The Pit in the Woods: A Mercy Falls Mythos

by Nathaniel Reed

  “I didn’t mean, well, maybe somewhat… Wow! Okay Tony.”

  “So,” Tony said, still chuckling, “We okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah!” Jeremy said. “Of course! As long as…”

  “What?” Tony said.

  “As long as you’re not… attracted to me.”

  That made Tony practically bust a gut. “Oh, oh God, I knew you were going to say that! I knew it! No, don’t worry I’m not attracted to you pretty boy. You’re not my type.”

  “I’m not a pretty boy,” Jeremy said.

  “Exactly,” Tony acknowledged.

  “Fuck you,” Jeremy said, laughing.

  “Um, like I said, not my type.”

  “I hate you,” Jeremy said.

  “No you don’t.”

  “All right, I don’t. But I will get you back for that.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “In your nightmares,” Jeremy said sinisterly.

  “That’s bold talk Pilgrim,” Tony said, in a John Wayne voice.

  “That’s not very good.”

  “Ah, whatya want? I’m Italian!”

  24

  “That’s pretty funny,” Myron said.

  “You would think I would be the homophobe,” Johnny said.

  “I’m not a homophobe,” Jeremy said testily.

  “I know you’re not,” Staci said.

  “Me too,” Tony backed.

  “People get picked on for the stupidest things,” Staci said. “It’s a good thing you didn’t look the part. You were always muscular and kinda intimidating.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny added, “If anyone had tried to pick on you, you would have knocked them into next Sunday.”

  “Damn right,” Tony said, “But people can be cruel.”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy said, “Like that time with Myron…”

  Staci nodded sadly.

  “What time?” Tony said.

  Jeremy and Staci looked at Tony and Johnny.

  “It happened after you guys graduated, and it was just the three of us,” Jeremy said.

  “I’m not sure he wants us to tell that story,” Staci said.

  “It’s okay,” Myron said. “I’ve long since made peace with the past.” He remembered how he’d reacted to his son not too long ago in a theme park, and added, “For the most part. But I’ll tell it.”

  25

  He was tired of walking home from school. Staci and Jeremy had a free period so they got out of class an hour early. He’d asked his mom for a bike, and he got one for Christmas, black with orange stripes- a Huffy he adored. Myron was riding it one day in March on a blue sky day, with the weather warm and pleasant, his book bag strapped to his back and a smile on his face. It was one of those days that made you glad to be alive. A gentle breeze skirted the outlines of his face as he pedaled, and he breathed in the scent of blooming

  flowers as he passed the re-seeded lawns.

  Myron was glad it was spring again and that he was heading home, when he heard whispering coming from a parked car. He turned to see a group of teenagers between seventeen and nineteen, two in the front and one in the back of the car, their windows rolled down. The driver yelled, “Do it!” Myron was heading directly into their path, unsure what they were doing. The kid on the passenger side facing him hurled something, and yelled “Loser!”

  The milk carton struck the side of his head. The spout was open, forming a fountain-like arc as it spun toward him. The impact caused him to lose control of the bicycle, triggering him to swerve, wheels skidding as he fell sideways onto the pavement, legs tangled between the seat and the back wheel.

  Milk doused his face and hair, turning it into a white mask. The milk was curdled. Myron coughed, gagged, and sputtered. He was barely capable of opening his eyes. The stench was nauseating, the humiliation was much worse. He saw the kids speed off the curb through the milky haze, hearing their cackling. One sounded hyena-like and predatory. Myron thought it might be the one shadowed away in the back seat.

  No one was out and about anywhere nearby. He had scrapes from the pavement on his legs and arms.

  “Ow,” he said, “Ow.” In that one word was not just the pain of the fall, but it reverberated with his internal pain. Tears fell, mingling with the milk. He picked himself up slowly, wiping the milk out of his eyes with his forearm. Getting up was the hard part. Not because he couldn’t; in some sense he didn’t want to.

