Dark August

by Katie Tallo

  A stench hits her nostrils. Acidic but sugary. Reminds her of bathroom disinfectant used in cheap motels. She calls out to the dog. He’s wandered off.

  “Levi, come.”

  He bounds out of the dark. Rubs against her leg. She pets his head.

  “Good boy. Now you stay close.”

  Gus can make out a small pond and some large metal piping glistening in the moonlight. She quickly grabs Levi’s collar. He’s a swimmer and that smell is definitely coming from the pond. They make their way up an incline. Once they’re clear of the pond, she lets go of his collar. She looks up ahead and begins to walk up a hill. A looming shape rises on the horizon as they crest the ridge of the hill. A wide valley stretches out before them. On the far side atop a high knoll, backlit by a dark blue sky, she can see the mansion. Its peaked gables jutting skyward like fangs.

  That has to be it. Halladay House.

  Gus stares in awe. Levi looks ahead, then races toward it.

  “Levi, wait.”

  He doesn’t. She runs after him, the loosestrife lashing her shins. She loses sight of him in the deep grass, but she can hear him rustling through the weeds up ahead. Then nothing. In no time, she spots his shadow on the front steps of the house.

  How did he get there so fast?

  She races up the hill. Up the long driveway leading to the house. The place is boarded up. Gus climbs the rickety steps. Looks like no one’s lived there for decades. She reaches out to grab Levi’s collar, but he wiggles between her legs, heads down the steps, and runs around the side of the house. She gives up trying to catch him. It’s become a game in his little brain. If she ignores him, he’ll be back.

  Gus approaches the front door. Spidery leafless vines drape across it like chains barring anyone from entering. It hasn’t been opened in years. She spots a piece of metal at the door’s center. Lifts the ivy. It’s a door knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. She reaches in her back pocket and pulls out her phone. Flips through the photos. Finds it. In the security image of Henry. Same brass knocker. As she suspected, the photo was taken right here.

  Gus looks up at the porch ceiling. Trying to figure out the angle of the security camera that the image was taken from. Nothing but cobwebs. She turns, her back to the door. The view from the porch, even by moonlight, is breathtaking. She can see for miles. The valley below and more beyond. She’s not positive but that might even be the outskirts of Elgin in the distance. It’s hard to tell because there are no lights in the town.

  The wind kicks up and dark clouds crowd the orange moon. The moody sky darkens. Shadows disappear and Gus is plunged into total darkness. Maybe hiking out to the middle of nowhere at night was a mistake. She might not be able to find her way back. She looks up at the sky. The clouds look thick and steadfast. The house creaks in the wind. Gus shudders. Bad things happened in this place. June died here. Henry disappeared here. And Kep. His dark energy radiates from the depths of this place.

  Levi barks from behind the house. Three sharp barks. Then nothing.

  “Levi.”

  Nothing.

  “Levi.”

  Gus jumps off the steps and races around the porch toward the back of the house, keeping her hand along the siding to find her way in the dark.

  “Levi, come!”

  Nothing.

  She stops. Something’s wrong. She tries her angry voice.

  “Come here right now.”

  Not a sound.

  Gus presses her body flat against the house, then creeps along the siding. Her mind reels with images of Dez’s charbroiled face coming out of the darkness. Rory by his side. They kill her, dispose of her body, and no one ever finds her. Levi’s probably already dead. And then they’ll search her body and find the bank draft because she foolishly still has it tucked in her back pocket like it’s nothing more than a pack of chewing gum.

  Gus shakes off fear’s tight grip. She contemplates turning and running in the direction of her car, but she can’t bring herself to do it. To leave him behind. He’s her dog. Her Levi. Gus reaches the back of the house. She steps away from the house into the backyard, groping in the dark like a blind person. She feels ridiculous and reckless and small and alone. She wants her dog.

  The clouds part. The moon becomes a spotlight on the yard. Gus can make out shapes. Shed. Trellis. Low fence around a tangled garden. Then the smell hits her. Rotten garbage.

  Out of nowhere, something knocks her square in the chest and she tumbles onto her back. It’s Levi. He licks her face. Licorice breath.

  “What have you gotten into, dog?”

