When I reached his place, I tied Buffer to the bike and patted him on the head. He was a good dog. I knew he would never leave me. I went up to the door, but it was quiet. Clouds covered the sky and the wind was dead. The music of the woods was silent now, the last crickets done for the year. Would they ever sing again? I wondered.
I went carefully up to the door, but then caught a glimpse of something around the back of his cottage. A glint of metal. I looked closer and saw a pair of bikes, and knew immediately who they belonged to.
Shivering in horror, I retreated.
Maybe I’d expected this, too, in some way. I hesitated for a moment, and then I crouched down, moving to the rear of the garage. A dirt-streaked window sat there looking into the woods, so, holding my breath, I took the slightest of glimpses into that glass, my blood growing cold when I saw Kyle sitting there.
Kyle! He was all right! But my excitement quickly turned to dread as I saw that his eyes were vacant, staring ahead. He didn’t move, didn’t look very responsive, and was nothing like his normal, enthusiastic self. Craig was also there, standing, hands on hips, and seemed to be talking with someone, although there were no other cars parked there. Who could be inside?
I slunk down against the mossy wall, horrified. I was in a precarious situation. Something was obviously wrong with Kyle. And the presence of our bikes here meant that Craig couldn’t be trusted, either. Things had now gone from bad to worse. And could get a lot more dangerous for me. If someone opened that door, they would immediately see Buffer and the bike. I would be caught instantly.
But who was inside with them? I had to know…
I crept back from the garage, moving quickly toward the dog and leading him away while I guided the bike. I put plenty of distance between my next resting spot and Craig’s, deeper into the forest and further away from unfriendly eyes.
“Stay.” I patted him on the head and knew he would listen. He was my dog, and a darn good one. I tied him loosely around a tree. If something happened, I wanted him to be able to free himself, at least. I then made my way cautiously back to the garage and window. It was early afternoon, and the sun didn’t look to be coming out anytime soon. Hesitating, I scanned the area, waiting until I was absolutely sure there was no one else around. As quietly as possible, I returned to the window again. Kyle still sat there, but Craig had slumped down to the floor, sitting there and staring in the same direction as Kyle. To someone else in the room.
Here I would be taking a greater risk yet, because the only way I could see who it was would be to move to the far edge of the window, possibly revealing myself to the unknown person. It was an agonizing moment. I wanted to see who was in there, but in the same breath I was terrified of who it might be. I didn’t want to speculate as to their identity. There were several possibilities, all of them equally terrifying.
Should I slide over, and gradually try to see who was there? Or should I duck down, move over, and lift my head above the rim? In any other situation, it would have seemed the simplest decision, but here, every move could prove disastrous for me.
I lowered myself, deciding on the latter course of action. I moved over, now positioned at the far end, then slowly lifted my head higher until I could see over the edge.
The glass was dirty, and I wasn’t able to immediately see anything. I blinked, straining to see through the window. And then I froze, realizing what I was looking at…
Nothing but a pair of eyes lacking a head or body.
Whatever level of fear I had been at earlier, or leading up to this point in time, was now dwarfed by this appalling revelation. I didn’t believe it, but there was no denying what I saw, or didn’t see. If I had possessed a shred of doubt that something terrible was going on in the town, it had been blown into oblivion for good. This confirmed all my deepest nightmares, no matter how close (or far) from the truth they were. Anything was now possible concerning my dad, Graver’s Farm, and Haverville. And the more horrific the possibility, the more plausible in my shaken mind.
I slipped to the ground, knowing that I would never get that image of those terrible eyes without a face or body from my head. All that was monstrous and evil in this town were to be found in that thing inside of Craig’s garage. Whatever part it played was meaningless. Its existence was a threat to my survival and freedom, and countless other people.
Crouching down, I hurried away, never looking behind me. If I would have stopped to think about it I would have been lost to madness, there’s no doubt. I found Buffer and the bike and got out of there. Somehow I made it back to the house, where I collapsed, shivering in fear and loathing.
There were things going on here that defied reason.
Secrets which would drive someone to insanity and a lifetime of sheer horror.
For all the money in the world I did not want to have any answers. Didn’t want to see any more, hear any more. I had one choice left, and so I gathered what I could in my backpack—clothes and a few belongings.
I went into my dad’s room and grabbed the envelope in the bottom of his dresser, the one that held his stash of emergency money. Packed as much food as I could possibly carry.
And waited for dark.
I then made my escape with Buffer, pedaling along the shadowed and lonely road, avoiding any cars by hiding in the woods, when I saw their headlights.
It wasn’t easy. But I knew how to be invisible when I wanted to. I was good at it, and the dog always listened to me.
One last time I tempted fate, riding through dark alleyways and across empty streets. The town slept, although I knew it would keep at least one eye open. November brought in a cool wind ushering October out, but Halloween would always have a hold on Haverville, so I huddled inward against it, pulling my second jacket tighter. Eventually we made it, and put that cursed town behind us.
Buffer and I were going south. I had a cousin down there who lived on a big farm. I’d been there once years ago, when things had been normal. Or so I had believed back then. So I would try and find my way across state and hope for the best. If I was caught, I would never tell them my name. They would never get a single word out of me. Never. Not in a lifetime of lifetimes.