  “Ow,” he said again, from no physical pain at all this time. It was his heart that hurt, a pain he knew all too well. But this was the worst he’d ever known. The tears fell hard. He sniffled and that brought the liquid and the stench of it into his nostrils, causing him to cough and gag again. This made him cry more, which made him sniff more, and it repeated itself several times in a viciously mocking cycle. He had to steady himself, remain composed enough to ride the rest of the way home, but he had to stop somewhere to clean himself up. He

  couldn’t stay like this. He didn’t want his parents to see him like this.

  He righted the bike and saddled up, making a final mournful, “Oh,” this time, as he set his feet to the pedals and pushed himself forward. Myron’s hair was sopping wet and dripped over his forehead, milk dripping down the sides of his face, and bridge of his nose, collecting in his eyebrows. He got as far as Larry’s Convenience Store, and dropped his bike to the side of the entrance, not bothering to chain it. The bell above the door announced his arrival to the patrons inside as he stepped into the little shop.

  A duo of attractive teenage girls saw him, pointed and laughed. Myron tried to ignore them as he made his way to the counter. The middle-aged pot-bellied desk clerk (presumably Larry), took one look at him and said, “By Jesus, what have you gotten yourself into kid?”

  “Sir, can I please have something to wipe myself off with?”

  The girls behind him were laughing harder now. He was vaguely aware of two or three other customers in the store, but not of their reactions.

  “I’ll be back,” the clerk said. “I’ll get ya some towels from the storeroom.”

  He was back fairly quickly with three plush white towels. Myron did his best to soak up as much of it as he could with the first two towels, and patted the damp spots with the third. The clerk crinkled his nose at the smell.

  “You can wash up in there if ya like.” He pointed to a tiny restroom to the side of the counter, a few feet toward the back of the store.

  Myron went and dunked his head underwater in the sink, and splashed some on his face. Soaking and dripping wet from water this time, he went to pull off some paper towels when he caught the clerk’s reflection in the mirror behind him. He was grinning, actually trying to hold back laughter. Myron stormed out.

  “Hey!” the clerk squeaked as Myron pushed past him. “Aren’t you going to dry off?!”

  No,” Myron said, “Thanks for your concern.”

  The girls were laughing again and at least one other person, a boy, had joined in. He roared past them, quickly got on his bicycle and took off. But Myron didn’t go home. He was too wound up, not to mention soaked. He went to Jeremy’s.

  Staci was with him and they were in his garage, with the door open; which was fortuitous for him. Myron didn’t want to deal with anyone’s parents right now. Jeremy and Staci were talking, and amused about something, when they both looked up to see Myron.

  “Myron,” Jeremy said, distressed, “What happened?”

  Staci’s heart skipped a beat. She knew something was wrong. They didn’t even know what was wrong yet, but the sympathy and concern Myron felt coming from them helped after what he’d experienced at the store. If they had laughed, he might have died.

  Myron broke down and cried, telling them everything. Staci hugged him tightly.

  “I’m so sorry Myron.”

  When Myron got to the part about the clerk, Jeremy practically went nuclear.

  “He what?! I’ll fuckin’ kill him! How could he… my father knows that turd! And if I ever catch thos
e guys that threw…”

  “Jeremy, calm down!” Staci said. Myron had never seen this side of him. He was not just angry, but indignant that anyone could do something like that to his friend. Staci grabbed him from behind by both arms to try and settle him down. Eventually he did, and Myron let himself release the anger and hurt. When Staci hugged him again, Jeremy followed suit, holding Staci and Myron together. Myron cried into her shoulder, Staci oblivious and not caring he was still drenched.

  For a time Myron was able to let go of the shame and humiliation, and bask in their warmth, the antithesis of the cold cruelty he’d just been subjected to. For once he was glad to be an empath, to feel the kindness, not only from their actions but emanating from within them like a warming fire from a hearth. They stayed that way for over ten minutes, none of them saying a word. It was enough. They were enough.

