The Burgenton Files

by C. Ruth Daly

  The trees were silent except for the water that rolled from branch to branch. An owl was heard off in the distance and the bats were nowhere to be seen in the thickness. Most of the oaks and maples were bare as their leaves had fallen to make a soggy carpet which silenced our steps as we continued to move further away from the river and into the bowels of the woods. Glynda’s breathing grew deeper and harder with every step we took. I wasn’t sure where we were going and knew that eventually the woods would stop and land us in a field some place. Where that place was I did not know, and I began to worry about the decision I had made.

  How is LBJ going to find us? She’s going to eventually come out of Morelli’s house and we’re going to be long gone. I pictured her walking back down the road to the crossing in the river and making her way back through the thicket—alone—and across the empty field to her house. She’s going to have to wake up Grandpa Todd and they’ll come looking for us. The seriousness of my plot to abandon LBJ rushed the adrenaline to my head.

  I stopped and turned to Glynda who looked about as regretful as I was feeling.

  “Where are we Donna?” Glynda looked around at the woods surrounding us.

  The clouds were moving past the moon and robbing us of what little light we had to guide our way.

  “I don’t know where we are Myer. What do you think we should do?” We had been walking for a good hour. I looked at my watch and despite the darkness of the night, I could see that it was past 11:00. “It’s getting late, Glynda. LBJ’s probably waiting for us by the road.” The thought of LBJ wandering alone in the dark, back down the asphalt and across the river penetrated my brain.

  “You can find your way back, can’t you Donna?” Glynda looked at me as if I had the answers. I felt bad. After all, I was the one who grabbed her by the arm and dragged her off into these woods. We hadn’t found any adventure or anything to seal the sacred spookiness that came with Halloween night. We were just plain lost, and Glynda only had a thin jacket. I was sweaty beneath my layered clothing and glad I had kept my dad’s old coat on over my own hooded sweatshirt.

  I unzipped the quilted nylon jacket that was now damp from the rain, shook it, and handed it to Glynda. “Here, Myer. You wear it.” I didn’t know what else to say. Glynda looked at me.

  “Now what, Donna?” Glynda’s trusting eyes looked up at me and I realized that I had grown half a foot taller than her within the past few months.

  “Uh ... I guess we can either turn and walk back until we hear the sound of the river, or we can keep walking and see where we end up at.” I motioned forward in the direction we had been walking. “These woods are bound to stop eventually and land us in some farmer’s field. We can find a road and follow it back to LBJ’s house. She’s probably already back by now.”

  “Maybe Morrelli gave her a ride. Maybe he walked her home.”

  I looked down at Glynda and then down at my own feet. I only had on canvas tennis shoes which were now sopping wet. At least my socks are thick cotton.

  We stood awhile in the thicket and waited. Glynda looked at me for the answer while I stopped to clean my wire rimmed glasses now covered with water that had been dripping from my bangs and onto the lenses.

  “Which way are we going, Donna? I’m kinda worried ...I ...think we’re lost.”

  I didn’t want to tell Myer she was right. Yeah, you’re right Glynda, I thought. We are lost. I’m your dumbass friend who dragged you off into the woods and now I’ve gotten you lost. I got both of us lost, but there was no time for negative thoughts. Think clearly and make a decision, I told myself as I pointed straight ahead. My glasses were clean and my bangs tucked beneath the hood of my sweatshirt. “Let’s go this way. I think I see a clearing ahead. We’re bound to get out of these woods and onto a road.” We forged ahead with less determination in each step and only looking for a path that would lead us safely back to LBJ’s farm.

  After about three hundred yards it was there. The clearing I had told Glynda I had seen. Usually a clearing would give way to the end of a thicket and move us into a clearer area free from the woods and closer to a road. As we approached the clearing I noticed a huge metal box, covered with dirt and moss. It appeared to have been abandoned a long time ago and left to the devices of brutal Indiana weather. We slowed our pace in the darkness and strained our eyes to get a better look.

  “What is it, Glynda?” My glasses had fogged again from the condensation from the trees and from my breath that forced its way from my lungs into the chilling night air.

  “I think ...I think it’s an old horse trailer, Donna. Wonder what it’s doing out here. We must be close to a road, don’t you think?”

  I turned to look at Glynda who was now standing beside me in the clearing. Her head was drenched and so were her clothes. I looked down at my own jacket, jeans and shoes which were sopping with water and for the last quarter-mile had been making a sucking sound with every step I took. Looking ahead and past the clearing, it was plain to see that the woods continued and no field or road was anywhere in sight. I wiped the water from my watch to see the time. It was eleven-fifty and almost midnight, almost November first. I knew LBJ would be mad at us and worried about us, too. I was hoping that her grandpa wasn’t calling my dad.

  Despite our isolation, I still whispered to Glynda and broke the silence of the night. “What should we do? Should we check it out? Maybe we could dry off for awhile and then keep moving toward the end of the woods.”