And most especially, they wouldn’t find out where I had come from…
No, things wouldn’t be easy for us, but I was a survivor, after all. I had seen the face of death already, and was terrified of it.
But I also knew there were worse things to be afraid of.
—
I sat at the edge of the loft and looked across the ocean of corn, the endless stalks swaying dreamily as the afternoon grew late. In the background the trees held their ground, the branches appearing to carry the orange horizon on their skeletal forms. Nightfall was coming swiftly, carrying the seeds of slumber.
And also the batwings of nightmare.
To anyone else the scene might have been one of tranquility, a vista of natural balance and order. The farm and the hundreds of acres, the pond behind the meadow, the pasture where the livestock grazed during the day. This place I had called home for the past ten years. It was a haven which kept the terror away, gave me a sense of security and belonging.
But the darkness lay at the furthest edges, crouching down like a predatory beast waiting to attack.
At least that was my perception, and instincts tend to run deep. Mine certainly did. So deep you could never see the light again, if you challenged those depths.
I angled my neck, looking down toward the front porch. My uncle Rod had placed several pumpkins on the wooden floor, even propped up a makeshift scarecrow, complete with straw hat and a rusted pitchfork. Fall was here, accompanied by the orange-and-black celebration that heralded the dark season.
Halloween.
With all its sights, sounds, and smells.
And memories. Of which mine were particularly bad. I dreaded this time of year, and it didn’t matter how much extra work I put in or how much more liquor I drank with Rod while sitting at the kitchen tabl
e, there was nothing I could do to banish those memories. If anything, the passing years had made them stronger, more vivid. Rod was worried about me. And if there was anything left in the world that he actually gave a damn about besides the farm, it was me.
I stood, staring into the distance. The wind had picked up, finding momentum along the breadth of the valley, and was now searching for handholds within the cracks and corners of the barn and farmhouse, tapping at shutters, clawing at chicken wire, swirling dead leaves, and resurrecting old fears. I could almost hear it whispering that name, one which I had sworn never to speak again, terrified that I would be found and dragged back to my home, which was anything but a home, more a perdition where the living played the part of being their own grim caricatures; humorless and hopeless, past any chance of redemption.
Haverville.
I closed the large window behind me, shivering from the wind, but more so from the thought of the town where I was born and raised. And where I also came of age pretty damn quick one Halloween night.
My living quarters hadn’t changed in the past decade. I actually liked it here, isolated but only a skip away from the farmhouse itself. Rod had pressed me to take Mark’s old bedroom, but I would only shake my head, refusing at each request. Although I never voiced it to Rod, I knew he missed his son terribly, and that wound would never fully heal. In many ways I had replaced Mark, and had brought a spark of light into my uncle’s lonely life since he’d taken me in so many years ago. It was one of the few things which brought any peace of mind to myself, and I didn’t take the situation lightly. If Rod had turned me away when I finally reached his doorstep, why…
Best not to think about it. I would have ended up on the streets, desperate and helpless. But even that was greatly preferable to the alternative, which would have been returning home. No, that had never been an option.
I sat on the bed for a minute, gathering my thoughts. Keeping the lamp on, I went down the ladder, grabbing hold of the rungs as though I’d been doing this all my life. Close enough. The smell of hay was strong, but I liked it. Earthy and fresh. A few of the cows shuffled around, and I called to them by name, patting Matilda on the head.
“Good girl,” I told her. That was enough of a greeting, and I went out the back, the door being a lot smaller than the front opening. The breeze wrapped itself about me immediately as I stepped outside, and I pulled my flannel shirt tighter around myself. A few crickets droned in the high grass, their song growing weaker with each passing day.
It reminded me of…
I shook my head, walking along until I reached the back porch of the house. Entering, I closed the door behind me, finding Rod sitting at the table with a glass of whiskey and a plate of beef.
“Didn’t eat much earlier. Plenty left.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “Not much of an appetite lately.”
Another glass sat empty in front of Rod, and he poured it full with liquor, pushing it in my direction as I lowered myself into the seat.
“I can tell, you know. Something’s been eating away at you. And it gets worse, every year it seems. In the fall.”
I nodded. “The memories,” I started. “I thought time would make them easier.”
My uncle stared at me.
“It hasn’t. If anything, they’re growing stronger. I can’t take it anymore.”
Rod sighed. “What can I do for you? All you have to do is ask, you know. Anything you want, I’ll do it. Doctor, psychiatrist maybe?”
“No. I’d be committed. They’d throw away the key.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of doing anything to yourself.” Rod looked pale, and I knew it took everything he had to come out with that one. “I lost Mark already. You’re pretty much the only family I have left, too.”
And there it was…Mark had killed himself years ago after moving away into the city and getting involved with the wrong crowd two years after I’d arrived. He was on his way out even as I had found a new home for myself, and it had been a terrible time for my uncle Rod, trying to keep my cousin at home and gear him toward being a farmer, but Mark had other plans. Get away from Smalltown USA and out where the action was. In the end, he’d found it, all right.
