But damn if I could think of one…
I guess I would make up one as I went along. See what the place looked like after ten years. Maybe it had changed. Maybe my dad…
I blinked, willing the bad images away. I didn’t want Haverville to get in my head any more than it already was.
The radio played all country, eventually turning into a round-the-dial cacophony of sermons, the impassioned preachers setting vocal fire to everything within hearing range. I could use some of that power myself, direct it to where it was sorely needed. Too bad I couldn’t bring them along with me, I thought. I knew of a particular place that could definitely use a healthy dose of hail and brimstone.
The day grew into evening and I stopped at a small motel for the night. I had plenty of cash on me, and Rod had given me an extra five hundred along with what I already had. Money was never a problem. For years he’d given me a salary for helping him on the farm, and I’d amassed quite a nice stash. I had no idea what I would use it for, so I fattened my bank account.
The motel was called The Just Come Inn, and I paused before the red-neon sign, which reminded me of a pair of eyes, bodiless…
I shivered, quickly entering the small lobby and grabbing a place for the night. Within five minutes I was packed and loaded into the tight room, sitting on the bed and eating a sandwich packed earlier. The TV was fuzzy, an old black-and-white console with little of interest to watch. I popped open a can of soda, mixing it with whiskey, and eased back onto the pillow, knowing that in another twenty-four hours I would be in Haverville again.
I wondered what nightmares I would have that night…
—
The highway was endless, a line cutting evenly through the corn, which was eager to swallow the entire landscape. Cloudy and windy, it looked like fall. October, the dark season. And the inevitable holiday that waited patiently at the end of the orange-and-black month, its mouth smelling of cinnamon and bonfires, skeletal arms ushering in cool evenings and longer nights, the firefly eyes promising mischief and magic.
Halloween.
It had arrived once more. And so had I, when I spotted my turnoff in the late afternoon. Haverville, two miles.
I pulled off to the side of the road, feeling the icy grip of fear over my heart, squeezing ever so gently, reminding me who this town belonged to, mocking any notion that I could make a difference. I nearly turned around right there, high-tailing it south back to Rod and the farm. It was special to me, even sacred. My personal haven. To many people, it might not have seemed like much, but to me it meant the world. I had a sense of belonging there, of purpose. Of being needed, appreciated. And in Rod’s rough way, loved. We were family, all the other had left. I knew this was all in jeopardy now, but I couldn’t change my mind, because if I remained there, I would never feel contented, satisfied that I had at least tried to save the town.
And my dad, if he was still alive after ten long years.
The road shrunk, narrowed a bit, and looked in need of repair. I started passing buildings and sights that were familiar to me. Farms and homes, eventually clinging closer together until I had reached the town proper. First there were the outlying ones, with sprawling yards and tree-lined borders. Then, they became more numerous, brick and stone homes with dark alleys behind them.
Everything looked exactly the same as I remembered it.
There sat the town church, the concrete steps leading up toward the closed wooden doors, the steeple bell overhead hovering motionless as if it could withstand the ages. Porches were decorated for the holiday, jack-o’-lanterns gutted and shaped into gruesome features, scarecrows stuffed with straw leaning lazily against rails or propped up by cold walls.
I spotted masked children walking along the sidewalks, a parade of ghouls out to demand their tribute. I shivered, knowing the truth of what lurked beneath the town’s mundane façade, silently pulling the strings and controlling its citizens, or at least a number of them. How many more had fallen under that yoke since I’d left? And there wasn’t the slightest bit of doubt in my mind that the cycle had been broken, the trapped ones freed.
My instincts told me otherwise. That, and the wind as it blew across the fields from the north in the fall, reminding me that there were places the sunlight couldn’t penetrate and time itself might be powerless to change…
I slowly drove toward the industrial part of town, no one paying attention to me. The streets grew empty here, and a minute later I stopped as I saw a large brick building slumbering in the corner of town like a sleeping behemoth, but I knew that it never slept. Never tired. It was the factory.
