Patrick stepped up on one of the rocks, and all the attention shifted to him. He looked as if he were holding the conch in Golding’s Lord of the Flies.
“Alright, here's the deal,” he said. “Yes, what happened is weird. But it's most likely just some retarded local kids fucking with us. There was the noise at the bridge, and then the car. It's the type of shit we would do if we lived out here, and you know it. People from out of state come out here after hearing rumors online about the area being haunted, and the pranksters make it a reality. Hell, the only reality that really exists is probably the one they've made. And then, of course, you have the alternative to staying, going home and telling our parents why we're back early.”
“I'm beyond that, dude,” Dean said, his voice shaking. “I don't care anymore.”
“What about John?” Patrick retorted. “Ronnie will run his face over with the fucking lawnmower!”
“Can we not talk about him right now?” John said, flustered.
Patrick crossed his arms. “At least, let's wait until morning. That's all I'm asking. It's late, we all know that. Most of us are pretty fucked up, and the only one who isn't can't even drive yet. This is a one-horse town, and you better believe he'll be sitting in the bushes on the highway waiting for some dumbass kids to bust. It's too risky.”
No one had anything to say. An owl began hooting overhead. The fire had begun to burn down again; the coals whispered secrets to each other in flared excitement. Nature wasn't shy.
“I have an idea,” Sam said from the entryway of the tent. “We could have a couple people stand guard for a couple hours and then rotate. Like they do in the movies. That will get us through until morning.”
“And what happens when Jeepers Creepers runs out of the woods and starts calling us names?” Dean said. “We just have a wrestling match to the death by the creek?”
“I realize now that we should have brought a gun,” admitted Patrick. “But we didn't. And it sucks. But I'm sure we will be fine. Now, I hate to ask this, but it has to be said. Who wants to volunteer to go first?”
“I think it should definitely be two people,” said Tim.
“Yeah, In case one falls asleep.”
“You know, I wasn't going to say this,” Dean said. “But I think Sam should have to be on first watch.”
Sam blushed. “I… I mean–”
“Why is that?” Patrick asked, his volume rising.
“You know why.”
Patrick opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted.
“I was going to volunteer anyways,” Sam said. “I don't know if I could sleep if I swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills.”
“Okay,” Dean said. “Good deal, then. Who else?”
“Maybe you should,” said Patrick. “Give you a chance to apologize to Sam for being a dick.”
Dean bowed his chest the slightest bit. John stepped between them, waving them off.
“Maybe you should stay out here so you can suck him off some more,” Dean said. “So afraid to hurt his feelings, tell it like it is, Pat. Tell him how you're ashamed of him because he's a ball fondler. Tell him it was a shitty move forcing his way into our vacation.”
Patrick looked from Dean—his supposed friend—to Sam—his little brother—and back to Dean and found himself speechless.
“Did you really say all of those things?” Sam demanded.
“No.”
“Oh really?” Dean asked. “I seem to remember differently. I remember you coming to school after everyone found out what happened, embarrassed as hell. You said he was a fag, and that you didn't know how that happened in your family.”
Before Patrick had a chance to say anything else, Tim intervened. “I'll sit on first watch with Sam,” he said. “And honestly, I don't know what the hell is going on with you two, but it's shitty, and it needs to stop. Take your asses to sleep, and I'll wake you up in a couple hours.”
Dean, Patrick, and Sam stood in a small circle, staring one another down for a few moments longer until eventually, Dean stormed into the tent, breaking the tension a bit.
Patrick said, “Sam, I'm sorry. I don't really feel that way. I've been very open with you about what I think.”
Sam sat down in a chair close to the fire. He kicked some sticks into the coals and sighed. Without looking at his brother, he said, “I'll see you in a couple hours. Get some sleep.”
Tim and Sam sat outside the tent in awkward silence. Tim tried making small talk, but he didn't know that much about Sam except for the fact that he had been accused of being gay. How's that for casual conversation? They talked a little about the Goatman and the bridge, but when Tim noticed Sam getting noticeably bothered, he dropped the subject.
It wasn't long before Sam fell asleep in his chair, head cocked back, mouth open.
Oh wow, thanks, thought Tim. I stand up for you, and you repay me by making me go this watch solo.
What was worse, he had to piss. One thing about Sam falling asleep was that he wouldn't have to go far for privacy. He stood up slowly and walked over to the other side of the fire. He glanced around, as if someone might be out here who might see him, then he unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. This is when most guys would just piss. But Tim wasn't like most guys. He did piss, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he hadn't taken care of his “problem” in almost a whole day, which must have been some kind of record. Instead of putting himself back in his pants after he finished, he turned around and faced the fire, feeling the heat on his naked torso and groin. It drove him crazy. He wondered what Sam would think if he woke up and saw him standing there playing with himself, but then he thought that he'd probably like it, and he almost laughed out loud. Deep down, though, Tim had an animalistic urge, and he didn't give a fuck if anyone saw. In fact, a part of him wished they would.
