Hello Darkness

by Sam Best

  “Nice ride,” said Ben, nodding toward the RV as he got out of the Jeep.

  “Daddy, they’re here!” said Annabelle.

  “She’s been talking about you all day,” said Ben. He walked over and hugged Heidi, then stood there like a good nephew as she pinched his cheek.

  John tilted up his yellowed white baseball cap and shook Ben’s hand. He slapped his shoulder and squeezed it tightly. “We’ve been talking about her, too, so it works out. You need some help with your gear?”

  Ben turned around and looked at the Jeep. “Oh, that. Yeah, some help would be good. How’s your back these days?”

  John held up a finger in mock warning. “Tread lightly, boy-o. You’re standing on my dignity.” He rolled up his sleeves and walked past Ben toward the Jeep.

  “How was your drive, Heidi?” asked Ben.

  “Delightful. Cruising in that thing is like riding on air,” she said as she looked at the RV.

  Annabelle bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Can I see it? Can I see it?”

  “Well, of course you can see it! I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  Anna reached up to grab Heidi’s hand and trotted toward the RV.

  John was already over at the Jeep, hauling out pieces of plywood and leaning them against a tree. Ben walked over and joined him.

  “These for the porch?” asked John.

  “Yeah. Just gonna lay ‘em down and nail ‘em in for now. I’ll fix it up properly after we get settled.”

  John set down another piece of wood and opened and closed his hands a few times. “Damn arthritis is gonna kill me. House looks pretty good, considering. Hope you don’t mind we took a look around inside while we were waiting.”

  “Of course not.” Ben grabbed the last piece of plywood and set it with the others. He gently lifted a piece of glass meant for the front door of the house and leaned it against the side of the Jeep. Hank loaned him a small scoring tool so Ben could cut the large pane into smaller pieces that would fit into the two empty frames on the front door. “How many stops did you and Heidi make before you got here?”

  “This is the first,” said John. “We’ll be on the road a couple months afterward, I figure, but we both wanted to get out here to see the little one.” The stomping of Annabelle’s footsteps as she ran up and down inside the RV thudded loudly, then she giggled. “It’s a good thing she takes after her mother, with her looks and all.”

  Ben laughed. “I hear you.”

  John picked up a paint can and stopped. “What are your plans, boy-o?”

  Ben shrugged. “Start Anna in school. Haven’t thought about much else beyond that.”

  “What about the real estate thing?”

  “I don’t think I’ll go back to it. I’m not really a salesman, as it turns out. Not sure what I’ll do quite yet, but I have a couple ideas.” He set down the last paint can and brushed off his hands. “Listen, John. A little girl went missing in town.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Up by the school.”

  “Well, that’s a hell of a thing to come back home to, something like that. They know who took her?”

  “Preacher, supposedly. There’s a search party in a couple hours. I’m thinking I might go, if you and Heidi wouldn’t mind watching Anna while I’m gone.”

  John looked over at the RV. “Heidi can watch her just fine herself. Every extra set of peepers counts on something like this.”

  Ben nodded and slammed down the back hatch of the Jeep. “Thanks for the help, old-timer.”

  “I’m warnin’ you, boy. And yes, I’d love a beer, since you offered.”

  “Aw, shoot,” said Ben. “I knew I forgot something in town.”

  John put his hand on Ben’s shoulder and steered him toward the RV. “Fret not, Nephew. This puppy comes fully equipped with a fridge large enough to store food for three months on the road. Fortunately, I convinced Heidi to stuff it with alcohol.”

  “In that case, I’m moving in with you.”

  “Fat chance. That’s my beer. I’ll just loan you a couple till you get back on your feet.”

  John hopped up into the RV and picked up Annabelle as she ran past him. She squealed happily as he lifted her and tossed her lightly onto a cushioned bench next to a small dining table that folded out from the wall.

  A small fridge unit sat on the floor of the RV next to a compact kitchenette in the middle section of the large vehicle.

