CHAPTER TWO:

“Just like his dad, always gotta stop for something to eat!” Tarik Sandori’s plaid-sleeved arm dangled out the window of his metallic-blue pickup truck, rolling a cigarette between his fingers. He picked up a cup of coffee from the cupholder and took a gander in the rearview mirror at the mountain roads behind him. “Oddly hot today. Forgot what this place feels like.” The truck sat parked at a cock-eyed angle in a small concrete lot near a gas station. He chortled. “Well, been thirty seconds. Somethin’ must’ve caught his eye.”

Tarik took a breath, followed by a puff on his smoke. An abrupt tapping on the window startled him, and he sputtered on the smoke. He looked to the right to see his grandson Kori hopping up and down to reach the window. He chuckled again, and rolled down the window. “Sorry shorty, I don’t pick up hitch-hikers.”

Kori giggled. “Aww, not even for a Mighty Bitey Hot Dog?”

“Hmm…what else you got?”

Eight-year-old Kori rifled through his plastic bag of truck stop goodies. “How ‘bout a bag of Gator Tator chips?”

Tarik slapped the carseat cushion. “Sold. Hop on in, lil’ partner!”

Kori hopped up the steps and plopped into the seat. “Thanks for stoppin’ here, Grandpa. Forgot how far Mount Faizon is.”

“I’m surprised, we’ve done this at least ten times!” He gave the boy a playful noogie.

“Yeah, I always get hungry too.”

“I keep suggesting you pack a snack or something. It’s a long drive here from school.” Kori took a bite of his hot dog. “You can’t fool me, you’re holdin’ out for those Mighty Dogs. Right around this mark, the ol’ hunger kicks in.”

Kori grinned, his cheeks puffing with food. “You can smell ‘em from the road!”

“Well, guess we’re both suckers for a good dog,” Tarik said, reaching into the bag. He clumsily took a bite with his free hand. “Reminds me when I used to take your dad campin’— dogs, marshmallows, and the best scary story I could come up with.”

“Awesome. Can we go campin’ this weekend?”

“If my schedule allows. Gotta check the shop when I get back. I heard Bert say something about callouts this weekend. He might have me workin’.”

“It’s cool. You think anyone’s gonna buy the house?”

Tarik sighed. “Doesn’t seem likely. Old heap’s been sittin’ there for four years. Can’t imagine anyone would wanna live there.”

Kori crunched on some chips. “You used to!”

Tarik flicked his cigarette out the window. “And a lotta good it did; spent half my life alone out here. I damn near tackled the first person I ever saw. Scared the hell outta both of us.”

The truck passed along the offramp.

“Is that why we moved to Arondale?” Kori asked.

Tarik didn’t say anything for a minute. “That, and money. Couldn’t stay there much longer. Needed to get away.”

“Is that why Mom’s gone, too?”

“I’ve told you why she left. They’re on vacation. Your parents…they’ve still got some growing up to do.”

“Can’t they come visit us or—?”

“Kori, I told you, they’ve got their own lives. Whining about it won’t make them come back any faster.”

Kori looked down. “Sorry.”

The remainder of the truck ride fell long and silent. After passing through town, they veered onto the gravelly roads leading to the back woods of Faizon. They finally pulled off the dirty roads and wheeled through the grass, eventually coming to a halt near the old house. Tarik got out and stretched his legs. Kori, already midway through the field, scurried under the mid-afternoon sun. He clopped up the railing and gazed down at his grandfather. Tarik arrived alongside him and stuck his key in the door. It opened with a firm shove, and they entered the hollowed living area. Nothing much remained, mostly boxes of random items, appliances, tools, clothes, and other miscellany. Kori meandered around the empty room while Tarik took an inventory of the boxes’ contents.

“We could probably get the rest of this shit out in another couple trips,” he said with a mumble. “Hey, Kor, would you…” Kori already wandered into Niko’s old room. “Kid’s a tumbleweed.” He walked into the empty bedroom and found Kori digging through some boxes of his father’s belongings. Kori skimmed through an old book of myths when Tarik walked in. “Again, huh?”

“Huh?”

Tarik shut the box lid. “We’ll bring all that mess back later. Come help me move this stuff in the living room.”

“Can I bring this with me this time? You keep promisin’!”

“Oh sure, you remember this, but never to take out the trash. Fine, just hurry up. Don’t wanna get tied up in traffic.”

“It’s cool, Gramps, I’ll read ya some stories! Or I can make one up, like you and Dad.”

“Fantastic,” Tarik retorted.

