The Clearing

  Other Books by Tom Deady

  Coleridge

  Haven

  Weekend Getaway

  Eternal Darkness

  Backwater

  The Clearing

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 Tom Deady

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Credit: Gabriel De Leon

  http://gssdeleon.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission from the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-64548-072-3

  Published by Vesuvian Books

  www.vesuvianbooks.com

  For Shannon, Alyssa, and Spike the Crime Dog (aka Maggie)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  “Scout! Come on out of there, Scout!” Hannah waited for the jingle of her dog’s collar but was greeted with silence. She peered into the scrub pines that bordered the trail and into the deeper woods beyond. A breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the scents of pine and honeysuckle. Birds chattered in the distance and heat bugs buzzed overhead, but no jangle of dog tags. No Scout.

  She swatted at the cloud of gnats that swarmed around her, pushed a few unruly strands of her long brown hair aside, and stepped off the trail into the brush.

  Don’t leave the path, Hannah, the forest goes practically to Canada.

  Her father’s warning echoed in her head, but she needed to find Scout. The woods around her had grown quiet.

  Maybe he’s gone, Hannah, just like your mom.

  The thought made her stomach clench, and she ran. She crashed through the bushes and tangles, oblivious to the scrapes and scratches, calling Scout’s name.

  A glint of sunlight on metal caught her eye and she darted to a break in the trees.

  Scout was in a small clearing, rubbing his head and neck on a pile of leaves.

  “Scout!” Hannah ran to him, shooting her hand to cover her mouth and nose as the smell assaulted her. The pile of leaves was actually the carcass of some long-dead animal, probably a squirrel. Its body had decomposed to an oily mess with matted gray fur, barely recognizable. Choking back rising bile, she grabbed Scout’s collar, dry heaving at the slimy goo that seeped between her fingers.

  She managed to drag him away, leading him back toward the trail as she willed her stomach to not eject its contents. Are there maggots on my hand?

  “Scout, stay,” she commanded. She tore leaves from a nearby maple tree and wiped the miry mess from her hands. Not satisfied, she plunged the offending hand into the moist earth by the trunk of an old pine and squeezed the dirt in her fist. Better dirt than squirrel guts, she thought, bringing a fresh round of gags.

  “Scout, you know what this means, right? Bath time when we get home.”

  Scout cocked his head and Hannah smiled.

  “You won’t be giving me that look when you’re all wet and soapy. And you’d better not shake all over the bathroom.” She sighed and got to her feet, resigned to the chore ahead of her. “Let’s go, boy,” she called, and turned toward home.

  Hannah walked slowly along the trail, keeping an eye on Scout. She anticipated a lecture from Dad when she got home—I told you to keep him on the leash, Hannah—and was in no hurry to get there. She crested a rocky rise and sat on a large boulder. It was a favorite vantage point of hers, with just enough breaks in the trees to offer a beautiful view of the woods. Autumn isn’t that far off, she thought, catching hints of yellow on some of the leaves in the distance. She pulled out her cell phone and glared at the two words at the top of the screen:

  NO SIGNAL.

  “Life in the sticks,” she mumbled, and stood. She would have to wait until she got home to call Ashley and make plans for later. “Let’s go, Scout.”

  She kicked small stones as she walked, enjoying the day but wishing it didn’t feel so fall-like already.

  Something crashed through the bushes to her left.

  “Scout, get back here!” Why didn’t I put the leash on him? She pushed through the scrub pines, intent on catching Scout before he found something else gross to roll around on. She heard his tags off to her right and spotted a flash of tan fur. Then he was gone.

  She slowed her pace and followed.

  “Scout, come on, boy!”

  The shadows deepened as she moved farther into the trees. Above her, the branches joined, conspiring to keep the sunlight from reaching her. She stopped to listen, unnerved by the quiet. The cicadas and early crickets had gone silent. Her own harsh breathing and the occasional sibilant whisper of the breeze through the trees were the only sounds she heard.

  “Scout?” she called, softer, not wanting anyone else to hear.

  A distant jingle caused her to let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. She moved toward the sound, careful not to make a noise, cocking her head for another warning that Scout was near. She stopped again, listening. A different sound reached her, not Scout’s collar but a rustling. No, that wasn’t right—it was more frenzied somehow. Then the dog tags were all she heard, growing louder.

  “Good boy, Scout,” she called, a relieved smile on her face.

  Scout darted out of the trees with something hanging from his mouth. Hannah shuddered, thinking it was some poor animal. When he bounded closer, she laughed. It was just an old, pink Converse high-top. “Good boy, Scout, you didn’t kill anything today.”

  Scout dropped his prize at her feet and sat on his haunches, looking up at her.

  “Sorry, boy, I didn’t bring treats.” She bent to pick up the tattered sneaker and leaped backward with a squeal. She swallowed hard, her throat gone dry, and leaned in closer to the sneaker. “Oh, God...”

