by Amy Cross
"You okay?" Nate asks, standing next to me.
"Yeah," I say, swallowing hard. "It's just a cabin. Why? Are you okay?"
"Me?" He pauses. "Yeah, I'm cool. I mean, I don't believe in ghosts or any of that stuff."
"Good," I say, starting to walk toward the cabin. "I'd hate to think you had that kind of mind, Nate. I can't stand dealing with people who let dumb-ass ideas rule their way of thinking."
"There are definitely people who act weird about this place," he continues, hurrying after me. "Like, they say they lights up here at night, which is probably just nothing, and they reckon there are noises. If you ask me, it's just superstitious bullshit. Sometimes I hate the way people are so provincial in this town. It really pisses me off."
"So why are you still here?" I ask as we reach the edge of the clearing. "I thought you were supposed to be going off to become some big-time soccer star?"
"Didn't work out," he replies.
"Why not?"
"Just didn't. You know how it is. We didn't have the money, and everything kinda came crashing down after..."
I wait for him to finish, and eventually I turn to him. "After what?"
He pauses. "The stuff with Cassie didn't make things easy, you know? It kinda disrupted things."
"So what you're saying," I reply, "is that after your sister killed my brother, the fallout stopped you from pursuing your soccer dreams?"
"Well..." He pauses again. "I dunno. I never really looked at it so directly. We just didn't have the money, and I guess I just lost all my momentum. It wasn't one thing. It was lots of little things, really. Everyone was always talking about Cassie and what she'd done, and I just started spending more time in my room, and my fitness suffered and eventually I just dropped out of soccer completely. It sucks, but that's just how it was. I mean, I probably wouldn't have been a big star, anyway."
"Who knows?" I reply. "Maybe, maybe not. The point is, because of what your sister did, you never got a chance to find out."
"I suppose you could look at it that way."
"How else could you look at it?" I ask. Staring at him for a moment, I can't help but think that his sister ruined his life. Sure, he could have found the guts to haul himself out of this shit-hole, but Cassie basically brought the entire Briggs family to a crashing halt. "You know she did it, right?" I continue. "She killed Bobby. Whatever else anyone claims, there's no doubt."
"I know," he mutters.
"You're sure?"
He nods.
"It must be hard," I continue, trying to control the anger I can feel rising through my body. "Having a murderer for a sister, I mean. Knowing she could do something like that."
"She was always kinda weird," he says, "but yeah, totally. She's fucked up. I can see it in her eyes now she's back from prison. There's just something about her that makes me think she's not right in the head."
"You're not just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear, are you?" I reply. "I hate people who do that, Nate. She's your sister. I understand if you feel loyal to her."
"No way," he continues. "I can see that she's weird. I mean, I never thought she'd ever do something like kill someone, but I can't deny the evidence, can I? Everyone knows she did it. Fuck knows why she won't just admit the whole thing and get it over with."
"Because she's a liar," I tell him. "She's a dirty, evil liar with a black heart. She killed Bobby and she doesn't give a damn."
"I guess," he replies.
"You guess?" I sigh. Although I was planning to stay calm and rational tonight, I'm finding it much harder than I'd expected to keep a lid on my anger. "That bitch is evil," I continue. "She's got pure evil in her veins. How else do you explain the fact that she murdered my brother in cold blood and then just acted like nothing had happened? Even now, all these years ago, she can't bring herself to admit what she did. All she cares about is protecting herself." Realizing that there are tears in my eyes, I turn away from him, only to set eyes on the cabin again. "The last thing Bobby saw was probably her," I say after a moment, my voice trembling. "He probably looked up at her heartless, evil eyes, and then he felt her driving the knife into his chest. Those were his final moments."
We stand in silence for a moment.
"Maybe we should break out the weed," Nate says eventually. "You know, to chill and stuff. No offense, but you seem like you could really us it."
