book 1 Read online

  We didn’t go camping for a while after that. And when we finally did, that’s when my father was found dead at the base of an embankment, the cold river flowing over his body. I guess one could say I had cause for my own misery, but being mad at the world never solved anything. It only made things worse.

  The truth was I didn’t miss my parents. They fought all of the time. My father was rarely home until my mother got sick. And then they spent most of their time at the hospital or in her room. No, life now wasn’t so much different. Sure, the scenery had changed, but the care hadn’t.

  I drew near to the flame and held out my hands. The fire was warm. It tingled along my cold fingers and burned my legs. The burning felt good. It seeped away some of the stiffness and pain. Simon and I stood together for a brief moment before he reached down and yanked the dead hen from a tin bucket.

  He stabbed a long pole through the bird’s throat and set it on a pulley system over the fire. The wet blood and muscles popped as the flames licked the bird. Simon rotated it every few seconds like a rotisserie.

  I don’t know how long we stood staring at the fire. It wasn’t until the woman in red called out, “Almost ready?” that either one of us snapped out of our stupor.

  Simon removed the carving knife from his back and cut a slab of meat off of the hen. He munched down on it, the heat not affecting him one bit. He tossed the bone into the fire. He spun the pulley for ten more minutes before he removed the blackened bird from the flames.

  I shuffled after him as we went back inside. Dinner was less eventful than breakfast. We had skipped lunch altogether, which worked out considering we spent the majority of the day in the yard. It was better than being stuck inside like we usually were. Whoever the woman was, it was someone Simon hated. I’d catch the way he’d look at her or how he’d respond when she spoke. Simon was used to giving orders, not taking them. And whoever she was, she represented a threat to his dominion.

  I found myself hoping she would leave soon before she ruined what we had here. Before Simon got angry. After we finished dinner and washing up the same dishes we had used for breakfast, we went to our room.

  Simon and the woman went outside on the porch. I could hear their voices from the upstairs. Some of the boys leaned against the wall listening while the rest of us huddled around on our beds. Me, I laid down and didn’t think two winks about my uncle and the strange lady in red.

  I drifted off seconds after my eyelids closed.

  7

  My eyes flashed open. The room was dark and quiet. It was still dark. The other boys were fast asleep. I could hear number nine’s incessant snoring. It sounded like someone was pinching his nose and inflating his chest through a razor blade.

  My legs ached but my body was void of sweat. I didn’t remember having a nightmare. So why did I wake up? My left ear twitched in the direction of the sound. I craned my head as far as my neck would allow without tumbling off. I held my breath and listened.

  There it was again. A whack-swoosh, whack-swoosh. It was coming from the back yard. I slid my feet out of the blankets. I winced from the cold floor, sending a wave of pain up my legs. I couldn’t wait until my legs got back to normal. I hoped it wouldn’t be long. I was tired of hobbling around like a gimp. Maybe I was more like Simon than I knew.

  I crept through the sleeping boys to the far window. The sky was clear and the moon shone bright. Its pale, blue light cascaded through the blurry window and sprinkled over my skin as I stepped into the light. I peered down into the yard. It was covered in shadow. The snow had melted during the day. Only a few patches remained. The ground was muddy mush where the snow had melted and we had trampled it.

  I was about to turn away when I saw movement by the shed. I squinted to see through the dark. Someone was moving around inside. I stood transfixed by the window as the shadowy figure stepped out. He headed for the trees with something long cast over his shoulder. A shovel.

  He returned a second time and scooped something heavy off of the ground. This too he carried over his shoulder. He limped as he went. Whatever it was, it was heavy. And bulky. Like a body.

  My heart froze in my chest. The chain was gone. I scanned the yard for it. It was nowhere to be seen. Had he killed Trevor and was now discarding the body? I stood transfixed by the window unable to move, unable to breathe, or to think.

  Instinct told me I should go back to bed, crawl under the sheets, and close my eyes. Forget this ever happened. I wished that was what I had done. I pulled myself away from the windowsill and headed for the stairs. This time no one stopped me to ask what I was doing. The others were wiped out from the day’s work.