  Scout’s ears dropped, and he whimpered. Hannah bit her lip and crouched next to the shoe. Using a nearby stick, she pushed away legions of squirming maggots. The color washed out of the day. The normal sounds of the forest became oddly threatening. Then the smell hit her, and she gagged, falling backward onto her butt. She rolled to the side and threw up, spewing her breakfast onto the mossy ground. Scout barked frantically. Hannah stared at the pool of puke, watching it run down the slope. A string of saliva connected it to her mouth, and she reached up to wipe it away. The slimy texture reminded her of the maggots, and she dry-heaved until her head ached. Closing her eyes didn’t help; all she saw were wriggling white things. Scrambling to her hands and knees, careful to avoid her recycled breakfast, she tried to stand. The ground tilted and she closed her eyes again, ignoring the sickly pallid shapes that mo
ved there. Would she ever not see them? Using a low-hanging branch for balance, she tested her legs to make sure they’d hold her before letting go.

  “Where did you find this, Scout?” Hannah’s voice came out gravelly, her throat sore from vomiting. She stared off into the shadows of the trees where Scout had come from, remembering the frantic noises she’d heard before he’d reappeared.

  Digging.

  She looked around as if someone might be watching, or even sneaking up on her. She shook off the thoughts and decided it was the old sneaker freaking her out.

  Well, not the sneaker itself, but the partially decomposed foot sticking out of it.

  Hannah yanked Scout away from the sneaker. The smell seemed to follow her. She imagined it hovering in a noxious cloud of death under her nose. The image of the foot—the putrid, rotten strips of flesh hanging from the too-white bone—wouldn’t leave her. She wondered if it ever would. She tried hard not to think about the squirming maggots.

  Hannah walked fast, nervous-fast, calling Scout back to her side whenever he began to wander. Her thoughts jumbled with the implications of the sneaker, and she wanted to get home and have Dad call the police. She would be able to find the spot to show them, and then the problem would be theirs. Most likely, the sneaker, and the foot, belonged to some runaway kid who had gotten lost in the woods and died. Over the years, the animals had gotten at the body, end of story.

  What if the kid was kidnapped? Murdered?

  Hannah walked faster.

  The closer she got to the relative safety of her house, the more intrigued she became with the severed appendage. What if it did belong to a kid that disappeared under suspicious circumstances? And what if she solved the mystery? Wouldn’t that break up the monotony of living in the middle of nowhere? Hannah began jogging, eager to get home, but not to call the police. To call Ashley.

  She ran up the back steps just as Dad was stepping out onto the porch. He wore his “working around the house” clothes—a ragged pair of jeans and an old Harley T-shirt. Hannah couldn’t help but notice how the outfit hung on his frame. He had lost weight since Mom left. She looked up at him and saw for the first time that Mom’s absence was taking its toll on his face as well.

  Dad’s once-handsome features looked haggard in the unforgiving sunlight. His face was thin and creased with worry wrinkles. His hair, once the same chestnut as her own, was unkempt and streaked with gray. His two-day growth of beard was coming in all gray. Hannah’s concern for him momentarily overshadowed the rush to talk to Ashley.

  “What are you working on, Pops?”

  Dad smiled and shrugged. “Just fussing around in the shed. I was building some window boxes...” His voice trailed off.

  Hannah winced. Mom had always wanted window boxes, had nagged him about them for years. His distant expression, like he was hearing her ask, was too much for Hannah. She almost blurted out what she, or rather Scout had found, but kept silent about it.

  “Dad, can Ashley come over for dinner? Maybe stay the night if her parents say it’s okay?”

  Her dad looked at her as if she’d spoken in Latin, then he shrugged again. “Sure, honey.” He walked past her toward the shed.

  Hannah bit her lip, blinking back tears. It was lonely enough without Mom, but if Dad didn’t get over his grief, she didn’t know what she would do. His pain became hers. I’ll enlist Ashley’s help to bring Dad back as well as solving the sneaker mystery. She went inside with Scout at her heels. Having to use the landline phone to call people made her feel like a character in an old black-and-white television show. All she needed was a rotary dial to complete the picture. The perils of living in the middle of nowhere. She called Ash.

  Ashley arrived in time to help her prepare dinner. They cooked chicken and summer squash on the grill and set the picnic table on the back deck. It was too nice a night to eat inside. That was one of Mom’s sayings, Hannah realized, wondering when she’d picked it up. When the meal was ready, she went to fetch Dad from the shed. While she’d been manning the grill, she’d heard occasional sounds of building—a power drill, some sawing, but now it was quiet.

  The shed was always Dad’s place. Memories of when Hannah was younger and he used to let her “work” with him—building birdhouses or little wooden toys—made her smile. She’d always loved the smells of sawdust and paint that lingered there.

  Dad was hunched over his workbench, cradling a window box in his arms, weeping. He’d been distant and quiet since Mom left, but always kept displays of emotion to himself. The sight broke Hannah’s heart all over again.

  Ashley called from the deck and Dad looked up, making eye contact for a split second before turning away to place the window box on the workbench. Hannah rushed to his side and hugged him.

