Strange Tales for Cozy Nights 1 by Brian Bakos

  ***

  Cripe, of all the times for him to leave! Stu thought irritably.

  It was a novel way for him to go, however. Stu wondered if it had been planned that way, or if one of the guys hanging around in the woods just decided to get cute.

  Despite his annoyance, he was impressed with the gimmick. The others felt differently, though. A young girl pulled his robe.

  “M-mister,” she said. “Some . . . thing grabbed him back there.”

  Stu reached down and patted her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “it was just a little game.”

  But it was obvious that others were shaken as well. Grim faces looked toward him from out of the gloom.

  “Hold on a minute, folks,” Stu said. “Don’t let the special effects get to you. I remember hearing complaints a while ago that things were too fake!”

  “Of course it’s fake,” Dougie said in a pugnacious, though trembling, voice.

  He confronted the girl.

  “What did you think it was, the Boogie Man?” he said.

  “Why don’t you shut up already?” a woman cried shrilly from within the crowd.

  Stu feared a reaction from Dougie’s father, but the man said nothing. He merely stood silently, his mouth shut tight, the lower lip clamped in his teeth. He looked scared in the pale illumination.

  Stu pulled off his skull mask.

  “Whew, I’m glad to get this thing off!” he said. “See, I’m not as handsome as you thought I was!”

  Nobody laughed at the joke.

  “Now, we’ve only got a short way to go before we reach the nature center,” Stu said, trying to sound jovial. “Let’s hope they saved some hot cider for us.”

  He looked to the little girl. “Do you like cider?”

  She’d retreated to her parents.

  “Let’s get out of here!” she cried.

  Stu realized that the tour organizers had gone too far. This was supposed to be a fun event, but these people were really shaken. Nothing like this had happened last year when he’d had a major role in the planning.

  “Well, folks,” he said, “this has certainly been quite an evening.”

  He led the group toward the right hand path. Then he paused and consulted his map. He found the little bridge over the nearby creek. Yes, this was the correct path, all right. The troll was coming up next, then two other monsters.

  He studied the map further under his flashlight beam. Actually, there was short cut after the troll that would allow them to bypass the remaining creatures.

  The sooner we get back, the better!

  “We’ve seen a lot of interesting things,” he said cheerily. “I’m sure this is a night to remember for all of us.”

  He led the way down the right hand path. He was warming to his charges again; felt protective of them – even Dougie and his moron father.

  “In just a little bit, we’ll be coming to the bridge and see the troll,” Stu said. “He’s the last gentleman we’ll meet tonight.”

  He’d directed this remark at the little girl, but she did not seem reassured.

  “You’ve heard of the 3 Billy Goats Gruff?” he asked.

  The girl said nothing.

  “Well, that old troll never learns,” Stu said, “and he’s still living under that bridge.”

  He shined his light ahead and picked out a foot bridge.

  “That’s his house right over there! Let me go on ahead and find him. Maybe he’ll come up and say a few words.”

  The group waited as Stu walked alone onto the bridge. The members were a rueful sight; clustered together in their pool of flashlight beams, the gigantic oaks hovering over them like the ceiling of some haunted cathedral.

  Stu felt terrible. He hoped fervently that some fool wasn’t planning another shock for them. They’d clearly had enough.

  “Come on up, Mr. Troll!” he called over the bridge railing, “You’ve got visitors!”

  He leaned over the railing and shined his flashlight into the little stream below. Nobody was there. He flashed his light over the other side. Still no one.

  Damn, he thought bitterly, we must have gone the wrong way.

  He silently cursed Burton and his whole crew. They’d certainly botched things royally this year.

  “Looks like we may have to backtrack a little,” he said, trying to sound light-hearted. “Maybe that troll decided to move without notice.”

  He unfolded his map and aimed his light down on it. The group advanced onto the bridge and crowded around. The girl’s father looked over Stu’s shoulder.

  “Maybe the bridge we want is back the other way,” he said.

  “Could be,” Stu said, “unless there’s another one farther on.”

  He trained his beam down the trail ahead.

  From the darkness behind them came a violent sound of cracking branches, followed by a heavy thud. Stu whipped his light over.

  A hideously mangled body – Hank – lay face up on the pathway.