  I should have been too, but something was tugging at me to go. To investigate. To unveil the nefarious mystery that was taking place in the yard. A rush of cold air swept over me as I opened our bedroom door just enough to squeeze through. The Black Room stood like a menacing labyrinth of doom, beckoning me to come near. I almost did out of curiosity, but the activity outside pulled stronger.

  I slid down the stairs as silently as my buckling legs would allow. They weren’t quite as sore as they were earlier, but I still could only bend them a few inches at the knees. I gripped the railing for support with white-bared knuckles.

  My bare feet touched the hardwood floor at the bottom. I paused at the foot of the stairs and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A moment of doubt rushed in. What if it wasn’t Simon? What if it was someone else? I almost turned around and went back to the room. That was my third mistake. The first was getting out of bed, the second coming downstairs.

  I dashed through the living room and paused momentarily by Simon’s bedroom door. It was closed. I listened long enough to conclude he was not asleep. I was perplexed to find the back door ajar. Cold air swept in with a low whine. My fingers grazed the metal doorknob. This was my chance to lock the door and run upstairs. To forget I ever saw anything. Maybe I hadn’t seen anything. That was it. My eyes were just playing tricks on me in the dim lighting. The man by the shed had been part of my imagination. A trailing figment from a dream I had been having.

  But I knew the truth no matter how hard I tried to fight it. Someone was outside. And I was going to find out who. I left the door open a crack as I descended the porch stairs. The boards squeaked against my weight but the howling wind blocked it out. I was grateful the snow had melted, but the ground was still cold as ice.

  The soft mud squished between my toes as I ran across the yard to the barn. I pressed my back against the wooden beams, gasping for breath. My heart was racing in my chest and my hands were twitching. Are you sure you want to do this? I thought to myself. You can still turn back. I leaned my head against the barn and took a gulp of icy air. I snaked my way to the back of the barn where the doghouse should have been.

  It was gone. So was Trevor and the chain that had bound him to the ground. My head swiveled around in a three hundred and sixty degree circle. There was no sign of the doghouse or even Trevor ever having been here. Had I dreamt it all up? I shook my head to clear the fog and doubt creeping in.

  No. I had seen him. I had visited him five nights in a row. I had brought him food. Clothing. Water. That was real. This was real. So where was he? The man. My head snapped to the side. Someone was inside the barn rummaging around. I crouched as tightly to the ground as I could. I bit my lip to keep from crying out from the searing pain ripping through my legs.

  There was no doubt my muscles had torn. Why else would they be on fire? My only saving grace was the oodles of adrenaline coursing through my body and the freezing temperature. On any other occasion, I would have been a limp piece of flesh stranded outside, unconscious from the pain.

  I waited for the noise to stop before daring to peek around the side. I caught sight of him disappearing into the trees. I counted to five before I made a run for the tree line. My legs screamed with every step. I tasted iron on my tongue as my teeth dug into my lips. My vision blurred from the cold air. I blocked it all ou
t and kept moving.

  I needed to get to the trees before he saw me—whoever he was. I made it in one piece. So far so good. I peered around a tree trunk as thick as my torso. The man was nowhere to be seen. Had I lost him?

  A twig snapped. There he was. I moved from tree to tree, matching my steps with his. Maybe I was being more paranoid than I needed to be, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I followed the figure deeper into the trees, going so far that we crossed the property line. I watched from the cover of some bushes as he climbed over the fence.

  Either the cold and pain was melting my brain into mush or I was just that stupid. I followed and hopped over the low-lying fence in pursuit. I rushed through the thicket on the other side and all but ran into him when the trees suddenly stopped.

  I slid to a halt and clamored behind a tree for cover. He was standing in a clearing. The black bag was lying on the ground, the shovel sticking out of the hard ground like a tombstone. He stood with his back to me looking into the distance. What was he looking at?