  “Beers all around!” said John as he opened the fridge door.

  “Beers all around!” echoed Annabelle.

  “Apple juice for you, young lady,” said Heidi.

  She took the juice box that John held out for her and expertly pierced the small foil-covered hole on top with the tip of her straw. Her feet dangled over the side of the bench and kicked lightly at the paneling underneath while she drank.

  John popped the tops of three bottles of beer and handed one each to Ben and Heidi.

  “To a fresh start,” said John, and held up his beer.

  Ben and Heidi clinked their bottles against John’s and said, “To a fresh start.”

  13

  Hank Buckley patted the breast pocket of his flannel shirt beneath the strap of his overalls and expected to find a crumpled pack of Lucky cigarettes, but instead found only a grocery list. For close to forty years, Hank had always kept a pack of smokes in that pocket—usually Luckys, sometimes not if there was a good deal on the more expensive brands. After his wife died from lung cancer, Hank quit smoking and used his shirt pocket to hold important notes to himself, knowing he would reach up to it several times a day in search of his old Lucky cigarettes.

  He crinkled the paper list and smoothed down his pocket before stepping out of his hardware store and locking the door behind him.

  Main Street was mostly empty. A few cars sat parked in front of storefronts down the way, but the majority of the shops were closed. The gas station at the end of the street glowed brightly, its fluorescent lights a beacon before the turn at the end of the long road. The street lamps would be switching on in a little more than an hour in a failed attempt to keep back the night.

  Hank let his keys fall into one of his deep pockets and walked toward Cedar Street. He didn’t mind being asked to help find the missing girl, but he wished one of the deputies would have offered to drive him around. Hank had never learned how to drive—he always had Martha for that, God rest her soul—and not having a car never really bothered him until his left hip started going all funny.

  It happened one morning about a year ago. Hank’s alarm went off at five forty-five a.m., as usual. He threw back his thin sheet (which was the only covering he used all year, no matter the season) and sat up before turning sideways to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and down to the cold wooden floor. As he spun that morning, however, his left hip popped loudly and drove knives of sharp pain into his pelvis and up his spine. Hank cried out and flopped back onto the bed, unable to move until the throbbing ache subsided.

  Doc Macrory said Hank had worn down the cartilage where his left leg met his hip and would need an operation as soon as possible. Hank told the Doc to give him something for the pain and to mind his own business. Some mornings were worse than others, and the hip was always more painful whenever he had to walk farther than to his store and back home again.

  Hank turned onto Cedar Street and started up the mountain. His own house was the first on the left, a small two-bedroom building with an overgrown yard and dirty walls. Hank looked at it wistfully as he hobbled past.

  The next house belonged to the Wrights, but they were only in town for three months during the summer. Their front gate was chained shut and all the windows on the house were dark and dusty. Across from the Wrights lived the Kuepfers, a friendly Swedish family that visited Hank’s store often whenever they weren’t in Wisconsin with the majority of their relatives.

  Hank climbed the small set of concrete steps that led to the oak door of the Kuepfer house. A b
owl of fresh water had been set to one side of the door, presumably for a dog or a cat, which made Hank think there might be someone at home. He knocked loudly on the heavy door and took a respectful step back. A moment later, Ina Kuepfer opened the door and smiled.

  “Mr. Buckley, vut a nice surprise!” Her thick Swedish accent made Hank blush.

  “Afternoon, Ina. How’s that old husband of yours?”

  “Old. Lazy. I guess I’ll keep him, though. Not much choice.” She laughed easily, her full red cheeks rising to squeeze her blue eyes closed. “Vut brings you to my door?”

  “Welp,” said Hank. He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly aware that he hadn’t prepared any kind of speech for what he needed to ask. “A little girl’s gone missing over by the school.”

  Ina gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “Oh my goodness!” escaped between her fingers.

  “Amy Cooke. Deputies think somebody snatched her up. They wanted me to go around and see if folks was interested in helping with the search party. It’s startin’ soon. Just over an hour, if you’re interested.”