Dim light spilled from the barred windows, and I knew that there were probably many people inside even now, feverishly working on something unknown and sinister, its purpose kept secret by both the employees and owner. My stomach churned in revulsion, wondering if my dad was inside those deceitfully featureless walls as I looked on, unaware of my presence. Well, I would soon enough know the answer, I promised myself. I would find out his fate, if it was the last thing I ever did…
But not yet.
I moved on, knowing that the guard booths were occupied and unfriendly eyes might be watching me as I paused there. I didn’t want to raise the alarm, reveal who I was. I had to remain unnoticed, not give myself away. There were things in Haverville that I had no desire to meet up with again, dangerous things. The guardians. I remembered the harrowing experience as one of them had hunted Kyle as he tried to run back up Graver’s road while I ran the opposite way, fearing for my own life.
I thought he’d been killed that night, and in a way, he probably had. Or at least he’d been changed, transformed into something different, one of the hopeless.
As I drove onward, memories came back to me, strong and vivid. The streets and yards where we roamed, prowling about at night like adventurers in a hostile land. Little did we realize how closely our actions resembled this terrible analogy. I stared at the homes, and at first glance, things looked exactly the same.
But then I noticed a difference. Subtle, but there.
Front yards looked unkempt, not as nicely manicured as they were in my youth. Slightly overgrown, bushes needed trimming, leaves scattered in reckless piles as if done so in haste, or blatant carelessness.
And the homes…
Shutters hung at odd angles, some of them lying on the ground. Shingles were missing, blown away by a shrill wind, or just wasted from time itself. Sidewalks had long, sinuous cracks within the concrete like the veins of a giant. Paint was chipping off most of the houses, siding was warped, fences were crooked. The alleyways appeared even more menacing than from my childhood; larger, shadowed, and potentially shrouding even greater secrets. I looked at a weather vane spinning dizzily from a rooftop, the rooster head missing. Dusk had arrived, wrapping the cursed town in a huge blanket of obscurity, mercifully putting it out of sight as evening drew nigh.
Haverville was dying.
A long, bitter death. The shadow had grown larger and stronger since I’d left, and the sickness was thriving. I wondered if Farmer Graver’s power could really expand past the town limits, or was this it right here, the totality of his foul rein. I felt nauseous, thinking about all these squandered lives. Past, present, and possibly future.
But not if I could do anything about it.
I drove faster, soon going up the large, wooded hill that backed the town, and ultimately toward my own home. I had always felt a small thrill after reaching the top, usually while on my bike, taking in the wondrous scenery below, but this time I didn’t look back. People have an innate tendency to stop and gaze at the grotesque. A car accident, train wreck, paramedics hovering over a heart-attack victim. But Haverville’s disease was below the surface, and I would gain nothing by staring at its skin, however ugly.
The road was empty, and I passed the one or two homes that had been here a decade ago. These were surrounded by forests, and the trees appeared to have grown thicker in an effort to consume all othe
r life. Potholes were everywhere, and it looked as though the local road crew had abandoned the outer reaches of Haverville entirely. It was growing darker by the minute, and I both feared and looked forward to nightfall. Feared, because I knew what lurked here under cover of shadow, and looked forward to, so that the blemish of Graver’s hold was less visibly evident.
The road wound on, and several minutes passed. And then…I was there again.
My childhood home. A place I could never forget. Maybe consciously, but my nightmares would not permit it.
I waited at the bottom of the driveway, which looked as forlorn as the rest of town. Bushes crowded the bend, but I could make out a single glimmer of light from the house. It had to be the front porch lantern, something that had always been kept on. I breathed deeply and felt my pulse racing, my heart thudding. The moment had finally arrived, and from here on there was no going back.
Did I have the resolve?
