Dark Hollow (3 page)

THREE

Big Steve came to a sudden stop in the middle of the trail, bringing me back to the present again. Momentum still carried me forward a few more steps, and I tripped over him. The dog yelped in surprise. My arms pinwheeled. I fell, sprawling in a thicket of blooming poison ivy. Luckily I wasn’t allergic to it. When I was a kid my great-grandmother told me to eat a poison ivy leaf. She said I’d be immune to it from then on, and she’d been right.

I’d managed to keep hold of the dog’s leash during the tumble, but he scuttled away from me. I picked myself back up and brushed dead leaves frommy shirt and pants.

“Damn it, Big Steve.” I tugged the leash, trying to get him to come back.

He whined uneasily and stared down the trail.

I froze. The forest was strangely silent. No birds or squirrels in the treetops, not even a breeze. The unmoving air was damp and chilly, and the musty scent of rotting flora hung over it all. I didn’t recognize any landmarks. Lost in my thoughts, I’d taken us farther inside the woods than we’d ever been before. The unfamiliar trees seemed taller—almost sinister. I got the impression they were watching us. I tried to laugh and found I couldn’t. They reminded me of the Ents from Tolkien’s
Lord of the Rings
, but with dark personalities, rather than beings of light and goodness. I felt on some subtle level that whatever souls these trees possessed had gone bad and curdled like spoiled milk. Their bark was black and gray, rather than brown, and sickly yellow moss clung to some of the gnarled trunks. Dark sap seeped from one, looking very much like blood. The trees clustered together in dense rows, forming a wall alongside the trail. Thick, snaking vines with blood red thorns grew between them. It was as if Mother Nature were warning us not to stray from the path. Overhead, skeletal limbs stretched over the trail, forming a leafy archway. It was a tunnel made of foliage, and the path we were on led directly into its center.

Big Steve stared into the tunnel and refused to budge. His tail was tucked firmly between his legs. He whined again.

“What’s the matter, buddy?” I was worried that maybe I’d hurt him when I tripped over him. He didn’t seem to be limping or anything, but I couldn’t be sure.

Slowly Big Steve turned his eyes away from the path and stared at me. He whined a third time.

He wasn’t hurt. He was afraid.

“Come on.” I tugged on his leash again. I was nervous, and the most unnerving part of it was that I didn’t understand why. “Let’s go home. Daddy’s got writing to do, and I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Especially after that deer spooked us.”

But Big Steve held firm. His ears flattened against his head, and he started growling again. His nails dug into the dirt. Then he began to bark. The woods rang with the echo. Dogs can hear sounds octaves above what humans can hear, but they sure as hell bark on our level.

“Come on!” I raised my voice, insistent. “Move, Big St—”

That reedy, musical piping started up again, cutting me off in midsentence. It was louder now, and seemed to be all around us. I held my breath in apprehension and scanned the forest, but I couldn’t see anything through the thick foliage.

“What the hell?” I asked the dog. “You hear that?”

Big Steve stopped barking, but kept growling.

The music continued. My unease doubled, but I felt a twinge of curiosity as well. Beneath my jeans my penis inexplicably stirred again. Big Steve stopped growling, sat down on his haunches, and began licking himself. Whatever was turning me on had affected him as well.

Then we heard something else. A woman’s voice, moaning—from pain or ecstasy, I couldn’t tell which. But she was nearby. Curiosity overcame my fears, and I started forward as if in a trance. Big Steve followed along behind me.

We entered the tunnel, and as the leaves closed over our heads the air grew even colder. The stench of rotting vegetation grew stronger, yet I couldn’t find a source. No sunlight reached us now, not even a hint of it from overhead. The darkness between the tree trunks seemed like a solid thing. Big Steve pulled at his leash, hesitant to continue. Goose bumps crawled up my arms, and I was about to agree with him when the woman moaned again.

We crept forward, and I realized that I was holding my breath again.

The woman giggled, and then murmured something. I couldn’t make out the words, but her voice sounded familiar. I’d heard that laugh earlier, when Shelly Carpenter had giggled at Big Steve. I was positive it was her.

