The Camaro Murders by Ian Lewis Read Free Book Online Page B

they made fun of Starla. I’ll ask her to hold my hand on recess when I get back.
    A lot of the trees on this side of the ravine are dead. They look black compared to the others. Some have fallen down and I have to climb over them. It’s quieter too. I don’t hear the weird sounds anymore.
    There’s no shack that I can see. What if Jeff and Timmy are lying? What if Mr. Cressup doesn’t have a shack? I’m worried recess might be over and don’t think I should keep going. I decide I’ll just say I touched the shack even though I didn’t.
    I turn around and start to run. The ground flies past me so fast once I get moving, I can’t keep my eyes on it; I have to slow down so I don’t trip and fall. I fell down in the woods once and it hurt. I had bits of twigs and dirt in a cut and my mom had to wash it out. I cried a little, but that was last summer.
    The leaves sound like paper under my feet, and I imagine someone’s chasing me. I know it’s my mind playing tricks, but I always feel like someone’s chasing me when I’m running and scared at the same time. Maybe Starla will hear me coming.
    The ravine isn’t too far ahead. I get to the edge but Starla isn’t on the other side. “Starla!” I yell. She doesn’t answer. I’m not sure I’m at the spot where I left her.
    With one hand out, I try to slide down the side of the ravine. My foot slips in some loose gravel and I scrape my knee trying to slow down. At the bottom, I look down to find my jeans are torn and my skin is bloody. Then I climb the other side as fast as I can.
    At the top, my heart is echoing inside me when I think Starla has gone back without me. I’m going to be in big trouble. Why would she leave me here? I run a little ways in each direction, and then head into the woods.
    There’s a sick feeling in my stomach and my throat feels like there’s a wad of paper stuck in it. The woods are getting brighter when I hear the echo of my name up ahead.
    â€œCulver! Culver Crisp!” It’s one of the recess monitors.
    I’m in for it now. I cringe as I run into the clearing. One of the monitors is standing with her hands on her hips.
    â€œWhat were you doing back there, Culver?”
    â€œNuthin,” I say.
    â€œDid Starla Jenkins go with you?” The monitor says this like she doesn’t know where Starla is.
    With my head down, I say, “Yeah.”
    â€œIs she still out there?” the monitor asks.
    â€œNo, I mean, I thought she already came back.” The wad of paper in my throat is now a rock.
    â€œWe already blew the whistle and everyone’s lined up,” the monitor says as she looks down at me. “You two were the only ones missing, but Starla hasn’t come back yet.”

Travelers
    January 10th, 1999
    August Burroughs traveling through the Upper Territory
    Halfacre and I walk for an hour or so before it’s clear we’re not the only ones in the woods. The rustling from either side of the narrow path is a giveaway for whoever’s watching us.
    I ignore the whispers and the grubby faces poking out of the brush here and there. An arm or leg appears as our watchers get braver, but they draw back before I can catch them.
    Halfacre is attentive, darting his head back and forth when he senses something, but stays at my side as we push through the fog. I’m banking on his size being a threat.
    My coordination is better, but I’m still “off.” This is a distraction on top of not knowing where I’m going. The path isn’t marked and I don’t know how big the grounds are. The fog doesn’t help, either.
    I set a good pace in hopes we’ll find a main trail sooner rather than later—or maybe catch a ranger on his rounds. I’m still sticking to my guns that this is all some mix-up and I dreamt the last day or two.
    All the crazy talk from the man at the cottage sticks with me as