  26

  “Myron,” Tony said soberly.

  “Dude,” Johnny said. It might have sounded funny any other time, but not this one.

  “We had no idea,” Tony said.

  “High school was rough for all of us,” Jeremy nodded, “But no one more than Myron.”

  “We were just glad we could be there for him,” Staci said.

  Myron smiled. “And I’ll always be thankful to you guys for that.”

  “And you’re not a loser,” Staci said. “You never were.”

  “Those guys were losers,” Jeremy said.

  “I know,” Myron agreed. “It took me a long time to realize that, but I know. Thank you.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE FLOOD

  (1986)

  1

  The sky opened up as if all the angels were releasing their fury in the form of water, to wash away the town’s sins. The Weather Channel predicted a light drizzle, but that drizzle had become a deluge. The rain covered the streets with a thin lacquer-like coating that reflected off the black asphalt like vinyl sheeting, and set off car alarms all across town with its steady pounding drums.

  The few poor souls who still stood outside beat a hasty retreat indoors, or under the nearest archway or storefront awning. Judging by the impact no awning would hold for long. Dana Leesburg was only aware of the pounding of blood rushing to her head as she drank the blood from the doctor’s gushing throat. The nurses that walked in saw the scene and screamed, dropping pads and pens; one nurse’s entire body dropped to the floor in a faint.

  Dana bounded up from her reclining position on the bed, bending her knees in a crouch and tearing the IV from her arm without noticing. She threw herself off the bed at the nearest nurse, toppling her and burying her teeth in the nurse’s neck, tearing it open and at once closing the wound with her open mouth, receiving the spray that issued from the torn flesh like a sprinkler run red.

  She fled past the other nurses, scurrying like a spider on all fours, occasionally leaping upward as if to survey or sniff out her surroundings. In this manner she made her way out into the main hallway, past confused orderlies and patients, and propelled herself out the nearest window into the black day. Glass crashed all around her, cascading down with her the four flights to the concrete pavement below.

  Landing on her hands and feet she splashed in the rain. Had it been a typical day she might have burst into flame, having killed two people outright, but the sun remained hidden behind dark clouds, and she was free to roam. She made a quick sweep of the grounds, head shifting from left to right, oblivious to the pelting rain, and darted off into the distance.

  2

  “That’s your daughter?” Jeremy said.

  Blake didn’t hear him. He could only stare at Vivien.

  “What’s the matter Daddy? Don’t you approve of my new profession?” she taunted him, revealing wickedly sharp fangs.

  “You’re not real, I’m hallucinating you,” Blake said, shaking his head.

  “No, she’s real,” Johnny said, “We see her too.”

  Myron punched him on the shoulder.

  “Hey, watch it kid!” Johnny said, surprised, although it didn’t hurt all that much.

  “Why don’t you and your little band of boys…” Vivien glanced over at Staci, “Sorry, and lady, put down your wittle crosses before somebody gets hurt.”

  “Not happening lady,” Tony said, raising his cross higher.

  She hissed, and then pouted.

  “Vivien,” Blake said, “Come with us. We can fight this. We can fight them.”

  “Sorry Daddy, but I’m already home. I like it here. I have new friends now, and some nights it’s like an all you can eat buffet.”

  “What have they done to you?” he said a second time, barely disguising his disgust.

  “They’ve made me immortal! Oh the power Daddy, if you could feel it!”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “What?” she said coyly.

  “You know very well what! Whatever creature it is inside of you is not my daughter! That’s not who I want to speak to.”

  She laughed. “You’ve got it all wrong. There’s no creature

  that’s overtaken my body. I’m not possessed. This is the creature I’ve become. I’ve EVOLVED.”

  “You’ve devolved into a monster like them, a creature whose sole means of survival is giving in to its baser instincts.”

  Vivien held her hands to her heart mockingly. “Daddy, that hurts. Why would you talk to me like that?”

  He was not moved by her act, but his eyes began to water nonetheless.

