Drummer Boy: A Supernatural Thriller Read Online Free

Gwuff,” at least until Lori Stansberry laughed at him and he bloodied her nose, after which Dex never mentioned that stupid old story again. Nor did any of his classmates.
    So Dex could sink or swim on his own, nobody had a problem with that, especially Dex, but Bobby-
    “Psst.”
    Vernon Ray looked around, peering under the heavy thatch of laurel, galax, and briars and across the jumbled shelves of gray granite. But he knew the sound hadn’t come from the forest. And the cops would have bellowed, not whispered. Vernon Ray whispered in return. “Bobby?”
    “In here.”
    Confederate Christ on a battle flag, was he really dumb enough to hide in the Hole?
    Vernon Ray squinted against the afternoon sun, which had reached a low-enough angle that it slanted through the canopy, throwing a mystical, ethereal light against the leaves. By contrast, the dark slit of the crevice was as foreboding as a woman’s womb. “Where’s the cops?”
    “I dunno. The other one took off after the second shot.”
    “Come on out of there,” Vernon Ray said.
    “I can’t.”
    “Why the hell not?” Vernon Ray strained his ears, but all he heard was the caw of a solitary crow and the wind crawling low in the pines. He expected the cops to jump out from cover at any moment, or maybe the foreign store owner with his incessant, rapid-fire vexation. He couldn’t believe Bobby would corner himself like that. Maybe his pal was waiting it out, hoping to ride the darkness until sundown, then sneak down the mountain and head for home. A high price for a lousy cigarette.
    “You gotta see this,” Bobby said, and it sounded like he had moved deeper into the mouth of the tunnel, because the echo died with a stifled sigh and Vernon Ray had trouble hearing him.
    “I’m not going in there,” Vernon Ray said. “That’s the
Hole
, for crying out loud.”
    Bobby didn’t answer and Vernon Ray took a reluctant step closer. He was now maybe fifteen feet from the opening, closer than Bobby had been earlier when Dex had urged him to throw the stone. Even from that distance, he could smell the Stygian stench of the cave as its clammy, insidious air oozed around him and embraced him, pulling him closer.
    Depending on which version of the myth you believed, The Jangling Hole was either an inviting refuge or a sinister maw that would swallow all who entered. According to his dad, the Hole had been a Civil War hideout for deserters of both camps, a gang of raiders brought together by a schizophrenic Yankee colonel. In that cramped darkness, there was no room for conflict, as neither the Confederacy nor the Union stirred much loyalty among the isolated mountaineers, who had little use for government of any kind. Apparently no artifacts had ever been found there, so the legend was mostly written off as the wistful folly of those who found the past more alluring than the bloody, televised tempest of their own times. People like Capt. Davis.
    But lack of evidence had never killed a good legend. The cave had earned its name from reports of clinking tools and the jangling of knives against mess kits and canteens. Vernon Ray, who had read plenty of Weird War and Tales From The Crypt comics, figured the cave was as likely to be haunted as any other piece of ground, and Civil War battle sites were notorious for their paranormal activity.
    He’d been plenty curious, but never brave enough to enter. Until now.
    The thick air seeped from the cave’s mouth and blended with the healthy, green atmosphere of the forest. He wondered how Bobby could even breathe in there, much less move around without a flashlight.
    He raised his voice, figuring the risk of cops was lower than the risk of getting closer to the cave. “Hey, Bobby!”
    No answer. His pal had disappeared like Alice down the zombie rabbit hole.
    Okay, Straight-A Brain, give me something useful here besides algebra functions and the roster of Gettysburg commanders.
    He had a few choices. He could go find the