by Ike Hamill
At one point, Darren said that it might be the family’s duty to take themselves out in order to kill the thing that was troubling them. I guess that he thinks it’s attached to them and he’s worried that it could spread. In order to save the rest of the town, Darren thinks that his own family might have to go.
The kid swore Ben to secrecy, but it was eating Ben up. He was thinking about going to the cops when I showed up to talk to him. I told him that I would go with him at the end of the week. I don’t have any information to add, but I can at least be there by his side, I guess.
In weather news, we had a decent wind storm the other night. A bunch of trees near where the Carrolls lived came down. I drive by there sometimes so I stopped to look. I don’t know what was keeping the trees upright. The roots all looked like they were burned back from the ends. There was some botanist over there and she said that it was a bad case of rot. But, according to her, the infection that caused the rot appeared to have run its course and that the compromised trees were likely all down. She pointed out the pattern of the infection. It was a cluster that ran from the Carrolls all the way down through the cemetery and ended at the bottom of the hill where that big oak burned down.
Go figure.
Hope you’re well. I look forward to hearing more about your town.
Take care,
Brett
July 24th, 1977
Dear Brett,
That’s troubling news about the Cornish family. I hope everything works out for them.
I’m really glad you’re going to help out Ben Trout. It sounds like that Cornish guy really needs help sorting stuff out.
This town really goes crazy for the Fourth of July. I thought I was going to miss the parade back home, but I was too busy to miss anything. The restaurant I work for had to cater about a dozen big events. We had to stage out all the cooking perfectly so we could fill the orders. Going in, I thought we were going to have to branch out and rent space from another kitchen, but I was wrong. There are a ton of efficiencies that can be squeezed out with the right staff. It’s like a complicated dance. Everyone has to know precisely where to move and when, and they all have to stick to the schedule. If you’ve ever worked in a restaurant, you’ll know that the staff are more akin to artists than engineers. Getting all those free spirits on the same page at the same time is tough, but so rewarding when it happens.
Socially, one of the women I met from the support group has asked me to go in on an apartment with her. I had been renting a room. That was fine, but I didn’t really have my own space. In this apartment, Cheryl and I each have a big room and bathroom on opposite ends.
She’s nice, although the guy she is dating is like a limp noodle. I guess she wanted to make sure she wasn’t dominated again, but even she admits that she’s not really attracted to this guy. She likes big, burly types but she is gun-shy at the moment.
Now I’m rambling!
My mom wants me to come home for Thanksgiving. I told her I would think about it, but I’m not. I have no plans to return to Maine for a long, long time. They can come visit me out here if they really miss me that much. Same goes for my brother.
Take care,
Nicky
August 1st, 1977
Dear Nicky,
I had a letter to send to you, but I ripped it up when I finally got a reply from you. Bad news about Darren Cornish. It’s almost too horrible to write. Based on what Ben told them, the police couldn’t really do much. It was too much hearsay, I guess. One of the officers who knew Darren went out to check in on him, just as a friendly kind of thing.
I guess what he found was pretty disturbing. As reported, Darren was spending a lot of time up in the attic, watching the trees out back. He had spotlights set up so he could even watch at night. There was a platform set up so Darren could watch and lay prone with a rifle set up on a tripod.
In Korea, Darren had been in the Marines. They trained him as a sniper. The cop thought that maybe he was having some kind of crackup where he thought he was back in the war. But the more he talked to Darren, the more reasonable he sounded. There was something out back in the woods, an animal or whatever, and Darren was protecting his house. Technically, there wasn’t a law being broken.
The cop did manage to convince the wife to take her kids and get out of there. That was a good thing.
Nobody really knows what happened next.
For whatever reason, the family came back. Some people say that she was only telling the police what they wanted to hear and she had no intention of leaving Darren there alone. Other people say that Darren called on the phone to where the wife was staying and begged her to come back because he had gotten better.
Like I said, nobody really knows.
The only real information was in Darren’s note.
He said that his family was turning sour because of an evil spirit. He said that his family used to bring joy to each other and the world, but lately all they brought was pain. “We exist only to inflict pain and suffering on each other. We have to reset.” His handwriting wasn’t great. I saw it as “reset,” but other people swear it’s “rest.”
Because Ben and I went in to talk to them about Darren, they made us come in and give handwriting samples. After we were cleared, they showed us the note that Darren supposedly left. Apparently, the handwriting didn’t match Darren’s either.
