Page 7 of Sweet Silver Bells

CHAPTER FOUR.

H unter was too scared to breathe. Dread seeped through him like a frozen river swallowing the earth beneath it.

If this were a movie, he would be staring at the screen, yelling for the main character to run, and Sarah would be screaming right along with him.

Now he understood them; he was frozen, useless and helpless.

Not ten feet in front of him, the thick old tree wrapped in vines and moss was shedding its skin. There was no one there, no one hacking away at it with a mallet or a hatchet, but bark was flying out violently, hitting him, cutting into the exposed skin of his face.

Still, he didn’t move.

His mind screamed.

Get out of here, Hunter. Go now!

Instead, he watched. He watched as something broke through the middle of a tree.

It looked like a branch, twisting around in a spiral, a drill burrowing through from the inside of the trunk.

A crack, a crevice, formed from above and below that branch, growing deeper, the pitch black of horror and hopelessness seeping out, greeting the forest like an old, ancient friend.

A low rumble, a hum, deep and coarse, seemed to vibrate up from the ground, and the dirt underneath Hunter's feet became death and decay, calling to him, crying to him, singing to him, a song of longing and pain and hurt, a song that promised revenge.

Hunter put his hands over his ears, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying not to absorb any more of the shaking and vibrations, trying to block out the cracking, the sight of a tree splitting in two, unsheathing itself right before him.

“Sarah, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, so terrified that his silence was forcibly broken, as his will bent to the trees, to the haunting that the forest saw fit for him. The spiraling lunged closer, but he kept his eyes shut.

This can’t be real.

His mind was surely playing tricks on him.

His eyes squeezed tighter, thinking of Sarah.

The entire town would lock him up if they realized how insane he was becoming. The writhing branch, moving like invisible hands were steering it, was no monster from a children’s nightmare. It was just a ghost story to lure tourists to a crumbling old house.

Then why did his heartbeat rise? Why did his inner voice tell him to flee?

There was a tug on his shoe. Something hard wrapped around his ankle. His stomach lurched, bile rising. Hunter’s eyes flew open, and a branch was coiling up, moving as if it were alive, there to claim him.

A final crack split the night as the tree broke vertically in half, the moving branch disconnected and now limp. Something new slid out from the bark.

Quiet. It was suddenly so quiet.

Hunter couldn’t even hear his own ragged breathing.

There was a foot, bare and petite, that touched the dirt. Then another, a pale leg, hips, a torso forced through the too-tight gap. Hunter stared at skin that nearly glowed, so pale, as if it had never touched the sun.

A ghost.

He had to be hallucinating.

Fingers clutched bark. Skinny arms pushed the rest free.

A woman, small, with tangles of dark hair that fell down past her waist. She had eyes that absorbed the colors of the night emerging under heavy lashes.

She wore no clothing and made no effort to hide herself.

She circled her wrists slowly, eyes locked on Hunter.

Branches were still entangled with his lower half as if they were holding him there for her. He felt like an animal caged in a trap.

Her head tilted. Her pupils dilated. Lips, dark like bruised berries, parted. Her nostrils flared.

Either bile or words would come out of his mouth next.

“H-hello,” he choked out. “Do you need help?”

At least it was words.

She was very real. She was flesh, solid, sturdy. It was absurd of him to believe that he was staring at a ghost.

How long have you been out here?

Hunter’s fear flipped. A protectiveness suddenly overrode the terror twisting his gut.

Whatever she was, whatever nightmare he’d just witnessed, she had to be scared too.

The mystery of her coiled around him like smoke, blurring the warning screams in his head.

He was entranced, even as his conscience hissed danger .

What have you been through?

She lurched forward, limbs awkward at first but gaining power with every step. With her head tucked low, she slammed straight into Hunter’s chest. The impact was so fierce from someone so small.

He was on the ground. Blood trickled down his neck after hitting his head on the side of a branch. His vision slightly blurred from the impact. There was a weight on top of him, a body.

Her.

Before he could react, plants and vines coiled around his arms, sprouting from the soil to hold him down and make sure he couldn’t run.

“Why did you stop singing?” she asked, her voice low, a savageness in her words, a threat in her question.

Hunter needed to respond. He needed to say something back.

Why aren't you saying anything?

Hunter’s mouth opened, but fear strangled every word before it reached his lips. His mind emptied under the weight of her body.

“What were the words? How did the song go?” She slammed her hands on his chest, forcing a wheeze out of him.

“ Dashing through the snow, ” he gasped in tune. “ In a one-horse open sleigh .”

“I have never heard that song,” she said.

“It’s a Christmas song.” He sucked in air, steadying his breath, though his heart thumped wildly.

She tipped her head back as if listening for a melody in the wind. “I know a Christmas song too, but yours sounds happier than mine.”

“Christmas is supposed to be cheerful,” he managed. His mind spat curses at him.

What kind of conversation was this?

“Is it really?” Her doubt dripped from each word.

