“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone jump so high. He’s practically in the forest.”
“Awww. Sorry, Kael!” Jenny calls. “It’s kind of our thing.”
“You’re demented,” I say. I pat my pocket and panic spikes. Something else is missing. “Give me that.”
I snatch my phone from Ash, drop to my knees, and sweep the light across the ground. My heartbeat won’t slow until I find Rocky. I fling a stick aside and start sifting through pine needles, dirt, and pebbles that aren’t him.
“What are you doing?” Ash asks.
“I dropped something.”
He crouches beside me, knees bumping mine. Heat rolls off his body still buzzing from laughter.
“What kind of something?” he asks. “Your rock?”
“Just help me look.”
“Aren’t you cold? We can look in the morning.”
“I’m not going in there without him.” I hear how that sounds but don’t care.
“Come on, man. I’m sorry, but let’s go in.”
“Go on, then.” My voice spikes. “You seem to have no problem leaving me behind.”
“Jeez.” He scrubs the back of his neck. “It was a joke.”
A second beam joins mine, and Ash’s flashlight combs the needles while I pat the ground. Our shoulders bump as we crawl. Every time his light swings close, it feels like he’s shining it straight through me.
“Sorry, Kael,” Jenny says again.
“What’s it look like?” Ash asks.
“He’ll be the only rock with a face and a tie.”
Ash snickers.
My throat tightens. “It was my mom’s.”
His mouth opens, momentarily stunned before he recovers. “Your mom has a pet rock?”
“My mom’s dead.”
He’s got no quip for that.
A speck of black paint on a river rock larger than the others catches my eye. I snatch it up, already knowing before I turn it over that it’s Rocky. Then his big painted eyes and crooked little tie stare back at me, and some frantic knot in my chest loosens. I slide him into my pocket and push to my feet. Ash is still beside me, looking bewildered.
“Found him,” I say.
His expression begs for an explanation. The thought of giving it to him, of all people, is the only thing strong enough to push me toward this haunted nightmare.
“Guess we’re going in,” he says, falling into step. “I’ll call you back,” he tells Jenny.
“Aww, now I feel bad,” she says. “And the story doesn’t even make sense, Kael. Why would the ghost of John Stokes be named Charlie?”
I step over the threshold to find a horror movie starter kit. Dust coats everything from rotting furniture to warped floorboards and a busted chandelier. Cobwebs shroud every corner.
Ash sweeps his flashlight across the cavernous room. “It is technically shelter, but wow, it’s giving some creepy vibes.”
