Return to Red Creek Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright © 2019

  Books By Nathan Hystad

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Lights Over Cloud Lake

  RETURN TO RED CREEK

  Copyright © 2019 Nathan Hystad

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover art: Tom Edwards Design

  Edited by: Scarlett R Algee

  Proofed and Formatted by: BZ Hercules

  Books By Nathan Hystad

  Keep up to date with his new releases by signing up for his Newsletter at www.nathanhystad.com

  Nathan’s books are also available on Audible!

  Lights Over Cloud Lake

  The Survivors Series

  The Event

  New Threat

  New World

  The Ancients

  The Theos

  Old Enemy

  New Alliance

  The Gatekeepers

  New Horizon

  The Resistance Series

  Rift

  Revenge

  Return

  Red Creek

  Prologue

  The moonlight sneaked past the incoming clouds for a brief moment, allowing Brittany to see the path ahead of her. Spring was late this year, and she was angry at herself for so many things as she trod through the mucky winter melt-off on her way home.

  She listed the reasons off in her head as she took another step, her white shoes squelching in the mud. Brittany cursed Abigail for telling her to meet them in the woods after her bedtime. Why had she ever believed the snobby girl? Just because your parents owned the Gilden car dealership, it didn’t mean you could treat other people like trash.

  And what possible reason did Abigail have for suggesting they get together in the forest? She hung out with older girls who dyed their hair jet black and painted their nails to match. Maybe she was mixed up in witchcraft or some cult. Brittany had watched a few videos online of women chanting in the forest, and it had made the hair on her neck stand on end. Her mom had almost caught her watching, but she’d closed the laptop right in time.

  Brittany tried to push all thoughts of betrayal and witches from her mind as she trudged on, heading toward Wood Street where her house sat, hopefully dark and quiet. She might still be able to creep in, but she didn’t know how she was going to explain the mud stains on her sneakers and pants. Somewhere along the way, Brittany had lost her scrunchie, and she knew that when she made it home, the finality of that would hit her hard. She loved that hair elastic with its tiny pink hearts, and now it was gone somewhere in the woods.

  The clouds pushed in behind a large gust of wind; the newly budding trees swayed and danced in the breeze. Brittany pulled her coat tight as rain began to fall, lightly at first, then heavier with each step she took toward home. Her wet hair fell in her face, a quick reminder of what she’d just lost. And it was all Abigail’s fault. By the time Brittany reached the treeline, seeing the path that would lead her past the fields and onto her street, she was drenched.

  Brittany wiped the wet hair from her eyes, and she chided herself for being so stupid. She was thirteen, not a little baby anymore. She needed to toughen up and stop being manipulated by other girls. She had friends… Amy was her friend, and she never pulled this kind of crap on Brittany.

  A twig snapped loudly behind her, and Brittany froze, stopping short on the muddy path.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, spinning around, her hair flying around her face with a splash. No one answered, and she couldn’t see anything in the murky night sky.

  She fumbled for her phone, pulling it out of her jeans pocket. She activated the flashlight as another branch crackled, this time to her right. She swung the phone toward the noise, seeing nothing.

  “Abigail, if this is you messing with me, you’re going to regret it!” she yelled, not sure what she would really do if it was her classmate.

  Still no reply. Brittany took a few more steps, slowly at first, then her shoe stuck in the mud, and she fought to pry it out. Her phone fell to the ground with a splat, the flashlight shooting up into the sky.

  “No. No. No,” Brittany muttered, now on her hands and knees. There was no way she was going to be able to hide this from her parents. Not unless she got home, undressed outside, and threw everything in the trash can. Was it garbage day tomorrow?

  Her wet hair hung low like a dirty mop as she pulled her foot free. The shoe stayed behind. She clambered onto her feet and saw the dirty white sneaker deep in the mud, deciding to leave it. If she was going to throw it away later, what did it matter? She was almost home.

  For a moment, she’d forgotten the snapping twigs nearby, but it all came rushing back as a darkness poured in front of her, covering the meager light of her phone.

  She tried to scream at the apparition, a black ghostly essence she could almost see through, but no sound emerged from her closed throat. The threat kicked in, and she moved. Brittany was on the junior high track team for a reason. Her long legs pumped in reaction to the danger, and by the time she was halfway to the street from the treeline, she realized how ridiculous she was acting.

  There was nothing in the woods trying to hurt her. All of the rumors surrounding Red Creek were a bunch of baloney, at least according to her dad. And if she showed up at home without a shoe and without her cell phone, her parents were never going to let her out of their sight again.

  Still, that black mist had seemed real enough, but it was probably just a trick of the light. Mud on her phone’s flashlight.

  Lightning flashed now, the warmer spring air making way for thunderstorms. As a little girl, Brittany had loved watching the storms from her bedroom window at night. Right now, she felt differently. Images of witches clasping hands in the dark woods while chanting her name flooded her mind, and she started to turn toward the street.

