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  “So there we were, staring at hundreds of mummified warriors, and a priest, and the king himself, all of them ready to fill the museums back home. Before we set out, we agreed we wouldn’t take bones if we found any, because we hadn’t brought the right equipment to catalogue or carry them—but once we were there, once the bones of the king were in front of us, things changed. We all knew it was the chance of a lifetime.

  “One of our team members was a preacher’s kid. He had a whole backpack full of lamps and cups. He got as far as the entrance to the tomb with it, pushing past the spider webs and headed for the sunlight, when he reared up and doubled over. Said he felt sick, like he hadn’t eaten in a week. When he stood up, he was white. He shuddered and said he wouldn’t take the artifacts from the tomb, that it wasn’t right. He dropped his pack on the ground and pushed through the little hole in the stones, running outside and swatting tomb dust from his clothing like he was on fire.

  “I grabbed his pack and carried it out for him. In the light, he was sweaty and shaking. He kept saying he wouldn’t take it and we shouldn’t, either. He said it was wrong, and he couldn’t explain it better than that. He felt like it would carry something bad with it if we took it with us, and he wouldn’t be part of it. After some negotiating, we agreed to take some artifacts but not touch the bodies—as originally decided—and the preacher’s kid wouldn’t take anything himself. We let him stay outside while the rest of us returned to the tomb, but as I traveled down the narrow passage, I knew we’d be stuffing our backpacks full. We took the bones of the king and as much other stuff as we could carry. Once I got back outside again, I listened to his warnings. I stood with my back to the forest, so when he talked to me, he didn’t see the others pushing through the little hole in the stones. They took their fat packs straight to the mules. We couldn’t resist. It was a showstopper, a draw for the museum that would have them lined up for miles, on display for all the world to see.”

  I sighed. “But . . . when we got back, things were different. The bones went on display in the museum with everything else. They were historic items, but they had also been a man, and he had a family. People who loved him. I was only in college, but my grandpa had died a year earlier, and I couldn’t stand the thought of somebody putting him in a glass case under bright lights, with a line of strangers coming by to gawk at him while they stuffed their mouths full of popcorn. The bones of the king weren’t a painting or a sculpture. He was a person who deserved the dignity of being put to rest, not—he shouldn’t be on display, selling popcorn and t-shirts.

  The Jemwaju, Chapter 4: The Sideshow

  “What happened to him?” Mickey asked. “Was he cursed?”

  “The reverend’s kid?” I shifted on the log, stretching my legs. “He quit the program when we got back. Ended up going to law school and becoming an attorney—so, yeah, he definitely got cursed by it.”

  Some of the boys laughed; some didn’t quite get it and laughed because their friends laughed. Such were the ways of ten-year-olds.

  “Anyway, we came back, put it all on display like we had arranged to, and the people just lined up. The crowds stretched around the block. But a few days later the bones got stolen. The display shut down.”

  I pointed to the thick trees. “My parents used to have a cabin by this lake. A little place we used in summertime, for camping, like you guys are doing. Some people say the preacher’s kid stole the bones from the museum and had his friend drive him up here one weekend so he could give the king a proper burial in the woods.”

  The crackle of the fire was the only noise. The boys sat leaning forward, stone faced.

  “Maybe one day somebody will find that grave again and take the bones back to where they belong—but maybe not. Nobody knew where the preacher’s kid buried them. But I always thought moving them again might make things worse, and desecrate the wrong even more.” I glanced around, staring at the black silhouette of the distant tree line. “Until then, these woods remain a strange place. Hikers say they’ll sometimes see a fire burning in the woods where there’s no cabin, and when they check the next day, they can’t find any sign of a fire. No charred embers, no ash pile, nothing. I’d say it’s the high priest, the Jemwaju, looking for his king, trying to guide him to the other side. But a warrior priest might be looking to avenge the wrong that was done to his king and his soldiers.” I pointed to my left. “They say the king’s spirit is out there someplace, and if you go into the woods on a dark night, you can feel their presence, just like I did when I was in that tomb.”