  He tensed at her touch, then his arms were around her and his face on her shoulder. His body shook with sobs and Hannah teared up.

  “I’m so lost, Hannah. I don’t know what to do.” His voice was despair personified.

  “I know, Dad. I miss her too, but I’m still here, and so are you.”

  After a moment, he pulled loose and placed his hands on my shoulders. His face was wet with tears, but he was smiling.

  “You know something? You’re right. I know you’re right, but sometimes...” He trailed off and looked away, as if trying to form the right words. “I know I haven’t been a very good father lately.”

  His words cut her. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel worse. “Dad...”

  He pulled her in for a desperate hug. “I’m going to try.” He looked at the window box, his smile turning sad. “Let’s go eat some dinner.”

  She couldn’t stop her own tears from flowing. Hers were tears of hope. “I love you, Dad.”

  They walked hand-in-hand out of the shed.

  Hannah opened her bedroom window, shivering at the crisp night air. She had waited for the sounds of Dad moving about the house to cease. Since Mom had left, he would wander from room to room, sometimes opening the door as if waiting for her to come home.

  She shook Ash, anxious to share her discovery. “Come on, lazy, we have an adventure waiting.”

  Ashley groaned and rolled over, her face hidden beneath a curtain of curly black hair. She pulled her pillow over her head.

  They’d been awake the whole time but, of course, now Ashley was playing the drama card. Hannah knew she was just annoyed that she wouldn’t tell her why they were sneaking out.

  Hannah ripped the sheet from her and snatched the pillow. “Let’s go, Ash.”

  Ashley sat up, blinking and looking around.

  “Dad finally went to bed,” Hannah whispered. “Get your sneakers and sweatshirt.”

  Ashley complied, moving like a drunken robot. “Can’t we just go in the morning?”

  Hannah sighed. “Dad insists on taking me back-to-school shopping. Come on.”

  Ashley pulled her sweatshirt over her head, leaving the hood on. A smile crept across her face. “I’m ready.”

  Hannah smiled back at her before they slipped out the window into the night. The sound of crickets and peepers echoed all around them. Here and there, a firefly winked. There were countless stars overhead, but tonight, they looked cold. Hannah had heard somewhere that some of them were already dead, but their light took so long to reach earth that they were still visible. She pushed the morbid thoughts of death away.

  As they walked, Hannah reflected on the evening they’d spent together. After dinner, Ashley, Dad, and Hannah had played three-handed Whist, a card game Mom had taught both her and Dad to play. Then they’d settled in front of the TV to watch old sitcom reruns. Hannah couldn’t remember a better night. Dad had been chatty and animated, with only brief interruptions by his sullen, withdrawn self. It mostly happened during the TV shows, and she’d assumed something in the plot had hit a nerve.

  As if reading her mind, Ashley said, “Your dad was really funny tonight. Kind of like... before.”

  Hannah smiled in the dar
kness as they walked up the hill toward the woods. “Yeah, it was really cool to see him like that. I think he might be, you know, coming out of it.”

  Ashley was quiet for a few minutes and Hannah knew a hard question was coming. As close as Ash and she were, in the eighteen months since Mom had left, they’d seldom spoken about where she might be.

  “What do you really think happened to her, Hannah?” Ashley’s voice was low, hesitant.

  Mosquitoes buzzed by Hannah’s head and she absently swatted them away. It was something she thought about endlessly. But did she have a real answer? “Before Mom left, she was acting pretty weird.” she finally said.

  “Yeah, even I could see that,” Ashley agreed.

  “Sometimes, I think maybe she was on drugs. Other times, I think it’s like everybody says.” Hannah spoke softly but firmly. She knew exactly what most people thought. Small towns weren’t known for discretion, and kids weren’t known for their sensitivity. She had heard it all, both in whispers and in taunts: Her mom was a tramp that ran away with another guy.

  “I’m sorry I brought it up, it’s just... I never believed the stories. Your mom wouldn’t do that to you or your dad. She was cool,” Ashley said.

  Hannah’s eyes stung. Talking about her mom in the past tense made it sound so final, like she’d died. “I know what you mean, and thanks for saying so. She really wasn’t herself, Ash. She was so disconnected, distant. You remember how she would want to hug me every time I left the house and every time I came home?”

  Hannah cleared her throat to cover the sound of a choked sob.

  “She just stopped one day, and it was like she didn’t even know I was there, or when I was coming or going. Same with Dad—she always used to kiss him hello and goodbye, but towards the end she was... different.”

  Hannah couldn’t contain the tears any longer and let out a weak moan. Ashley put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

  “I know what you mean. I mean, sometimes I wanted to tell them to get a room. But I noticed it when it stopped, too.”

  Hannah buried her face in Ashley’s sweatshirt, letting the months of anguish flow out of her. They stood together at the edge of the forest, oblivious to the night chill and the bugs. She’d always known Ashley would be her best friend forever, that the fleeting transformations and aspirations over the years wouldn’t change it, but that moment cemented it.