Dudleytown

I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination or the history of creepies and crawlies in Dudleytown, or the thought of felons, dead people, curses, or the depth of darkness that encroached on us from every angle—maybe my eyes were just playing tricks on me, but I swear Shannon’s light was going out. It looked yellower. Dimmer.
A lone coyote yipped in the valley and I swallowed my voice so I wouldn’t embarrass myself by shrieking. I squeezed my fist so tight my fingers went numb.
Get a grip, Strauss.
“Now what?”
I thought Shannon was grousing at me, but the road branched and he stalled. I slammed into his back again.
“Pay attention.”
“Quit stopping right in front of me.”
Shannon’s dim light searched the ground. To the right, a path made entirely of grass and loose boulders vanished into the forest. To the left, the broken road continued through the mountains. He grunted and swung the light in an arc. “How many roads are up here?”
“I think this is it. Plus the hiking trails, but those have been closed for years.”
Nailed crookedly to a tree was a No Trespassing sign, a Road Closed sign and a threatening informative notice that violators would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.
Someone had spray painted a penis on it.
“Seventy-five bucks for trespassing.” Shannon spat on the ground. “He must have hit his head pretty hard to come this way because I don’t have seventy-five bucks to chase him. I don’t have ten bucks to chase him.”
“Get over it. Do you see any cops? It’s not like we’re going to get a ticket for trespassing.” No. We were going to jail for hit and run, driving under the influence, assault with a vehicular weapon and trespassing.
Jail was not going to look good on my résumé.