Free Shades: Eight Tales of Terror by D Nathan Hilliard

return before taking any further steps.
    The shack didn’t have a rear exit , but that didn’t mean Luther couldn’t have already been hiding out back—waiting to open fire once they closed in on the building and bunched up. Carl Gartner had made it through WWI by being smart enough to avoid falling for those kinds of tricks, and he knew Les learned his own lessons in the war against the Nazi’s. And thinking of all the fresh faced boys like Pete who never made it home from those wars made Carl feel slightly guilty for bringing the kid on this venture. But the young man signed up for this, and when you wear the badge…
    “Pssst! Sheriff!”
    The sheriff started, then glanced over to see Pete nodding in the direction of the shack. Embarrassed to be caught woolgathering, he looked around the tree to see Les had reappeared and now moved his way up the side of the structure till he squatted by the front corner near the door. This meant the rear of the house was now clear of threat, and it was time to move to Step Two.
    He signaled Les to let him know he saw him, then stuck his head further around the tree and hailed the house.
    “Luther! Luther Cole! This is Sheriff Carl Gartner! I need to talk to you!”
    He pulled his head back around the tree in a hurry and grimaced, waiting for the blast of a shotgun.
    Nothing.
    With a long exhale, and a glance over at the pale-faced youngster, the Sheriff tried again. He hated this part of these kinds of things. Hell, he hated all parts of these kinds of things. A m an could get killed doing this. And the fact he should have been home eating deviled eggs and watching the Cotton Bowl only made it worse.
    “Luther! We don’t want to hurt you! We just want to talk! We need to know what happened yesterday. If you can hear us, give us a yell so we know you’re listening.”
    Somewhere out in the mist, a loon warbled his discovery of the new lake. No other sound disturbed the silence.
    “Shit,” Carl muttered from behind his trunk, “he either ain’t home or he’s holed up with his shotgun and just waiting for one of us to stick our head in the door. I should have known this wouldn’t work.”
    “Why?” Pete hissed.
    “Because he ain’t a crook or a moonshiner,” the Sheriff growled, “he’s a damned cuckoo. You can at least trust a crook to act with some sense.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, really. A robber or moonshiner don’t want to get killed any more than you do. But with a damn cuckoo, you don’t even k now what world he’s reacting to. It’s hard to reason with a man who thinks you’re really a Martian out to steal his gall bladder.”
    “Does Les know that?”
    “Hell yeah, kid. Les knows his way around. Why?”
    “Because he’s about to go in the house.”
    “Wha…?” Carl frowned and looked around the tree again to where Pete pointed. “Dammit, Les!”
    The senior deputy had eased around th e corner of the building and crouched by the ramshackle door. He gave a cautionary motion with his hand at the Sheriff, who now glowered at him from around the tree. Then he pointed at his nose while wrinkling it, and afterwards the door.
    “Aw hell,” Carl muttered, “and then there’s always the third option Luther could have taken.”
    He watched with growing gloom as the senior deputy used the barrel of his rifle to ease the front door open. If Les thought it worth taking the risk, Carl felt pretty certain the man already knew what he would find. He could see the deputy lean forward and take a careful peek through the opened crack, before shifting position and taking a longer look inside. Then the deputy stood and motioned for them.
    “Come on in, Sheriff. It’s over.”
    “Yeah,” Carl sighed and motioned for Pete to follow as he headed in. “I should have figured on that. Is it bad?”
    “He hu ng himself, and it ain’t pretty.” The deputy now lit a cigarette. He also started opening and closing the front door like a fan. “It’s damn weird too.