  “Vivien, I love you. I miss you.” It was as much a heartfelt statement as it was an apology, because somewhere deep down he felt guilt for what had happened to her.

  “Then come with me,” she said. I can make you like us. You and I can live forever, free of judgment, free of pain.”

  Blake laughed. At first Vivien stared, not understanding the reasoning behind it, then it just became annoying. Her expression transformed into anger.

  “You call this free?” Blake said. “Living in this deep, dank cave, hiding from the world, only coming out when you need to feed, never seeing the daylight?”

  Something in what he said must have got to her, because for a moment she looked down. “Sunshine is overrated,” she said, raising her head, “We move with the shadows and are one with the night.”

  “It’s funny how all vampires start to wax poetic when they give up on humanity. Is that part of the vampire package?”

  Johnny could not restrain a laugh. Staci glared at him.

  “You’re being mean,” Vivien pouted.

  “And you’re being phony. You’re not my Vivien, and this act isn’t fooling me.”

  “But I am your Vivien. I’m the world’s Vivien. I’m me, in my purest form.”

  “NO,” Blake said. The declarative way he said it gave her pause. “You used to be smart, funny, young and carefree; a beautiful creature. Now you’re just a puppet,” he said with anger, but not at her.

  Vivien took it as a direct attack. “I’m no one’s puppet. It’s you that are a slave, a slave to human rules and emotions.”

  “And does it feel good to be emotionless? To have no moral compass? To debase yourself and claim that it’s by choice, and not by your need to survive at all costs?”

  Again, she appeared to be moved by something he said. Her eyes stretched open and for a moment she stood speechless. “You talk much, but understand so little.”

  “I understand so much now Vivien. If you’d got the chance to live as long as I have you’d understand. But you’ll be the same age forever. There’s a wisdom that comes with growing older.”

  “And what has your wisdom taught you Daddy? That your daughter can’t be saved?” she snickered.

  “Exactly,” Blake said, “And that I have no choice, as much as I love you Vivien, and I do love you,” he said, choking up, “but to kill you.”

  3

  The torrent struck Dana Leesburg, blinding her as she scuttled through the streets. She didn’t like it, all this water. But fairly soon
she realized that she could pierce through the water with her new eyes and penetrate not just the pelting drops that struck her face, forcing her to blink, but the deep gray gloom ahead, through the diagonal wall of rain slashing the sky. While it bothered her a little, it wasn’t until she reached what looked like a large flowing river, but was actually just a stream of water rolling into a sewer along the curb, that she became concerned. For some reason she felt she had to find a way around this natural occurrence. She experienced a sense of powerlessness, fearful to cross it. She wasn’t sure what it might do to her. Instead she turned left and crawled down to the middle of the street. There were no cars, no people. It was as if she had wandered on an alien landscape where it eternally rained and could not sustain human life. But then two bright yellow eyes appeared in the distance.

  Perhaps it was the fog of the rain, or that she hadn’t quite

  adjusted to her new eyes yet, but she improperly judged the distance between her and what she considered to be an animal, and turned out to be a trucker making good time on his delivery. The Peterbilt slammed into her, threw her at least two dozen feet through the air and into the road again, only to run over her head under one of its massive wheels, turning the spilled contents of her skull into something that resembled meat run through a grinder, essentially decapitating her. Her body jerked spasmodically for several seconds before it stilled, and Dana Leesburg was no more; at least not in this world.

  4

  Blake raised the stake in one hand, putting away the cross in his belt loop, and retrieving his gun with the other.

  “Oh Daddy,” Vivien said, “You couldn’t possibly kill me.”

  Blake shook his head no. He couldn’t possibly. The others weren’t sure if he was being mesmerized, or simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. Perhaps it was a little of both.

  “Daddy, I could make this so much easier for you. Just a little bite, a little drink, and it will all be over.” She moved toward him.

  “Back away Vivien!”

  “Or what, you’ll kill me? Riggghhht.”