  Glynda shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, Donna. I’m tired and I’m cold. LBJ’s going to be mad at us and I’m afraid she’s called my mom or the police or something.” Glynda dropped her shoulders and stuck her hands in the pockets of the jacket. “We can see if it’s dry inside, that way we can sit down and at least come up with a plan.”

  We tiptoed forward across the clearing to the horse trailer that, as we moved closer, appeared to be carefully hidden among the branches. “It looks like someone tried to cover it up, Glynda. Look!” I said as I pulled a clump of hardened moss off the exposed end. “This moss was put here on purpose—it’s not growing here.”

  The door was ajar as we inched our way around the side. I pulled the opening and strained the hinges which had become rusted and weathered through years of uselessness. There was a cave of darkness inside and I was reluctant to go in except that I was pushed by Glynda, who was right behind me, unable to see what I was seeing: total blackness except for a light shape in the corner.

  “Glynda!” but it was too late. We were both standing inside the trailer. My nostrils took in the odor of dirt and mildew and something else that I had smelled before; it was familiar but not offensive, yet the scent alarmed me as I remembered where I had smelled it. “Glynda, do you smell what I smell?” I whispered and sniffed my nose to get a better whiff.

  “Smells like booze and aftershave,” Glynda whispered back to me. Then I looked at her and saw the whites of her eyes expand with the realization. I knew where we had smelled it before and so had Glynda. It was when I was standing in line at the drugstore, passing it on the street, and we had smelled it at Rita Brennan’s apartment. My foot moved to the side and I hit something. It was a cylindrical object that rolled in a circle with the nudge of my foot. I bent over and reached for it. A flashlight! I turned it on and pointed it in the corner, shining the light on the unknown shape. A gasp escaped me, and Glynda let loose a stifled scream. Sitting in the corner was a body with a pillowcase covering the head. The feet stretched motionless before it and the arms were tied one to each leg of the lopsided wooden chair upon which it sat. Carefully guiding the flashlight from the feet and up to the head where a funeral wreath had been carefully placed. The carnations and roses had started to wilt and some had trailed off the wire and onto the motionless stomach which lay before it. A silken banner was strung across the wreath and on it was the word: MOTHER.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  We were frozen in our steps and all I could see was the wavering light of the flas
hlight as my trembling hands clutched it. Glynda gripped my sweatshirt like a lost child.

  “What should we do, Donna?” She tugged at my clothes.

  I remembered how Mr. Roberts had taught us to take our pulse at the neck and check our respiration. Shifting the flashlight to my left hand, I reached with my right to find my own pulse beneath my chin. It was racing wildly and out of control. With a steady pace I inched forward toward the body with Glynda at my side. I passed the flashlight to Glynda, who as if by some telepathic force, knew my next move. She shined the beam on the head of the person as I carefully lifted the hem of the pillowcase to reveal a fattened neck. The flesh was warm and I found the pulse, beating slowly but steadily.

  I whispered to Glynda, “It’s alive.” And dropped the pillowcase back down to cover the neck. We stood and watched as if by staring, we would awaken the body from its sleep.

  “Should we take off the pillowcase and see if it’s okay?” Glynda was being pragmatic, while I was ready to run.

  “You do it, Glynda.” I gave her a nudge.

  “Me?” Glynda looked at me with surprise. She held the flashlight beneath her chin to expose both of our frightened faces. “Huh uh ...I’m uh—my arms are too short to pull that pillowcase off. And besides...what if it don’t got a face? What if something’s wrong with its face? You know...you do it Donna, your arms are longer.” Glynda motioned with the flashlight toward the head.

  I didn’t want to touch the funeral wreath. It was creeping me out and I was afraid to disturb it because someone had placed it there and my subconscious knew who that someone was—and he would be back.

  What if he comes back and catches us? The thought repeated in my mind as my sensibility kicked in and I reached over and gently removed the wreath so as not to disturb the dying flowers. Next came the pillowcase. My fingers carefully slid the cloth upward to reveal the thick neck and the rounded chin. Then over the mouth, cheeks, and nose and off the head to reveal a face we recognized too well.

  Once again we stood and stared, afraid to touch Thelma. Afraid of who she was and how she treated us, but even more afraid of disturbing the shrine that had been meticulously created by a dangerous and deviant mind.

  The door opened behind us and let in a cold draft. Glynda and I jerked around to see the darkness of the night and the heavy door rocking back and forth on its creaky hinges. My heart was racing in my throat. I grabbed the flashlight from Glynda and stepped forward, sticking my head out into the dark and waving the light to see what, if anything, had brought me out into the blackness of the woods. The beam from the flashlight moved across the open area and into patches of trees that were laden heavy with rain. It was raining even harder now and the light shone into the night obscuring my sight as the rain pelted down upon the lens.

  And out of nowhere, to my right, came a force which knocked the light from my hand and to the earth before me. The flashlight rolled around on the ground, and as I jerked to my side, I came face to face with a bearded man. Even in the misty night I recognized the eyes and the foul but sweet odor which emitted from him.

