Darren really hadn’t done anything bad to him over the years. It was the others, Jim and Paul and Shay and Melinda, giving him the stink eye, calling him a dirt-bag behind his back, then finally, it escalated to a fight when Paul caught Damien staring at Shay. Then one night at a party in the woods, a fight broke out between Paul and Billy, the two eyeing each other all night. On purpose, Billy had stared at Shay all night, even bumped into her and copped a feel. Well, that had been it. Paul flipped and tackled Billy. The two went at it, but then Darren broke it up when Billy grabbed a log and went to whack Paul in the head. He would’ve won the fight, really messed the kid up.
From that night, those jocks had been out for him, always talking behind his back, gluing his locker shut and even slashing his tires. He had no proof it was them, but he knew. The way they looked at him, the way Jim, the golden boy, smirked at him behind Darren’s back. Payback was a bitch.
“Fuck Darren,” Billy grumbled, as he continued to drill the kid’s tire. He might not have done anything directly to him, but he was part of that jock group. “Fuck them all.” And when he was done with this tire, he was doing the others too.
“You say something?” Damien asked.
“No, just working.”
Finally, the bit was all the way into the tire. Billy clicked the reverse lever and guided the bit out. Rubber-smelling air whistled rapidly from the tire.
“Car,” Damien warned.
Billy stuffed the drill into the backpack, then ran to the last car and dove into the weeds where Damien was already waiting. Headlights lit up the road, then vanished as the vehicle passed by.
“You finish?” Damien asked.
“Yeah. Harder than I thought though.” Billy wiped sweat from his forehead. “Fuck the rest of the tires. It’ll take too long. Let’s head down to the boat.”
They left the weeds and walked quickly alongside the vehicles. Billy heard a scraping noise and turned around. Damien was keying the cars as he walked by them.
Damien stopped. “What?”
“Nothing. That’s just brilliant. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”
Billy took out his house key and joined Damien in keying the cars as they walked by them. The two had a good laugh when they were finished, admiring their work, before heading down to the boats.
Damien unlocked his parents’ rowboat. He and Billy pushed the boat into the water, then climbed in and began rowing to Witch Island.
Chapter Thirteen
Jim and the others hiked into the woods, using flashlights to guide the way. He thought it would be great if they camped out on the grassy beach area, near the shore. The canoes were right there in case they were needed. Jim knew he was being silly, but being near the boats made him feel better. He brought up the idea, but Paul quickly brought up a great point.
“Cops will be able to see the campfire from here,” Paul said. “We need to go farther in. If they think it’s a genuine fire, the fire department will be called in. It’ll become a real mess. We don’t want that.”
So it was off to the dreaded heart of the island. No one wanted to be bothered, not even by a curious night fisherman.
Oddly enough, they were heading along a narrow trail. Ordinarily, Jim would’ve assumed it was a deer trail, but there were no deer on such a small island, at least he didn’t think so. And as far as he knew, no one came to the island. It was just a small piece of wooded land. He was sure the occasional passerby might’ve stopped to check things out, see the legend for itself before realizing it was just an island. Then why was there a trail?
Maybe there were rabbits and squirrels, raccoons even, but those types of animals didn’t leave trails like the one he was walking down.
The farther in they went, the more the brush thickened, the trees seeming to crowd in on them. Mosquitoes started biting, everyone swatting and scratching their exposed parts.
Darren was in the lead, using the machete he had brought from his house to chop down any vegetation in the group’s path.
Steve and Paul were carrying the cooler.
“Damn weeds,” Shay protested. “I keep getting scratched. Cut them back more, big guy.”
“You’ll be fine,” Darren said.
“The mosquitoes will thank you for making it easier to get to your blood,” Paul said, laughing.
“Just don’t trip over anything with the cooler,” Gwen said. “We don’t need exploding cans of beer.”
“Oh, the cooler isn’t going anywhere but to the spot we place it,” Paul said.