He finished his business in a dizzying haste. The shame which usually followed this act came in waves, especially with Patrick’s little brother just across the fire from him, but at least it was done.
He couldn't help but think of the time his mother had walked in on him; her reaction would never leave his mind. You filthy little shit.
Tim had the unshakable feeling of being watched. He glanced around, heart beating madly in his chest.
“Hello?” he called, feeling silly. There was no one out here but them, right?
He heard a small voice from just beyond the tree line. The voice said, “Hey.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sam woke so suddenly and violently that he resembled a dying person who had been stabbed in the chest with a dose of adrenaline. He had been dreaming, or rather, having a nightmare. In it, he was wandering on a wooded path in search of something unknown, and he kept coming across bloody chunks of a human body. He followed the trail of gore for a long time, stumbling across a leg here, a nose there. All along the way was residue of a pinkish-white goo which looked like a giant snail’s slime. Only instead of mucus, this trail appeared to consist of human (or some other animal) pieces ground into a paste.
Finally, he came to the end of the gory path, where his father was hunched over like Gollum from Tolkien’s masterpiece. Gary Hall’s eyes rolled absently in his skull, and he never appeared to actually look at Sam when he spoke.
“Well, would you just look at that,” he said. “Look at it! Goddamnit, I didn't raise no faggot.”
Sam tried to say something in protest to that remark, not realizing, of course, that he was in a dream. But he was unable to speak. He could only stand there and listen to his father belittle him.
“Look behind you.”
Sam turned around and screamed in silent horror. The shock of it. His body was gone from the torso down, insides unraveling like a bloody kite string. Turning around, he faced his father. Gary had somehow immediately and silently closed the gap between them, until he was mere inches away from Sam’s face. He could smell the stink of rot coming from all his orifices. His teeth were filed to jagged yell
ow points, and maggots writhed in his eye sockets.
“Do you see now what you are? You're just a diseased little cocksucker is all. I should have pulled out when I fucked your whore mother. But you know what? I couldn't stop myself. You understand, don't you?” And then Gary Hall opened his mouth and lunged towards him.
That was when Sam woke up.
“You were supposed to wake us up after a couple hours,” Patrick said. “The sun is already coming up. Have you been sleeping this whole time?”
“No. I don't know.”
“Where is Tim?”
“I don't know.”
His brother sighed. “Well what about the alarm? I thought he was setting an alarm on his phone?”
Before Sam could answer, John said, “I can't find my phone.”
“Me neither,” Dean said, rifling through his bag.
None of their phones could be found.
“We need to look for Tim,” Patrick said. “He can't be far. Maybe he took our phones, you know, as a prank or something.”
Each of them walked in a different direction from the campsite, shouting Tim’s name over and over like rabid fans calling to their favorite actor walking by on the red carpet.
There was no answer.
Dean had begun to pace back and forth, mumbling to himself. “What the fuck is going on?” He said. “I can't see him taking our phones and hiding for a laugh.”
“Why not?” asked Patrick.
“Because it's not funny.”
They all agreed to sit down and eat some breakfast while they gathered their thoughts. Sam helped Patrick set out some snack foods from their bags, and each of them grabbed a bottle of water.
The food, for the most part, was picked at without much enthusiasm. The day was already shaping up to be very hot. The trees seemed to sweat in the southern heat. Patrick thought of what they had originally planned on doing today. Swimming in the not-so-secret whirlpools and jumping from the rope swing into the hundred-foot-drop below. That would have been cool and refreshing and fun.
Instead they would spend the day looking for their friend.
Their dumbass friend who was supposed to stay awake and on watch.
Dean stood up and tossed his food down. “I can't just keep sitting here,” he said. “I know you guys think Tim is just messing with us, or maybe he just went off exploring or something, but I don't believe that, okay? This place is just… wrong. You all know it. We should have never come out here.”
“I didn't see you arguing when we planned this trip,” said Patrick, who also stood up.
“Don't start this shit again,” John pleaded. “We'll go look for him right now.”
Each of them threw their trash into the newly-lit fire and began to get their things together.
“I think we should leave someone here like last time,” Sam said. “You know, with our stuff.”
“Are you scared to go out there with us?” Patrick asked.
“No. I'm not scared. I'm just… I just have a bad feeling about leaving our stuff unwatched.”
“It's daylight.”
“Just let him stay if he wants to,” Dean said. “It doesn't matter. He'll be fine.”
Patrick didn't feel right leaving Sam behind, but he did it anyway. He was so tired of trying to do what everyone wanted him to do, so tired of being the “leader.” But it always happened this way, Patrick being in charge. It just came naturally. Only, sometimes, a leader needs a leader as well.
“He's always going on and on about the rope swing drop down at the river,” Dean said. “We should check there first.”
“This path here takes you right there,” John said. “It Y’s off to the right, and it's right down there.”
As they walked, Dean couldn't stop thinking about the dreaded Goatman. It seemed like the very essence of the thing had crept into his soul. But why? He couldn't explain it, but ever since he read what he found online, he hadn't had a moment awake—or asleep—where the legendary creature wasn't in his thoughts.