The trail ended at a vine-covered dead fall. Big Steve sat down at my side, panting hard. I reached out and brushed the sinewy vines out of the way. Something else caught my eye. On the ground, sandwiched between the dead branches, was a white stone marker, like a gravestone. Miraculously the fallen tree hadn’t smashed it. I cleared more foliage away from the stone, bent over, and tried to read the writing. Moss and dirt clung between the letters. I brushed it away and traced the lettering with my fingertips. The surface was cool and seemed to throb beneath my touch. I yanked my hand away as if I’d been shocked. When I touched the marker again the throbbing continued. I tried to read what was carved.

DEVOMLABYRINTHI

NLEHORNPOSSVIT

PROPTERNVPTIAS

QUASVIDITSVBVMRA

The words—their form and cadence—seemed vaguely familiar. It looked like Latin, written by somebody who didn’t even know the basics of the language. I studied them some more, but couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The stone itself didn’t seem that old. It wasn’t severely cracked or worn, didn’t have that weather-beaten look I’d expect it to have.

Before I could consider it any further, Shelly’s laughter—if it was Shelly—came again, almost as if it were right in front of us. Despite his unease, Big Steve clambered onto the fallen tree. I followed him. The stench of rotten vegetation seemed to swell, but I still couldn’t find its location. Climbing over the dead fall, I pushed the vines aside with my hand, got pricked by several thorns, and peered through the greenery.

On the other side of the dead fall was a small hollow bordered on all four sides by thick trees. The clearing was carpeted with long blades of lush, green grass, and a small stream trickled through its center. The sound of the flowing water was soothing. The sun shone brightly overhead, and after the darkness of the forest the dazzling brilliance blinded me for a moment. When my eyesight returned, I stared in disbelief.

Shelly Carpenter knelt in the middle of the hollow, completely naked. Her clothes and iPod were strewn about the grass. The sun flashed off her alabaster skin. Her back was to me, and I could see the freckles on her shoulders, and a tiny butterfly tattoo in the small of her back.

Grinning, I thought,
Never knew she had that
.

Big Steve whined, low and mournful—and urgent, but I barely heard him. My attention was focused on Shelly, and the thing she knelt in front of.

It was a stone statue carved in the image of a bearded man. At least, that was what I thought at first, but then I saw that it wasn’t human. It was a statue of a satyr, the half man, half goat of Greek mythology. I was close enough to see the blob of bird shit on the stone shoulder, and a vine entwined around its waist. The details were amazingly lifelike. Horns jutted from his head, and his ears were those of a goat. He had a large, hooked nose, and his body was covered with thick, curly hair. One of his hands clutched a seven-reed shepherd’s pipe to his lips, and the other was positioned between his legs. The lower half matched his ears—the legs of a goat, and between those frozen legs, a monstrous phallus, easily ten inches in length and thick as a flashlight. Whoever had carved the statue had made the organ obscenely erect. It would have been funny if not for the lascivious attention Shelly was paying to it.

Her lips closed around the stone penis, and her head bobbed up and down. She moaned again, pulled away, and looked lovingly up into the satyr’s eyes. The statue stared back down at her, unmoving. Shelly’s expression was dazed, her eyes glassy. Giggling, she took the carved member in her mouth again.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, reaching out to scratch Big Steve’s ears. I’d had no idea my neighbor was so kinky. Even worse, I couldn’t believe how turned on the scene made me. I’d never been interested in voyeurism, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I kept watching, barely aware that I was licking my lips.

Big Steve stiffened beneath my fingers, and growled, loud and menacing. I froze, but if Shelly heard him she didn’t show it. I tried to quiet him, but his growls grew louder.

Then the statue blinked.

I jumped up from my crouch, and the statue blinked again. Its head swiveled toward me, while Shelly continued with her blow job. The satyr’s cold eyes stared directly at our hiding place. Color flowed across its skin. The stone hair turned brown, ruffling in the breeze. The carven leg muscles flexed, and the penis plopped out of Shelly’s mouth.

“Holy shit,” I said again. There wasn’t much else to say. I just stood there gaping. It wasn’t in disbelief now, because as impossible as it seemed, it really was happening right in front of me. The statue was coming to life. Not moving like a statue in an old Ray Harryhausen movie, but actually changing from stone into flesh and fur.

Shelly began to work harder.

Big Steve barked, but Shelly ignored him. She wrapped her fingers around the satyr’s thick cock and stroked it rapidly. Then her mouth closed over it again. Her cheeks stretched to accommodate the organ, and she made a grunting noise in the back of her throat.

