“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh.” Jack closed his mouth and resumed staring out the window.
Dreams? Boris thought he was cursed because of hisdreams? What the fuck was he dreaming about?
Jack could admit that he wasn’t prone to nightmares. He’d had plenty of strange, vivid dreams that left him uncomfortable upon waking, accompanied by the odd, prickling sensation that someone was watching him. The rest of the day was always tinged with half-faded memories of staring eyes and open mouths and putrid sores.
But to go so far as to help someone dig up a body because of them?
When Boris said he was cursed, he sounded like he actually meant it. Unlike everything else that came out of his mouth.
Maybe, just maybe, this was legitimate.
Before Jack could ask, Boris pulled into the parking lot at the trailhead.
“Hope you’re right about this,” he said, wrenching the trunk open and rifling between crumpled blankets, oil-stained towels, and what appeared to be a dog’s water dish until he found a rusty, dirt-encrusted shovel. Oil streaked across the handle, down the shaft.
“Me, too,” said Jack.
“You’re doing the digging.” Boris flipped the shovel, caught it by the spade, and extended the handle to Jack. “I hope you know that.”
“I assumed as much.” Jack snatched the shovel and started into the forest. Treetops wavered in the breeze. Aspens bright and slender as skeletons peered between the firs.
Were there cougars out here? Bears? Jack wasn’t so sure he wanted to know.
The beam of Boris’s flashlight flickered. Jack thought it would die, but it held strong as they followed the path to the broken bushes.
“Through here,” said Jack, gesturing.
Boris grunted. “Looks dark.”
“Well, yeah. It’s the woods.”
“I know that. Don’t talk down to me.”
“Sorry,” said Jack, and he meant it. Boris was the closest thing to a friend he had out here. “I’m just nervous.”
“About what? This was your idea.”
“I don’t know. Bears. Witches. Cops.”
Boris snorted a laugh. “You clearly don’t know a damn thing about witches, then.”
“I guess not,” said Jack, squinting between the trees.
“They aren’t gonna do anything to you. Just gonna read tarot under the moonlight and maybe curse the patriarchy.”
“Oh?” Jack waggled his eyebrows. “You sound like you have experience with this.”
Boris shrugged. “I might’ve dabbled.”
“Seriously?” Jack turned to stare at him. “You would just admit that to any guy in the woods with a shovel?”
Boris looked him up and down, and smirked. “Like you’re gonna do anything about it.”
“I’ve got a shovel,” said Jack, arching a brow.
“Yeah, and skinny arms.” Boris crossed his arms. “Even with a shovel, I could take you out.”
