The Middle House: Return to Cold Creek Hollow (Haunted Series) by Alexie Aaron

Author:Alexie Aaron [Aaron, Alexie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

“Why can’t we wait until morning?” Squeak, the smallest of the group of four, asked.

“Because whatever this flower is, it only blooms at night,” Metal, the leader, answered.

“I’m a mercenary not a horticulture expert,” another complained. He was stuck with the moniker College because of his use of fifty dollar words.

“It’s not the flower we’re after, but what is buried underneath,” Metal explained.

“Are we on a freaking treasure hunt?” Sniper, the sharpshooter of the group, asked.

“Is it valuable?” Squeak asked, his eyes lighting up.

Metal held up his hand, stopping the questions. “We are on a retrieval mission. It’s only value is that we don’t get paid the bonus unless we find it.”

“So let’s get this straight. Some moron buried something of value in the ground and marked the spot with a flower that only blooms at night. As I said, I’m no expert, but flowers are tricky things. They die, they reseed, they are…”

CRACK!

“What the fuck was that?” asked College.

“Sounds like someone is chopping down trees,” Sniper said, clipping a night scope on his rifle.

CRACK CRACK CRACK!

“Damn, that’s giving me the creeps,” Squeak admitted.

A limb fell from overhead, narrowly missing him.

Metal watched his men ready their weapons. If he didn’t do something quick, they would probably shoot each other. He signaled for the other three men to come in closer. “Whatever this is, I don’t think we are prepared to deal with it tonight. Let’s head back.”

CRACK! Murphy slammed his axe into a fallen tree for good measure.

The men quickened their exit. He waited until they were out of hearing before whistling for Maggie.

She came running down the hill, her feet sliding a bit on the rotting leaves as she made the entrance of the forest.

Murphy squatted down and steadied the dog, waiting for her to calm down.

She licked his face, wondering why this pale man always tasted like wood.

“Come here, I want you to help me dig for something,” he said, guiding her to a small clearing. Murphy lifted the bark from the small mass of night-scented stock. He knew these as gillyflowers. This bunch seemed to bloom early despite the long, cold winter. Through his hundred or so year tenure haunting the hollow, Murphy always wondered about this particular clump of flowers. They didn’t seem to follow the natural path of their counterparts, surviving frosts that would kill a young maple tree. They were hardy, but he now knew that they were hardy because of magic.

He took his axe and edged it below the surface just under the plant. He lifted the flower, roots and all, away from where it had called home.

Maggie, catching the scent of vanilla, followed him, looking for a cookie or a slice of cake. She was disappointed at finding only the purple flowers.

Murphy gently set them down across the clearing and returned quickly. He motioned for Maggie to join him. “Dig here,” he instructed.

Maggie put a tentative paw down where the ground had been disturbed by his axe.

“Yes, there, dig.”

She didn’t need any further coaxing.

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