The Soul Hunter Read Free

It was a knock of sorts. More of a thump, actually. Or a clunk.
    I heard a car pulling away from the house. Maybe I’d missed UPS or something. Maybe it was a pre-birthday present!
    Twinkling with anticipation, I threw on a robe and scooted to the front door, checking the peephole.
    I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door.
    Something slid across the wood and smacked heavily onto the floor of the entryway, catching my baby toe under its end.
    I let out a little scream—a mixture of pain and indignation—and looked down to see what had fallen into my house and onto my foot.
    It was an ax.
    I couldn’t see it clearly against the hardwood, so I reached down and picked it up, then flipped on the light.
    My hands were red. Why were my hands red?
    I turned the ax over in my hands.
    The ax was red. Had it just been painted?
    I looked over at the light switch. A handprint was smeared in red on my wall. My handprint.
    I squinted at the blade.
    There was hair on the blade.
    I dropped the ax, my eyes widening as it thwacked heavily to the floor.
    I slid to the floor, my back against the wall.
    That ax was covered in blood.
    And that, of course, was the moment I knew I’d made my first mistake.

2

    T he first of many, it turned out. I do believe, looking back on it, that the entire episode just struck me dumb—dumb as a stump, to be exact. I just sat there, rooted to that floor, my front door standing wide open, the cold night air rushing in around me.
    Eventually, I did manage to lean over and stare at the ax, this time being careful not to touch anything. I could see my handprints on the handle, perfectly imprinted where I’d grabbed it.
    I peered at the blade again, squinting at the little tangle of hair. The hairs were short—maybe four inches long—mangled like Brillo and stuck to the jagged edge of the blade. The hair looked to be a bright auburn red. A white chip of something clung to the blade. A rush of nausea hit me.
    The slam of a car door and footsteps on the sidewalk shook me out of my stupor. I scrambled to my feet, bracing myself against the wall as I stood, leaving another angry smear on the pale yellow paint. I slammed the door shut, locked it, and slapped the light switch off.
    I leaned against the door, breathing hard, my heart knocking against my ribs, my brain screaming at me.
Idiot
, it screamed.
Run
.
    The footsteps stopped on my front porch.
    I held my breath.
    “Dylan?”
    I squeezed my eyes shut.
    The doorknob rattled.
    “Dylan!” he said again, sharply this time.
    I reached down and grabbed the ax, stepping slowly away from the door.
    He knocked. Loudly. “I know you’re in there. Open the door.”
    I finally recognized the voice.
Idiot
, my brain said to me again.
    “David?” I said out loud.
    “Dylan?”
    “Is that you?”
    “Of course it’s me. Let me in.” He rattled the doorknob again.
    “Is anyone out there?”
    “I am. I’m out here. Let me in.”
    “Are you alone?”
    “Of course I’m alone. What do you think, I brought a date? I’m here to pick you up.”
    “Is anyone in the yard?”
    “I am. I’m in the yard. Let me in.”
    “I’m not opening the door—not until you check.”
    “No one is out here, Dylan. It’s just me. Open the door. It’s, like, ten degrees out.”
    “Go look on the sides of the house. And in the back. And check behind the Burkes’ bushes.”
    I waited while he walked around and searched the yard.
    “All clear, Sugar Pea. Come on, babe. Open the door. I’m freezing out here.”
    I shifted the ax to my left hand and opened the door.
    David stepped in and flipped on the light, sucking in a quick breath as he got a look at me.
    “Sweet Moses,” he said, and began to move toward me.
    I backed up and raised the ax with both hands, stupid and wild with fear. I must have made a strange apparition. My white bathrobe was smeared with blood. My hands were smeared withblood. My wall and light switch were smeared with blood.
    He stopped and held his