“Oh come on,” Alex laughed, “it’s just a little backwoods town, it’s adorable.”
“Where’s the restaurant?” Tory asked.
Stefan pulled into the dirt lot in front of the general store. “I think it’s safe to assume we’re looking at it. Hopefully they have sandwiches or something. If not, we’ll get back on the highway and try the next exit.”
“I really need to use a bathroom,” Alex said.
“You’d be better off trying the gas station.” He pointed farther down the road. “They usually have one.”
“I’ll go with you,” Tory offered. “I gotta take a squirt bad.”
They all piled out of the car, Billy still conspicuously silent.
“We’ll go see if they have anything lunch-like,” Stefan said.
“Okay, meet you back here in a sec.”
Billy watched Alex and Tory cross the street and head for the gas station. They looked as wildly out of place as he felt.
“Are you ever planning on speaking again?” Stefan asked.
“Let’s just get what we need and screw, all right? I got a bad feeling.”
“Billy, for God’s sake, it was just a bird. They fly into things sometimes.”
“It’s not just that. I don’t like the looks of this place.” He glanced around. “Notice anything strange about this town?”
“You mean besides the fact that Aunt Bea probably lives here?”
“Where the hell is everybody?”
Stefan scanned the area, taking it all in a moment. They were the only people on the street, and it was peculiarly quiet. “It is odd, but how many jobs could there be in a town this size? Most people probably work somewhere else, so in the middle of the day like this the place is basically empty.”
“Yeah,” Billy said reluctantly, “could be, I guess.”
“Come on, let’s have a look inside.” Stefan motioned to the store. “If you’re a good boy, I’ll buy you an ice cream.”
The gas station appeared as deserted as the rest of Boxer Hills. Not terribly well kept, the station’s construction was most likely dated somewhere in the late 1940s or early 1950s. An old single pump sat out front in the dirt lot, and a wooden sign perched above the garage simply read: Gas. The main building was small but housed an office with an adjacent one-bay garage.
As Alex and Tory approached, they saw that the office door was open, but no one was inside. She poked her head in to be sure.
The office was cramped, cluttered and consisted of a desk covered in old, grease-stained paperwork, a counter area on which sat an antique cash register, an ancient telephone and a chipped coffee mug with spent cigarette butts floating in it, and a few folding chairs that constituted a waiting area of sorts. From the look of the place, no one had stepped foot within these walls in quite some time.
“They’re obviously open,” Alex said. “Somebody must be here.”
They walked back outside and around to the garage bay. The door was raised, revealing a typical concrete floor and walls covered with an array of car parts, accessories and various tools and rags. But again, no sign of anyone.
“Maybe they’re on break or something.” Tory moved toward the rear of the building. “If there’s a pooper, it’s probably around back anyway.”
They walked along the side of the garage until they reached a yard of overgrown weeds, assorted debris and trash, and a bevy of old, rusted-out automobile carcasses.
A filthy and battered door on the back wall of the garage read: Restroom, the letters carved directly into the wood.
“Bogus!” Tory snorted.
Alex cringed, imagining what the inside of that bathroom looked like. “On second thought, maybe I can hold it awhile longer.”
“Sorry, not me, I need to drain Monsignor Lizard-o immediately.” Tory unzipped his fly, pulled himself free and shot an arc of urine into the air.
“Lovely. I’ll meet you out front.”
Alex turned and ran directly into a man in filthy overalls.
Startled, she jumped back. “Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she said, laughing nervously. “You scared me, I didn’t see you there.”
The man’s sleepy, bloodshot eyes shifted to Tory. “Just what in the hell you think you’re doin’?”
In the sweetest voice she could muster, Alex answered for him. “We wanted to use your bathroom, but there wasn’t anyone in the office.”
Ignoring her, the man cocked his head. His mouth fell open to reveal a set of dark and rotting gums. “You pissin’ on my station?”
Tory zipped up and moved to Alex’s side. “Nah, it’s not like that, bro, I didn’t hit the building.”
The man scratched his dirty neck with equally dirty fingers then ran a hand across his grimy, shaved dome of a head. Though it was difficult to gauge his age, he was most likely in his fifties. Tall and lean, he wore no shirt beneath the overalls, and his bronze skin had a leathery look often found in men who work outside for long periods in the sun. But in his present state it was difficult to tell where the filth ended and the tan began. “You read?”
“Huh?”
“Read,” the man said. “Can you read?”
Tory grinned like an imbecile. “Sure.”
He motioned to the bathroom door, lazily tossing his hand in its general direction. “Ain’t you seen the restroom sign?”
“We’re sorry,” Alex said. “We didn’t want to go in without permission so—”
“So, he figured he’d piss on my property like a dog?”
“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Tory assured him. “Seriously, dude.”
The man’s eyes dropped the length of Tory’s body, taking in the cutoff shorts, flip-flops, tie-dyed T-shirt, long blond hair and straw cowboy hat. “You with the carnival? What the hell kinda getup is that?” He gave Alex a sideways glance. Eye makeup, short black hair, loud sweatshirt. “And what’re you ’posed to be, some sorta whore of Babylon?”