Jim was quiet. Talking probably would’ve been the best thing for him, keep his mind occupied, but he didn’t want to ramble about nothing and appear scared.
He couldn’t believe he was doing it. Not only was he on Witch Island, but he was heading to its heart. His mouth was parched, throat tight. He needed a beer and fast. Something to calm him down a bit. With all this thick forest, he wondered where they were going. What if there was no place to set up camp? He suddenly felt better, hoping that was the case. Maybe his friends would grow tired of hiking, and want to turn around and leave.
“What the hell?” Darren said from up ahead.
Jim heard the surprise in Darren’s voice, followed by a “holy shit” from Paul, and a “wow” from Julie. He hurried forward, shoving aside Steve to get a look, and saw that the forest had disappeared.
“What is this place?” Shay asked.
A large, barren area took up the space in front of him, as if the forest had been blown out. Flashlight beams shone around, but the bright moonlight was enough to see by.
“Looks like a desert,” Darren said.
“Yeah, like the rain hasn’t touched this place in years,” Gwen said.
Jim could’ve sworn he was looking at a section of a desiccated, midwestern plane, as if a small chunk of it had been airlifted and dropped in the middle of Witch Island.
The clearing was almost perfectly circular. The ground appeared scorched, dried out and cracked. Not a single weed grew, but the tree line appeared normal, flourishing even, the leaves as green as they come. In the center of the clearing was a pole, sticking out of the soil.
“Guys,” Shay said, “I’ve studied all kinds of shit—garden soil, volcanic rock, moon rock—and I’ve never seen or heard of something like this, except when a fire’s been involved.”
“Or radiation,” Paul said.
“Nope,” Shay said. “Look how the ground is evenly dried out and ends abruptly where the forest starts. It’s like an invisible wall is surrounding this place. If this was radiation, most of the trees surrounding the clearing would be dead.”
“I still say it’s from radiation,” Paul said. “Maybe a meteorite crashed here and tainted the soil. We might all be getting exposed as we speak.” He cupped his crotch. “Cover your balls, gents, and ladies, your tits.”
Everyone started laughing.
“Well, I don’t know about you all,” Darren said, “but I’m tired of hacking, slashing and hiking. I think we found our campsite.”
“No weeds means less snakes and bugs,” Melinda said. “Looks good to me.”
Everyone seemed to agree wholeheartedly. Jim remained silent. He wanted to protest, saying they should go somewhere else. This place was odd, and a little unnerving. Why the others didn’t think so, he didn’t know. He kept his mouth shut and glanced at the ring on his finger, his security blanket. He almost laughed at the thought, but as ridiculous as he felt, if it worked in calming him a little, then so be it.
Everyone settled down. Camping and beach chairs were set up, and the cooler was opened. Steve grabbed two beers, handing one to Julie. Jim heard the pop of the cans’ tops and asked Steve to hand him one, wanting the liquid courage flowing through his system.
“Here you go,” Steve said, handing Jim a cold one.
Jim almost dropped the can when he saw the ring on Steve’s finger. The thing was identical to his.
“We need firewood,” Darren said. “Any volunteers
?”
“I got it,” Steve said, just as Jim was about to ask him about the ring.
“I’ll help too,” Julie said.
“How much do we need?” Steve said.
“Enough for the night,” Darren said, popping open a can of beer.
“And how much is that?” Julie asked.
“Just keep bringing it until we have a nice-sized pile. I’ll work on getting it started with kindling and newspaper.”
Paul came over to the cooler and snatched a beer from it. “What a night,” he said, smiling. He popped the top, the hiss echoing in the distance. He brought the can to his lips and gulped, then let out a huge burp. “Ahhh.”
“Pig,” Shay joked.
“Could’ve been a fart, be glad,” Paul said with a straight face.
Shay shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Boys can be so crass.”
“Yeah, they sure can be,” Gwen agreed, then turned to Jim. “Grab me a beer, sweetie?”
“Sure,” Jim said.
“Boy?” Paul said. He grabbed his crotch. “I’m a full-grown manly man.”
