Jackknife (The Shivers Collection, #1)

by Joe Hill

You had to make rules for yourself, and you had to follow them, or you really were lost.

Even though he rarely wanted the walk, he was always glad for it once he got going, if only because it got him out of the house.

He longed to stab and hack his way out of a desperate situation: to hold off bullies, or wolves, or maybe a mountain lion.

One of the roots shifted and pressed against his ankle, snaking gently around it.

“That’s probably why it’s moving. The knife wounded it so it couldn’t go anywhere. Now it’s getting better.”

You know why it looks that way, don’t you? Dennis Lange asked himself. It’s not just age. That tree was fertilized with poison. The choir director was poison.