I continue to stare at the cabin. Damn it, the whole plan was to get Nate into that place, and now I'm starting to realize that I might not have the nerve. Closing my eyes for a moment, I try to think of Bobby's final moments, and how he must have been terrified when he realized what Cassie was going to do to him; I can't shake the feeling that some echo of his screams might still be here, in which case I sure as hell don't want to go anywhere near the place. By the time I open my eyes, I've realized that I need to change my plan.
"Don't you want me to roll a couple of joints?" Nate asks cautiously, as if he's sensed that something's wrong. "I roll wicked joints. My friend Tony showed me this trick with the tip. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to show you how to do it, because I think he's, like, copyrighting it or something. But I can do it when you're not looking." He waits for me to reply. "So do you want me to roll or not?"
I stare at him. "No," I say finally. "No, I don't. I want you to fuck me as hard as you can."
"You..." His voice trails off, and he looks totally shocked.
"Right here," I continue, feeling as if I need to get my head straight. I came up here with a plan, and even if one of the smaller details has changed, I need to focus on sticking to the chain of events I mapped out in advance. Grabbing his hand, I sit on the group and wait for him to join me. "You can fuck a woman, can't you?" I ask. "Please, Nate, tell me you know how to fuck a woman properly."
"Yeah," he says nervously, "of course. I just... I thought you wanted to smoke some weed first."
"Are you seriously saying you'd rather smoke a fucking spliff than fuck a woman who's begging for it?"
"No," he says, kneeling next to me, "I just -"
Before he can finish, I grab him and pull him closer, and I quickly start kissing him with passion. He reciprocates, and soon we're in a lover's embrace as I feel him pressing his body against mine. It's quite clear, from the way he kisses, that this idiot doesn't have a clue about how to please a woman. Fortunately, I'm not fucking him for pleasure. This is part of the plan, and even thought I have no desire to give my body to some twenty-something pothead loser, I'm more than willing to sacrifice a little dignity in order to see my plan through. After all, it's not as if he's ever going to be able to persuade people about what really happened up here tonight.
Cassie Briggs
Although I manage to get some sleep, my dreams are fevered, filled with horrific images from the past. At one point, Bobby is standing over me, holding a knife. I try to make him stop, but he lunges toward me and I feel the blade slice through my gut.
Later in the same dream, I'm wading through a lake of blood. I can feel hands under the water, trying to grab at my ankles. They're not strong enough to hold me in place, but the shore doesn't seem to be getting any closer.
Finally I see Bobby again. He's begging me to save him, but I can't. Fisher's nearby, telling me that I have to be strong, and I know he's right. We've spent so long building up to this moment. All I can do is watch Bobby die, and wait while the cabin seems to melt around me, plunging us all into darkness.
Becky Madison
Sitting up, with my shirt open and my breasts hanging loose in the moonlight, I take a moment to catch my breath. I feel strangely dirty, as if I've just lowered myself to a terrible new level. Still, what matters is that I've done what I needed to do. Once I've added a few fake cuts and scratches to my body, I'll have a perfect explanation for everything that's going to happen tonight. After all, a woman's entitled to defend herself if she's being attacked.
"Was that okay for you?" Nate asks.
"Sure," I repl
y, figuring I might as well let him think he pleasured a woman in his final moments. "It was swell. How was it for you?"
"Awesome," he says, wiping himself clean. "Sorry if it was a bit quick."
"It lasted longer than I expected," I tell him.
"Cool." He pauses. "Wait, was that a compliment?"
"Never mind," I mutter.
"So do you want some weed now?" he asks. "That's good stuff. It probably burns a treat in the after-glow, if you know what I mean. A cool comedown's just what we need right now."
"No," I say, re-buttoning my shirt. "Actually, Nate, I think I might get going. It's late, and I'm not feeling the mood. You can keep the weed, though. Consider it my little gift to you. If I were you, I'd sit up here under this gorgeous, starry sky, and I'd have a good, long smoke. Let all the worries of Fort Powell float away from you."
"Yeah, but -"
"Sorry," I continue as I get to my feet and fix my underwear. "I've got somewhere to be. I forgot, but I have an appointment."
"An appointment?" He looks at his phone. "It's almost midnight."
