Rockinghorse by William W. Johnstone Page A

neck. The boy’s eyes glowed with sadness and hate and nearly uncontrollable fury. The eyes of the rocking horse shifted, to look with something akin to love at the boy.
    Then the wavy shape of the boy changed into a mist and dissipated, vanishing, leaving only the rocking horse on the landing. Rocking slowly back and forth. Under an invisible hand.
    The horse smiled, its painted-on mouth moving in an evil semblance of a smile. The rocking horse knew the boy had not gone far.
    Ira , the horse seemed to say. Ira .
    Man and wife stopped on the steps. Lucas looked at Tracy. “Did you say something, honey?”
    She shook her head. “No. Why? What did you hear?”
    He smiled it off. “I guess nothing. My imagination, I suppose.”
    â€œCome on, old man,” she took his arm. “How about some pancakes for breakfast?”
    * * *
    â€œDad?” Jackie asked after breakfast. “Would it be all right if we,” she looked at Johnny, “go walking up the road? Maybe do a little exploring? We’ve been here a month and neither of us have left the grounds except to go with you and Mother into town.”
    Lucas looked at Tracy. “What do you think, honey?”
    â€œOh, I don’t see what harm it would do.” She met her daughter’s eyes. “Tell you what—that road’s pretty smooth; why not take your bikes?”
    â€œAll right!” they both echoed. Since arriving at the Bowers plantation, brother and sister had grown much closer. Much to Jackie’s surprise, they were even friends. Who’d have thought it?
    â€œFill your water bottles,” Tracy said. “And take a handful of cookies.”
    â€œAnd if you’re not back here by eleven-thirty,” Lucas warned them both, “we’re calling out the National Guard.”
    â€œMake sure they’re all cute soldiers,” Jackie said with a smile.
    â€œJesus,” Lucas muttered.
    â€œAnd don’t you get off the road,” Tracy added.
    â€œMaybe we should get a pencil and paper and write all this down,” Johnny said, with the smile of his that ensured no anger from his parents.
    â€œGet outta here,” Lucas joked.
    The road smoothed out into hard-packed dirt about a mile from the Bowers’s property line. The kids had not yet seen any other houses on either side of the road.
    â€œThis is weird,” Jackie said, looking around her at the timbered nothing.
    â€œWhat is?”
    â€œNo houses, fool!”
    â€œMister T, you ain’t. Who’d wanna live out here?” Johnny summed it all up with youthful feeling.
    â€œYeah, but we’ve seen that car and truck drive out of this direction a bunch of times,” Jackie said. “And they always come back. So somebody has to live up this way, right?”
    The boy looked at his wristwatch. “Well, we got lots of time before we have to think about heading back. So let’s keep on exploring. Got to be something out here.”
    Then they heard the sounds drifting toward them. The kids stopped their bicycles in the road and listened.
    â€œDogs barking,” Johnny said. “More than one.” He cut his eyes. “Look!”
    They both spotted the rutted, grass-covered old road leading off toward the north, into the dark timber. They would have missed the road had they not been looking directly at it.
    Jackie glanced at Johnny and correctly read her brother’s thoughts. “The folks said not to get off the road.”
    â€œYeah. But they didn’t say which road, did they?”
    â€œYou’re sneaky, Johnny. Real sneaky. That sign,” she said, pointing, “says ‘No Trespassing,’ or are you retarded?”
    â€œBlow it out your ear. So, are you afraid to go in there?”
    Her reply was to stick out her tongue at him and to point her bike up the old road. Johnny followed her.
    â€œLet’s leave our bikes here,” Jackie suggested when the