The same went for Arlene Watson, proprietor of Arlene’s Beauty Shop. She always laughed and smiled whenever she saw Skippy waving on the corner, but during that time—the Bad Time, he’d decided to call it—Arlene didn’t laugh, and she certainly didn’t smile.
He remembered overhearing a couple of old men passing the time on the bench outside Mr. Fugate’s Barber Shop. Skippy couldn’t remember their names, but he remembered what they’d said because their words frightened him:
“Can’t believe they’re letting those kids go to our school.”
“Hell of a thing, ain’t it? Those six freaks going to Stauford?”
“It’s horseshit, is what it is. You know what I heard? One of them kid’s grandma’s a witch.”
“A witch? Bull. You’re pullin’ my leg.”
“Hand to Jesus, I ain’t. She lives in that big ol’ house out near Layne Camp. Heard all sorts of stories from folks, sayin’ they heard chanting and seen weird lights in the windows and shit.”
“You think it’s a coincidence there’s six of them kids?”
“Nah sir, I don’t. Six is the number of the devil. Who knows what Masters was up to out in the woods. Summonin’ the devil into our little town, that’s what I think. And those ‘Stauford Six’ they call ‘em in the papers, they’re just here to do the devil’s work.”
“You know what I think? I think they ought to get the Klan together and run ‘em out of town, just like they did them negroes back in the day. Load ‘em all up on a cattle car and ship ‘em off to Chattienooga.”
Skippy sat up in his seat when he remembered that phrase. The Stauford Six. Those were the kids. He’d never met them—he was too old to talk to kids, his mama told him—but he’d heard of them. Everyone in Stauford had, and they were angry about it.
They didn’t want the Stauford Six anywhere near their kids. Those kids were cursed, reminders of something from Stauford’s past everyone wanted to forget. Skippy thought this was a bit like when he had chicken pox and he kept scratching at the scabs until they bled. The kids had picked off the scab somehow, upsetting everyone.
He’d asked his grandpa once. Edmund Dawson said it had something to do with the bad man in the woods. And the kids, the Stauford Six, they reminded everyone of the bad man, but…
“Things got better,” he whispered, “so why’s it all seem bad now?”
Maybe it had to do with the dream? He’d heard one of the nurses at Stauford Assisted Living complaining of strange dreams last night, and even he’d experienced them himself.
“He lives,” Skippy muttered, unsure of who he was talking about and assuming “he” was Jesus, like the ladies at First Baptist taught him in Sunday School. But would Jesus know how to use a phone? And even if He did, why would He call the Gas ‘n Go so late at night?
A large tanker truck rumbled past and Skippy waved to the driver. The driver did not return the gesture.
Maybe it is the dreams, he thought, shrugging to himself. But as the day wore on, Skippy feared the Bad Time was coming again. Worse, he feared the blue-eyed bad man from his dreams was coming, too.
3
“Want some of my fries?”
Riley looked away from the window and across the table at his aunt Stephanie. She held up a greasy container of French fries smothered in ketchup. He wasn’t hungry, hadn’t been all day, but she insisted they stop for food because she was starving.
She’d said it with the hope of pulling a smile across his face, but Riley wasn’t in the mood. Still, he was grateful she’d managed to get him out of the house despite his father’s protests and humored her with a forced grin.
He plucked a soggy French fry from the basket and stuffed it into his mouth. Stephanie watched him with a tired smile.
“That’s more like it,” she said, taking a sip from her drink. Riley turned back to the window, watching rain spit and spot the glass, snaking down in erratic globules and distorting the outside world. He wanted to leave the brightly lit safety of the diner and wander into the storm. His skin itched with a prickling electricity, had done so ever since he got back from the campsite, and he felt guilty for not being out there, helping to look for his friends. He felt guilty because he was sure Rachel was in trouble with her folks. Part of him wondered if he’d see her at church tomorrow; that same part thought going to church tomorrow was a bad idea.
