What Lies Beneath the Pines: The Courage to Save a Life

By Laryssa Jordyn McCardy

Seventeen-year-old Rayne reluctantly moves to a rural town. Behind her new home, there is a deep forest, partially untouched by human contact. Most nights, Rayne hears eerie cries through her bedroom window. When she investigates the noise in the dilapidated wood, what she finds is unfathomable.

Soon, this discovery will threaten to disturb the delicate internal balance of her life. She will have to determine where her loyalty lies, but the true question remains:

What lies beneath the pines?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: May 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490832234

Laryssa Jordyn McCardy

Laryssa Jordyn McCardy has written several novellas, short stories, and poems. She aspires to share insightful stories of the influence of identity in Christ through genres of fantasy, suspense, and mystery. McCardy is currently a college student and resides in Ontario, Canada, with her loving family.

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Copyright © 2014 Laryssa Jordyn McCardy.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Cover art and author photograph © Gary Van Netten Photography

Scripture taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc. Use of either trademark for the offering of goods or services requires the prior written consent of Biblica US, Inc.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-3222-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-3224-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-3223-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014905797

WestBow Press rev. date: 05/01/2014

Contents

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

About the Author

Notes

Endnotes

To Mom and Dad.

You were there fighting for me from the beginning. You gave me life and a future and nurtured my dreams beyond mere expectation. I cannot thank you enough.

I love you.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my family and friends, who were supportive during the creation of this story. I would specifically like to thank:

God, for giving me life—or else this story would not be possible.

Mom and Dad

Auntie Joanne and Auntie Khrystine

Aldo and Letitzia Gutierrez

Dawna and Brad Toews

Gary Van Netten, for the excellent front cover and author photographs

Dr. James MacKinnon

Uncle Wayne

Beverly, Derek, and Jeffrey Gladden

Carlene James

Winnie

Pastor Aaron and Holly Johnson

Bonnie G

Hazel-Anne Francis

Krista Johnston

William Combs

Don Ball

Laura Kirby-McIntosh

Special thanks to:

Heather Evans

Corrina Mahoney

All the educators that have helped me develop my craft

Publishing Team of WestBow Press

Thank you so very much for being not only a part of my life but a part of this journey in the creation of this story. You all have helped me grow and stood by me through hard times in my life. I couldn’t have done it without you!

God bless.

"For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well."

Psalm 139:13-14 (NIV)

Prologue

As we near the lake in the pure light of dawn, I feel emptiness over my heart. I miss my parents every day they aren’t with me. At least I have Teddy and Mama. Mama—she was the one who helped me when I was lost. Her white hair glows in the moonlight. I remember the first time I met Chari, too, the one with the onyx eyes. His hair was just as dark. He was in charge of everyone until sandy-brown-haired Pokka became Alpha. Pokka hates me, always laughs and howls because I look different … if he only knew what I could do.

When I was little kid, before I ran with my brothers and sisters, my mother used to sing me this song on stormy nights, like the storm that is welling up in the sky right now.

For the sake of the sparrow,

For the sake of the child,

For the sake of the meadow,

The sun will come.

In the dawn of the morning,

On the west front, still

Roaming,

My heart will weep

When time hath dawn—

My eyes not sleep when

Dawn returns.

I don’t remember the rest of it, but I remember Mommy’s blue eyes shimmering in the low firelight, like a butterfly trapped in a glass jar. It also gave me comfort to know that some sparrow would help me someday. I just don’t know when.

Chapter 1

Good-bye, dear city! I’ll miss your traffic lights, loud pedestrians, and concrete jungle. I don’t want to move, but I must. No matter how hard I tried, Mom and Dad just wouldn’t let up. However, I’ll come back to you soon, just you wait …

Help me with those boxes, will you, Rayne? Dad says on the front porch, interrupting my telepathic farewell to the only place I’ve ever known as home. We’re moving away, where not all of my family will be. My father was given a grant for his prestigious work in psychology. He’ll be researching the effect nature has on the human mind, challenging the theses of Freud, Maslow, and Jean-Marc Itard, among others—all great minds with one goal: to understand the human intellect and its ever-growing complexity, hence their field of profession. Thus, we’re moving to a more mindful surrounding—the country, less smog, more earthbound land, untouched and tranquil. As we put the last few belongings in the truck—an old wooden chest full of clothes I used to play dress-up with—I look back at the house, empty and alone.

Mom wraps an arm around my shoulder. Don’t worry; we’ll come back soon. When your father is done with his … work. I nod petulantly, not wanting to get into it. My mom used to be a youth counselor for our church, so she often asks: How are you feeling? You want to talk about it? My absolute favorite is: How does that make you feel? I have a feeling that she’s about to drop one of her many questions like an atomic bomb, exploding my fragile adolescent mind. But as we wait for Dad to start the car, she doesn’t ask me any questions. She only smiles weakly before saying a quick prayer of safety and gets in the car with me trailing behind her.

Three hours, two washroom breaks, and one nap later, we arrive at our destination. Willow Glen is a small town with a population of approximately 1,039; including the three of us. My husky, Skippy, lays a paw on my lap, branding his gray-blue eyes into my sage ones. I pat his head softly as he licks his nose. Despite my homeschooling, I’ve made many friends outside our extended family, all of whom I’m now abandoning. My cousins, my aunts and uncles—we all lived within minutes of each other, and now I’ve left them as well. Now I live several miles away with no one to talk to besides my parents and Skippy. But Skippy has always been so calm and loyal to me, so I guess it’s not that bad … oh wait—it is that bad! As we pull up to our new driveway, Skippy cocks his head to the side. I follow his gaze to see him staring into the forest behind our house. In fact, as I look at the entire landscape, it appears as though tall trees are swallowing up my new and humble abode, creating canopies of emerald and jade overhead. We begin to move boxes into the old-turned-new permanent home. Well, I wouldn’t say our new house; it’s more like an abandoned shack with chipped yellow paint and bad plumbing. Inside the house seems even ghostlier; it’s full of abandoned belongings. This old shanty was our summerhouse, and the family spent summer vacations here before I was born. We abandoned it long ago for others to take it under their wing; according to my mother it looks different—almost unrecognizable.

All the furniture is wrapped with thick white cloths, draping down to the floor. I look at the lighting fixtures above me. The ceiling is coated with at least an inch of dust. This place is a little creepy. I feel like something is crawling over my skin. Just then, there is a knock at the door. My mom opens the chestnut-colored door to find an elderly man with a tray of cookies. Well, hello there! My name is Archie. I’m your neighbor down the road, and I wanted to give you a welcome gift. The missus insisted. He thrusts the tray to my mom, who thanks him graciously.

I knew others rented the place from time to time, but I never knew someone actually lived here. So, you’ve moved into the old Hanley house, Archie says. I take it you haven’t heard the stories? The stories? What stories? Mom must be reading my mind,