The whole thing is a confusing mess. I heard that the autopsy found that Darren had a massive brain tumor. Then, someone else said there wasn’t enough left of his head to tell for sure. And, as we know, the county coroner has had his head up his ass for decades.
They found all the bodies in the attic, where Darren’s sniper nest was set up. Someone had gouged out the eyes of the four boys before they were shot dead. The flesh under the fingernails suggests that it was the mother who did that horrible work. Everyone agrees that Darren pulled the trigger himself.
I’ll include the newspaper article in here as well, but they don’t go into much detail.
I know this is a horrible thing to read, and I’m sorry to reach out over the miles and inflict this on you. I have a strange premonition that you won’t have any idea why I’m telling you this. Maybe I’m wrong, but from your last letter, it sounds like maybe you’ve put a lot of this place behind you. If that’s true, I suppose I’m happy for you. You’re far enough away that this place can’t get to you, so you might as well forget it.
Now I’m starting to wonder if I should tear up this letter too.
If you get this, please understand that I really pondered whether or not I should sent it. Who am I to tether you to this tragic series of events?
Wishing you well,
Brett
August 20th, 1977
Dear Brett,
Don’t talk nonsense. Good or bad, I’m always ready to hear news from home. Maine is a cold state with a long dark winter, but the spring and summer more than make up for it. I know that any bad news will be supplanted with good news sooner or later, and I’m glad you’re making your way through.
I’m struggling to remember whether I ever met Darren Cornish. Certainly a lot of people came through Dottie’s when I worked there, but they were just a collection of names connected to orders. I really only had relationships with a few. Now, my customers don’t even have names. My only close contacts are the people who chop, cook, and serve.
I wish I had saved your old letters. I would look back to see if you had mentioned Darren before. I think I did know one Cornish in school. Did they live out near the Taylor farm?
Your story somewhat reminds me of what happened to Eric’s family. My mother told me that they don’t suspect Eric anymore. That makes me happy. I know that he wouldn’t be capable of that kind of thing. She said that a lot of people think that the fire was a total accident and that Officer Libby died trying to rescue the family from the blaze. Like you said, nobody really trusts that coroner anyway. He could easily be wrong about the cause of death on the remain
s that were all burned up.
I hate myself for writing this, but I think I’ve always assumed that their youngest kid had something to do with everything. If you think about it, he was gone for, what, a year or more. Then, the very day that he comes back, everyone dies in a house fire? Makes me wonder where that kid was and what he was doing all that time. There was always something about Wendell that was off.
Ugh. I don’t even want to think about it.
We have two parties this week and I haven’t been able to find enough carrots. That’s my life right now. I’m trying to figure out who to call about getting a few more crates of carrots. Back at Dottie’s, you would have thought that everyone in the whole state was allergic to the things. Out here, they want to put them in everything.
Oh well. Hope your summer is great. I miss those hot nights where we would just wait for the wind to turn so the air would be cooled by the river. It always felt like the whole town was holding their breath and then everyone would just sigh all at once.
Much love,
Nicky
August 27th, 1977
Dear Nicky,
I suspect you already threw out my last letter. I think that’s for the best.
Please do me one favor. Please don’t throw this one out. In your past, there’s a version of Nicky that would understand why I’m sending you this. I’m not asking you to try to remember, but for her sake, do as I say. Pin this to your wall and remember it.
You said that you planned to never come back. I beg you to remember that.
Stay away.
-Brett
Ike Hamill
May, 2019
Topsham, Maine
About Stay Away
Now and then, I like to read a book where everything goes wrong and the good guys lose. I hope you do too. When I sat down to write this book, I was thinking about my own childhood. Back then, I’m not sure that life was as precious. That was one of the things I tried to capture. So many missing children back then were labeled “runaways” and I wanted to paint both sides of that picture.
Stay Away shares one or two important elements with another book of mine, Fiero’s Pizza. If you haven’t read that one yet, I hope you’ll take a look. It’s one of my favorites. There are still some mysteries in this area that used to be called Pejepscot. Between Stay Away and Fiero’s Pizza, we’ve only scratched the surface. One of my oldest books has a fairly detailed interaction with the Lady at Prayer Rock. I wonder if she’s still out there somewhere.
This book meant a lot to me, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
All my best,
Ike