“Shelly,” I called. “What are you—”

The satyr opened its mouth and laughed. Its voice was deep and guttural, and the sound vibrated through me. Slowly the creature raised a hand and pointed at us. Then it brought the shepherd’s pipe to its lips and began to play.

The music was louder this time—more real. I don’t know how else to describe it. It was almost as if what we’d heard before was just an echo—a psychic recording, perhaps, and now we were hearing the real thing.

My erection was instantaneous and almost painful. So was my fear.

Big Steve howled loud enough to drown it out, and backed away. A quick glance between his back legs showed that the music had affected him as well.

The satyr stopped playing and laughed again. Shelly released the creature’s penis and turned toward us. Smiling, she waved her fingers. They were slick with saliva and precum. The monstrous phallus twitched, entwining itself in her hair as if it had a mind of its own. Grunting, the satyr turned Shelly back to his engorged organ. Then he released a stream of urine directly into her willing face. She closed her eyes and sighed with degenerate bliss. Steaming yellow fluid ran down her shoulders and back and in the crevice between her breasts. My nose wrinkled. I could smell it, even from where I stood—sharp and musky, overpowering the reeking vegetation. It was a male stench. Hormonal. Animal. I watched in disgust as the creature’s erection bobbed upward, and then the stream hit the satyr’s own thick beard. Droplets shone in the curly hair like beads of morning dew.

Still pissing, the satyr beckoned to me. “Come. You may bear witness as I sow my seed.”

I shook my head and tried to speak, but no sound escaped my lips.

The satyr began to play again, and some unseen force pulled at me, drawing me into the hollow. I stared at Shelly’s glistening sex. It was like a magnet, and my cock felt like steel. My thoughts were consumed with how she’d feel, how she’d taste. My ears filled with the piping melody, and my cock swelled.

“Come,” the satyr said again. “Celebrate the season.” Instead I turned and ran, dragging Big Steve along behind me. He pulled ahead, tail between his legs, and it was all I could do to keep a hold on his leash. We dashed through the tunnel and back up the trail. I’m not ashamed to admit that I screamed most of the way. What would you have done? It’s not every day you get lost in the woods while walking your dog, and stumble across one of your sexy neighbors giving head to a stone statue—a statue that then comes to life as a result of her attentions.

We raced along the path. Branches whipped my face and grasped at my clothes like clawing fingers. My breath burned in my throat and my heart pounded, keeping time with my feet. I tripped over a root and fell on my face, knocking the air from me. The leash slipped from my hand and Big Steve kept running. He crested the hill and vanished.

Gasping for breath, I crawled to my feet and called after him, “Big Steve! Get back here. Sit! STAY!” But he was gone, vanished into the shadows between the trees.

Groaning, I started after him. I felt like puking. My sides hurt. There were no sounds of pursuit from behind us, but still I ran. I didn’t want to linger in this dark forest for another second. The leaves overhead seemed to draw closer, as if the trees were bending down, reaching for me.

I continued on for about another mile. I shouted for the dog, but he’d disappeared. Despite the temperature, sweat stung my eyes. A cloud of buzzing gnats swarmed after me, darting into my eyes and ears. Swatting at them, I hollered in frustration and kept on. Exhausted, I had slowed down to an erratic jog.

Soon I stepped over a fallen log that I recognized, and began to get my bearings. This part of the woods was familiar. It felt like home. The sun crept back through the treetops, and the air grew warm again. I paused to catch my breath. Pains shot through my sides, and I was drenched in sweat.

The woods had returned to normal. Birds sang overhead and squirrels clambered through the branches. Spring flowers bloomed through the leaves covering the forest floor. A spider crawled over my feet and hurried away.

I cupped my hands to my mouth. “Steve! Come on, boy! Come here!”

In response I heard a metallic jingle—the dog tags around his collar.

“Come on, Big Steve.” I slapped my hands against my thighs. “Come here, buddy. Good dog.”

The brush rustled to my right. Big Steve emerged, looking pitiful. His big brown eyes were apologetic, and his tail, which was still between his legs, flipped cautiously back and forth. I couldn’t scold him. After all, I’d been just as terrified as he was. I should have had the good sense to listen to him earlier, when he’d tried to tell me that something was wrong.