Free Fireflies in December by Jennifer Erin Valent

to get away from there fast, but I couldn’t move. I was too afraid.
    I studied the men, trying to figure out who they were. I knew one of them had to be Cole Mundy. After all, it was his property, and he was mean enough to be part of a group like that. And the man talking was Walt Blevins. I’d have known that gravelly voice anywhere. Hoping to get an idea of who the others were, I shifted to get a better look. To my dismay, when I moved my right foot, a stick snapped, making a loud cracking sound.
    I froze, and so did the men. The talking stopped, and the hooded heads looked up. I ducked, but only enough to still be able to see them, and I really did stop breathing. I was afraid they’d hear it. I was so scared then that every move I made seemed bigger than it was. To me, that cracking stick had sounded like a gunshot.
    “Who’s there?” one of the men called gruffly. “Who is it?”
    Of course I didn’t answer. I didn’t move a muscle.
    The men started murmuring to one another, and one of them leaned over and seized a rifle that was set against a tree. That was all I needed to get my legs into gear, and though they felt like rubber bands, I managed to make them propel me across the property toward Luke’s house. God graced me with speed that early morning, guiding me across the creek and up to Luke’s door before the mournful howling of Cole’s dog came within earshot. There was no need to pound on the door, as my fists were cocked to do, because Luke threw it open before I had the chance. He had fishing gear in a canvas sack that hung across his back, and his lips were poised to whistle a tune, but when he caught sight of me, he stopped dead still and dropped the sack on the ground.
    “Jessie, what’re you doin’ here?” he demanded. “Is some-thin’ wrong? someone hurt over at your place or some-thin’?”
    I was so out of breath all I could manage was a shake of my head and a spluttering “Gotta get inside. Now!” I threw one terrified look over my shoulder before Luke picked up the sack in one fist, took my collar in the other, and hauled me inside. By the time Luke slammed and locked the door behind us, I was nearly hysterical inside, my mind reeling with all the ways I could have been hurt.
    “You the reason that huntin’ party’s out?” he asked me pointedly.
    The howling was growing louder and closer, and I felt miserable that I’d led trouble to Luke’s doorstep, but all I could do was nod. I watched Luke as he peered out his curtain, one hand on his shotgun that lay propped against the wall beside the window. The howling reached a crescendo, a mournful warning that my curiosity had brought the fury of evil against us, and I peered at Luke with a grimace of regret. “I’m sorry, Luke,” I managed to murmur. “It’s my fault.”
    Luke said nothing to me. He let the curtains drop back into place and messed up his hair, pushed his suspenders down, and unbuttoned his shirt. He threw his shirt on a chair and then went behind the closet door, coming back out in nothing but sleeping pants. I suddenly felt like I needed to close my eyes.
    “Get under the bed,” Luke ordered. “Get under there fast and don’t make a sound.” I hesitated, not sure what was going on, but he whispered to me loudly, “Get under that bed now.”
    I crawled in with Luke pushing me from behind and squeezed back as far as I could. If I pressed my cheek flat to the floor, I could get a glimpse of the doorway, where Luke went and stood, waiting tensely.
    No more than ten seconds later, someone started pounding on the door. I waited, barely breathing, to see what Luke was going to do. He grabbed the shotgun and stood by the door. It took three knocks before he finally opened it. “What in blazes . . . ?” he said drearily, like he’d just woken up. “You boys tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”
    “We’s lookin’ for someone, Luke,” Cole said. “Someone was sneakin’ on my property.”
    The men had