  She hugs him tight. Relieved to feel his warm furry body, but also aware that the clouds might close in again at any moment. Gus takes hold of his collar and pulls herself to her feet. She attaches his leash and drags him back the way she came. He doesn’t want to leave. Likely found some disgusting garbage to eat and wants more.

  “Let’s get out of here while we still can.”

  They’re down the front yard, away from Halladay House and partway across the valley when the clouds blacken the night again. But she’s got her bearings now so they push forward. She wants to put some distance between them and that creepy house. Her mind twitches with thoughts of her mother being out here alone.

  Then something completely unexpected happens.

  The earth gives way under Augusta’s feet and before she can figure out what’s happening, the ground opens up and swallows her whole. Levi yelps and scrambles away in fear. Her feet hit bottom. She’s standing neck-deep in a hole. Gus panics. She scratches at the earth to free herself. Levi circles and whines. She manages to grab hold of a root, then she kicks her way up and out. She’s covered in dirt, more stunned than hurt. Levi licks Augusta’s face and presses against her. She catches her breath, then gathers her wits and heads back to the car. She follows the landmarks she memorized. Barely able to make out the cluster of three dead elm trees, the rotten hay bale, the broken fence post third down from the lone pine. And finally, her willow where Rose’s Buick sits waiting.

  Something about being almost buried alive has shaken Gus to her core. But it’s not fear that’s been stirred up. It’s a fresh sense of resolve that flows through her veins. Maybe it’s adrenaline or maybe it’s the fumes from the pond. Either way, she knows her work here isn’t done just yet. She grabs the flashlight from the glove compartment and leaves the dog behind. Two things she should have done earlier. She cracks the window of the Buick and heads out. Levi settles down to sleep. He’s tuckered from their hike to Halladay House and happy to be left in peace.

  Gus starts to walk, feeling herself drawn there. Pulled as if by gravity or magnetism or maybe simply by a twenty-year-old’s stupid curiosity. Whatever pulls her is a force beyond her control. And yet it’s one she fully embraces as she lets herself be led by the hand of that eight-year-old child who just wants to walk beside her mother without fear, knowing all the world is a safe place and a mother can protect you from anything.

  36

  Lois Greenaway’s Dance Academy

  AS SHE GETS CLOSER, GUS CAN MAKE OUT THE DISTANT OUTLINE of the water tower on the edge of town. She turns the flashlight off each time the moon slips out from behind cloud cover. She can see the layout of the streets in her mind’s eye. She enters from the east side, but instead of heading straight down Main toward ground zero, she takes a side street. Passes a hair salon and a small general store. A two-by-four has fallen away from the front door of the general store. It stands slightly ajar. She pries it open. Black soot gets sucked outside on the breeze, escaping its dark prison. Gus covers her mouth until the cloud scatters then shines the flashlight inside. Every nook and cranny is dusted black. Floor. Countertop. Cash register. Shelves. Looks like a scene from a black-and-white movie. Colorless. Abandoned.

  Gus explores Elgin as the moon drops closer to the horizon. She peers into windows. Pulls open unlocked doors. Wanders into a church, a pet store, an antique shop, a bowling alley. Even breaks into a few h
ouses. Slowly the ghost town comes alive. She can see the people who lived there. Hear their voices. She can imagine how they moved through these streets. How they worked and lived, laughed and cried.

  None of them came to clean up or salvage personal belongings. No one was allowed back. They went to the fair and never got to go home. Left behind their businesses, their homes, their best dresses, their silverware, their family photos. The county boarded up and barricaded the whole town. A red X was spray-painted across the doors of the buildings that remained standing. Those that didn’t get burned to the ground. Checked and then left uninhabitable. Dredged inside and out with thick black ash.

  But that wasn’t why the residents stayed away. It was because of what they couldn’t see. The poison. The danger. The toxic air. The air Gus is breathing right now. And when there’s a strong southerly wind, the air Alison and James Pratt likely breathe too.