  But the fear of being grounded was more real, more tangible to her than anything supernatural, and she decided to go back. She saw the flashlight still shining, and easily found the spot where she’d fallen. Another flash of light, and three seconds later, it was followed by a loud boom, sending shivers up Brittany’s spine.

  She ran now, cell phone firmly in her grip, and she didn’t stop as her uneven feet hit the sidewalk. She glanced around as lightning flashed again, and saw a shape, tall and black, standing rigid a hundred yards behind her. Her heart raced and she got her legs moving again, heading for her house. It was close, only a block down the road, and Brittany didn’t look back again as she flew past a gate at the end of the driveway, entering her yard.

  She’d made it. Sanctuary. She latched the fence door and glanced at her muddy legs and the mess she’d tracked
in. The rain was pouring now, and she knew it would wash away any signs she’d been out at all. Another flash of light was followed by a boom seconds later, and Brittany saw the entire night sky over the farmer’s field illuminate.

  She pulled her jeans off, deciding that the garbage was her best course of action. She couldn’t go inside like this. Once her pants and remaining shoe were tucked under a week’s worth of household trash, Brittany stepped toward the door.

  “Please be in bed,” she whispered, knowing she might be pressing her luck. At least she’d made it home; that was the important thing. She could deal with her parents, or Abigail, but some deep-seated terror lingered at the thought of that black misty figure watching her out there.

  Brittany reached for the door, and with a deep breath, she grabbed the handle, beginning to turn the knob when the gate creaked to her right. It swung in the wind now, banging as the gusts pushed it open and the hinges closed it. The noise was going to wake up the household, that much was clear, and she hesitantly moved toward it.

  She craned her neck around the house, peeking past the driveway as another thunderclap echoed over the field. There was no one there. No witches or black mists, just her mom’s rusty pickup truck. Brittany let out a sigh, latched the gate, and ran for the back door.

  The back step met her with a rush as she tripped on something unseen. She screamed, grabbing at the stairs with her hands, unable to find purchase on anything as she was pulled away from the house. Their fence had a gate that allowed them quick access to the farmer’s field, and as she was dragged through the muddy acreage, she saw her house shrinking in the distance.

  Brittany clawed her hands into the dirt, but whatever had taken her was strong, her efforts useless. Her ankle burned where it tugged, and she screamed until her throat was raw, knowing the entire time that no one would hear her cries for help over the incessant storm that raged in the skies above Red Creek.

  One

  Taylor Alenn closed her books as the lights in the library turned off. She glanced around, finding she was the last person left at the desks in the middle of the study hall. The glow from her MacBook shone against her face, and she slipped her noise-canceling headphones off and closed the laptop. Another Friday night spent alone, working on a school project.

  She heard something behind the shelving units to the left, and she wished she’d been paying attention to the time. Taylor hated walking around alone at night, and now it was ten o’clock.

  The noises caught her attention again, and she heard the muffled cries of a girl’s voice. She left her stuff, clenched her fists, and grabbed a stapler from a nearby desk, holding it up like a bludgeon.

  “You’re not supposed to be in here.” She walked toward the aisle of books, each shelf standing over eight feet tall. A man and a woman were pressed against each other, their lips meeting with a fervent passion. The man stopped and turned toward her.

  “What the hell are you? Security?” he asked, panting slightly.

  Taylor lowered the hand holding the stapler and set it back, feeling foolish for intruding.

  “No. I’m sorry.” Taylor turned back to the desk, shoved her computer into her backpack, and jogged out of the library, leaving the lovebirds alone.

  She was nearing the end of her first year at Bellton and absolutely loved it. Spring was upon them, and even at this late hour, birds were chirping, ringing in the new season with a renewed sense of hope. It was the same way Taylor was feeling.

  She ran down the library steps, landing on the cobblestone sidewalks that would lead her across the courtyard to her dorm. She took a deep breath, smelling the new growth in the gardens that lined the courtyard. Her dad had pulled countless strings to get her into this Ivy League-level college, and Taylor reminded herself to text him when she got home and thank him again.

  There were some perks to having a famous dad. Actually, there were a lot.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she slid it out, seeing Brent’s smiling face appear next to a text.

  Brent - Where you at?

  Taylor – Heading home. Y? Whats up?

  Brent – I miss u. party at clays wanna come?

  Taylor – don’t think so. Tired today

  Brent – come on. Its Friday. Just for a bit

  Taylor thought about it as she walked toward her dorm. It was only ten, and she’d been putting Brent off a lot lately, trying to get her final project done before spring break next week.