More than anything, Riley didn’t want to be around people right now. His aunt Stephanie was a rare exception—she was one of the few people he thought understood him, one of the few who hadn’t forgotten what being an outsider felt like. But being around people was sometimes a necessity, something she told him when they parked along the curb outside of Marleen’s Diner at the far end of Main Street.
“I get it,” Stephanie said. “You don’t want to be here, and you don’t want to talk.” She waited for him to reply, but Riley kept his gaze on the falling rain outside. His friends were out there, somewhere, being…what, exactly? What would the man with blue eyes want with them? Maybe he’s a pedo, he thought. A child molester. What some of the kids at school jokingly called a Chester.
“But here’s the thing, kiddo. You don’t get somethin’ for nothin’, understand? I got you out of your dad’s house for the day because stewing there is the last thing you wanna do. But if you want to hang out with me at the studio tonight and meet your uncle Jack, I need some conversation. So, talk to me, Riley. What’s been going on?”
He caught her stare, and this time he smiled for real. She always called him by his name. She never looked down at him for being younger. He was a regular person in her eyes, not a burden, not a weirdo. A human being, and not a lesser one because he was a nephew.
“Which part?”
She nodded. “Whichever part you feel like talking about. We’ll go from there.”
Riley took a breath, weighed his options, and told her about attacking Jimmy Cord the day before. Stephanie sat back, listening, even cracking a smile when he said Jimmy was a dick, but she didn’t interject, and she didn’t judge. She let him talk.
“But the truth is, Steph, I couldn’t stand to see him pick on Ben. Someone half his size, y’know? As far as I’m concerned, the bastard got what was coming to him. He walks through the school like he’s a celebrity, like nothing can touch him. Like he’s God or something. It’s sickening. I hate it. So, when I saw him bullying Ben, something snapped.”
“I get that,” Stephanie said. “I do. Good on you for standing up to him, Riley. I respect that about you.”
He measured her gaze, looking for a sign she was joking, but he didn’t find one. Stephanie smiled and sipped her drink. “What?”
“Nothin’,” Riley said. “I expected you to give me shit for it, like Dad did. He’s scared he’s going to get sued by Jimmy’s dad.”
Stephanie laughed and counted off with her fingers. “Number one, I ain’t like your dad. You ought to know by now. He always had a stick up his ass about things. Number two, yeah, he might be scared, but Ronny Cord ain’t got a leg to stand on. Chuck knows the judge, knows lots of people in this town, and furthermore, he knows Ronny’s got a bench warrant for missing traffic court. If he weren’t up Ozzie Bell’s ass, Ronny wouldn’t have his license right now. Trust me, your dad’s not getting sued.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “And three, Jimmy’s dad wasn’t any better when he was in school. If the little prick needed his ass kicked, I say good on you for being the one to do it.”
Riley laughed. “Like father, like son?”
“Oh yeah,” Stephanie said, crossing her arms. Her eyes drifted upward as she recalled her high school days. “He and Ozzie used to pick on all of us, but no one got it worse than your uncle Jack. Jack was the artsy kid, the one who wasn’t afraid of wearing different clothes, listening to different music…” She trailed off, settling her eyes upon him. She stared at him, long enough to make Riley blush. “Come to think of it, you remind me a lot of him. You two have a lot in common. I can’t wait for
you two to meet.”
She plucked a couple of fries from their basket and shoved them into her mouth. Riley gave some air to the conversation, wondering about his famous uncle. His father never said much about Uncle Jack, presumably because of the dark—and at times blasphemous—content of Jack’s artwork. The few times when Riley asked, his father was always dismissive, deflecting the question to some other issue or errand. He’d assumed it all had something to do with what happened when they were kids, a topic which Riley wasn’t entirely comfortable bringing up. He knew how much stress it caused his father; he didn’t want his dear aunt to feel the same.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” she said, pushing her basket of fries across the table again. “Help me eat these. Tell me your problems.”
Riley sighed, the words on his tongue, unsure if he should. Stephanie nudged him under the table with her foot. “Spit it out. I’m all ears.”
“Look, I know you and Dad had a hard time as kids, but…well, I hear things. At school. Rumors, mostly, but y’know, they’re the same thing over and over.”