  Gus realizes her feet have led her back to the building next to the mortuary. Lois Greenaway’s Dance Academy. She tries the door but it’s locked. Won’t budge. Plan B. She wrenches the plywood from the front window. It’s spongy with rot and comes away easily. She breaks the window and runs the flashlight along the ledge to clear the remaining shards. Holding the flashlight in her teeth, Gus hoists herself up, hikes one leg over then slips inside. It’s dark. She turns on the flashlight. Surprised. There’s barely any soot. Just a light dusting on the floor near the front door. The dance academy looks like it was just closed up for the day.

  The beam illuminates a small lobby adjoining an office. Benches line either side. A nameplate is screwed to the office door. Engraved on it are the words Lois Greenaway, Academy Director. She peers in the office. Looks like Lois just popped out. Dregs of coffee congeal in the bottom of a mug on the desk. Forms are neatly stacked next to the mug. Multicolored file folders are arranged in dividers on a bookcase topped with trophies. Framed photographs of tiny dancers adorn the walls. Some pose in groups. Others alone. All of them stand next to their instructor, Lois Greenaway. A life displayed in photographs. In some she’s in her twenties, then thirties, forties, fifties. Posing with her young protégées. Besides the slight crinkling at the corners of her eyes, Lois barely changes over the decades. Her waist stays trim. Her long brown hair remains styled the same way. Swept up into a chaotic nest on top of her head, fastened with long sticks as if her skull’s been impaled. Her wide smile looks practiced and perfected, yet genuine. Thick rims of black mascara highlight her fake eyelashes. Ruby red lipstick rims her full lips. She’s beautiful. She exudes enthusiasm. And her compassion and zest for life are evident in the lift of her chin, the flawlessness of her posture, and the simple gesture of a manicured hand resting lightly on the shoulder of a young dancer. Lois must have been a dancer herself. The wall in her office bears witness to a career dedicated to something she loved. Lois would have come back for these pictures if she hadn’t died in the fire. Now, they’re all that’s left of her.

  The dance academy’s mail lies unopened in the inbox on her desk. Gus sits in Lois’s chair. Opens drawers. Pens, elastics, thumbtacks, highlighters, packages of nylons, cough drops, and a flask of whiskey. She leafs through the mail. Mostly bills and invitations to dance recitals. But there is one handwritten letter addressed to Lois Greenaway from Lana Henning. Gus hesitates. Remembering how Ollie said it was illegal to open someone else’s mail. Probably doesn’t apply to someone who’s dead. Besides. Breaking and entering. Trespassing. What’s one more crime? She rips it open and reads.

  Dear Lois,

  I was sorry to hear in your last letter that you are still suffering with those terrible headaches. My dear sister, you really should check with your doctor to make sure the cancer hasn’t come back. On that note, good news here on Roger’s colonoscopy. All clear. How is Edgar’s asthma? I’m sure his new inhaler is a blessing but I do wish you would leave that godforsaken town before it kills the both of you. Roger thinks you could start a dance studio here in Thunder Bay.

  Oh and you’ll never guess what happened to yours truly Friday. I won the bingo jackpot. Eighty-six dollars. Only that Margie Wilkins made a fuss and said my dauber wasn’t regulation. Regulation, my ass. Whoever heard of such a thing. Jealous cow. She needs to mind her own beeswax.

  The letter goes on. Detailing the minutiae of Lana’s daily existence. A letter from a sister to a sister. The return address is 125 Cottonwood Crescent, Thunder Bay. Gus photographs the envelope then places the letter back in the inbox.

  She continues snooping. Opens Lois’s filing cabinet. Finds a collection of green, blue, pink, and purple folders. Each marked with a different girl’s name. She finds a pink folder marked with the name Gracie Halladay. Inside is a photo. Gracie’s wearing the same pink tutu and butterfly wings as she was in the Polaroid on Shannon’s wall. Only this one’s taken against a photography studio backdrop.

  Gus takes a few pictures on her phone of the file’s contents. The photo of Gracie is attached to an application form to attend the dance academy. On the form, beside the question about any allergies or medical conditions to be aware of, Gracie’s mother wrote sensitive to much of life. There’s a complaint form in Gracie’s file as well. Filled out anonymously.

  The incident that occurred at Saturday morning’s ballet class was inexcusable. Our daughters were traumatized. It is obvious to all of us that Gracie Halladay is a disturbed child who should be barred from attending any further classes. If you know what’s good for your business, you will take immediate action. Otherwise, you will suffer the consequences.