  The clouds momentarily blocked out the moon. The earth fell into blackness. The air seemed to grow colder and the night darker. When the cloud moved, he was gone. I scanned the surrounding clearing. Where had he gone? I felt him before I heard the crunch of twigs behind me. I rotated slowly not knowing what fate laid before me.

  There he was. He was looking right at me. I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe. The moon was blocked from view again. When the light returned, he was back in the clearing. Digging. Maybe he hadn’t seen me. Or maybe he wanted me to watch the crime he was about to commit. A cover-up, I concluded. The body was already dead. He was hiding the evidence.

  I should have left when he started digging; run away when he dragged the body bag to the hole and shoved it in; disappeared in the night and never looked back when he began to pile the dirt on top. But I was trapped. Paralyzed by the events unfolding before me. He stood hovering over the pile of raised dirt. His chest rose and fell in quick succession.

  He wiped his sleeve along his brow and slammed the sharp edge of the shovel into the dirt. He walked over to a pile of old fence posts and trash. The moon returned and lit up the ground. We were in some kind of junkyard. The shadowy statues all around weren’t rocks or low shrubbery, they were recycled, beat up, weed-infested vehicles. Many had their doors removed. Amongst others, the chairs were gone and still others sat on the metal bearings of their wheels, tires reclaimed, interiors dissected like a school science experiment.

  He dragged the scrap metal and pieces of dead branches and piled them up. The pile of garbage sparked to life. My mouth dropped when the flames danced along his face. Simon. He tossed something into the flames. Was that a red dress?

  The fire devoured it in seconds. Too late to know for sure. Simon stood there unmoving until the fire burned low. He yanked the shovel free, threw it over his shoulder, and headed toward the fence line. I swerved around the tree I was hiding behind as he passed me by. I waited for him to be out of sight before I ran through the trees as fast as I could.

  I was done with stealth. If he got to the house before I did, I was dead. He had already killed two people. What was there to stop him from doing the same to me if he found me outside? He’d know I had seen. Why else would I be there?

  My legs went numb. I could no longer feel them—could no longer feel anything but the palpitating fear swelling in my chest. I needed to get back. My ankle caught on a fallen tree. My body went somersaulting through the air. I felt a sharp pop in my left shoulder as I landed. I never felt the impact on the back of my head. Just darkness.

  8

  I was moving. My head throbbed. My vision blurred. Something was digging into my spine. I realized it was the rocks and loose debris along the ground. I was being dragged by my ankle. It was he. Simon. He had found me. How had he found me?

  Then I remembered tripping, falling, and hitting my head. My ears buzzed. I reached my hand to the side of my head. It was wet and sticky with what could only be blood, mud, and leaves. The sticky substance on my fingers only confirmed it.

  I didn’t know where we were. I thought he was dragging me to where he buried the other bodies until I saw the fence. He stepped over it, then reached underneath to grab my feet. He tugged me under the lowest beam.

  I pretended to still be unconscious. I needed to figure out a way to escape before we got back to the house. If we got back, it would be too late. He’d lock me in the Black Room and do God knows what to me. And when he had finished with me, he’d bury me in the yard or burn me in the fire just like he had Trevor and the woman in red. There was no mistaking it. I had seen the red fabric go in the flame.

  No one would ever know. I’d just be another boy who wandered off in the dark and got lost in the woods. No one would come looking for me. Simon was the only family I had. The other boys would assume I ran off or believe whatever Simon told them.

  Maybe they’d believe him or maybe they’d know something else really happened. But they’d never find out. They’d keep their mouths shut so the same fate that befell me wouldn’t come to them. They were smart, unlike me. I was stupid. Why had I ever left my bed?

  The tree line parted and the yard appeared. The house was a dark specter basking beneath the moonlight’s glow. My back would be shredded by now. I could feel my life force leaving my body little-by-little. At least that would be my only saving grace. If anyone ever did come looking, the dogs would find my trail of blood smeared all along the forest floor. If the snow didn’t wash it away first.