I sat there, asking myself this question, deciding quickly that I did. To return now was unthinkable. I would be plagued by nightmares more strong and profound than before, and the guilt would be unbearable. Even now, it was nearly that. I slowly pulled the car up the driveway, keeping my eyes focused for any sign of movement. I reached the top, and turned the car about, in case I would need to leave in a hurry.
I had to be prepared for anything…
There was no other car parked there, and this helped confirm one of my suspicions at least, that my dad—if he were still alive—was at work, if that’s what you called the mindless slavery for those beneath Graver’s power.
Opening the door, I stood there for a moment, gritting my teeth. In my hand was a small pistol, something I prayed would not be necessary. But I had to protect myself. There were dangerous things stalking the perimeters of Haverville. Moving quietly onto the porch, I looked in through the windows. A lamp was lighted inside, but nothing else. Hesitating for a moment, I tried the handle, but it was locked.
I pulled a flashlight from my hand and scanned the left side, where a line of bushes crushed against the wall, and the yard carpeted outward from there. Too many places to hide, I thought…
Well.
Breathing deeply, I walked on, scanning my beam across areas which offered the greatest amount of concealment while keeping the open yard to my left. Nothing happened, and the night was quiet. A few crickets chirped in the background, and they lent me a small measure of reassurance. The air was chilly, the night sky clear and bright. It was one of those years when the moon would be full for Halloween, and I glanced up at its silvery radiance.
Magical, beautiful, mysterious. It was all these. I tried to draw comfort from its presence, but I knew the moon was also a companion to darker things in myth and legend, so I gained nothing.
I neared the back, pausing at the kitchen window. I fumbled at the latch and found that it was unlocked. The window slid upward, but the wood siding was rotten, and several pieces crumbled as I raised myself to enter. Seconds later I was in, and I flashed my light around, looking at the table and counters. The place inside was neat and clean, as it had always been. A stark contrast to the outside structure, I thought, were things had deteriorated into neglected. I really didn’t know what to make of it all…
The place was empty, that was obvious. If my dad still lived here, he was away. I walked into the dining room, and it confirmed my belief that this was his home. The furniture was exactly the same as I remembered it, down to the last piece of dinnerware in the hutch. Surprised, I then entered the living room, immediately recognizing the sofa and console TV, although things looked older than I recalled. But everything was the same, in the same spot. It was as if I’d never left the place. Amazing. I shook my head. Then, with more than a little trepidation, I looked at the steps and the shadows that waited upstairs for me.
The memories became stronger yet. That, and a sense of growing dread.
With heavy steps I went up, one hand on my flashlight, the other on the gun. I was greeted by dust and darkness, but nothing else moved. I first went down the hall and toward my dad’s bedroom, where the door was open. Looking cautiously inside, I saw that again, nothing had changed. Not a single piece of furniture had been moved or replaced, no clothes lying on the bed, nothing…
It appeared completely normal, although this fact in itself implied the exact opposite of what was going on here, in this house, this town. Normal couldn’t be further from the truth. Turning around, I walked slowly to the last place I needed to see. My old bedroom. My throat felt parched, and I knew that I needed to keep it together if I was to get out of this in one piece. Who knew what else was in store for me this night…
The door was closed but unlocked. I carefully pushed it open and went in, moving the light switch. A low-watt bulb flicked on overhead, and I tensed, preparing myself for a leap back in time, the memories flooding my brain. But what I found inside chilled me to the bone…
Everything was the same…everything! Down to the last comic book lying on the floor, the last monster movie poster hanging on the wall. A school project on my dresser, something about types of clouds and weather patterns. There was even an old T-shirt on the bed, exactly where I’d left it the night I had run away.
It was incredible. Like nothing had ever happened here and a young boy still lived, played, and dreamed inside this small room. What had my dad thought after finding me gone? Had he ignored my absence, acted like it had never happened? Did any vestige of decency still remain in his mind, or, more likely, was he completely lost? It was a terrifying notion, but one that seemed closest to the truth. I know things had been strained between us since Mom had left, but this…was unthinkable. And I didn’t know the nature of Graver’s hold over him. Maybe he’d never had a choice.
