Halfway Dead by Terry Maggert

Author:Terry Maggert [Maggert, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy, Paranormal, Adventure, Magic
Published: 2015-06-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven: Ghost Stories

We made camp at a place that was both beautiful and logical. Just over the mountain, the trail veered wildly to follow a narrow stone face that was far more challenging than our original ascent. As the sun began to fade in earnest, I felt the nudge of my necklace urging us to turn sharply toward the steep declination, which was thickly forested and free of any real trail. I held up a hand to stop Dietrich, who froze instantly, every muscle in body posed as a question asking if there was danger.

“Listen. Water.” After waving him forward and watching him relax, I noted that, for a tall guy, he could get incredibly small when he decided to be stealthy.

I could hear the creek before I saw it, then the silver ribbon of water spangled through the trees as we turned and half slid down a loose bank to the running water. I nearly went boots first as gravel gave way, stopping only on a half-rotted log that was covered in a profusion of turkey tail fungi radiating out in rusty browns and reds. The humble mushrooms were going about their work with typical industry, breaking down an errant log and incidentally providing me with the perfect place to squat and dip my canteen in the water. Before me, the waterway was more than a creek, but less than a river. I searched my mind and realized I didn’t recall the stream from any map.

“I don’t know the name, but this creek is probably crawling with trout,” I told Jim, who was watching the closest pool with moderate distrust.

“I’d rather it was filled with coffee,” Jim grumped. So, he was human.

We filled our canteens and rinsed hands and faces in the bracing chill of the creek, gasping at the shock of its bitterness. Even in summer, the lingering hint of January held true in the shallow water. I felt revived, pink-faced, and stifled a laugh after the renewal of cleanliness from our impromptu bath.

We followed a game trail through the underbrush to a tabletop of stone that peeked grimly from the lush growth; it was large enough for a campsite, and had a wet weather spring dribbling down the mossy rock face. With the last light of day in full retreat, we built a small fire and got down to the business of eating.

Jim spoke around a mouthful of noodles. “Do we need to set a watch?” He eyed the darkened forest with suspicion. We’d already heard several noises that were too loud for a chipmunk, but unknown to him. To me, they sounded like ordinary animals, not magical. I found comfort in their presence; it meant the forest was conducting business as usual, despite our presence.

“No. I’ll set a wardstone. Anything larger than a mouse will wake us both, but only if it intends us harm.” I busied myself with a small, unremarkable stone that fit neatly atop my walking stick, pushing the butt end into the ground with a satisfied grunt.

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