The Revenant: A Horror in Dodsville

by Brian L. Blank

  "Same place it's always been."

  I waved goodbye and walked outside, where the rain was coming down a little bit harder than when I first entered the bar. Charlie sat on the curb, waiting for his ride, with his head between his knees. The rain was probably as good as a cold shower for him.

  He looked up when he heard me approaching from behind and nodded when he recognized who it was. Water drops slid casually down his face.

  I remembered what he had said about Reed not drowning, and decided to press him about it. "Hey, Charlie," I said. "Weather miserable enough for you?"

  "Yea," he slurred. "Supposed to blow over by morning, though."

  "Did you know Reed very well?" I asked, knowing the transition wasn't there, but his taxi turned the corner down the block and I hadn't much time.

  Charlie nodded. "Good person, that Reed," he replied, wiping the rain from his brow. "Did a lot of chores around my farm every once in a while, and would only accept a few dollars and no more for his troubles."

  I had to hurry. "In there." I nodded toward Rosey's. "What you said implied that Reed hadn't drowned. I was under the impression that he had."

  He looked away from me and at his approaching taxi, ignoring my understood question.

  I pressed again, "So, then, how did he die?"

  Charlie slowly got up from the curb, almost lost his balance twice, but managed to stand upright. He said, as the taxi made a U-turn in front of us, "The newspaper says he drowned, so I guess that's what happened." He didn't, however, sound convinced. The cab pulled up to the curb and stopped. Charlie started toward the taxi, but hesitated and turned back to face me. "He drowned," he said solemnly. "He drowned. That's all that happened." And he fell into the cab.

  I stood on the curb in front of Rosey's Place for a minute in the falling rain, thinking. Although Charlie had said that Reed did indeed drown, he, I felt, didn't for a second believe it. His taxi disappeared around a corner a few blocks away as the door to Rosey's opened and the four guys that were in the booth inside exited. I suddenly felt ridiculous standing there in the rain.

  "Hey, pal," one of them said as he noticed me. "You taking a cold shower to sober up, or what?"

  His three buddies cracked up. I forced a smile, but I doubted they could see it in the darkness where I stood. Anyway, they forgot about me soon enough and walked down the block a bit to where they had parked their car. A minute later they were gone and again I was left alone with my thoughts. I grabbed my traveling bag and walked away, in the direction of Sandy's Motel.

  The street lights were haloed like saints out for a late evening stroll in the mist. Other than the sound of water dripping off the leaves and hitting the sidewalk below, there was no sound at all except for my own footsteps. If I remembered correctly, Sandy's Motel would be an eight or nine block walk.

  I thought of Reed drowning, and I wondered how it actually happened. Was he alone? Or were there witnesses? What was he thinking right at the moment he passed out, knowing he would never awaken again? Depression washed over me again, like a recurring tide. I shifted my small suitcase to my other hand, and tried to shake away my thoughts of Reed's last moments. There would be plenty of time for that during the next few days. Sandy's Motel came into view ahead, and I saw the amber vacancy sign. I was already soaked to the skin.

  There was no one in the office as I walked up to the front desk, so I rang the bell. The door opened behind the counter and a woman about my age smiled and walked to the counter in front of me. She held a book in her hand, but she grabbed a piece of paper from the counter top, placed it in the page she was reading and set the book down. She smiled as she looked me over. I felt like the incredible melting man as I stood before her.

  "Yes?" she asked, and I couldn't tell if she was annoyed or not that I was dripping all over her carpet.

  "Room for one, please," I replied, and smiled back. I must have looked pretty stupid.

  "Sign your name in the book, and I'm going to need to see some identification."

  She was not that bad looking, I thought. Long blond hair that reached halfway down her back, pretty light green eyes, and a smile that warmed my heart through my soaking wet shirt. And I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew her from my past.

  I signed my name and took out my driver's license.

  She took it, looked at it, looked up at me, then back at the license. "You have to be kidding," she said, looking back up at my face. "You really Stephen O'Neal?"

