Drummer Boy: A Supernatural Thriller by Scott Nicholson Read Free Book Online Page A

of the mountain. “Maybe it’s some geology thing,” Vernon Ray said. “A settling of tectonic plates or something.”
    The explanation sounded feeble even as it left his lips, because as the world’s oldest mountain range, the Appalachian chain had seen its earthquakes and volcanic activity epochs before. The upward thrust and breaking of mantle was ancient history, the Earth cracking its knuckles, and now all that remained was the slow sinking under the gentle persuasion of time. Besides, the cave had collapsed when Union troops blasted it with cannons. If you believed the stories.
    “No, man, that’s a drum,” Bobby said.
    “You think it’s a ghost?” Vernon Ray wanted proof, something to tell his Dad-
You’re right, Capt. Davis, the Civil War never ended
-and maybe there was nothing more to being a man than sticking your neck into unnecessary danger. If it would make him a man, he’d march down into the Jangling Hole until he came to the ass end of Hell.
    Though he’d keep his eyes closed, just in case.
    “Why would a ghost play a drum?
Ouch
.” Bobby dropped the match, throwing them into near-pitch darkness. A pungent waft of burnt flesh teased Vernon Ray’s nostrils.
    “They got anything better to do?” Vernon Ray’s false bravery failed as his voice cracked. “Light another match. Hurry.”
    “Shh.”
    The drumming had faded to a muted drone, the staccato beats blending together in the distance. A match
scritched
and as the yellow light flared, Vernon Ray glanced at the ceiling. Were symbols carved up there, or were the shapes just the flickering shadows cast by cracks in the stone?
    “This is where the soldiers camped,” Bobby said, kicking at a rock.
    “My dad said they did an archaeological survey,” Vernon Ray said. “No artifacts were found besides a few Cherokee tools and flint. If any troops were ever here, they must have been way down in the hole and got trapped.”
    “Who are you going to believe, a bunch of pencil pushers like Cornwad or your bestest bud?”
    “Who do you expect me to believe?”
    “I saw one of them.”
    “One of who?”
    “Them. Why do you think I came in here?”
    The second match went out and they stood in the dark, which pressed against Vernon Ray’s flesh like stagnant water. The space was silent except for their breathing and the soft rustle of wind through the trees outside. Vernon Ray’s heart was racing as fast as it did when he touched himself under the midnight covers of his bed, fueled by the same fearful anticipation of something that couldn’t be missed, no matter the consequences.
    “Don’t dick with me, Bobby.”
    “Serious. One of them called me. Well, actually, he said ‘Early,’ but you know.”
    “I’ve heard of ghost whisperers, but I never heard of a ghost whispering back.”
    “I heard it, plain as day,” Bobby said. “When I was running from the cops, he called again.”
    “Who called?”
    “Nobody. I mean, he was barely there.”
    “Did you and Dex smoke a joint behind my back? Because you’re acting like a freakozoid.” Vernon Ray shivered. He didn’t like having this conversation in the dark, and the cave seemed to be sucking down the sunshine and digesting it, because now the entrance looked forty feet away even though they hadn’t moved.
    “People say ghosts hide out in the Hole, but this person had flesh and bones,” Bobby said in a flat tone, as if reciting a line from a half-remembered movie. “It moved around and talked and smelled like chewing tobacco and coffee.”
    “Hit another match.”
    “Asked me if Stoneman had passed through yet. Asked me if the war was over. Asked if he could go home.”
    Vernon Ray took another step closer, at the risk of being called a homo, until he bumped into Bobby. “Give me the matches.”
    Vernon Ray found Bobby’s outstretched hand and took the matches, fired one up, and tore two more matches from the pack. Tiny twin flames reflected off Bobby’s eyes, giving his