They made their way down the path until they came to the fork at the end.
“We go right here,” John said.
They turned right, and Dean said, “I don't feel right about this place. I don't feel right about any of it. I think we should leave.”
“I know how you feel,” said Patrick. “But we have to find Tim. If this place is that bad, we can't just leave him out here.”
“I know, but I don't think you understand. It's evil out here. If this place doesn't want us to find Tim, we won't.”
“Bullshit,” John said. “It's all bullshit. We'll find Tim, he's probably laughing at us right now. I wouldn't be surprised if he jumped out of the damn trees right now and mooned us.”
They had reached the cliff with the rope swing. The rope swing was attached to a limb on an old oak tree that stood by the edge of the cliff. They walked over to the edge and looked down.
“Is this the part where Tim jumps out and says ‘boo’?” Dean asked.
There was nothing at the bottom of the cliff besides the river which looked very deep. The drop looked to be at least three stories down.
“I've jumped it once,” John said. “It's pretty insane. Your balls feel like they're being pulled off when you land though.”
“That's great,” Patrick said. “We need to head back, keep looking in some other direction.”
They turned around and started to head back to camp. Then there was a noise.
“What is that?” Patrick shouted.
The Suburban was blasting down the path in a furious roar, the engine being pushed to its limit. Small trees were pummeled under the vehicle as it drifted lazily towards the group of them.
Patrick and John darted towards the woods on the left, and the Suburban continued on its path. Dean was standing directly in its way. Both Patrick and John were shouting for him to get the hell out of the way, and he finally did move, just in time, but not before he thought he had seen a figure in the driver’s seat. The figure of a goat.
The entire driver’s side of the Suburban scraped against the rope-swing-tree, and then it continued right off the cliff and landed in the river.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Of course, there hadn’t been any goat behind the wheel of the Suburban. At least that's what Patrick and John told Dean. They told him that there must have been a huge stick slammed between the driver’s seat and the gas pedal. They said how there was probably duct tape holding the steering wheel straight. But he wasn't convinced.
Patrick started shouting about how they had to make sure Sam was okay. He couldn't believe they had been dumb enough to leave him alone in the first place.
Running back up the trail towards the camp, they heard voices coming from the woods. Dean thought it was his imagination again, but he saw that the others had heard it, too.
“Tim!” John yelled. “Where are you? Is that you?”
Silence.
“Come on,” Patrick shouted at them. “Back to camp!”
Patrick could feel his heart beating in his chest so hard that his shirt was pulsing outward with its rhythm. I can't lose Sam out here, he thought. I might as well just follow the Suburban off that cliff head first.
They reached the point where the trail opened back into the campgrounds and, panting, they searched for Sam and Tim.
“Sam!” Patrick shouted to no avail. He could see that the campgrounds were bare. There was no sign that anyone had been there at all, save for the smoldering fire and some small bits of trash strewn about.
He walked over to the stumps by the fire and sat down, putting his face in his hands.
“I knew we shouldn't have come out here,” Dean said, shaking his head and looking off past the creek.
“What, because you had a fucking dream?” John said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Patrick said, visibly shaken. “I have to think.”
“I don't have to think,” Dean said. “I know which way the road is.”
Pa
trick stood up and walked over to Dean, getting close enough to kiss him. “You do what you need to do,” he said. “But I'm not leaving here without my brother. And maybe you forgot, but your best friend is out here somewhere too. But like I said, do what you have to do.”
“Pat,” John said. “We could go get help.”
“From who? The only person I've seen within miles of this place is that gas station owner and he looked like a fucking rapist. I'm not leaving until I find Sam.”
“It's not your fault that he came along,” Dean reminded him.
“I'm going to find him. You can come with me or you can leave, I don't care.”
John and Dean exchanged glances and nobody spoke for a minute or so. Finally, Dean said, “Which way should we go?”
The three boys searched the area around the campground thoroughly, but the only useful thing they found was a small cigarette lighter. Patrick put the lighter in his pocket, and the group headed back down the path towards the heart of the woods.
“What are we looking for?” said John.
“Anything,” Patrick said. “Just anything, I don't know.” He began to sob.
Dean said, “Hey man. I'm sorry, okay? It was a dick move to—”
“I don't care what you said or did!” Patrick shouted. “Aren’t you guys scared? My brother and our friend are both missing, and someone pushed my dad's Suburban off a cliff! What the fuck?”
“I'm terrified,” Dean said. “That's why I tried to leave. I told you I had a bad feeling about this all along, but you're right. We have to find Sam and Tim.”
“Yeah,” John said. “I'm scared too, man. But we'll stick together. We'll find them.”
The leaves crunched underfoot as they traveled deeper into the woods. The sun was directly above them, soaking through the trees and beating down on their necks. John was cursing and swatting at gnats while Patrick alternated calling for Sam and Tim.
There was no answer.
“Do you think we should split up?” Dean asked.
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