“And you’re wondering if there’s truth to those rumors?”
“Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “I’ve grown up hearing Jack’s mom was a witch, you’re the spawn of the devil…” He looked up, hesitant to go on, expecting Stephanie would be upset, but to his surprise, she wasn’t. She was smiling. Riley went on: “…like I’ve heard everyone in my family was born out of some Satanic pact, you guys were part of a cult. And…”
He thought of the man with glowing eyes. His blood ran cold, his breath thinning in his lungs.
“And?”
“And… your father was a bad man. An evil man.”
“Bobby never talked to you about this?”
He shook his head. “Dad always finds some excuse not to. I mean, if it’s true what I’ve heard, then I guess I get it, but I’d like to…I dunno, I’d like to know who my family is, y’know?”
“Okay, honey. Let’s get some things straight.” Stephanie pushed the basket of soggy, cooling fries aside and met his gaze. She swiped one of her curls from her face. “People in this town are gonna talk and gossip all day long. That’s fine, that’s Stauford’s way. That’s how it’s been and how it’ll always be until the end of time, I guess. But here’s something else that isn’t going to change.” She reached out and placed her hand on his. “Your dad is your family, and so am I. So’s your uncle Chuck. Jack, too. Even…” She faltered, thinking of Susan and Zeke. Saying their names left a bitter taste on her tongue. “Even your aunt Susan and uncle Zeke. You have no reason to doubt that.”
“That’s not…never mind.”
“No, tell me, Riley. Talk to me. That’s why we’re here. If no one else, you can talk to me. Always.”
She squeezed his hand. Riley hadn’t cried since his mom’s funeral, made it a point to fight the urge to do so ever since but seeing the heartfelt honesty in his aunt’s eyes made his own well up with tears.
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
When Riley spoke, his words came in a flood. “It’s just…I feel like my dad has kept a lot from me. Like, I don’t even know him, y’know? I don’t know anything about him except he loved Mom, and he loves Jesus, and sometimes I think he puts himself into the church so he won’t have to look at me. He only notices when I do something wrong or do something that puts him in a bad light.
“So, last night, when he came to get me at the campsite, all I heard was about how my fuck-up would make him look bad. What would people think, with the pastor’s son being caught with a girl after dark? He kept saying, ‘Why weren’t you in your tent, Riley? Why didn’t you stay in your tent?’ And he didn’t say it, but I knew he wanted to. I knew he wanted to say, ‘If you’d only been there, Riley, your friend Ben would be okay.’ And he’s right, Steph. If I had been there…”
The tears spilled down his cheeks. Stephanie handed him a napkin.
“Look, Riley, you can’t blame yourself for that. So, what if you’d stayed? Who’s to say you wouldn’t have been one of the kids taken last night?” She let her words sink in and then said, “Your dad’s a worrier. He always has been. I don’t think he’s afraid to face you, I think he’s afraid of raising you alone.”
Riley wiped his eyes and blew his nose. She had a point, on both counts. There was a good chance he could’ve been slung over the shoulder of Mr. Blue Eyes last night. And Dad hadn’t been the same since Mom died. He recalled something Bobby told him one night about a week after her funeral. I see your mother when I look at you, he’d said. You always did look just like her.
He’d never considered he might be a reminder of a love lost. No wonder his dad avoided him sometimes. Riley couldn’t blame him.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, blowing his nose again into another napkin. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” she said, grinning. “I hope you feel better. But let’s get something straight, okay? The waterworks won’t make me spill my guts about what happened at Devil’s Creek. I could tell you, but your dad would probably kill me. I’ll leave that up to him to tell you when he thinks the time is right.”
Riley cracked a smile and blushed. “I wasn’t trying—”
“I know,” Stephanie said, “but I’m making it clear now. I know how you Tate boys are with words. If your dad can get hundreds of folks to drop their dimes into the collection plate, there ain’t no telling what his son can do.”
He laughed, and for an instant, all his troubles were forgotten. There was just the two of them in the diner, enjoying each other’s company. It could’ve been any other Saturday in Stauford, when circumstances were better, less stressed.
