Free The Wildman by Rick Hautala Page B

The orange firelight under-lit his face at an oblique angle, making his cheekbones and brow ridge stand out in sharp relief. Jeff thought his eyes appeared sunken, more deeply set than they did in daylight, as if they were sinking into his face. For the first time, he realized just how old Evan really looked. Time and worry had aged him like anyone else in the room, and in a dimly lit room like this, it really showed on him now that he was relaxed.
    Jeff wasn’t the only one who had caught the odd note in Evan’s voice. Tyler shot him a questioning look and then glanced at Fred, whose face held an expression of increasing discomfort and maybe even fear.
    Before anyone could say anything, a sudden gust of wind slammed against the dining hall, rattling the shutters on the windows and making the roof timbers creak and groan. Fine grit filtered down from the rafters, sprinkling them like pepper.
    “ Wind’s picking up,” Mike said. The hollow tone of his voice perfectly suited the mood.
    “ I told you,” Jeff said. “There’s a storm coming. This must be the front moving through.”
    “ Don’t worry. We’ll be safe and warm in here,” Evan said. “A night like this is perfect for telling some of those old stories.” For some reason, when he said this, he looked squarely at Jeff. “Don’t you think?”
    “ I dunno.” Fred’s voice was low and tight. “I’m not sure I even want to remember any of them.” He sniffed with false laughter and shook his head.
    “ Ah, come on,” Evan said, leaning closer to Fred so the firelight bathed his face with a rich, orange glow. “You should remember them if they scared you so much.”
    Jeff shifted where he was sitting. He didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. It was one thing to get together after so long and catch up, but there was something almost mean about the way he was talking to Fred. It was like he wanted to find his weak spot and go straight for it.
    What would he have against Fred? Jeff wondered, and one again, he questioned Evan’s motives for getting all of them together out here.
    Maybe it isn’t to try to sell us on his development.
    Maybe he has something else … something more sinister in mind.
    He didn’t know Evan or any of these guys. How could he know what any one of them was up to?
    “ I don’t think so,” Fred said, his voice strained and low. “All I remember is being scared shitless that there was something … this demon or evil spirit hiding in the woods who was gonna jump out and snatch me away.”
    “ That’s the whole point of telling ghost stories, for Christ’s sake,” Tyler said. “You’re supposed to get scared.”
    “ Yeah, but not so bad it scars you for life,” Fred said. “A couple of years ago, I researched it and found out Hobomock really was a Native American demon. Mark wasn’t making those stories up.”
    “ And did Hobomock catch people and eat them?” Evan asked, arching his eyebrows.
    He still had an odd expression that Jeff couldn’t read, and he wondered what Evan was trying to accomplish here.
    Was he trying to make himself feel better, more important by finding and picking at Fred’s obvious bad childhood memories?
    Why do something like that?
    Is it just to make himself feel more important?
    Is this his way of establishing that he still is the one in charge … that h e had been-and always would be—the Alpha male?
    “ I doubt it,” Jeff said, hoping to diffuse the awkward situation, “but if we’re gonna dredge up horrible memories, what say we raise a glass and toast the memory of Jimmy Foster?”
    He had poured himself a tall glass of rum and raised it while lowering his gaze and saying, “To the memory of a good guy … Jimmy Foster … who should be here with us tonight.”
    “ Amen,” Mike said.
    “ Hear … hear,” Tyler said, and everyone raised whatever glass or beer can they were holding, clinked them, and took a sip. Jeff noticed Evan’s reluctance to join