They hauled a few boxes into the back of the truck. Kori lugged a box from Tarik’s room when he became enamored with the box of memorabilia in Niko’s room. He tiptoed in again and rummaged through it. Kori abruptly rubbed his hands across his sleeveless yellow vest and scooped out some old clothes and intriguing trinkets. Beneath the pile of baubles he came across the hat his father used to wear. The pink lotus patch on it had faded, and loose threads dangled from its seams. “That’s where it was.” Kori put the hat on backwards, and with a grin, picked up the other box and walked back through the living room.

Tarik had just walked in the front door. “Hey, there you…what’re you doing?”

“Bringin’ this box.”

“What’s on your head?”

“Umm…my hair?”

“For God’s sake, Kori, I told you not to waste time goin’ through all that junk. We’ll sort it out later.”

Kori bent his lip. “You said that four years ago.”

“Hey, I also remember you saying you’d exercise more, but that went out the window once school started. Things change.”

“Please, can I take it with me?”

With a scoff, Tarik quietly grabbed another box and headed for the door. “Hurry up, Shorty. Still gotta make a delivery before six.” He locked up the house and they loaded the last boxes into the truck. Tarik checked his watch as they drove back onto the roads. “Twelve after three, plenty of time.”

“Where’s your delivery at?”

“Just down by Kemp Hills, you know where.”

“You bringin’ more veggies and stuff to the stores?”

“You got it. Gotta hit a couple supermarkets then stop by the farm to check in with Bert.”

Kori flipped through the mythology book, drifting between listening and reading. Tarik made a snide face while the boy skimmed the book. “You sure love your books.”

“Yeah.”

“You know, you get that from your mother.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say, if I don’t have to work this weekend, how ‘bout you and I hit the gym?”

Kori chortled. “And do what?”

“Get a good workout in! Blow off some steam, pump some iron!”

“Eh, maybe. If I don’t got too much homework.”

“Yeah right, Kori, you’re so punctual with homework you get it done while you’re still at school. Give yourself a break, you’re only eight. You can’t go through life with your face buried in a book.”

“How come?”

“For one, it’s gonna make driving damn near impossible.”

“Uh-huh.” Kori already got distracted with the book again.

Tarik agitatedly gripped the wheel. “Second, boys need to exercise, makes it easier to work, play sports, and fight.”

Kori flipped a page. “When am I gonna hafta fight?”

“That’s one thing about life, boy. You never know when you’ll have to rely on something to save your life. Better to be well-rounded, trust me.”

“Hmm, maybe. Hey, you wanna go to the museum on Saturday?”

Tarik lit up another cigarette. “We’ll see.”

The pickup parked outside Huckner’s Orchard Farmer’s Market, nestled by the winding roads and backwoods of Arondale. Tarik and Kori passed under the overhang by the front door, stepping by some outgoing customers.

“Tell you what, how ‘bout you pick us some fruit, and I’ll square things off with Bert.”

“Cool. Hey, can we get some cookies, too?” Kori asked.

“Sure, but not a whole box’s worth this time, huh?” Tarik chuckled while pulling some Dinara bills from his wallet.

“You got it, Gramps!”

Tarik walked through the aisles of the store, checking out some of the displays as he went. He knocked on the back door of the office, answered by Bert Huckner, the husky, short brown-haired store manager. “Hey, there you are. You finish your rounds already?”

They shook hands.

“Sure did. Even had time to make a trip out to Faizon.”

“Still movin’, huh?” Bert said, sitting at his desk.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“I know how that goes. You have today’s receipts?”

“Of course,” Tarik said, pulling out a wad of papers.

“Thanks for all your help lately, Tarik. Since summer’s almost over, some of my younger employees are going back to school.”

“I got ya. Any word about those callouts?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d be free to come in on Sunday for a few hours? We’re setting up our Fall displays. We’re just about ready to harvest our strawberries and pumpkins. How about it, you free from ten to four on Sunday?”

Tarik jotted on his little pocket notepad. “No problem. Wow, year’s passed pretty quick. Guess we’re already plotting a course for that crazy haunted hayride, huh?”

Bert laughed. “It’s creepin’ up on us! No pun intended…anyway, your hands would be of great help. You’re one of the few who’ve been here a few seasons, so maybe you can help guide some of the newer crew out in the fields.”

“Sounds like a plan. Well I guess if everything’s in the books, I’ll get outta the way.”

“We’re all set, thanks again. Any plans for Saturday?” Bert said.

“Eh, I may end up takin’ Kor to the museum again.” Tarik brushed his fading auburn hair past his ear, which had been neatly trimmed and shortened in the back. “I’ve been trying to get him more into athletics and sports, but man, the kid’s a book worm.”