  Suddenly, Simon released me and my legs fell to the ground. I lay on my back, numb to the world. Simon stretched his neck before heading for the barn. This was it. He was going to kill me. I hoped it would be quick. I didn’t know if I could take any more pain. Everything hurt even through the numbness.

  Simon came back out and latched the barn doors. I couldn’t see what he was carrying. He hunched over by the side of the shed before walking over to me. He set the bucket down and the other object he had brought with him.

  It was a med kit. He unlatched the handles and pulled out some badges and a dry cloth. He draped these over the edge of the med kit before retrieving something else. He rolled me on my stomach and lifted my shirt. I winced and cried out when he sprayed the isopropyl alcohol onto the scrapes and gashes in my back. He sprayed it along my left thigh as well where apparently my pants had been split open and a small metal object protruded from the flesh.

  The object turned out to be a rusty nail. Simon yanked it out with pliers along with bits of skin and muscle. I blacked out. When I came back to, Simon was dabbing my back and leg with a wet cloth. He would dip it into the bucket of water then wash my wounds. He secured a bandage to my thigh before wrapping it with some kind of linen tape from the kit and went to work on my back.

  The pain burned low. It was more a throbbing sensation than the initial burst of agony. Simon squeezed the rag after each dab. He pressed, caressed, and slid the cloth along my wounds with such delicacy I thought it was someone else. But the moon glowed bright and his face glowed as if a flashlight were cast on it.

  It was definitely him.

  He worked intently with a scrutinized focus I had never seen before. His eyes never left the injuries as he cleaned my wounds, sprayed more antibiotic ointment on them, and bandaged them up. Once he had finished, he rolled me on my back and returned the items to the barn. He dumped the bucket of bloody water along the side of the shed before rinsing it out at the spigot. He came back to me and scooped me up in both arms and carried me inside.

  I didn’t know whether to be relieved or uncomfortable in his arms as we ascended the stairs. My eyes spotted the Black Room’s door. My heart spiked as we drew near, then he opened it. I closed my eyes not wanting to see the terrors that lurked inside. The room was warm. As if a small furnace were on.

  He laid me on a cot near the wall with an overarching window that ran up the side of the ceiling. The ceiling itself arched to a point in the center
. The room reminded me of a tiny guest suite. It had its own bathroom with a claw foot tub and furniture. Simon pulled the blankets over me and touched the back of his hand to my forehead.

  “Rest,” he said and left the room.

  My eyes adjusted to the dark room. I was lying on the only cot. A leather couch with pieces missing sat against the opposite wall. There were other trinkets and items I did not recognize. The walls were painted black with odd symbols and engravings on them. The room had an eerie heaviness about it as if I were breathing underwater. My eyes fell on a stuffed coon on the wall. Its fake marble eyes stared back at me. Its smiling teeth taunted me.

  I forced my gaze away. That’s when I saw the large armoire with its doors latched with a chain and lock. I found this odd. The wardrobe resembled a giant pantry or closet, detached from the wall. It spanned at least four feet and climbed all the way to the ceiling. Something about the wardrobe made me uneasy.

  Lying there, it felt as if tiny microscopic organisms were slithering along my skin and working their way into my open wounds. If I didn’t get out of here soon, I’d become infected with whatever evil spirit was in this place. The door opened and I let out a yelp.

  It was just Simon. He had a tray with a steaming bowl of stew and tea. He set it on the nightstand to my right. He took the bowl and cupped the spoon in his fingers. He blew until the steam disappeared then held it to my lips. I reluctantly took the first bite. The warmth of the soup burned my throat and filled my stomach with heat. I was less reluctant with the spoonfuls that followed.

  Why was I so hungry? I devoured each little helping until the spoon clanged in the empty bowl. My tongue swirled back and forth in my mouth trying to savor the last remnants of the hot stew. Simon took the tea and did the same. The tea was less filling but its warmth felt good just the same. I glanced up at Simon as he fed me like an infant. His eyes were distant, his face drawn. Where was he? What was he thinking?