The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis Read Free Book Online

“I’m going to say this as straight and plain as I can. You’re dead.”
    I chuckle at this. “Buddy, I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
    â€œSo is he.” The man nods at Halfacre.
    â€œRight…whatever you say, pal.” This guy is obviously mental. “Do you know a fella named Dirk? He works here. I know him.”
    The man ignores me. “You were beaten down by one of your degenerate fellow men—murdered. Then your body was dumped in a field. I brought your soul here.” He points to a clearing where I can barely make out the lines of a car.
    Something sparks in my memory. For a second everything comes rushing back at once, kind of like waking up and remembering a dream from the night before. I remember this guy pulling me away. The whole time I could see Hank standing over my lifeless body.
    Hank just stood there confused, looking back and forth from me to Halfacre, neither of us moving.
    I faded in and out after being dragged to the car and then driven for who knows how long. I don’t know what happened to Halfacre. He must have got in the way of the shovel.
    â€œI carried your soul here,” the man repeats. “Your soul—do you understand? All you have left is your soul.” He waits for me like I’m supposed to respond. “Your ghost was lost. So I constructed this body for you with bits of your DNA.” He gestures at me like he’s pointing out something that isn’t important. “But it’s not very substantial; you’re just a shadow, now.”
    I don’t believe a word the man is saying, but my legs give out anyway. Sliding to the floor boards of the porch, there are several thoughts fighting over my mind. Cold-cock this guy. Find Dirk. What happens when you die? Go back to sleep and try to wake up again.
    The man continues to speak quietly, almost to himself. “Sorry for being so blunt about it, but you seemed like a hard-nosed guy.”
    â€œSure—whatever,” I say. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, even though I’ve got a sick feeling he’s telling the truth. I reach for a cigarette and then remember I can’t taste them. Damn it.
    â€œI need you to listen to me, to be open-minded,” the man says. He’s shifted gears again, from distant to serious and focused. “I need your help.”
    â€œOh, yeah? With what?” I say with as much sarcasm as possible. There’s no way I’m dead. I can’t be. I can feel my body. I’m breath…wait, I’m not breathing. I haven’t taken a breath in the last thirty seconds.
    Like he can read my mind, the man says, “Go ahead; take a deep breath.”
    Near panic, I take a huge gulp of nothing.
    â€œIt’s just a reflex,” he says with half a grin. “We can talk inside. I’ll try my best to answer your questions.”
    â€œGet away from me,” I say as I stand and stumble away from him. It’s a dream, that’s all.
    At a trot, Halfacre follows me off the porch.
    The man walks to the edge of the first step. “You don’t want to go out there—not now, not by yourself.”
    A few steps from the porch, I look as far as I can see into the fog. There are trees beyond the clearing, big ones, but that’s all I can tell. “I’ll take my chances.”
    â€œPlease,” the man says, “hear me out. There’s something else—you can still find your ghost.”
    I point a finger at him and again tell him to stay away from me. My gut says to run, and I always listen to my gut.

Our Walk Through the Woods
    October 28th, 1986
    Culver Crisp on recess
    Starla and I stand on a small hill away from the kids on the playground. The woods are in front of us, and Jeff and Timmy are behind us. I was hoping Timmy wouldn’t remember his dare from yesterday.
    â€œYou gonna go, or what?” Jeff snickers. He’s wearing a