Bert got up and patted his back. “Ah, say no more. Takes a while for kids to get out of their comfort zones. I had a ton of interests growing up. Kinda makes it hard to pick a career, though! It’s natural for kids his age to bounce around.”

“Thanks, Bert. I’ll see you guys Sunday.” Tarik walked back into the store and peered down the aisles looking for Kori. He found him hanging around the seasonal area checking out holiday decor, scented candles, and various magazines. A small plastic bag hung around his pudgy arm. “Hey, buddy, whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Check out these spooky monster stickers! Hey, we gonna do a pumpkin again this year?”

“Of course, big guy, how about we get through dinner first? What’d you get for us?”

Kori held the bag open. “Got some peaches, pineapple, and this green, fuzzy one.”

“Ah, that’s a kiwi. Good finds. Any cookies?”

“Yeah! Two chocolate chips and some oatmeal raisin.”

Tarik patted Kori’s back. “Nicely done. Let’s hit the road. Maybe after your homework we can have a little play time, what do you think about that?”

* * * * *

The September sun crept further down the skyline while the excavation team had since reluctantly returned to the ruins. Scattered throughout the cluttered jungle clearing, only six of the fifteen remained to investigate the horrific occurrence the night prior. Random stone bricks and broken pillars lie spread across the ground. Two boxy all-terrain cars sat parked beyond while they traversed the unsettling territory.

“Here. This was where we came through the window last night,” Manius said.

He and Starkey scouted the area by the east side of the eroded structure. The rope still limply hung outside the window and their gunnysacks had been ravaged, scattering their various sundries across the ground.

“Looks like a coyote or something must’ve gotten these,” Starkey said, shaking the slivered, scrappy remains of the bag.

“Were those things looking for something?”

Starkey looked to him. “Such as?”

“Well whatever they were, they knew we were trespassing. We didn’t take anything of any

value,” Manius said.

Oscar and his other three colleagues busily photographed different views of the towering monument on the west end.

“It looks like some of the burial sites built by ancient Norsden civilizations—maybe even a little southeast Keruvian influence,” Heidi said, writing on a small notepad as she walked.

“It does seem to have little touches from southeast continents, yet it somehow stands alone. It’s basic to the unrefined eye, yet inside it’s a labyrinth of mystery,” Oscar said, his hands folding.

“So how much more do you know about these Hexorist people?” Hanson said.

“Not as much as I’d like. Inside I found something remarkable. It was either an ossuary or some sort of ritual chamber. There were enough bones to satisfy the most insatiable of canines.”

Hanson chortled. “What about those boogeymen we saw last night? What’re you not telling us, Val Hagen?”

“All I can tell you is that was no illusion. The Hexorists possessed incomparable supernatural powers. Somewhere in there lies an answer.”

“But for what?” Heidi said, stepping by him.

“Their abilities transcend human thought, even life itself. They are able to communicate between worlds.”

“Between worlds? You mean like talking with spirits?” Hanson said.

“Precisely. How, though? Through what means could they attain such power? Incantations? Human sacrifice? Worship?”

“Could they’ve been born with it?” Heidi said.

Oscar stopped pacing. “Pardon?”

“Well maybe they were psychics or mediums. You said they lived in tribes, right?”

“Hmm, something I haven’t considered. The man I spoke to bore some unusual markings on his body. A rite of passage, perhaps? Or maybe they were marks indicative of their distinct tribe.”

“Well, whatever it is we’re looking for, we need to do it quick. I don’t trust this place, and it’ll be dark in a couple hours. What do we do next?” Hanson said impatiently

“I plan to meet with my associate with the data we have. He will still be of use to us.” Oscar left them to keep documenting while rejoining Starkey. After taking a step, he kicked something across the dirt, distracting him. It rolled to a stop, and he anxiously scooped it up. “By God, this is it,” he said under his breath.

Oscar gently fondled the sleek, wooden shaft, feeling the light etch lines of the carvings spiraling around it. A crusty, copper, dome-like attachment comprised its head, embedded by a tarnished, gritty, metal latching mechanism. He admired the tiny inscriptions written along the shaft and the oddly-placed insignia wrapping around it. He couldn’t tell if his arm shook from eagerness, or if some mystifying presence exuded from inside with unusual magnitude. A dull, humming sensation haunted him and drilled into his eardrums. “Could this be—?”

“Oscar, are you okay?” Manius said from behind.

“I’m fine. Gather the others, quickly.”

While Manius took off, Oscar photographed the unassuming artifact from different angles, and slipped his phone into his back pocket.

“What’d you find?” Heidi asked.