  “Oh my goodness,” she said again. “Oh my goodness. No. I mean, yes, vee vant to help of course, but vee are leaving for the airport soon. You only just caught us before vee finished packing up!” She disappeared from the door and ran back into her house.

  Hank took a step forward and peered after her. “Ina?”

  She ran back holding a wad of money and pushed it into Hank’s hands. “Please, take this. For the girl.”

  What was he supposed to do with money? “Ina, I don’t think—”

  “No! No no no. You take it. It vill help, you vill see. And please, it makes me feel better since vee are leaving and can’t help find that poor little girl. You must take it. Pay for flashlights, gasoline, anything you need.” She leaned forward and kissed Hank on the cheek. Her eyes were wet with tears and she wiped them away as she turned and ran back into her house. The large wooden door closed loudly behind her.

  Hank stood there staring down at the wad of cash in his hand. He blinked and slowly pushed the bills into the front pocket of his overalls before walking back onto Cedar Street. The only thing he could think to do was to give the money to the deputies when he saw them at the school.

  The next house was a good ways up the street. The angle of the road was increasing steadily as he got closer to the mountain’s peak. Soon a gentle S-curve would drop him on the main drag of Cedar Street where he was sure to find someone willing to both help with the search and give him a ride to the school.

  He rarely ventured up Cedar Street past his own house. The last time he went up to the peak of Mt. Hodges was to celebrate he and his wife’s thirtieth wedding anniversary. They drove up to the top and watched the sun set over the valley, holding hands and necking like teenagers until the distant howl of wolves spooked them into leaving. Hank smiled at the memory—oh, how he missed his sweet Martha.

  The woods were thick on each side of the road as Hank walked around the last bend in the S-curve. Before him stretched a long avenue of big houses that lined both sides of the street.

  A slight rustling from the bushes off to his left made him stop. He welcomed the chance for a break and stood there breathing heavily and trying to keep all of his weight off his bad hip.

  Footsteps crunched on dead leaves as the sound approached the road. Hank squinted into the dense brush but could not see anything. He figured it was a brazen deer or somebody’s dog from up the road. Maybe Ina’s pet was lost and he would have to turn back around and bring it down the mountain—assuming the animal would let Hank catch it.

  Even worse—it could be one of those damned raccoons that Hank had seen scurrying around town the last few months. They got into his garbage cans and had made a terrible mess more than once. He hadn’t seen any in the past week, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still out there in the woods, plotting some fresh way to torment him.

  “Hello?” said Hank.

  The footsteps stopped and a woman’s soft voice spoke to him from the shadows. “Hank?”

  His breath froze in his throat and he couldn’t feel his own heartbeat. Hank’s hands shook from fear or excitement or both when he recognized Martha’s voice.

  “Hank?” she said again. There was no doubt that it was the sweet, soft sound of his deceased wife’s voice, calling to him from the woods. He could barely see the outline of a woman in the dark shadows of the thick brush.

  “Martha?” He took a step off the road. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me, my love.” He could tell she was smiling by the way she spoke. “Follow me. I have something to show you.” She turned and walked back into the woods.

  “Wait!” shouted Hank. He hurried after her as fast as his bad hip would allow. “Martha, wait for me!”

  He had so many questions to ask her. What was the other side like? How had she come back to him? Would she stay forever? Yet, at the same time, none of it mattered. If he could hold her and smell her and be with her—that was all he wanted or cared about.

  Hank Buckley didn’t believe in ghosts, but if believing in them meant having his wife back for even one quick moment, then he considered himself an instant convert.

  She walked quickly, staying in the shadows just out of reach. Whenever Hank got close, she pulled away, constantly shrouded in the shade of the trees.

  “This way,” she said, leading him through the dense woods.

  “Where are we going, Martha?” he asked. Branches slapped him in the face and tore at his clothes. He turned around but could not see the street he had been standing on just a few moments earlier. “I don’t know where we are.”