Alex blanched. “Excuse me?”
The man licked his chapped lips. “Pull them pants down and pee too.”
“Hey, bud,” Tory said, stepping forward, “be cool, comprende?”
In the time she’d known him, Alex had never before seen Tory exhibit anything close to anger, and though his attempt at chivalry was well-meaning, she also realized it could escalate things unless the situation was quickly defused. “Look, our friends are over at the general store,” she told the man. “We’ll go get them and come back and buy some gas from you, Okay?”
The man casually pawed one of his large ears and appeared to consider what Alex had said longer than seemed warranted.
“We’re really very sorry about this, sir,” she added.
An unsettling smile slithered across his face. “We all outta gas.”
“Bummer.” Tory took Alex by the arm. “Let’s vamoose.”
As they walked past him, back toward the front of the building, the man made no move to stop them.
A small bell jangled over the door as Stefan and Billy made their way into the general store. The ceiling was low and the floors consisted of an old wood plank design that looked as old as the building itself. Several rows of iron wire racks containing various items lined the main section of the store, and a counter sat near the bay window, an old cash register atop it and a man in his seventies standing behind it. He turned and looked at them as they entered but said nothing. In front of the counter stood another man about the same age who appeared to be visiting with the clerk. Both men clutched mugs of steaming coffee.
“Afternoon,” Stefan smiled.
The men stared at them.
“Great,” Billy muttered, approaching the counter. “Can I get a pack of Marlboro Box, please?”
“Ain’t got that,” the man said evenly.
Billy forced a smile. “Well, whatcha got, partner?”
“Luckies, Camel, Viceroy.” The man pointed to a cardboard display ad at the end of the counter which showed the legendary Hollywood movie star Tyron
e Power in an ascot and dinner jacket holding a cigarette. “And Chesterfield.”
“I’ll take the Luckies.” Billy motioned to the counter ad. “That’s pretty cool. Don’t see that kind of thing much anymore.”
The old man considered him a moment then slowly reached behind him to a low shelf, pulled free the cigarettes and tossed them on the counter.
Stefan headed down one of the aisles. He’d been hoping for a deli or something similar, but the store only carried the most basic groceries and a few items normally found in hardware stores. Odd thing was, everything looked wildly dated, and he’d never seen most of the brands. Those he had looked like vintage versions. He settled on an aisle with candy bars and decided to grab some to hold everyone over until they found a restaurant. But when he looked at them more closely, he realized they were all covered in a thin film of dust. He moved on, walking up and down each aisle. More of the same, everything was coated with dust.
At the counter, as Billy dug his wallet from his jeans, he noticed a magazine display a few feet away. It housed mostly hunting and fishing publications, as well as a detective magazine, a science fiction digest and a copy of Life. Each bore a publication date from 1947. Though they were coated with dust, they appeared to be in pristine condition. “Are these originals or reprints?”
“They just magazines is all.” The old man remained expressionless. “You want anything ’sides the cigarettes?”
Billy looked back over his shoulder in time to find Stefan moving toward the counter with a confused expression. “You all set?”
“Completely.”
“Just the butts then, chief,” Billy said.
The man hit a key on the register. “Twenty cent.”
Billy exchanged puzzled glances with Stefan then placed a quarter on the counter. “Keep the change. You gentlemen have a nice day now.”
The man behind the counter nodded. His friend sipped his coffee with a loud slurp.
Once back outside on the front steps, Stefan grabbed Billy’s arm. “Did you see how everything in there was covered in dust?”
“Yeah, what a dump. Scintillating counter help too. Him and his buddy there, couple of charmers.”
They moved down the steps together. “Billy, nothing in that store’s been touched in God knows how long. It’s like it’s been closed for years and just reopened or something.”
“You get a load of the magazine rack?” Billy tore open the pack of Lucky Strikes, pulled a cigarette free. “Everything in it’s from 1947. I shit you not.”
“That’s thirty-six years ago. Why would they have magazines that old?”
“Why would he sell me a pack of butts for twenty cents and have an ad for Chesterfields with Tyrone-fucking-Power on his counter?” He lit the cigarette with his Zippo, took a hard drag and exhaled through his nose. “Let’s just find the others and get back on the highway. This place gives me the creeps.”
Alex and Tory appeared around the side of the gas station and moved quickly across the street. They all met at the Fairlane.
“You would not believe this guy we ran into over there,” Alex said, checking over her shoulder to make certain they hadn’t been followed.
“Wanna bet?” Billy took another pull on the cigarette, dropped it to the dirt and crushed it with the toe of his boot as Stefan and Alex exchanged stories. “I’ve heard enough. We’re outta here.”
As they opened the car doors, Stefan looked back at the general store. The bay window, segregated into small square panes, reflected the sunshine and made it impossible to see beyond the glass to the store inside. But something in one pane in particular caught his attention. An odd glare and then…movement. He removed his sunglasses, rubbed his eyes and looked again. “What is that?”
The others followed his gaze to the window.
Inexplicably, the glass pane moved, rippling like water within its small frame before slightly bowing outward.
They watched it, dumbfounded, struck to silence and unable to fully comprehend what they were seeing. For several seconds, the glass undulated then settled and fell still, blending with the other panes and the rest of the window.