“I would never do that. I swear. Not to me, not to you.” We locked gazes, and Rod seemed satisfied by what he saw. “But I can’t just do nothing, either.”
Frowning, Rod took a swig, and I joined him, the liquor going down good. He answered. “This will all be yours someday.” He hesitated. “If you want it, that is.”
I was touched by his offer, although I already knew it was there, if unspoken. He was a naturally gruff man, hardened by the loss of his family. Wife died at a young age from illness, his only son killing himself.
And his sister…My mom.
Mom.
“You all right?” he asked.
I tried to nod, but instead shook my head. “I don’t know. Just thinking about my mom.”
“It’s hard, boy. I know, of all people. Loved that woman, and could never figure out what happened to her. And then you came here, with all those crazy stories.”
I stared at him, waiting.
“But you never changed. After all these years, you kept with the same damn story. And I believe you. I know you too well by now. That damn town has something going on there, and I blame it for taking my sister.”
“It’s true, all true. And that’s why I have to go back.”
Rod looked stunned, his mouth opening wide. “After everything you told me? All the weird stuff with your dad and the others? What the hell are you thinking?”
“But don’t you see?” I downed the rest of my drink and stood, letting the warmth trickle down my throat, lodging in my stomach. But the alcohol wasn’t enough to cleanse all the terrible memories. I looked around me, at Rod, the kitchen, the farmhouse. This place could make me stay here, the only real home left to me. There was no question about it. But my memories, my dad, and Haverville—those would never let me live in peace. As a young boy I had no choice. I had to run away. Either that, or become like the rest of them. Prisoners to whatever hell existed there. And the evil that lived back there was never going to let me forget.
I continued. “I’ve grown up, but that place will never give me rest. I keep thinking if I can make a difference, go back and free those people somehow. My dad is still there…”
“But…” Rod stammered. “You don’t even know what it is back there. The things you told me. If it’s all true, then what can you do? What can anyone do?”
“I don’t know.” My voice was barely a whisper. We both looked in the dining room as something shuffled out. It was Jake, Rod’s six-month-old Lab. Well, our Lab was more like it. He’d just woken up, and in he trotted, tail wagging, first going to me, then Rod, both of us scratching his head. He reminded me of Buffer a lot, my old dog who finally died only two years ago.
Buffer, who had been with me all the way.
“But if I do nothing, then I’ve lost. They’ve lost. Maybe I can give them a chance to get their lives back.”
“Or maybe you’ll end up right with them.”
I didn’t answer.
“Gone. Like my sister. And your dad. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. I know you’re not insane. I lived with you for too long now. And I’m not exactly a skeptic, you know, someone who laughs at ghosts or weird stuff. Saw things years ago that made me keep an open mind. Even though what you told me was hard to swallow…I knew something bad had happened to you, although I didn’t believe your story. I thought it was something, well, more personal. But it convinced me either way to keep you here.”
“I know, and I’ve always appreciated what you did for me. Who knows what would have happened.”
Rod poured himself another drink. “You can’t go there.”
“I have to. This time of year, when it gets cooler and the leaves fall. That’s when it calls to me the strongest. I can almost hear a voice in the wind…” My voice drif
ted off.
“Maybe something is calling you.” Rod said. “Trying to get you to come back. And stay for good. Ever think of that?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “But I’ll never have peace unless I try. The guilt gets stronger every year.”
“Guilt? Hell…you were just a kid then. What do you expect?”
“And I’m an adult now. I can’t go on this way without trying.”
“Are you sure it’s not just a search for answers? And ones you’re best off not finding out?”
As for that, I had no reply.
—
In the morning I packed my things, said goodbye to Rod, and left. After all these years I was on the road once more, returning to the hell that I’d sworn never to see again. The pickup rumbled along, and I glanced at the backseat, mentally checking my gear, which included two pistols and a shotgun. It was almost like some clichéd horror movie, I thought. Me against the forces of evil in a small town. It was pretty outrageous, but here I was. The entire situation was unbelievable, and there had been times over the years when I questioned what had really taken place. Had I misinterpreted what I’d seen? Could my mind have been traumatized after my mom had left?
No. I was convinced of it all. After leaving Haverville, the following decade had been very normal, if lackluster. Finished out in a new school, learned the farm trade, and basically enjoyed my life with Rod, albeit on the mundane and boring side. But it was a good and honest living, and, most important, gave me a solid foundation where I grew into maturity. The rest of my childhood had been stripped away by whatever it was back in Haverville, and along with my trepidation and guilt was a growing anger, which had finally boiled over into action. And if I could stop the terrible things taking place in my home town, then I would do whatever was necessary to make it happen.
The realization that I was prepared to do something drastic was just as frightening to me as what waited in Haverville…
I passed sprawling fields on either side of the highway, ones filled with endless rows of corn. Some had been cut down for the harvest, but much of it remained standing. I traveled through the breadbasket of the country, heading steadily north, miles eventually turning from the dozens into the hundreds. I knew it would take at least two days to reach my destination, and it gave me plenty of time to think, try to formulate a plan.
Halloween Carnival Volume 4 Page 11
