Hunting: A Ghost Story, Part II

The Next Day:

The next morning, Roger Maldonado walked into Hugh Lorimer’s hospital room. His sharp cut suit was the current bespoke style. He dropped his coat on the faux leather recliner and sat on the bed.

Hugh awoke with a start.

“Hello honey. I just got back from the pastoral conference. Just as soon as you contacted me I hopped the first plane to get here.”

Roger leaned over and kissed Hugh on the lips.

“You are always getting yourself into trouble. When is this going to stop?” He laughed at the grimace on Hugh’s face.

“Now Roger, you know I like to hunt. I simply slipped. I had my gear on to keep me from falling but when I started to get down from the tree I lost my footing.” Hugh picked up a small plastic cup to sip some water.

Roger looked sternly at Hugh.

“At least take some precautions with those ladder rungs. You could have been killed and where would I be then?” Roger started to wipe the creases out of the bed comforter.

Hugh looked out the window like a guilty man. He stayed silent.

“I saw something; out there at the stand.”

Roger looked at Hugh. “What was it?”

Hugh began to tremble. “I think it was a ghost.”

Roger began to laugh. He stopped when he saw the look of worry on Hugh’s face. “Come on now. You want me to believe you saw a ghost?”

Roger was about to respond when the food tray for lunch arrived. He thought it best to question Hugh later. The pain killers must be affecting his mind. Hugh began to eat and changed the channel on the television.

“I did Roger.” Hugh picked at his food in silent contemplation.

Eli checked his cell phone messages. Correlia had not returned his phone call yet. He knew she left town yesterday to visit her Aunt to tell her the good news. It was good news to him but he was sure others wouldn’t think so. He hoped Mich Blake had not gotten wind of the news.

Mich Blake spent the better part of the morning calling local taxidermists to price head mounts for Hugh. Everyone in town doing the work was overrun with pieces not finished on time. One of the taxidermists suggest he call Tim's Taxidermy. The taxidermist did refer to him a Nick the Necrophiliac. Mich thought it was because of the kind of work they were in, mounting dead things and all. He didn't care what the dude was into as long as the price and the work were right.

Mich pulled the head from the refrigerator and walked out the house to put it in his cooler. A gray sedan pulled up behind his truck. Rachel Grey Owl jumped from the car and began to accost Mich verbally.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Mich eyeballed Rachel. “Don't come here bothering me. I got errands to run. Why are you here anyway?”

Rachel Grey Owl pulled out a photo of Correlia Pierce.

“I know this is the tramp you have been sneaking around with in the woods. Did you not think I wouldn't find out?”

Rachel took a swipe at Mich with her hand. Mich sidestepped the blow which landed on his chest.

“So help me God Mich, you and she will pay for this.”

Mich took a step back. Mich thought this sounded like a threat. He didn't know Rachel that well because the relationship started out as a drunk one night stand that developed into a crack habit. She reminded him of the song Jessie's Girl but he wanted to give her back.

“Usually I put up with your jealous crap but not today. I broke it off with you and I mean it. You need to get back in your paddy wagon and head back where you come from.”

Mich crossed his arms over his chest. He had enough of Rachel's melodramatics. It was not like he couldn't find him another woman. He liked Rachel for her activism but when she turned it on him in a conversation right after sex, he figured the relationship was dead in the water.

“I don't know why you came to my yard waving a picture of Correlia Pierce. I can only think you want to fight with her as you do the rest of us. Correlia is a friend. I think maybe you should go.”

The fury in Rachel Grey Owl's eyes burned. “A friend? Is that what you call it. You go down into the woods with her and make biscuits then come to my house to do the same thing. I hope you get and STD.”

Rachel got back into her sedan, lit the ignition and tried to pull over onto Mich's foot as she sped away.

“Screw you and her.”

Mich watched as the sedan tore down the road vicariously. His mailbox suffered the consequences.

“Crazy biotch.”

He opened the door to his truck, hoping she wouldn't come back. He knew it wasn't that Rachel was an animal activist but a deeply disturbed woman. It would seem that was the kind he liked; volatile and nutty.

Mich Blake drove down the dirt road to the small white building beside Yadkin's cemetery. He pulled his truck into the unassuming parking lot to the taxidermy building. A non-descript sign with a duck and deer silhouette in black hung by the mail box. The yard looked a mess with bits and pieces thrown around. This made Mich believe there was no woman caring for the place. He rung the door bell. There was no answer. He wrung the door bell again before trying the door. He turned the knob and walked inside. A radio was playing loudly as a man was doing some work on a deer head.

Mich yelled. “Hey guy! I am here to drop off a friend's deer mount.”

Tim Nicholson jumped as Mich tossed something at him to get his attention. He looked up.

“What can I do you for?” Tim stopped what he was doing.

“My name is Mich Blake. One of my friends said you had the best price for doing a deer mount. I brought my buddy Hugh's head by to see if you could pencil it in.”

“Sure. I am just about caught up with everything here. Go get it and I'll write up a ticket. I do require a one hundred dollar deposit. No refunds.”

Mich moved for the door. “I'll be right back.”

Mich walked back out the door to the truck to retrieve the head. When he returned he set the black plastic bag on the wooden work bench. Tim was nowhere in sight. He saw a door then walked over to it because it was partially cracked and pushed it open with his fingers.

Inside of the room was a bed. On the bed was what appeared to be a woman or what use to be a woman. The room smelled of preservatives. The ghastly face stared back at Mich. Mich was startled when Tim walked beside him and pulled the door closed.

“What is that?”

Tim stared Mich in the eyes.

“A man is entitled to the love of his life.”

(To be Continued)

Written by: W Harley Bloodworth

~Courtesy of the AOFH~