  Tommy swallowed hard. “How do you know what it feels like. Mr. Brett?”

  I shook my head, staring at the trees. “I can’t really explain that. You just feel it. Like I said, it’s a hollow feeling, like your stomach is empty but you aren’t hungry, you’re . . . a little afraid, a little brave, and a little ashamed. That’s how I’d describe it. You feel it, and if you stay in there, in the woods—in the presence of that energy—you feel it getting bigger inside you. I left the tomb before it got too big that first time. I just felt like—no, I knew—that if I didn’t leave right then, it would overtake me and something terrible would happen.”

  The Jemwaju, Chapter 5: The Jemwaju

  None of the kids moved from the campfire for a good twenty minutes, and even when one did, it was just because he had to pee. He made one of the others go with him, and neither of them strayed too far away from the light of the fire.

  “Boys,” Stan stood, stretching. “I wasn’t going to let you tell each other any ghost stories tonight for fear that you’d all end up begging to sleep inside the RV with Brett.” He scratched his lower back. “But I think our friend might have done it to himself.”

  Luis shook his head. “I’m not scared.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Okay, then.” Stan headed to his tent. “Water the weeds if ya gotta, then let’s all pack it in.”

  “Goodnight, you guys.” I got up and brushed the pine bark off my backside. “If it gets too sca—uh, if it’s too hot or the ground’s too lumpy for any of you, there’s plenty of room on the floor of my camper for sleeping bags, okay?”

  “Buddy system, troops,” Stan said. “At all times. Even if you get up to pee, take somebody with you. Right?”

  Their young heads bobbed as they tended the fire and headed for their tents. “Okay.”

  “Get some rest,” I said. “Mr. Stan’s going to be taking down a lot of trees tomorrow, so we’ll have a lot of cuttings to clear.”

  Luis smiled. “And then we get to go swimming?”

  “We might even go swimming first. Now get to sleep.”

  “Mr. Brett?” Mickey stood, kneading his hands. “Could we go there sometime? To the jungle place you went? Like, when we’re older and in college, like you were?”

  “Go see the king and the Jemwaju?” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Okay,” Stan called. “Bedtime, scouts. Lots to do tomorrow, so get in your tents and stay there.”

  A low rumble of distant thunder rolled across the sky. Stan glanced at me.

  “Unless it starts lightning.” I patted the RV door. “Then everybody comes inside. You’re scouts, but we don’t need you going home to mom and dad as charcoal briquettes.”

  I peered at the night sky. The thunder was a long way off, and hadn’t repeated. It wasn’t windy—a sure sign of coming rain. The storm probably wasn’t headed our way.

  But deep in Florida woodlands, you never know what the night might bring.

  * * * * *

  The lightning didn’t wake me. Well, it did, but only partly. The RV bounced and shook as six scouts and their chaperone boarded. I rolled over and opened my eyes in the dim light. A flashlight shined in my eyes. “Hey!”

  Its beam went downward to the floor. “Sorry, Mr. Brett,” Mickey whispered.

  Lightning flashed again as the rain batted my window. Some people s
leep good when it’s raining. They find it relaxing.

  I don’t.

  The boys piled in quickly, happy to be out of the storm, but it was cramped quarters in the camper. Stan took the couch; sleeping bags filled the floor.

  I propped myself up on one elbow, scratching my abdomen through my t-shirt. “We all good?”

  “I think so, Brett.” Stan surveyed the floor full of sleeping bags. “Scouts, what do we say?”

  They replied in unison. “Thank you, Mr. Brett.”

  “Okay.” I rolled over, staring at the white bursts that lit the distant trees until I fell asleep again.

  It only seemed like sixty seconds before I was awakened. Someone was moving around and bumping into things. I rolled up onto my elbow again and peered into the dark RV. The silhouette of a ten-year-old became visible—Mickey.

  “What’s up, Mick?”

