Whisperings

 Bob Hunter smiled.
   He had the little bastards now, and he was gonna scare
the bejesus out of 'em.
   Tommy Walker, Ricky Willis, Barry Snyder and know-it-all
Marvin Blevins.  Neighborhood kids he'd brought to Kullhorn
State Park to camp out.
   All gathered around the fire now.  Crackling.  Yellow
glow reflecting off the autumn leaves of the trees around
their small clearing.
   Eyes wide they waited for him to tell 'em a ghost
story.  All except Marvin Blevins who pretended
indifference.
   He told 'em.  Told 'em how the dead rise from their
graves on Halloween.  How they seek out the living for
food -- and he added a little something from 'Night of the
Living Dead' -- to eat 'em.
   He chuckled to himself.  He had their attention.  Even
Marvin Blevins seemed a little antsy.
   It was a perfect night for ghost stories.
   A faint breeze strummed pine branches with an eerie
quality.  Almost thought he could hear a mourning sound.
   Something crunched through the brittle autumn leaves
covering the ground, just beyond the rim of the camp fire,
in the dim shadowy recesses between tree trunks.
   That got their attention.
   They scooted closer to the fire, shoulders hunching,
their eyes wider,wanting to look but not daring to.
   Perhaps it was a tad too much.  But he went on.
   He told 'em about the old abandoned cemetery on Critter
Road, just a stone's throw from where they sat.  And how it
was likely that it was the dead walking about looking for
warm, fresh blood to drink.
   Oh, he was enjoying this.
   They were actually shivering with fear.
   More leaves were crunched, and the breeze gave a hollow
threnody.
   Had he not known that it was his buddy, Larry, making
all those crunching sounds Bob would have been scared too.
   They had worked it out the day before.
   He, Bob, would tell the kiddies a ghostly tale and at
the climatic moment Larry, who would drive up later that
night and hide in the dark, would rush out with a fierce
growl.  Good old Larry.  You could always depend on him.
   That would scare the bejesus outta 'em.  One camping
trip they'd never forget.
   And so he told them a tale and built it up.  About an
ancient monster that haunted these woods seeking to kill
and devour whomever it could.
   But -- before he got to the end --  the kids suddenly
screamed.  They were gaping past him as if at something too
horrible for human comprehension.
   They scrambled to their feet shrieking and scattered
wildly into the darkness.
   Bob groaned.  He'd gone too damn far; he hadn't wanted
to scare 'em that much; he was gonna catch hell from their
parents.  That was for sure.
   He glanced over his shoulder and saw a figure weaving in
the shadows. No wonder the kids were scared.  Larry had
somehow managed to make himself appear headless; no doubt a
trick of light and shadow.
   At that moment his cell phone beeped.  It was his wife,
Jessica. 
   "Honey, I just got a hysterical call from Marge. 
Larry's been killed in a car wreck.  It was horrible.  All
they found was his severed head . . ."

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