  I thought that maybe she had confused me with someone famous, though I could think of no one famous with my same name. "For as long as I can remember, anyway," I replied. "Why? Is there a problem?"

  She ignored my question. "You used to live here, but you moved away about half a lifetime ago, right?"

  "Yea, that's right." Maybe I did know her from my past after all.

  "I'm Ann Smith," she said. "We went to school together. Remember?"

  I did remember her. "Of course," I replied. But what I remembered wasn't all that great. She was the class snob, the type who would have nothing to do with me, unless she could think of a way to use me to her advantage. On the other hand, my ego did get a boost that she remembered me. "I remember you. I use to take furtive glances at your test papers."

  "That's right," she said, smiling again. "I used to let you."

  She turned around and grabbed a key from the board behind her. "So," she said as she set the key in front of me, "what are you doing back in Boringsville, anyway?"

  "Came for a funeral," I replied, wishing I wouldn't keep being reminded of it.

  "Oh, yea." Her eyebrows raised. "Isn't that too bad about Reed Price?"

  Why did everyone automatically know I was here for Reed's funeral? Didn’t anyone ever die in this town? "That's right," I replied. While on the subject I decided to ask about how Reed had died. What Charlie had said still left some doubts in my mind.

  "Didn't you hear?" she replied. "He drowned out at Brunner's Pond. A seven-year-old boy found him yesterday morning while he was fishing."

  "You sure he drowned?"

  "Well, that's what the newspaper say. Why? Did you hear something different?"

  "No," I replied, with a sigh. I would just have to invest in a local newspaper, I guessed. "Well, nice seeing you again, Ann." I grabbed the key to my room from the counter and picked up my traveling bag from the floor, on which I was still dripping. A hot shower was just the ticket to wipe away the dispirited feeling I was drowning in.

  "You're in room 206," she said as I looked at my key for that very information. "That would be down the hallway to your right to the elevator, and once on the second floor, your room is just to the left. Can't miss it." She smiled at me again and shook her head. “I can't believe you're back in town. I thought that when anyone manages to blow this hick town, we never see the likes of him or her again. How long you staying? Maybe we could have dinner together or something before you leave."

  "I'm not sure," I replied. "And I will take a rain check on that dinner." I look down at my dripping clothes.

  She laughed. "All right."

  I couldn't wait to get to my room and shed these wet clothes. They were beginning to give me the creeps. Reed had died in wet clothes. I threw my suitcase on the bed and immediately stripped to the buff. I hung my white socks, which were now more of a light blue hue from the ankle down, on the desk chair, and stepped into the shower. Now, I couldn’t wait to get that clammy wetness off me, the clamminess of the bottom of a stagnant pond, and turned the hot water as hot as I could stand. Immediately, the eeriness I felt washed away with the rain stains on my body. I wasn’t aware of the passing of time, but I knew I spent the better part of an hour in that shower. When I finally stepped out, my skin was a heavy shade of pink. I didn’t mind; I felt good.

  I was still too wound up to retire for the evening, and decided to go out for a bite to eat. I called a taxi (I had enough of the rain) and exited by the side door of the motel to await its arrival. Tomorrow I wo
uld have to rent a car to end this particular inconvenience.

  I had the driver stop along the way to pick up a newspaper and he dropped me off at The Country Kitchen, the only 24-hour restaurant in Dodsville.

  I grabbed a stool at the counter and opened the newspaper. Reed had made the front page. What must have been his high school graduation picture smiled back at me from the newsprint. He looked just as I had pictured him in my mind. His blond hair reached down to his neck in back, which was a change from the short style his mom had made him wear as a kid. He still had that baby face that I'm sure made more than a few girls' hearts skip a beat or two. The very top of his nose was still just a little bit crooked, but not noticeable unless one was looking for it, as I was. From a good-looking kid he had grown to become a good-looking young man.

  There was only a brief article under his picture.