  A threat. Dated March 17, 2002. From more than one parent, apparently.

  The year of June’s death.

  Gus hears a noise outside. A wood board snaps as if someone stepped on it. She shuts off her flashlight and silently slips off the chair and under the desk. She hears a light thump on the floor, then glass crunching. Someone’s come in through the window. Then silence. She waits. A lock clicks and a hinge whines. Footfalls crunch on the gravel outside. They get farther away until she can’t hear them anymore.

  Gus waits fifteen minutes before coming out from under the desk. She steps slowly into the lobby, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other. The dance academy door stands open. The moonlight slants across the lobby floor. There’s something lying near the doorway. A furry black lump. She clicks on the flashlight, inches closer, and leans in. It’s a dead possum lying peacefully on its side. No blood, just dead. She notices there’s a seam down its belly that’s been sewn shut. She leaves it where it lies, stepping over the possum and slipping out the door. Coast looks clear. Time to get out of town.

  Gus jogs back to the car. She’s happy to see Levi’s sleepy eyes peering up at her as she jumps into the driver’s seat beside him. Gus locks the doors and pulls the Buick out from under the willow. She drives away from Elgin and Halladay House and whoever it was who left that dead animal in Lois Greenaway’s Dance Academy lobby. Gus rolls past the Pratt place, headlights off, then a few miles up the road takes Highway 15. Levi nestles next to her as they float through the night toward the city that shimmers pale yellow on the horizon.

  AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER, GUS PULLS INTO THE MOTEL parking lot as the dark blue sky hovers on the edge of dawn. She’s been up all night. She gathers her things as Levi slowly wakes. She opens the glove compartment to put the flashlight back inside. Something tumbles out. Lands on the floor. Gus picks it up. It’s a small book. Wasn’t there before. She examines it. A pink diary. Worn cover. Small tarnished silver lock.

  She turns to Levi. He yawns.

  Gus presses the clasp. The book opens. In the soft glow of daybreak, she reads the words written across the cover page.

  She recognizes the childlike handwriting.

  Diary of Gracie Anne Halladay.

  37

  Possum

  GUS IS FAST ASLEEP AGAINST THE CAR WINDOW WHEN SOMEONE knocks lightly on the glass. She jolts awake. So does Levi who was sleeping next to her. It’s Stu Lashey. Levi jumps to hi
s feet and leaps at the window. Gus opens the car door. Levi barrels across her lap and races past Stu to pee. Gus spots the diary. It was under Levi. With Stu turned toward Levi, she shoves the diary in the glove compartment. Then she gets out of the car.

  “Thank God you two are okay. The lady at the front desk told me someone trashed your room. I was looking for you all night. Thought something happened to you, Red.”

  “Went driving to clear my head.”

  “I called a million times.”

  “Oh, sorry. My phone died.”

  While Stu leans over to pet Levi, Gus reaches back inside the car to grab her satchel. She quickly pulls the gun out of her bag and shoves it under the driver’s seat. If Stu sees it, he’ll worry. When she turns back, Levi is growling. Gus taps the top of his head and he stops and heads across the courtyard.

  “Guess he’s not happy about missing his supper. Sorry, old boy.”

  They head for her room. Sit out front together once she’s fed Levi.

  “Did you get the accident report?”

  “I’m working on it. But I did get my hands on this.”

  Stu pulls a photograph from his jacket and hands it to her. It’s a press photo. Kep Halladay and a teenage girl. Flanked by two boys. Rory Rump and Desmond Oaks. The girl is holding a trophy and wearing a sash. Harvest Queen. ’94. Stu points to the girl.

  “That’s June Halladay.”

  Gus looks closer. She’s never seen a picture of June. The girl is lovely. Blond like her father. Sweet smile. Blue eyes wide and innocent. Chin tucked as if shy, but eyes sparkling with confidence.

  “I’ve got a friend in records. This was evidence in a sexual assault case in ’94.”

  Sexual assault case? Gus realizes that June had indeed confessed her secret to someone other than Todd. And Todd likely never knew it.

  “So it was them?”

  “File said the girl withdrew the charges. But Rory was initially named as the accused.”