“Now, what do you say we grab a couple of milkshakes before we head over to the station?”
“I’d like that,” he said.
“Do you still like malt?”
“Of course.”
“Good,” Stephanie said, climbing out of their booth. “When we’re on our way, you can tell me all about this Rachel chick while you’re at it…”
4
Across town, Jimmy Cord’s phone buzzed, pulling him out of a late afternoon doze. His head hummed with a dull ache as he reached under his pillow, felt the vibrating device, and lifted it to his ear.
“Yeah?” Eyes still closed, not bothering to check the screen. Somewhere else in the darkness, his father was singing an old Hank Williams tune out of key while he got ready for work.
“Hey, sexy.”
Amber’s smoky voice filled his ear, and the blood drained from his face into his groin. Even through the pain pulsing in his face, Jimmy still found his libido intact. He reached under his sheet and touched himself.
“Hey, babe.”
“How’re you feeling?”
“Like ass,” he grunted. “The pain pills are wearing off, but I can’t take any more of ‘em for at least an hour.”
“Poor baby,” she cooed. Jimmy smirked, feeling a twinge down below. He loved when she talked to him like that. “I bet I could make you feel better.”
“Huh, I bet you could.”
“So, did you hear the latest?”
“About the goth freak and the other guys in the woods? Yeah, I heard my old man talking about it on the phone this morning.”
“But did ya hear about what the goth freak was up to?”
“Nah, I didn’t. What was he doin’?”
“I heard from Samantha Jones that Rachel Matthews was givin’ Riley a handy.”
Jimmy sat up in surprise and immediately wished he hadn’t. The thudding in his skull intensified, a phantom hammer pounding away at the front of his face. He winced and sank back into bed. “Get the fuck out. Seriously?”
“Uh huh. I heard she was close to finishin’ him off when Ben and Toby were attacked.”
“Wait, how’d Samantha find out? Was she camping too?”
“No, she heard from Joanne Wallace. Mrs. Wallace goes to First Bapt
ist with Rachel’s mom, and…well, you know how uptight Mr. and Mrs. Matthews are. They had to give Rachel ‘the talk’ as soon as she got home.”
“Ugh, God.” He remembered when his old man gave him “the talk.” They’d sat in their backyard in a pair of lawn chairs, Ronny Cord halfway through his second case of beer. Their two German Shepherds were going at it. Jimmy sat in utter horror while his old man slurred on about the birds and the bees. And all I’s tryin’ to say is, Jimmy, don’t go fuckin’ anythin’ without a condom. Tha’sh how I ended up with you.
The fact Rachel’s parents hadn’t yet given her the talk didn’t surprise him, though. Her folks were old-fashioned, always dressing up even to go shop at Walmart, never letting Rachel have a social life to speak of unless it was church related. Jimmy found out the hard way when he’d asked her to a Friday night dance back in middle school. She’d turned him down but invited him to church that Sunday. His hormones almost convinced him to do it, too.
His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he was thankful Amber couldn’t see him now.
“So gross,” Amber said, “her and Riley. I can’t wait until Monday, though. It’s gonna be hilarious.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy sighed, closing his eyes. He struggled to focus on her words. “Listen, babe, I’m really hurting. Can I call you later tonight?”
“Aww, but don’t you want to see me tonight?”
“Of course I do. It ain’t like that at all, Amber. My face, it’s just…”
“I made you a promise, didn’t I?”
Jimmy’s eyes snapped open. His erection throbbed. “Well, yeah, but that was before that faggot broke my nose.”
“How ‘bout I come pick you up tonight? Your old man’s working third shift tonight at the railroad, ain’t he?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Don’t you want me to suck your cock?”
“Well…yeah.”
“Good,” she giggled. “I’ll pick you up ‘round nine. See you then.”
The line was dead before he had a chance to reply. Jimmy winced as a jolt of pain ripped through his nose. Fuck this, he thought, reaching for the prescription bottle on his nightstand. He popped two pills and swallowed them down with a gulp of water.
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