  LOCAL MAN DROWNS AT BRUNNER'S POND

  Reed Price, 24, of 4980 Dream Street, drowned sometime late Tuesday evening, police said. His body was discovered Wednesday morning by a young boy fishing at the pond. The drowning has been ruled an accident, although an autopsy has been ordered by the coroner to determine the actual cause of death.

  Price is survived by his father, Al Price, and by his sisters, Julie, age 29, and Tabitha, age 21. All three reside in Dodsville.

  Funeral services will be held at St. Paul's Lutheran Church Tuesday afternoon at one o'clock.

  The waitress made her way over to me finally, as the restaurant was fairly crowded and she was the only one working, and took my order.

  "Just a plain hamburger and a Pepsi, if you have it."

  A man of about forty sat two chairs down from me reading the front page of the same paper I had in my possession. He seemed sober and appeared intelligent enough, so I decided to try one last time to ask about Reed's death. I wasn't yet a hundred percent satisfied that the drunk at Rosey's was simply running off at the mouth for attention.

  "Excuse me."

  He looked up from his paper. "Yes?"

  "I see you're reading about Reed Price." I tried to sound nonchalant. "Did you happen to know him, by any chance?"

  He folded the paper and set it on the counter in front of him. "Why do you ask?"

  "He was a friend of mine, and I was curious about how he died, is all," I replied, feeling all of a sudden like I was on trial.

  "A friend of his, huh?" He rubbed his chin reflectively. "You happen to be Randy Beliwitz?"

  "No," I replied, and felt thankful I wasn't. "The name's O'Neal. Stephen O'Neal." Somewhere along the line I had become the one answering all the questions.

  He looked at me intently a minute before replying, "I can't recall an O'Neal. Where you from, O'Neal?"

  The waitress brought my hamburger and Pepsi, allowing me a brief respite. I paid for it, told her to keep the change, and she walked away.

  "Is there any particular reason why I'm on trial here?" I asked, trying to gain back the offensive. "I asked a simple question about Reed, and now I get the third degree. What's going on?"

  He smiled and laughed. "Sorry," he replied. “A bad habit of mine.” He took a gulp of his beer. "But let's just say I have an acute interest in anything to do with Reed Price."

  "Why?" I asked, glad that I was the one doing the questioning. "Were you a friend of his?"

  "No. Actually I never met the guy."

  "Then, why--"

  "Got to go," he interrupted. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around. How long you plan on staying in Dodsville?"

  "I don't see how that's any business of yours."

  "Suit yourself."

  I wanted to talk to him more about Reed and his interest in him, but he got up from his chair and dropped some change by his plate. "Be seeing you, O'Neal," he said with a wink, and headed for the exit.

  As I sat there eating my burger, my curiosity about Reed's demise began to burn inside me as though I had just eaten some bad chili. My feelings were telling me that there was more to Reed's death than a simple drowning, and I wasn't about to leave Dodsville until the curiosity in the pit of my stomach was appeased. No matter how long that demanded.

  I took a taxi back to the motel, entered through the side door again as I didn't want another conversation with Ann, and drifted off to sleep, thinking about Reed.

  I slept better than I thought I would.

  CHAPTER TWO:

  A Brief Incident on Main Street

  I awoke the following morning feeling fresh. I did have the faint memory of a nightmare during the evening, but I couldn’t remember too many of the details. Just that I was screaming over and over again in terror--over what I hadn’t the faintest recollection--and that no one around me paid any attention to my hysterics. The fear I felt upon my awakening in the middle of the night after this dream was gone. Not even a trace remained. Reed’s funeral wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon, so the entire day ahead was mine for the taking. I reached over to the nightstand next to my bed and grabbed my watch. It was already ten o’clock, and I wasn’t at all unhappy about missing the first four hours of sunlight. I hadn’t seen the sunrise during summer since my paper route days, and I wouldn’t be disappointed if I ever saw it again.