Jim lifted the cooler and grabbed a beer, then handed it to Gwen and took a seat in the foldout chair next to her.
“Guys,” Darren said, “we need wood. Let’s get this fire started so we can have better light and some smoke to keep the bugs away.”
“Chill,” Paul said. “We’ll get it, just having a little cocktail first.”
“Me and Steve will get the bigger logs,” Jim said, knowing he was interfering with Steve and Julie’s time alone, but he needed to talk to the kid. “That’s if it’s okay with you, Julie?”
“Sure,” she said, taking a sip from her beer. “Have fun.”
Jim detected a hint of sadness in her voice, but she and Steve would have all night to do their thing.
Steve and Jim finished their beers quickly, then placed them in the trash bag that Gwen had hung from one of the tree limbs.
With flashlights in hand, they headed into the woods. When they were a little ways from the camp, Jim said, “Sorry for interrupting your and Julie’s alone time, but I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What is it?”
“Where did you get that ring?” Jim asked, shining the light on Steve’s hand.
“Ugly, huh?” Steve said, showing off the jewelry.
Jim moved the flashlight’s beam to his own hand.
Steve’s eyebrows arched. “You have one too?”
“Yeah. Freaking thing has been passed down through my family for generations.”
“Me too.”
“Did your parents make you promise to wear it?” Jim asked.
“Dude, this is too weird,” Steve said, shaking his head.
“Both our families must be original descendants of the town.”
“Yeah. Guess the superstitions traveled with the rings.”
“Do you know the story?” Jim asked, hoping Steve did.
“Just that it’s supposed to protect the wearer from evil, but you don’t believe that, do you?”
Jim shrugged. “Who knows? Margaret Rivers could’ve been a real person. A real witch, even.” Jim felt his throat constrict at saying the words. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten them out. He was still confused about the whole witch thing. No, not really confused, but unnerved. He was trying so hard to act like being on the island didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to believe in the legend and kept telling himself the whole thing was bullshit, but some part of him kept telling him to leave. He had hoped talking to Steve would help him sort out his feelings, send them one way or another. Seeing Steve with the same ring, knowing the story, Jim wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.
“Is that why you’re wearing the ring?” Steve asked. “To protect you from the witch?”
Jim couldn’t tell if Steve was being serious or not, but he felt his face redden from embarrassment. Steve was his good friend, and had helped him through some tough times. He decided to be truthful, thinking maybe it would help with how he was feeling.
“Kind of,” Jim said. “I mean…” He felt flustered for words. “…because of what happened to Greg…how and where he died. You know how my parents flipped out. Well, they made me promise to wear this ring whenever I came to the lake. They said to do it for them, said it would protect me. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”
Steve nodded. “I get it. I was told the same shit. Wear it for protection, but to be honest, I don’t believe in any witch. I’m wearing it because it’s cool-looking. Kelly hated it, said it was ugly. So me wearing it is a big ‘fuck you’ to her.”
Steve found it fascinating that he and Jim had the same rings and same family history. He didn’t think Jim was being childish for wearing the ring. He understood his friend’s situation—brother dying near the island and all.
Steve had his own secret, and needed to tell someone. He was tired of being alone, quiet and depressed. Since his almost-attempted suicide, and seeing Julie, he’d felt giddy. He needed to tell someone about it, and felt like he could talk to Jim.
“Since we’re telling each other stuff,” Steve said, “I’ve got something to tell you.” He closed his eyes, hoping the words would come easily, and they did. “I tried to kill myself.”
Jim took a step back, mouth agape. “What? When?”
“Today.” There, it was out. Someone knew. Steve’s body felt lighter. He wasn’t ashamed. He saw a nice-looking log near Jim’s foot, bent and picked it up.
“Ha, ha,” Jim said. “Trying to make me feel better?”
Steve looked Jim in the eyes. “I’m serious, man. I almost did it.”
“You’re not joking.”
