Chapter 4: Lightning Wood Bargain

I handed him a Marlboro—out here, that’s worth more than a handshake. The foil crinkled as I tapped one loose and passed it over. He took it like it was the last cigarette on Earth. Out here, cigarettes are as good as currency, and I figured he’d earned it for the entertainment, if nothing else.

"Let's talk," I said, my voice lower, less certain now. Maybe I was hoping he’d say something to make it all make sense.

He glared at me, then pulled me aside, behind a battered Chevy Suburban with a back window patched up in cardboard, out of sight from the morning rush.

"Do you want to live, or do you want to die?" His gaze bored into me, dead serious.

I flicked the cigarette butt away. "Isn’t it obvious?" The question just hung there, morning haze wrapping the gas station like a shroud.

"Who wants to die if they can live?" I tried to sound tough, but my voice cracked just a little.

He handed me a chunk of wood. It was heavier than it looked, the bark rough and blackened, like it had seen one too many storms.

"If you want to live, block the car door with this. No ghost can get past it. Trust me."

He said it was lightning wood—struck by lightning, a real talisman against the worst things out there. Local legend said it could stop evil dead in its tracks, just like a silver bullet or a lucky rabbit’s foot, only this was the real deal.

I took the wood, eyeing him with suspicion. "Why not just stay home? Call in sick, binge bad TV, and pretend none of this ever happened. But something told me it wouldn’t be that easy."