  “I need to use the bathroom, but I tripped over someone.”

  “That’s going to be kind of a constant hazard tonight.” I nodded toward a slender door on the left. “It’s right there, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the bathroom door shut, light flashed outside again. I laid my head down, wondering if I’d stay asleep or if Mickey would wake me as he stumbled back to his empty sleeping bag. Stan was out of harm’s way, snoring on the couch, but there had been sleeping scouts to maneuver around to get back to the empty sleeping bag in the middle of the line, or the one by the door.

  I bolted upright. There were two empty bags.

  The RV toilet made its short, gurgly flush, and the skinny little bathroom door opened.

  “Hey, Mick,” I whispered. “I count two empty sleeping bags. Who are we missing?”

  “Tommy.”

  “Is he in the bathroom?” It was a ridiculous question. Two kids couldn’t fit in there at the same time. One adult barely fit. Maybe he went outside to pee.

  “He said he wanted to see the Jemwaju.”

  “What the—” I slapped my palm to my face, sliding it over my chin. “When was this?”

  “When I got up to use the bathroom, he went out.”

  “And you let him? What happened to the buddy system?”

  Mickey shrugged. “I thought he was only going out for a minute.”

  “He’s lucky he didn’t fall and break his butt bone. Those steps are slippery in the rain. What made him think the Jemwaju was here?”

  “You said it was.”

  “Right. Okay.” I kicked off my covers and stood up, pulling a pair of cargo shorts over my boxers. In the near-dark, I weaved my way past the sleeping children and managed to get to the front door without stepping on anyone. The last sleeping bag was empty, all right. Its unzipped opening was inches away from where I’d parked my muddy shoes. He didn’t even bunch the bag up to make it look like someone was still inside it.

  I put my hand on the tiny doorknob and gave it a twist, hoping to see Tommy standing on the other side.

  A gust of warm, humid air met me as I opened the door. The rain had stopped, and the night sky cast a blue tone over the still, black landscape. A thin line of grey stretched skyward from the remnants of our fire.

  I pushed the door open the rest of the way and scanned the campsite. Tommy wasn’t there.

  My heart pounding, I jumped down to the cool, soggy grass. In the distance, a tiny light moved between the trees. Like a firefly, it came and went, growing smaller and then disappearing.

  “Tommy!” I shouted, cupped my hand around my mouth. “Tommy!”

  A hollow feeling grabbed my insides, like my stomach was suddenly empty; a little afraid, and a little brave. I pushed the feeling aside and stared into the woods.

  Courageous little bugger, that Tommy. I don’t think I would have been that adventurous at his age.

  I threw open the RV door to grab my shoes.

  Mickey’s wide eyes met me. “Are you going after Tommy?”

  “Yeah.” I dropped one of my sneakers and jammed my foot into it. “He’s just over in that line of trees. It’ll only take a minute to get him.”

  “Okay.” Mickey leaped out of the camper and turned on his flashlight. “I’m ready.”

  “What? Oh, no, no, no.” I put my hand on his shoulder, turning him around. “You stay here. I’ll go get him.”

  “Buddy system.” He turned again, facing me. “We’re supposed to go in pairs.”

  “Yeah, but . . .” I pulled my other shoe on, glancing at the woods. “That’s for you guys, and I need to hurry.”

  Mickey shook his head. “Mr. Stan says it’s a rule. In the woods or swimming or anything, we’re always—”

  “What’s going on?” Another young voice cut through the night air.

  “Me and Mr. Brett are going after Tommy. He’s in the woods looking for the Jemwaju.”

  Leo bounded down the steps. “Oh, cool! I’m coming.”

  I grabbed his arm. “No, Leo—”

  Thumps and bumps came from inside the camper. “I wanna see the Jemwaju, too!”

  The scouts spilled out of the RV, flashlight beams bouncing everywhere.

  “No, you’re not . . . it’s not—” I put my hand to my head. “You’re all staying here. Get back inside.”