"The person I'm going to see keeps irregular hours," I reply with a faint smile, before spotting something unusual carved into a nearby tree. Stepping closer, I see that someone has etched the name Darper Danver into the bark, and the style looks to be exactly the same as the carving on the fence outside the Briggs house. "Nate," I say after a moment, "have you ever heard of someone named Darper Danver?"
"Darper Danver?"
"It's a strange name," I say, turning to him. "I've seen it a few times around town, though."
He stares at me, and it's clear that the name means something to him.
"What?" I ask, surprised at the possibility that he might actually be useful. "Do you know who Darper Danver is?"
"Well..." He pauses. "It's not anyone, really. Not a real person." He steps closer to the tree and runs his fingers across the carving. "That's totally fucked up," he says eventually. "This must be pretty old. I haven't heard that name for years." He pauses. "My Mom used to write these children's stories. She said she was writing them for us, but she just liked writing. She did it all the time when we were kids. Sometimes she just made it all up, and other times I think she used to base her stuff on local ghost stories that my grandfather used to tell her. At night, she used to read to us, to me and Cassie. She'd write the stories during the day, print 'em out and then come to our room at bedtime."
"And Darper Danver was... who?" I ask.
"One of the characters," he replies. "She used to make up all these different people and monsters and stuff for the stories. Most of them were pretty boring, but she did a couple about someone called Darper Danver. I can't really remember much about what she was supposed to be, but she definitely made her up. Most of it, anyway. I think it might have been based on some kinda historical thing." He pauses. "I didn't really like the Darper Danver stories much, but Cassie loved them. She was always begging for more. It was a bit weird, to be honest. I think Mom tried to write more for a while, but she gave up and moved on to other stuff. Cassie ended up reading the old ones over and over for months."
"So there's not an actual person called Darper Danver?"
He shakes his head. "It was just this invented person in my Mom's head. Cassie'd remember more, but I guess you don't want to talk to her." He stares at the name carved into the tree. "Weird that someone'd do this, though. Must have been Cassie when she was a kid. I think she got a bit obsessed with the character for a while. She and Fisher Benhauser used to make up their own stories about it." He smiles. "See? Told you Cassie was weird. Fisher was pretty fucked-up too. They used to spend hours playing these dumb games, all based on some stupid story my Mom wrote."
"You're right," I say, trying to work out how this fits in with what I know about Cassie and my brother. "That does sound fucked up. What about Bobby, though? Was he part of all this bullshit?"
"Probably," Nate says, opening the packet of weed and starting to roll a joint. "I guess so. He hung around with them a lot, so he must have known about it. I dunno if he actually joined in, though. Maybe." He pauses. "I liked Bobby. He was cool. I mean, I didn't talk to him much. It always seemed like he was trying a bit too hard to fit in with Cassie and Fisher, though. Like, he wanted to be in their gang and they kinda just strung him along a bit. I hope you don't mind me saying it, but sometimes I felt like they were making fun of him."
"And what about the carvings?" I ask, deciding not to dwell on the fact that my little brother was basically the butt of those bastards' jokes. "Do you know who's responsible for those?"
He shrugs.
"Someone must have done them. Was it Cassie?"
"Maybe," he replies. "I dunno. I heard her talking to Fisher one time, years ago, and they couldn't work out who was doing it. Then again, maybe she was just bullshitting, you know? Like I said, Cassie's pretty crazy, so it's totally the kind of thing she'd do. She's my sister and all, but that doesn't mean I can't see that there's something wrong with her."
I pause for a moment, feeling as if maybe I need to learn a little more about this whole Darper Danver situation. After all, although I'm absolutely certain that Cassie killed my brother, I've never been able to understand why she'd do such a thing. From what I understand of the police investigation, the lack of a clear motive was one of the key reasons why the bitch was able to walk free, but it's starting to sound as if this Darper Danver thing might be a key part of what happened. If that's the case, I guess there's only one way for me to get more information, which means that I'm going to have to hold off the part of my plan that involves getting rid of Nate. At least for a few more days.