“Nope,” Steve said. “I couldn’t take it anymore, you know?” Steve sighed. “Losing Kelly, not getting in to any colleges, my mom wasting away…” He rubbed a hand over his head.
“Sorry, man,” Jim said. “I knew things were tough, but I had no idea. You could’ve come to me. You were there for me when Greg died, remember?”
“Yeah, I know.” Steve took a breath, looked up, and smiled. “But I’m doing great now.” He told Jim about how he put the pills in his mouth, and how Jim’s call woke him up to what he was about to do. “It was like getting struck by a bolt of positively charged lightning. I suddenly didn’t want to die. I was able to look at myself and realize I deserved better. Fuck Kelly. Fuck my mom. Fuck not getting into college. Some of those things I couldn’t do anything about, but the college part I sure could. I could go to community college, get my grades up, then apply to a school of my choice, make something of myself.”
Jim was silent, a look of complete awe on his face. Finally, he said, “So, the whole almost-suicide thing was a blessing in disguise?”
“Yeah. I haven’t felt this good in a long, long time. I mean, Julie’s here. If that isn’t things looking up, I don’t know what is.”
Steve started looking for wood again. “It feels so good to be able to tell someone what happened, what I’ve been going through.”
Jim was happy for his friend. He knew the kid had it tough, and that something had been bothering him. He was a little shaken about what Steve had told him, and truly hoped he wasn’t in some kind of euphoric state due to the almost-attempted suicide. If he crashed sometime later, he might try again, though for some reason, he didn’t think that would be the case. He saw a gleam in Steve’s eye that hadn’t been there in quite a while.
Standing there, Jim panned his flashlight’s beam around, looking for wood. He didn’t want to make their conversation any more odd than it had been. Steve seemed okay with it, going about business as usual, but maybe he was just pushing himself to get past it.
“Steve,” Jim said, grabbing a rotten log that crumbled in his hand. He swatted away the debris from his palm, then continued searching. “If you ever feel the need to talk, about anything, don’t hesitate to come to me, even when I’m away at college.”
“Thanks man,” Steve said. “I mean it,
but I think I’m good now. I feel like I’ve been woken up. I’ve got a new outlook, a new life. It won’t be easy, I know, but I’m going to push forward and see it through. I’m a good kid, and I’ve put up with enough shit.”
“Sounds good,” Jim said, finding a good piece of lumber. He picked it up, checked it for creepy crawlies, then set it in the crook of his arm. He took a deep breath, his legs shaky. The realization of his friend almost dying was sinking in. If he hadn’t called… What if his friend had used a gun? Or jumped from a building? Once the bullet left the chamber, or the person left the roof, that was it. At least with the pills, he was able to spit them out. And if he had swallowed them, he could have had his stomach pumped if he changed his mind, called 911.
Things happened for a reason, and maybe Steve’s situation was needed to help the kid steer his life in a positive direction.
Good for him, Jim thought, staring at Steve. Good for him.
Chapter Fourteen
Jim and Steve returned with armfuls of branches and logs. Melinda and Julie had also gone for wood, having produced a nice-sized pile themselves.
Darren was on his hands and knees, crumpling up sheets of newspaper into balls, then placing them together on the ground. Next, he piled small twigs on top, in tic-tac-toe fashion, about six inches high, then leaned twigs around the structure, creating a miniature teepee.
“You’re quite the architect,” Paul said.
“Learned this in Cub Scouts, wise-ass,” Darren said. “Best way to start a fire and get a good group of coals that’ll last all night.” He pulled the bottle of lighter fluid from his pocket and squirted a few streams of the flammable liquid onto the small pyre.
“That’s cheating,” Paul said, then tossed his empty can toward the hanging garbage bag, missing badly. Gwen shook her head, then angrily stomped over and picked it up, and slammed it into the bag.
Darren lit a match and tossed it onto the wood. The sticks and paper burst into flames. Once the fire settled and was burning brightly, larger pieces of wood were added, sending sparks into the night air.
Witch Island Page 11