  “Glynda!” I screamed into the blackness of the night and then the man reached out for my neck and gripped it from behind, hurling me to the wet ground. I felt the soggy leaves and muck hit my face and my glasses became muddied from the dirt. Quickly wiping them with my rain covered fingers I was now able to see what was happening behind me. He came stumbling toward me and extended his arm, groping in the dark for my legs that had been flat against the ground behind me, but were now hiked in a prone position ready to bolt away from his reach and as far away as possible from Ned Hollis.

  I screamed again for Glynda, but she did not reply for I realized my legs were fleeting through the trees and into the woods, running for my life with the besotted Hollis at my heels. Despite his seemingly drunken nature he was still fit and kept a close distance to my manic pace as I raced in a single direction, darting between trees and hurdling bushes. Hollis tried to do the same, but tripped and ended up on the ground with a thud. I slowed my pace in hope that he would not recover, only to find Ned Hollis leaping in the air toward me and landing my back against a rock. He was on top of me now and I wriggled to free myself from his weight. Hollis mumbled obscenities at me as he struggled to pin me to the ground. Despite his height and strength, I was able to squirm away from his grasp—my hand extended above my head now and I reached for a sycamore root that protruded from the ground to form a handle against the earth. It was easy to grab so I did, as my heels dug into the ground and my knees wormed up and down catching Hollis in the groin by mistake. A lucky pop it was as Hollis grabbed his crotch and rolled to his side and off of me, moaning for a moment, but long enough for me to jump to my feet and flee through the woods.

  My clothes were wet and muddy against my skin but despite it all, I remained warm from the adrenaline which surged through my body. Hollis must have been experiencing the same because he was again running after me. The sound of the river soon flowed through the night as I crashed through tree branches, not wanting to stop until I felt safe. Quickly looking over my shoulder I could see Hollis was staying with my pace and then I remembered that Rita Brennan had told me about the gym room he had in the basement of his plush home—surely the weight regiment kept the older man fit. I forced myself to push onward despite becoming increasingly winded.

  Glynda was long behind me probably still at the horse trailer, and LBJ, well, who knew where she was. I longed for the comfort of my friends, my house, and the safety of my big blue room. Mr. Robert’s cackling voice crept into my mind, “Beware of creatures lurking in the dark.” It was no longer Halloween, but All Saints Day. The first day of November and my mind searched for the name of the saint I needed to pray to in situations like this. Saint Anthony I thought. Yes. He’s the one to pray to at least the one closest for my situation. I was lost and afraid and St. Anthony would help the lost. Especially since there was not a specific saint to protect those running through the woods in the darkness of the night to escape the evil clutches of a mad man.

  The sound of the rolling water grew louder as I continued through the woods. Suddenly I found myself on the edge of the river on a steep, tree-lined bank. My feet slid as I moved downward, closer to the river and I hoped I was near a shallow part of the Tippecanoe so I could cross. I jerked my head to the side to get a look at Hollis closing in on my stride with his long legs darting quickly down the slope. My heart raced with fear for I was not sure I could still outrun the tall man.

  He mumbled at me what sounded like a string of cuss words and then I tripped—my foot snagged by the root of an oak. I slammed to the ground, rolled a few yards and clipped my head on something hard and sharp. The trees above me grew fuzzy and spun over my head as I stared into the night’s sky. The wind had been knocked out of me and I could not utter a word. My last words. I thought as I dropped my head to the side to see that Hollis was right behind me. Then a mortal scream pierced the night and blackness passed over my eyes.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I came to in the back of the ambulance. Daylight glowed through the window as I stared up into the face of a paramedic. Someone I did not know. I wondered where I was and who I was with since I knew the Burgenton paramedics. Voices were in the background outside the vehicle and I could hear the sound of the river flowing over the conversations yet I was still able to pick out words.

  “Fell right into the river...face down...” The men’s voices carried into the ambulance. I wondered what they were talking about.

  Had I fell face down in the water? I couldn’t remember. My throat was parched and my words came with difficulty. “Did I fall in the water?” I whispered to the man in the blue suit.

  He turned to me and said, “No. You didn’t. How are you feeling?” He had kind blue eyes that reminded me of my dad and I wondered if my dad was around.

  “Where’s my dad?” I spoke in a hoarse whisper.

  “Shhh...your dad will be here soon. We’re t
aking you to the hospital and he’ll meet you there. Everything will be fine.” The paramedic looked down at me and then out the rear of the wagon.

  I strained my neck to turn to try to get a look at what the paramedic was watching. Pain wracked my brain with my every movement, but what I saw hit me like a blow to the stomach. The sheriffs were there and two other men placing a body in a long black bag into the rear of the hearse. My mind struggled to think about who could be in the bag and I remembered Glynda.

  “Where’s Glynda?” I asked in a panic. My head knocked with pain with each syllable.