"Could you do me a favor?" I ask. "Is there any way you could find a little more information about Darper Danver? For example, what exactly was going on in those stories your Mom wrote? It's probably nothing, but I'd really like to understand it a little better."
"I dunno," he replies, before taking a drag on his freshly-rolled joint. "I think she kept all her stories in these files in the basement. I could take a look, maybe rustle something up, but -"
"Could you?" I say quickly, before he can continue. Stepping forward, I place my hand on the front of his pants and push gently against the bulge. "I'd be so grateful," I say, biting my bottom lip. "If you can fill me in on this Darper Danver bullshit, I'll make it worth your while. Believe me, tonight was nothing compared to what I can do if I'm really grateful. I would be so utterly grateful, you've got no idea. Maybe I could even rent out a motel room for a night and really show you how much I appreciate your efforts."
He stares at me for a moment, looking as if he's a little scared. "I could look in the basement," he says eventually. "I can't promise anything, but I could definitely look, and I could ask my Mom -"
"Don't ask her anything," I say, interrupting him. "Let's just keep this under the radar for now, okay? It might really set some people's backs up if they even know that we've been talking. After all, our families aren't exactly on speaking terms these days, are they?"
"Do you blame me for what Cassie did?" he asks.
"No!" I reply, as if the idea is insane. "I just mean that it might seem weird if people find out about... us." I pause as I realize that the word 'us' might have been rather loaded. After all, there's no 'us' here, even if it's useful for me to suggest otherwise for now.
"I won't tell anyone," he replies. "I promise."
"I know I can trust you," I say with a smile. "But as for that Darper Danver thing, do you think you could get an answer to me tomorrow evening? I don't mean to rush you, but I really need to get moving with certain plans. The quicker you can help me, the more grateful I'll be." I pause for a moment. "I'm sure you'll like me when I'm really grateful, Nate. You've seen me when I'm quite grateful, but believe me, it's something else entirely when I'm totally overcome with gratitude."
"I'll do my best," he says. "I'm sure I can come up with something. If the -" Before he can finish, something seems to catch his a
ttention in the distance.
"What?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder and seeing nothing but the dark cabin.
"You're gonna think I'm crazy," he replies, his voice suddenly sounding much more tense than before, "but I swear I just saw someone at the window of that thing."
"The cabin?" I ask, my chest tightening at the merest suggestion that someone could be in there.
"I just saw a silhouette for a moment," he says, taking a step back. "It was walking past the window. I only saw it for a few seconds, but it was definitely inside."
"How strong is that weed?" I ask, trying to act as if he's imagining the whole thing.
"It's not the weed," he insists. "I saw someone in there! Do you really think I'd joke about something like that?"
"You're clearly a total lightweight," I reply, grabbing the joint and taking a brief drag before handing it back to him. "That's good stuff, but it shouldn't be making you hallucinate. Not yet, anyway."
"I know what I saw!"
"There's no-one in there," I say, even though I'm starting to doubt myself. When I brought Nate up here, I was planning to use the cabin as a symbolic part of the set-up, so that the eventual story would be more believable. Right now, however, I'm starting to think that I might have made a mistake. No matter how many times I tell myself that I don't believe in ghosts, there's something creepy about the cabin.
"Let's go," he says, grabbing my arm. "It might not be safe up here."
"Bullshit," I say, pulling away from him. Switching my torch back on, I start walking toward the cabin.
"Becky!" Nate hisses. "Don't go in there!"
Ignoring him, I reach the door and pause for a moment before turning the handle. The door swings open and I shine the torch inside. My heart is racing, but it only takes a couple of seconds for me to see that there's definitely no-one in here. Stepping inside, I realize that it was incredibly dumb of me to let Nate get me so worked up. Then again, I'm only human, and this is the room where my brother died all those years ago. As I shine the torch toward the far corner, I spot a dark stain on the floor. I guess that's the mark from all the blood that he lost, just like the websites said. After all these years, I'm finally in the place where he died. Turning and glancing around the room, I find myself briefly expecting to see him before, finally, I remind myself that such superstitious nonsense can't ever really happen.
