Free Blood Forest (Suspense thriller) by Jonathan Taylor Page A

for interrupting them. Then he turned away, Ike trailing closely behind. When they got out of earshot, Ike asked, “What was that all about?”
    Alfred shook his head in disbelief. “He did not want to say anything.”
    “He didn’t seem to like the questions you were asking.”
    “Silly superstition.”
    The sky darkened, the green canopy turning blue as dusk fell. The others were still waiting at the Jeep when they arrived.
    “Any luck?” Nessa asked, taking a few steps toward them, her feet crunching in the wet dirt.
    “No luck,” Alfred replied. “These people don’t want to talk to me.”
    “I think it’s the hook,” Ike offered. Alfred turned an icy glare toward him, but the effect was lost in the fog on his glasses.
    “It’s not the hook,” Alfred insisted. “The Bantu man explained everything.”
    “What did he say?”
    “According to him, the people of this village believe that the forest to the east is haunted.”
    “Haunted?” Nessa asked doubtfully.
    Alfred nodded. “They believe that something terrible happened there long ago and now it is home to a powerful spirit. The spirit, he said, drives the animals of the forest mad and commands them to attack all that enter its lands. He said that the spirit can possess you and can take control of your mind. He also said that none who go in there ever come out.”
    Ike was not a superstitious man, not even a semi-religious one, but he felt his heartbeat quicken. He remembered sitting around a campfire as a small boy as his uncle told him ghost stories and feeling the same thrill.
    “What about the village?” Nessa asked.
    “He didn’t know of one,” Alfred answered, shaking his head. “He said they call it Msitu wa Damu .”
    “Forest of blood,” Ike repeated, recognizing the Swahili words. He noticed Delani and Gilles shift slightly. The South African gazed into the shadows of the surrounding forest.
    Dark clouds moved across the sky, warning of a coming storm. With those clouds, came a light breeze, moving through the treetops. The canopy rustled overhead.
    “Do the pygmies go there?” Ike asked.
    “He said that pygmies no longer live in the forest there. Not even they will go inside,” Alfred said.
    “So there’s no village?” Nessa asked.
    “It appears not,” Alfred replied with a shrug.
    “I wouldn’t be so sure there, Doc,” Ike countered. “Right after we introduced ourselves . . . what was the first question you asked them?”
    Alfred thought for a moment, trying to remember. “I asked if there was a village east of here.”
    Ike nodded. As soon as Alfred had asked that first question, the pygmies had turned from comedic to silent and distant. They did not have the look of people who were fearful, but rather the look of people who didn’t want to give something away.
    “What are you thinking?” Alfred asked.
    “I think the pygmies were lying.”
    “About what? About the forest?”
    Ike shook his head. “Did you ask them about the forest? Did one of them ever mention this spirit the Bantu man spoke of?”
    “No.”
    Ike grinned slyly at Alfred and Nessa. “I’d bet everything that the pygmies know exactly where this village is.”
    Alfred scratched his chin, looking up at the sky as a breeze blew in low, rustling their shirts.
    “Why would they lie?” Nessa asked.
    Ike shrugged. “They could be protecting someone. Remember what happened to the village we just came from?”
    “If that’s the case, we could offer them money to tell us more,” Nessa suggested.
    Alfred shook his head. “They are from a hunter-gatherer society. They don’t value material wealth as much. If they are serious about protecting this place, they won’t be easy to bribe.”
    “I disagree,” Ike said. “The one who can speak English and French seems like a very worldly bloke, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Definitely,” Alfred agreed. After a moment, he added, “For a pygmy.”
    “Well, if he is so worldly, then I’d think he’s