The Walker on the Hills (Jed Horn Supernatural Thrillers Book 3) by Nealen Peter

Author:Nealen, Peter [Nealen, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-12-15T05:00:00+00:00

The next couple of blocks were just as bizarre as the first two. The houses continued to be strangely distorted, a few only looking like dimensionally twisted, surrealist versions of regular frame houses, others looking like piles of bones or rocks, or even some kind of bizarre, house-sized living creatures. I was pretty sure I even saw a couple of candy houses, like something out of Hansel and Gretel. I stopped looking up at the water tower after I could have sworn it started growing a face.

A shout suddenly drew my attention. It wasn't especially strange in and of itself; there were a lot of people and...other things making a lot of noise, too much noise for a single shout to stand out too much. But I recognized the voice. It was Blake.

I started moving forward more quickly, looking for him. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people out on this block, milling around in the street, shouting nonsense at each other in increasingly agitated voices.

The crowd was actually blocking the entire street, and looked like it was made up of a good chunk of the town's population. I caught a snatch of Blake's voice again, and pushed into the crowd. “Come on!” I called to the rest. “He's in here!”

The people in the crowd were shouting and gesticulating, though they weren't really getting violent. I couldn't even tell who or what they were yelling at, and being close enough to make out words wasn't any more enlightening. None of it made any sense at all. They also weren't keen on being shouldered aside, though they weren't fighting me; they just resisted being pushed aside, trying to stay in place and wave their arms. It was like fighting through a human thicket, rather than actually fighting a mob.

Tall Bear and Ian were beside me, helping me to try to push a path through the press. “It's like they're stuck somehow,” Tall Bear grunted, pushing at an overweight man who kept flailing around, though his gestures weren't exactly blows. “Their feet don't want to move.”

“Not only their feet,” I replied, dodging a swinging arm only to get clipped in the ear by another. “It's like something's woven them into a hedge or something.”

“It's what did that that has me more than a little nervous,” Eryn said from behind me.

“You and me both,” I replied with another grunt, as I shouldered my way past an elderly gent with a wild look in his eyes, who was standing stiff as a post as he spewed nonsense words at the teenager only a couple feet from him, who wasn't paying him any attention. The fat woman beyond him was practically a fleshy wall in and of herself.

After an interminable two more yards full of agitated, yet strangely immovable, people, I got a glimpse of close-cropped red hair, and heard the familiar shout again. It was definitely Blake. The only problem was, he was making about as much sense as the rest of the crowd, by which I mean absolutely none whatsoever.

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