A vortex of emotions raged inside me. I felt an emptiness that would never be entirely quenched. Immense pity at the fate of my parents, pawns of this horrible town and its master. What he had done to people who lived here. My anger continued to grow. Boiling, flowing through my veins, an acid of hatred for Old Man Graver and his poisonous ways. His power seeped beneath the streets and homes of Haverville, wormed its way through the fields and forests, an insidious liquid of corruption, impassionate and wholly serving its own foul purpose.
I had come here for a reason. This had to end. Now.
Fuming, I glanced around once more, tears forming at the corners of my eyes…Dad. Oh, Dad.
Turning in pity and disgust, I left my old bedroom, retreating down the hall, focusing my thoughts inward, trying to pool my resolve into action that would change things once and for all. More composed, I headed down the stairs, reaching the bottom, but my new fortitude crumbled instantly as I heard a car rumbling outside as someone approached…
Was it…
Him?
I stood there in the living room, staring at the front door, the nightmares rearing up before my eyes, hoping that I had been somehow wrong about everything. Maybe he had escaped, found a way out of the darkness of Haverville and his life, his past. Maybe…
It wasn’t to be, though, as I watched in shock as the doorknob slowly turned and a shadow appeared, emerging from the blackness. The figure took form, and details became clear, vagueness forming into solid.
And despite all the mental preparation I’d taken to defend myself, I realized that it had fallen far short. The mind could only take so much pain…
It was my dad.
He entered, glancing up at me. I looked at his face, into his eyes. He had aged. There were more lines of care etched into his pale skin, dark smudges beneath those orbs, hair gone entirely gray. His shoulders were hunched over, and there was a pronounced limp to his walk.
But it was…
…still
him.
“Awake yet, Son? You should be in bed.”
What? What? I was stunned, unable to speak or move.
“I’ll be working late tomorrow, and this weekend. I’m tired, very tired.” His voice was husky, al
most as if he struggled to talk and breathe at the same time. “I’m going to bed. Good night.”
He brushed past me and headed up the stairs without another word. I stared at his back as he went higher, wanting so badly to say something—anything—but the words failed me. Up he walked, slowly, as if incredibly weary. My hand opened, closed, but no syllable left my mouth, the horror consuming me completely. Moments later he disappeared, devoured by the shadows above, which seemed eager to accept his tired and beaten form.
And that was it…
Who was this shade impersonating the man who was once my father? What had been done to him?
Years ago, I remember thinking that the reason he worked so much was to lose himself from the reality of my mom’s disappearance, but I’d been dreadfully wrong. I now knew the truth, guessed at or sensed it somehow. I didn’t know how the revelation came to me, but I still knew…My dad had no choice in the matter. He was a slave, in mind and body, and even if I could snatch him away, take him by force—which I certainly could—I knew then that it wouldn’t be enough. He would only find his way back to Haverville, or even worse, the town would bring him back.
Was this the reality I had returned to? Was there truly no hope for him and the others?
Perhaps. But I didn’t have all the answers. Hell, I didn’t have all the questions. There was no way I was going to leave, admit defeat. I had to make the attempt, no matter the cost to myself. And it wouldn’t be easy. From what I’d seen years ago, there were forces at work that asserted control over the townspeople. Strong, and deadly. I had no idea as to what they were capable of doing, either. Bad things, for sure.
I slumped into the sofa, rubbing my eyebrows. I knew it was going to be rough coming back, but this? Damn…
Damn…
I felt like crying, but now wasn’t the time and place, and it wouldn’t help change anything. What about my father? What to do with him? Nothing, for the moment. Repulsive as the thought was, my dad was probably safest right here. I didn’t think he was in any danger. I would have to come back for him later.
Halloween Carnival Volume 4 Page 12