  Stan thrust his head through the doorway. “What’s going on?”

  “Tommy’s over in those woods looking for the Jemwaju,” I said. “And we have a whole scout troop wanting to go rogue and run after him.”

  “Guess we’ll have to go get him.” Stan nodded. “Troop, fall in. Fast.”

  “Fall in!” Mickey shouted.

  The boys lined up in front of the RV. Disappearing for a moment, Stan emerged with a flashlight and his shoes. “Mickey, do a buddy check. Move it.”

  The kids counted off and slapped each other on the back, reassembling to stand next to their designated partner for this outing. Leo put his hand on Luke’s shoulder; Wyatt put his on Evan’s. Mickey stood at the end of the row, alone.

  “Mick, you’ll partner with Mr. Brett and me for this search. Everybody else, stay with your buddy and stick together. Do an equipment check.”

  “Look.” I leaned over to Stan, whispering. “Wouldn’t it be faster if I just went by myself?”

  “Probably. But if you don’t find him, we’ll wish we’d have all searched.” He stared at the tree line. “Right now, that boy’s on a fun little adventure. In five minutes, he’s going to be scared out of his mind, lost in the dark woods, panicked because he can’t find his way back . . . He might even get hurt. Half a dozen flashlights will be a lot easier for him to spot.”

  I nodded. I wasn’t forgetting whose story launched him into the woods in the first place. “Okay, you sold me.”

  Stan raced toward the black wall of the forest, the boys hurrying behind him. He shouted Tommy’s name every ten seconds or so, and the whole troop listening for their friend to yell back at them.

  “I saw his flashlight right around there.” I shined my light on a gap in the tree line. “He went in that way.”

  “Tommy’s a smart scout.” Stan nodded. “Wonder if he thought to mark his trail?” He rushed ahead through the tall grass, calling out. “Tommy!”

  A high-pitched scream pierced the still night.

  Adrenaline shot through me. “That came from the trees.”

  Up ahead, the woods burst into light, like a great fire had erupted.

  “Brett, stay here with the kids!” Stan sprinted through the brush. “Tommy!”

  Mickey was on his heels. “I’m coming, too. He’s my partner.”

  “No!” Stan shouted. “Troop, stay back!”

  The boys broke ranks, running after them. “Tommy!”

  I raced across the grass and through the brush, the darkness letting twigs and vines slap at my face. Ahead, the light grew brighter. The thick trees prevented me from seeing too much, just glimpses of light as I ran. Tree after tree went by, but I didn’t seem to get closer.

  My legs churned over the muddy floor of th
e forest. The dense brush widened, forming a path of pine needles and oak leaves that glowed in the darkness. At the end, a huge bonfire etched its way through the night, illuminating a clearing.

  Gasping, I slowed my pace and put my hand out to stop the boys from racing ahead.

  The clearing was thirty or forty feet wide, and bright as day with flames from a huge fire. Glowing orange sparks drifted upward, past the treetops, disappearing into the night sky. Heat radiated outward like the sun on a warm day at the beach.

  I squinted, holding a hand up to block the light as I scanned the clearing. Tommy wasn’t there.

  The rest of the troop came down the path and into the clearing.

  “Where is he?” Stan shouted. “Where’s Tommy?”

  I shook my head, keeping my voice low. “I don’t know.” Patting Mickey on the shoulder, I pointed to the ground. “Stay here.”

  He nodded, his eyes wide and his feet frozen.

  I inched closer to the big flames. They were nearly as tall as I was, but there was no wood or brush burning at the base, just a flame rising from the forest floor.

  A low moan emerged from the center of the flame, echoing off the trees and filling the night sky. My stomach lurched. I backed away from the flame, making sure my young partner came with me.

  Faint drum beats followed. I looked around, holding my breath. The light from the fire bounced off the trees, making them glow orange-white. Beyond them, only blackness.

  The drumming grew louder, coming from the fire itself. The flames grew taller, turning white and then yellow, filling the clearing with light.