  I grabbed a quick shower, and as I dried myself off someone knocked on my door. Only having a small traveling bag with me I hadn’t the room for a bathrobe, so I wrapped the towel around me. But before I had the chance to answer the door, I heard the sound of a key in the lock. The door opened, and as the maid walked in, I stood there in the middle of my rented room in nothing but a towel with the words “Sandy’s Motel” written across the front and an embarrassed smile written across my face.

  She had her back to me, pulling her cart in behind her. Before she turned around and was surprised by my being there, I decided it might be better if I just said something first.

  “Good morning.” My voice sounded more than a trifle gravelly from phlegm gathered in my throat during the night which I had yet to clear.

  She jumped a bit anyway. “Oh, sorry,” she said, now also with the smile of embarrassment across her face. “I didn’t see your “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door so I assumed you’d already checked out.”

  She appeared to me, though I still hadn’t put my contacts in, to be about fifty years old. She had deep wrinkles around her eyes. The eyes themselves, on the other hand, looked young. They were a deep light blue that seemed to sparkle when the light coming through the window hit them just right. I had a definite feeling I had seen those eyes somewhere back in the demesne of my childhood.

  I reached into my traveling bag, dug out my glasses and put them on. “Happens to me all the time,” I said, trying to ease her, as well as my own embarrassment. “Maids don’t believe in late risers, do they?” Now that I could see clearly, I knew that I recognized her from before; though, it didn’t quite click yet.

  “I’ll come back later,” she replied, her frown of embarrassment turning up into a fledgling of a smile, and she started back out the door.

  I stopped her. “Wait one minute.” She turned back to face me. “Could you tell me of a good place to have breakfast around here? I know Bauer’s Cafe used to serve a killer of an omelet, but they’re clear on the other side of Dodsville.”

  “Boy,” she replied, “you must have been through this town quite a few years ago. Bauer’s Cafe closed down about a decade back. The only place I know of that serves from their breakfast menu this late in the morning is The Country Kitchen. That’s--”

  I finally placed the eyes. “Miss O’Bannon?” I asked, cutting her off. She was my fifth grade teacher--a lifetime ago. First Ann and now her. Already my original feelings of being a stranger in this town were beginning to dissipate.

  She hesitated, looking me over to see if I was recognizable. “It’s Mrs. Johnson now,” she replied slowly, as if speaking to an imbecile. “But I used to be Miss O’Bannon.”

  I realized she didn’t recall my face. “I’m Stephen O’Neal. You had me in the fifth grad
e.”

  She scrutinized me again, searching deep into her memory. “Oh, yes,” she replied, all tension in her face relaxing at once. “How could I ever forget you? The practical jokers. You and Reed Price always gave me good-hearted headaches.” She looked away, digging at something inside her cart. “You must be back in town for his funeral.”

  “Yea,” I replied, once again feeling out of sorts. “I am at that.” I thought I’d try to get some more information about Reed’s death from her. That nagging suspicion wouldn’t let up from the back of my consciousness. “Do you know any details about his drowning? I just heard a few sketchy reports.”

  She gave up on what she was looking for in the cart and turned back to face me. “Just that he drowned out at Brunner’s Pond,” she replied, her face drawn tight again. “Terrible thing.”

  “I don’t know.” Why couldn’t I just accept what had happened? “I find it difficult to believe that he was swimming, by himself, late at night and in that particular pond. I know he was terrified of that scenario as a kid.”

  “Well, he must have grown out of it,” she replied, as she turned and started pushing her cart out into the hallway. “Too bad he did.”

  “Yea.” Another dead end. “Too bad.”

  “Got to get back to my rounds,” she said, now completely outside my door. “Nice seeing you again, Stephen. Maybe I’ll run across your path again before you leave town.”

  She left, closing the door behind her. And she hadn’t even asked what I was doing with myself these days. Oh, well.

  I remembered I still only donned a wet bath towel, and got properly dressed to leave the room. I put on the same pair of jeans I wore the previous day, still a bit damp, and grabbed a fresh shirt out of my bag. The socks I wore in the rain last night had taken on the blue color of the souls of my Reeboks, so I wisely hid them at the bottom of the bag and put on a clean pair.