DAILY ENTRY 18
Restless Spirits
"Okay," says Shane, "I'm here. Do whatever you want with me."
The night is dark and the shadows are rimed with ice out here in the forest. Shane McNamara stands defeated, hunched in an old overcoat, his haunted eyes little more than black beads withdrawn deep into his skull. He hasn't slept for days. Hasn't eaten. It's a wonder he can hold himself upright in the bitter winter wind that slices through the trees to assail him.
There is a low rumbling, deep in the ground, deeper than most human senses could detect. It sounds like feeding, and in a way that is exactly what it is. The Ridge is awakening, and it is hungry for blood and souls. Shane knows this, perhaps better than anyone. He knows the truth that lurks beneath all the lies and subterfuge; he has spoken to the victims and he knows their pain as their lost spirits are slowly devoured, down there in the earth and the darkness. There have been so many of them recently, thrashing, screaming, reaching out to him. Orville, Hank, Vincent, Ted... and, of course, Shannon.
"What are you waiting for?" Shane whispers, his eyes closed. "I'm here. I came. I'm ready to listen now."
In response, the wind sighs and the shadows shift... and then, in the black, there is a sudden rush of silver-white, glittering like ice and rain.
Pain, the spirits breathe. So many voices, all crying in unison. We suffer. Help us.
"I'm trying. Tell me what to do."
Danger. Danger!
Shane trembles. "I know," he says. "The whole town is in danger. But - "
You. Danger for You!
Shane's eyes flicker open. He turns when he hears footsteps close behind, and sees a large figure emerge from the trees. For a moment he is confused, but then he recognises a face that is still familiar even after all these years. "William...?"
William Dale raises the revolver in his right hand, his expression strangely sad. "I didn't want to do this," he says, quietly. "Not to you. We were brothers. But you were a part of it, kid, even if you didn't really understand. I'm sorry."
His finger tightens on the trigger...
...just as the white drift of the forest spirits surges forward, shrieking and clawing. Banshee.
William Dale's eyes fly wide, and he fires. Twice. Then, there is only silence.
Meanwhile, across town, Walt Dakota lies in his hospital bed, listening to a heavy silence of his own - a silence interrupted by the slow click of approaching footsteps. He can barely move, but perhaps that's for the best; something inside him has already died. It's just a wonder that this moment has taken so long to arrive.
"Conrad?" Dakota murmurs. "I wondered when you'd come. Time to end it, I'm guessing. What will it be - me first, then Thwaidey? You can't cover all this up, you know. Someone will learn the truth. Josh, Jack... someone. It's over."
"Yes," comes the reply - but not in the voice Dakota was anticipating. "It's over. It was over when you did what you did to me all those months ago."
Dakota's breath catches in his chest. He wasn't expecting this. Then, the blade of the kitchen knife enters his throat and there is suddenly so much blood...
A few minutes later, Marcia Baros looks up from her desk when a shadow passes over her. She smiles.
"Well, hello stranger," she says. "If you're looking for Chareth, he's on holiday. But - "
"No," says Ann Templeton, her eyes strangely glazed. "I wasn't here for Chareth. I was visiting... someone else."
And with that she leaves without further word. Marcia frowns. Then, when she emerges from behind her desk and sees the blood splatters on the floor where Ann had just been standing, she realises that something is terribly wrong...