“Why were you in that tree?” He risked the question, but his courage fled when she pressed her chest against his and brushed her nose along his cheek, inhaling him like a wild animal scenting prey.

“You don’t smell like the forest,” she whispered. She leaped off him so fast he lost track of her for a heartbeat. She moved like no human he’d ever seen.

Her face, though delicate, was older than her fragile body hinted at. He would guess that she was in her early thirties. He heard his father’s voice reminding him that women did not like being told how old they looked, so he wisely kept the thought to himself.

“I lost my watch,” Hunter blurted, scrambling for sense. “It was a gift. I came back to find it.”

She stood above him, legs spread, bending at the waist like a cat about to retch up a nightmare offering. He begged the universe not to let her spit animal bones on him.

“Sweet silver bells,” she whispered. Every word dripped like a spell that bound him tighter.

“Is that your Christmas song?”

She flicked her eyes sideways at him, suspicion swirling in her stare.

“How long were you in that tree? Do you need help?” The vines slackened. He rose slowly, extended his hand, and forced calm into his voice. “Come with me. Let me take you home.”

“I can never go home.” Her words fell softly but seemed to pull the forest into her sadness. “They do not want me back, and the forest will never let me leave.”

“But do you want to leave?” he asked, needing to know.

She turned those shadowy eyes on him, blinking as if no one had ever spoken to her that way. “No one has ever asked me that before.”

“No one?”

“No one has ever cared what I wanted. Not even the ghosts.”

What was he supposed to say to that?

“Do you talk to ghosts often?” He winced at how ridiculous the question sounded.

“They make fine company because they cannot leave you behind. If you want them to stay.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“Not every soul returns as a ghost. Not everyone finds a reason to linger.”

Silence wrapped around them. Her fierceness drooped under the weight of sorrow until her shoulders curled inward. She twirled her hair around her fingers, moonlight trailing her every move but never catching her completely.

“My name is Hunter,” he said gently.

“Pleasure,” she murmured, then turned away and slipped into the brush.

He stared after her, torn between escaping this nightmare and rescuing her from it. She was real. The forest seemed to bow as she passed, or maybe that was just his fractured mind inventing signs.

What was he going to do, drag her to a police station? Wrap her in blankets? She was fragile yet carved with a grief so deep it made his chest ache.

He hated seeing her pain.

“Wait,” he called, trudging after her. His boots squished through mud, so loud and clumsy compared to her quiet, weightless steps. She moved as if she could walk on water.

He struggled to keep her in sight. She did not pause or look back despite his voice breaking the forest hush. Any thought of forcing her anywhere slipped away.

She stopped at the edge of a clearing, and he halted a few paces behind, breathless, soaked through with melting snow.

She turned to him. Her skin shimmered faintly in the moonlight, more ghost than woman in that moment.

“I am sorry,” he said, panting. “I just wanted to catch up.”

“No one will catch me,” she whispered, frowning as if she had just remembered he existed. She raised her hand, and a familiar gleam made his chest tighten.

“This is why you came,” she said, examining his watch. “My father owned one like this, but not so flashy.”

She had a family.

“Thank you,” he murmured, reaching for it. She ignored his hand.

“Who gave it to you? You said it was a gift.”

“My wife.”

Her eyes widened, shadows deepening the hollows of her cheeks. She stepped back, shaken.

“Forgive me. I did not know you were married.”

“What would that change?”

She didn’t answer with words. She tossed the watch toward him. He fumbled but caught it and clipped it back on his wrist, relieved.

“I am not married anymore. She passed away.”

“Is she buried here in the forest?”

“What? No. Why would she be?”

She stepped closer, her expression softer now. “My father is buried here, among these trees.”

“I am sorry to hear that. When did he pass away?”

She looked away. “In 1914.”

Hunter let out a laugh he instantly regretted.

“What is funny?” Her voice trembled with an edge of outrage.

“It’s just ... it’s the year 2025.”

“I stopped keeping track of the years a long time ago.” She waved her hand, brushing away the passage of time as if it meant nothing. “You should leave now. I do not want to speak with you anymore.”

Hunter swallowed a bitter groan. He probably had hit his head harder than he thought.

“I am lost. I do not know how to find my way back. I came from the manor.”

“There are many manors here,” she said coolly. “Walk that way, keep the stream behind you, and you will find the one made of red brick.” She pointed without looking at him, guiding him away from her and the shattered tree.

“I cannot just leave you here,” he said, his voice cracking with guilt and worry. Images of blankets, hospitals, and police officers churned through his mind. “You need help.”

“Do I, really?”

She tilted her head slightly, though she still faced away from him.

“Leave now.” Her voice grew heavy and powerful, vibrating through the brush until the earth itself seemed to tremble.

You are imagining this. There has to be a rational explanation.

“I am sorry, but I can’t just . . . ”

She had given him one warning. That was all she would allow. She turned and parted her lips. He thought he heard the first soft notes of a song, but then the world faded until nothing remained except darkness swallowing him whole.