“That’s not possible,” Alex said dully.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Stefan said. “Come on, move!”
They frantically scrambled into the car.
Stefan turned the engine, dropped the shift into reverse and slammed the gas, spinning the tires in the dirt lot and kicking up a cloud of dust before rocketing back onto pavement. Rubber screeched, and the Fairlane shot down the main drag, back the way they’d come, hurtling in the direction of the highway at breakneck speed.
Trees flew past in a blur on either side of them as Stefan maneuvered the car along the winding road. “There must be an onramp somewhere in here.”
“Look for that big town sign,” Alex said. Relegated again to the backseat, she leaned forward. “It should be right along here, but slow down before you get us all killed, you’ll—there—there it is!”
“What happened back there?” Tory asked, voice shaking. “How did the glass do that? How did it move like that?”
No one answered.
Instead, the Fairlane skidded to an abrupt halt next to the town sign.
To their right lay thick, nearly impenetrable forest.
The road they had taken off the highway, the one that had led them to Boxer Hills, was gone.
Chapter Four
“Where the hell’s the road?” Billy pivoted in his seat. “It was right here.”
“No way,” Tory said, hands on his head.
Alex fidgeted about like a trapped animal. “How is this possible, we—”
“Everyone calm down,” Stefan said in a controlled tone. “Let’s all just take a deep breath. We’re lost, that’s all. We’re not where we thought we were.”
“The road was right across from that sign.”
“Then this can’t be the same sign.”
“What about that shit with the window?” Tory asked.
“Sometimes the sun can hit glass and cause optical illusions due to the angle. It had to be a trick of the light.”
“Cut the crap,” Alex snapped, sitting forward. “We all know what we saw. You were as scared as the rest of us, Speed Racer.”
“I’m just saying I think we overreacted.”
“And I’m just saying I know what I saw, and what I saw wasn’t…”
“Possible?”
“Well…yeah.”
Stefan wiped perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand. “Look, we’re tired, hungry and more than a little road weary. We let our imaginations get the better of us.”
“Whatever, just keep driving,” Billy said. “This road’s got to come out somewhere, and sooner or later we’re bound to run into signs for the highway.”
Stefan drove on, this time at a slower and more reasonable speed. Though he continued to pretend he was relaxed and in control, he kept both hands on the wheel so no one would notice how badly they were shaking.
In relative silence, they followed the winding, heavily wooded road for several miles, passing occasional residences scattered throughout the forest. Most were literal shacks in various stages of disrepair, others more legitimate houses but still quite dated and modest.
Oddly, they saw no signs of life.
It was Tory who first noticed something else. Almost all the houses had small mirrors of some description either mounted or positioned in at least one window, facing outward, the reflective side aimed at the road.
“It’s probably some peculiar local custom,” Stefan said.
“Or you know what?” Alex jibed. “Maybe they’re optical illusions!”
“Actually, there are lots of superstitions concerning mirrors.” This from Billy, his eyes trained on the road before them.
“What is it with you and superstition all of a sudden?” Stefan moaned.
“My grandmother had tons of them. I grew up hearing the stories.”
“Well, that nonsense is the last thing we need to worry about right now.”
“Speak for yourself,” Alex said. “What does it mean, Billy?”
“Putting a mirror in a window like that, facing out, has something to do with warding off evil spirits. I don’t remember the exact specifics, but it’s something along the lines of how a demon is so repulsive to the eye even its own reflection will repel it.”
“Sounds about the right speed for the people we’ve run into so far.” Stefan shook his head. “Welcome to Boxer Hills, gateway to the seventeenth century.”
As they made their way around one particularly sharp bend in the road, they came upon a diner. A classic dining car design, the small building was wrapped in stainless steel and sported a neon sign on the roof that read: Eats. The parking lot was empty, and though the diner was far from pristine, it did appear to be open. “This place doesn’t look too revolting.” Stefan mustered a smile. “Want to give it a try?”
“Pull in,” Alex pleaded. “I have to pee so bad I can taste it.”
Stefan slowed the car. They crept into the lot.
“I know nobody asked,” Tory muttered restlessly, “but I say we get out of here and find us a tasty bit of choice highway instead.”
“Relax, that town was hardly a sprawling metropolis,” Stefan said. “We just covered a good ten miles. I seriously doubt we’re even in Boxer Hills anymore.”
“But you’re not sure, are you?”
Stefan parked the Fairlane and killed the engine, the mirror image of the diner reflected in the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “No.”
The smell of fried foods and freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. A row of stools and a counter area filled the back wall of the diner, a partially open kitchen behind them. A few booths lined the opposite wall, and the narrow passage between the two led to a payphone and restrooms at the rear of the eatery. Like much of what they’d seen before, the diner appeared to have been transported to 1983 from some earlier era. A middle-aged woman in a yellow waitress uniform and a white apron stood behind the counter, a pencil behind her ear. Behind her, a grizzled gray-haired man in whites moved about the kitchen. Three women on stools at the end of the counter, the only other customers in the place, looked up as they entered.
Catching Hell Page 3
