Read Online House of Fallen Trees by Gina Ranalli - Free Book Online
Authors: Gina Ranalli
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asked.
Saul shrugged. “Small town. They’re used to knowing everybody. It’s nothing personal.” Rory snapped the radio on and a strong male voice boomed out of the speakers. “…carcass.”
Karen felt her blood turn to ice-water, her eyes widening, staring at the radio.
The voice continued: “So, if anyone wants a nice fat venison steak, give old Mac Gershon a buzz and tell him to put you down for some. That buck was a big one.” The voice stopped talking and a second later Miles Davis oozed out into the air like a long swallow of fine, smoky whiskey.
Rory opened his mouth to say something, glancing at Karen. Whatever he was about to say, he abruptly changed his mind when he saw her paper-white face. “Are you okay?”
She continued to watch the radio as if waiting for it to sprout a hand and grab her knee.
“Karen?” Rory said. He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
She flinched, her eyes darting from the radio to Rory’s face. “That man on the radio…”
Perplexed, he said, “Yeah, that’s Terry King. He’s the town DJ. What’s the matter?”
She thought about it, thought about telling him about the dream, if that’s what it had been. The words on her computer screen. But in the end, she just shook her head and said, “Nothing. He just sounded familiar for a second.”
Rory nodded, though his eyes remained concerned and he shot Saul a look via the rearview.
It took them less than ten minutes to get to what appeared to Karen to be an old utility road that hadn’t been used in at least a decade. Rory turned onto the road, bumping over clumps of earth and stone before setting the tires into the twin ruts that made the actual road.
Karen rubbed her face with both hands, suddenly drained and wondering just what the hell she was doing out here in Washington. She should be back home, working on the new book, drinking coffee during the day, wine at night. Relishing her solitude and privacy, not having to be social with anyone. Living her perfect little hermit life instead of tooling around in the woods hoping to find a hint of who her lost brother might have been. What really happened to him…
Then it occurred to her: This whole trip, this town and its people. There might actually be a story in here somewhere. Maybe not a novel; maybe just a short story, six or seven thousand words. But still…inspiration was everywhere. And she hadn’t even seen the house yet.
Maybe, just maybe, this entire trip wouldn’t be a waste, even if she didn’t find a single thread of information about Sean. The whole haunted house angle could turn into something, she was sure. And ever since childhood, she’d loved a good haunted house tale and had wanted to try her hand at one. Why not now? It could be fun and she might even be able to get her publisher to foot the bill. She could say she was on a research trip.
Forgetting all about the guy on the radio, she sat up straighter in her seat, began looking at the passing forest with new, writer’s eyes. Taking in as much as she could, trying to commit certain things to memory. A big boulder on the side of the road, a white spray-painted skull and cross-bones decorating its face. The impossible greenness of this new world, so unlike New England in autumn. The thick gabardine-gray of the sky, mostly blotted out by the overhanging pine branches, some of which had been sheared off in one storm or another and lay in the road, causing the Jeep to bump and lurch and jostle the passengers within. Lost in thought, she didn’t even notice as they approached a huge downed tree blocking the road.
“Well, this is where the hike begins,” Rory said, jolting Karen out of her thoughts. Her mouth fell open when she saw the size of the fallen tree.
“Holy shit,” she said. “It’s as wide as a school bus.”
“Yeah,” Rory agreed. “And probably in the
Saul shrugged. “Small town. They’re used to knowing everybody. It’s nothing personal.” Rory snapped the radio on and a strong male voice boomed out of the speakers. “…carcass.”
Karen felt her blood turn to ice-water, her eyes widening, staring at the radio.
The voice continued: “So, if anyone wants a nice fat venison steak, give old Mac Gershon a buzz and tell him to put you down for some. That buck was a big one.” The voice stopped talking and a second later Miles Davis oozed out into the air like a long swallow of fine, smoky whiskey.
Rory opened his mouth to say something, glancing at Karen. Whatever he was about to say, he abruptly changed his mind when he saw her paper-white face. “Are you okay?”
She continued to watch the radio as if waiting for it to sprout a hand and grab her knee.
“Karen?” Rory said. He snapped his fingers in front of her face.
She flinched, her eyes darting from the radio to Rory’s face. “That man on the radio…”
Perplexed, he said, “Yeah, that’s Terry King. He’s the town DJ. What’s the matter?”
She thought about it, thought about telling him about the dream, if that’s what it had been. The words on her computer screen. But in the end, she just shook her head and said, “Nothing. He just sounded familiar for a second.”
Rory nodded, though his eyes remained concerned and he shot Saul a look via the rearview.
It took them less than ten minutes to get to what appeared to Karen to be an old utility road that hadn’t been used in at least a decade. Rory turned onto the road, bumping over clumps of earth and stone before setting the tires into the twin ruts that made the actual road.
Karen rubbed her face with both hands, suddenly drained and wondering just what the hell she was doing out here in Washington. She should be back home, working on the new book, drinking coffee during the day, wine at night. Relishing her solitude and privacy, not having to be social with anyone. Living her perfect little hermit life instead of tooling around in the woods hoping to find a hint of who her lost brother might have been. What really happened to him…
Then it occurred to her: This whole trip, this town and its people. There might actually be a story in here somewhere. Maybe not a novel; maybe just a short story, six or seven thousand words. But still…inspiration was everywhere. And she hadn’t even seen the house yet.
Maybe, just maybe, this entire trip wouldn’t be a waste, even if she didn’t find a single thread of information about Sean. The whole haunted house angle could turn into something, she was sure. And ever since childhood, she’d loved a good haunted house tale and had wanted to try her hand at one. Why not now? It could be fun and she might even be able to get her publisher to foot the bill. She could say she was on a research trip.
Forgetting all about the guy on the radio, she sat up straighter in her seat, began looking at the passing forest with new, writer’s eyes. Taking in as much as she could, trying to commit certain things to memory. A big boulder on the side of the road, a white spray-painted skull and cross-bones decorating its face. The impossible greenness of this new world, so unlike New England in autumn. The thick gabardine-gray of the sky, mostly blotted out by the overhanging pine branches, some of which had been sheared off in one storm or another and lay in the road, causing the Jeep to bump and lurch and jostle the passengers within. Lost in thought, she didn’t even notice as they approached a huge downed tree blocking the road.
“Well, this is where the hike begins,” Rory said, jolting Karen out of her thoughts. Her mouth fell open when she saw the size of the fallen tree.
“Holy shit,” she said. “It’s as wide as a school bus.”
“Yeah,” Rory agreed. “And probably in the
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