  She blew a loose strand of hair off her face and texted him back, smiling as she did: fine. But you gotta meet me halfway

  Brent knew about her fear of being alone in the dark and was always nice about it. She hurried over the path leading to her residence, scanning the courtyard diligently as she crossed it. A few other students milled about, friends and couples heading to and from Friday night festivities.

  She suddenly felt less tired and was excited to see Brent, even though they’d had lunch together that day. Taylor took the stone steps two at a time as she approached the Gothic dorm building. The exterior of the residence was beautiful, the façade holding up much better than the shared rooms had over the test of time.

  The halls were well-lit as Taylor headed home to drop her stuff off and change her shirt. As she neared the end of the hall, she saw the crack under her door was dark. Karen was either sleeping or still out, but Taylor’s money was on sleeping. Her roommate was a philosophy student and didn’t get out much socially. On the rare occasion, Taylor had been able to persuade the reserved eighteen-year-old to have coffee with some people, and even hit a party or two, but she always seemed uncomfortable during it.

  As the door creaked open, Taylor saw the bed was actually empty.

  “Good for you, Karen,” she said to her absent roommate. Taylor dropped her bag on her bed, which sat in the right corner of the tiny room. After plugging her laptop in, she went to the cramped closet she and Karen had to share, and searched for something that didn’t scream introvert at the top of its lungs. She was getting better as the year went on, and she was proud of herself on so many levels.

  She settled on a t-shirt from a long-gone rock band, one of her dad’s favorites, and pulled the elastic from her hair, letting it fall freely to her back. Taylor was glad to be in this dorm. It was women only, and each room had a sink and mirror in a room no bigger than a closet. She went inside and combed her long brown hair, wondering idly if she should dye it. She thought she’d caught Brent checking out a blonde girl in class more than once. Maybe it was time for a change.

  Taylor grabbed a light jacket and her phone, remembering she wanted to text her dad. With expert efficiency, she keyed the message and hit send. Dad, I wanted to say thank you again. I love it here. See you soon. Spring break!

  She slipped the phone into her pocket and left for the party.

  Five minutes later, she saw Brent walking toward her, and when he spotted her, his arm came up, giving her a wave. He jogged the rest of the way and picked her up, spinning her around before setting her to the ground in a flourish.

  “Thanks for coming, baby,” he said. His breath smelled like beer, and he was slightly unsteady on his feet as he held her close.

  “Someone’s been having a little too much fun without me,” Taylor scolded with a laugh.

  “It’s never fun when you’re not there,” he said a little too loudly.

  “You’re full of it. Let’s go, it’s getting cold out.” Spring was coming, but nights were cool in upstate New York.

  Brent pulled away, glancing at her with his light brown eyes. His hair was swept to the side, and as always, he wore a goofy grin on his handsome face. He was a bad influence on her, but Taylor didn’t care. She worked hard and needed some enjoyment while she went to school.

  His arm settled around her waist as they walked down the cobblestone sidewalk, heading for the pledge house a bit off campus. Birds sang from perches along Walker Lake, and Taylor thought life might just be perfect.

  “What do y
ou think about me coming to Manhattan during spring break?” Brent asked.

  Taylor noticed herself trying to step away from him after he asked and chalked it up to surprise. Her parents hadn’t met Brent yet. Actually, they didn’t know he existed. Her dad was a little protective over her, although “little” might be a stretch. He was insanely protective of her, not that she blamed him. If anyone else had been through what they’d experienced twelve years ago, they’d be the same way.

  She didn’t know what to say and could tell that taking her time responding was only going to start an argument. Maybe it was time they met him. They’d been seeing each other since a month into the school year.

  “Seriously? You can’t even say anything to that?” Brent let go of her and walked away faster, head lowered in a sulk.

  “Wait, B. It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them. It’s my dad. He’s…”

  “He’s the Paul Alenn. Horror writer aficionado. I’ve been reading his stuff, you know. Doesn’t seem like the fun-loving guy you always describe. He seems…”

  “Dark? Brooding? Demented?” Taylor asked, catching up to Brent. She wrapped her arm in his and kissed his cheek.

  “All of the above. How he fathered such a nice young woman, I’ll never understand,” Brent said. It appeared the argument was over, but she still needed to give him an answer.

  “Sure. Why don’t you come into town and stay a night or two? We’ll go out for dinner. Maybe Tavern,” she said as they walked off campus and onto a dimly-lit street, where a few old colonial two-stories lined the residential road. The first one was the fraternity house Brent resided in. Loud music pumped out the open windows, and it got louder as the front door opened.

  “Fancy. Tavern on the Green. I’ve always wanted to eat there. You sure your parents will be cool with this?” Brent asked, stopping at the entrance to the front yard.

  Taylor doubted it, but she wasn’t going to say that. “They’ll be fine. How about we find a beer?” She started for the door, and Brent ran ahead, chatting to Scott as they entered the house.