  “Trust me,” she whispered from the darkness.

  The sounds of her footsteps stopped and her shadowy outline disappeared. Hank ran forward through the bushes, looking wildly to both sides. “Martha!” His foot caught under a thick tree root and he slammed down to the ground. Hank rolled onto his side, gasping for breath. “Martha,” he said weakly.

  When he finally managed to push himself to his feet, Hank found that he was no longer in the woods. She had led him into the backyard of one of the large houses lining the main neighborhood of Cedar Street. He didn’t recognize it from the back, but assumed it was the Golda’s since it was lined with freshly-planted pine trees along the back and on one side, and was somewhat farther away from the other houses.

  The screen door on the back of the house closed with a slow skreeeee and Martha’s shadow disappeared inside the large, two-story home.

  “Martha!” Hank walked quickly to the house, his bad hip popping loudly in its socket. He limped like an old cripple and cursed himself for not getting that hip replacement. Hank reached the screen door and pulled it open. The inside of the house was dark and quiet. All of the curtains had been drawn and black sheets covered every piece of furniture. The air was thick with dust.

  Hank shouted in surprise as the screen door closed behind him and nudged him in the rear. He hopped forward and turned around to look at the door, rubbing his butt even though it had only been a gentle bump. Soft footsteps ascended the wooden stairs and he turned around quickly. Martha giggled as she climbed the steps and disappeared upstairs. Hank smiled to hear his wife’s timid laugh.

  He went after her, taking the steps two at a time despite the pain in his hip. The stairs were loud and creaky, each one groaning mournfully under his feet. Martha had made a lot less noise, but she was also a lot more petite than Hank. That was one of the things he loved about her. When they were young, he could pick her up with one arm and hold her close. He liked to carry her that way back to their old bedroom right before they made love.

  Hank reached the top of the staircase and looked around. There were three doors in the hallway. The doors to the left and right in the hall were closed, but the one at the end was slightly ajar. Hank smiled and walked down the hallway. He pushed open the door, ready to pick up his wife like he used to do back when they were first married;
back when he could never imagine losing her.

  She sat on the edge of the bed, looking just like he remembered.

  He took a step toward her, his eyes filling with tears. She wore a beautiful white dress, and around her neck hung a shiny silver locket—the one Hank had given her on their first wedding anniversary. She looked up and smiled, holding out her hand for him. A whispered voice inside Hank’s mind told him that something was wrong; some sort of connection was being made which didn’t agree with what he saw in that room. He ignored it, shoving aside any notion that would make his experience less enjoyable. His wife had come back to him; his precious Martha. Hank didn’t care how or why; he just wanted it to last.

  He took his wife’s hand and she drew him closer. He sat next to her on the bed and rested his head on her shoulder. Tears rolled freely down his cheeks and soaked her white dress; the dress that Hank suddenly remembered she had worn for their wedding. He lifted his head off her shoulder and looked at her face. She was still so young. Her hair was as thick and brown as it had been when he first met her, and none of the wrinkles that Hank recalled looking at for years at the end of their time together were present on her soft face.

  A dull thump from the closet in the corner of the room made Hank look away. Martha reached up and placed her hand against the side of his face and gently pushed him back to her. She smiled beautifully. Hank smiled back and wiped his tears away.

  A loud, heavy thump from the closet. The door opened slowly, creaking on rusted hinges before bumping into a tall nightstand set against the wall. Hank wanted to turn and look, but Martha gripped his chin and forced him to stare into her eyes. Her own eyes still twinkled with the kindness that he remembered, but her smile grew until it looked almost painful.

  Something walked out of the closet and shuffled across the floor toward the bed. Hank reached up and grabbed Martha’s wrist to pull her hand away, but she was too strong—too impossibly strong. Her smile grew so wide that the skin at the edges of her mouth split and bled. Her eyes disappeared back into her skull, leaving two empty, black sockets.