Read Online The Jersey Devil by Hunter Shea - Free Book Online

alert. There was a new message in her in-box. April clicked it open. After scanning the first few lines, she covered her open mouth with her hand.
    â€œWhat is it?” Daryl asked. He turned his Mets cap around on his head.
    April clicked the link in the e-mail, opening up a page from a New Jersey paper.
    â€œSome kid shot the Jersey Devil,” she said. It felt as if her heart had paused, refusing to beat until she read the entire article. Her fingertips suddenly felt ice cold.
    â€œYou’re kidding, right?” Daryl said.
    â€œI’m not, but there’s always a chance the kid in the story is.”
    Daryl read the story over her shoulder. “That seems like a pretty wild story to make up to cover for the fact that he stole his father’s gun. I’m thinking everything that’s been going on down there is adding up to more than coincidence.”
    He and April both absentmindedly scratched at their hips.
    â€œYou think we should call a Brady family meeting?” April said.
    Daryl’s mouth grinned, but his eyes looked nervous. “I think we have to.”

Chapter Nine
    Rafael Santiago read the same story as April and Daryl Willet. He had the benefit of living in Egg Harbor City, a very close drive to the Wharton State Forest, the area that had been called the epicenter of Jersey Devil sightings. He’d loaded up his Yaris and headed straight for the Batona hiking trail that cut through the center of the forest.
    The kids in the story hadn’t been very far from the south entrance to the trail. Rafael figured to spend the night, armed with his camera and phone, ready to record some sweet footage for his blog.
    â€œThis’ll get so many views,” he said to himself, veering from the trail. “Maybe I’ll use this to start my podcast.”
    Rafael had been blogging about strange monsters in America for two years now. He’d garnered a group of hardcore followers who supported him with page likes and sharing, but the numbers he’d hoped to have just never materialized. He took time to research every post, double-checking to make sure he had his facts straight and citing his source material. He liked to consider himself a bit of an academic. That alone should have made him the lone voice of reason in the world of the paranormal, monsters and cryptozoology.
    By comparison, there were people posting outright hoaxes, and writing them poorly, who had twenty times more followers. It burned his ass, seeing such sophomoric work getting all the attention. But then he realized a few of them were doing something he hadn’t considered. They would go to certain “hot spots” and film on-location pieces, like the two guys who gave a video tour of Fouke, Arkansas, where the legend of the Bigfoot of Boggy Creek was born. And there had been the kid who interviewed people in his hometown in Puerto Rico who believed they’d had encounters with the infamous Chupacabra—the goat sucker.
    It amazed him that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Of course, short videos were the way to go. Hook them with a video to match their attention span, and keep them coming back for the detailed information he would link to each video.
    Since his accident at the casino where he’d worked in Atlantic City—he’d taken a fall down stairs that didn’t have a Caution/Wet sign—there had been plenty of time to devote to his little passion. His back was feeling better, but there were still days he could barely get out of bed. His mother was only too happy to have him back home. He was never sure if his father shared her enthusiasm. Pop was a man of few words.
    The sun was starting to set, casting long, crooked shadows over the forest floor. Pretty soon it would be pitch black. Rafael had been filming his hike, giving background on the Jersey Devil, stressing that he was walking in the Devil’s footsteps. He had to stop himself a couple of times.