Free The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis Page A

a swinging forearm and a driving shoulder to Tickseed’s head, which sends him rolling a few feet further.
    At this, Tickseed regains his footing and makes off for the nearby woods, moving with extended strides. He disappears in a matter of seconds.
    Jasper wanders back to where I still sit on the ground. He’s not bruised or bloody like I’d expect, but he looks tired—if that’s even possible with these bodies.
    My vision has cleared and I bring myself to stand. “I don’t know what happened,” I say.
    â€œYou let him get the best of you, for one,” Jasper says with a matter-of-fact tone. “The rest isn’t your fault. The man’s a sadist. If he can drag you down with him, he will.”
    â€œThat’s not really what I meant,” I look away.
    Jasper’s mouth moves somewhere beneath his beard. “I know, but it’s for your own good that you heed what I say.” He waits for me to nod before continuing. “If there are any black arts here, Tickseed practices them. He’s found a way to manipulate himself, but it’s all farce. It’s under a guise through which he operates—a guise of something that doesn’t exist.”
    â€œI don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” Sometimes Jasper loses me when he tries to explain the Territory.
    Jasper shifts his weight before replying. “I mean the way he looks—the way he transforms—it might as well be a dream. A nightmare, maybe, but he doesn’t manifest reality. He’s trying to prey on unfounded fears. Something from the movies…”
    Looking at my feet, I say, “I guess that makes sense, kind of. But that’s not the worst of it. He had hold of a harbinger when I found him. He was choking it. And the look on his face—it was like he was having fun. I think it told him about the boy.”
    Jasper flinches slightly. “He’s becoming more aggressive, which isn’t surprising. He wants back into the physical world. I don’t know how he thinks he’ll manage to do so, but I don’t want him anywhere near when you go to gather the Crisp boy.”

The Choke
    November 29th, 1986
    Culver Crisp inside Ezra Mendelssohn’s house
    â€œCulver, give me your coat,” my mom says to me. My family has just arrived at Ezra Mendelssohn’s house. In the front room, we can smell the roast cooking and hear the voices of others toward the back of the house.
    Mom says we’re having a potluck. Ezra had been sick in the hospital, and some of the congregation wanted to welcome him home.
    The men talk in the front room, while the ladies work in the kitchen. My sister wants to help them, so my mom sends me to play with the other children near the stairs.
    I recognize Ted Witherspoon from school. He’s kind of bossy, but I don’t mind him too much. I don’t know the other two boys playing with him, but I think they’re brothers. They’ve got the same curly hair.
    All of them brought toys—some matchbox cars and a few G.I. Joe figures. I didn’t remember to bring any of mine.
    â€œHey, Culver,” Ted says. “Wanna play?”
    â€œSure,” I say. I don’t really feel like playing. I’d rather be looking for Starla. I heard there was one more search party going out today, but my mom wouldn’t let me go. She said I wasn’t allowed to go even if my dad went with me.
    â€œHere,” Ted says as he hands me a car, “our base is up here.” He points to the landing halfway up the stairs.
    I follow Ted up the steps and listen to his directions on how I’m supposed to play with the car.
    He says I’m not supposed to drive it too close to the edge of the stairs and I have to make all the engine sounds. “Pretend it’s real,” he says.
    The older of the two brothers joins us after awhile. He says his name is Jim. He’s pretty good at playing cars;