by Matt Drabble
With the car stopped and pulled over on the outskirts of town and carefully secreted behind a large hedgerow, Michael whipped around furiously towards Casper. His face was swollen and painful and his top lip was split open and raw, “What the fuck is going on in your town, Casper?” he growled.
Casper looked as though he wilted under Michael’s anger; he held his hands up in surrender. “Mr. Torrance … Michael … please, we don’t have time for this.”
“Bullshit,” Michael spat. “I just watched the sheriff - YOUR sheriff - murder two people right in front of me. He shot one in cold blood and smashed the other’s face into the ground until there was nothing left. I’ve got a neighbor who is one minute making plans for the rest of her life, and the next she’s committing suicide. And then her husband disappears off of the face of the earth. I spoke to a man who told me all kinds of juicy shit about you and your freaky ancestors and then he disappears. We’ve got a psycho sheriff on a killing rampage; we’ve got a very disturbing diary from a woman who apparently led our very lives before Emily and I moved here. We’ve got creepy graffiti sprayed all over town from someone who apparently doesn’t agree with the town’s philosophies. Thom’s teacher conveniently commits another suicide. Oh, and a whole back catalogue of town deaths and disappearances stretching back decades.” Michael stopped, exhausted. His chest still ached from the heavy work boot kicking that he’d received earlier and his head still spun worryingly.
“We were supposed to be a perfect haven,” Casper said in a small voice. “A true Eden, secluded away from the outside world and all of their problems. We wanted to keep everything perfect,” he said, longingly staring out of the car window and off into the distance. “We set up an inner council in order to maintain the town, to keep undesirables out … through discouragement,” he added quickly. “We’re not monsters, Michael,” he paused. “At least, most of us aren’t.”
“Quinn?” Thom interjected.
“Quinn,” Casper said heavily. “Quinn was always one to take things too literally. I have long suspected that his methods were … questionable, to say the least.”
“Questionable!” Michael shouted. “He’s fucking killing people, you idiot. Are you really going to tell me that you didn’t know?” he asked incredulously.
“Not at first,” Casper said; his gaze dropped low and ashamed. “I started to suspect that he might be going too far, but by then he ruled this town. I mean, come on! You’ve seen him in action; how exactly did your standing up to him work out for you, Michael? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“But you could have told someone, surely?” Thom pleaded.
“Who precisely, boy? We’re stuck out here, miles from anywhere. You really think that Quinn wouldn’t notice if anyone tried to speak against him?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever tried to stand up against him?” Michael asked, fearing the answer and not liking how Casper was looking towards Thom.
“Of course, but they are the ones who ended up in accidents or suicides, or just plain disappearing.”
“My father?” Thom asked tearfully.
“I’m sorry,” was all Casper could say, without meeting the young boy’s eyes.
“Where’s my wife, Casper? Where’s Emily?”
“He has her.”
Michael leant in towards the back seat. “And what exactly is he going to do with her?”
“Oh, Michael, I’m so sorry,” Casper said sadly, his voice breaking.
“WHAT?” Michael roared, grabbing hold of the town manager’s jacket roughly, tearing the soft fabric.
“He’s going to take her to the square during the festival. He believes that the town’s fortune and prosperity are tied to the ancient rituals of the past, according to the scriptures. I’m ashamed to say of my own family’s writing, the land is made fertile by…”
“By what, Casper, what?” Michael said, releasing his grip and feeling his own heart sink.
“By sacrifice - sacrifice to the trees and the land, the blood of a mother and unborn child, the most pure of all surrenders.”
“When?” Michael asked.
“During the Woodland Festival.”
“You mean the whole town’s in on it?” Thom asked disbelievingly.
“Heavens, no,” Casper replied. “As far as most are concerned, the festival is nothing more than a celebration of our founding. Whoever Quinn has on his own inner circle will be present.”
“Where?”
“You can’t stop him, Michael. Take the boy and run because he will come after you next.”
“Where?” Michael snarled. “You tell me where, Casper, or so help me God I’ll bury you at the side of this fucking road. You’re going to tell me and you’re going to come with me…”
“With us,” Thom interrupted softly but with a hard edge to his voice.
“With us,” Michael agreed, hating to but knowing that he needed all the help that he could get, even if it was from a skinny youth. “Now you’re going to show us where they’ve got my wife and child.”
----------
Emily watched the town pass by deserted. There seemed to be a veil of mist that had descended over the residents’ minds. The town square was decorated with large banners strung from the tree branches promoting the “Woodland Festival”. The scene should have been one of typical town perfection but she was scared. Scared. Not just at her abduction at the axe-wielding hands of her supposed best friend, but also at the sudden desertion of the town; it was as though everyone had received a hidden signal to simply go home and sleep.
“Sarah-Jane, SJ,” she tried again. Her friend had been silent since loading her into the back of the waiting car outside the school. The bloody axe sat slowly dripping on the front passenger seat besides its mistress. Her mind whirled and twirled in shock and she had to fight hard against the rising tide of emotions; her horror at seeing Mrs. Thirlby brutally slain in front of her and the betrayal of the one woman that she thought she could trust. She feared for Michael as well - where was he? Was he still alive? Her hands formed across her swell; most of all, she was afraid for their unborn child.
They drove slowly as they headed through the residential homes and out towards the commercial downtown area, and all the while Sarah-Jane was silent. Emily could just see her friend's face - her eyes were glassy and distant, blood spots were crusted on her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away. Emily suddenly recalled a conversation from earlier when Sarah-Jane had spoken so surely about the fact that she would never marry the doctor. “Not now”, she had stated firmly.
“SJ,” she tried again, “where’s Dr Creed? Where’s Samuel?”
At the mention of his name, Emily saw a soft tear trickle its lonely way down Sarah-Jane’s cheek, turning the red stains a watery pink. But still she would not speak.
“Where’s Michael, Sarah-Jane, is he okay?” Emily strove to keep her voice steady at the mention of her husband’s name. “Is he alive?” she choked.
“Everything’s going to be fine, Emily,” Sarah-Jane’s voice was robotic and toneless, her eyes never faltering from the road ahead.
“Where are we going?” Emily tried, hoping that if Sarah-Jane would engage then maybe she could talk to her friend who must be in there somewhere.
“To your destiny,” came the enigmatic reply.
The houses soon passed. Emily had been desperately searching to find someone out in public whose attention she could have attracted, but there was no one in sight. She thought frantically for a plan of some kind; she could attack Sarah-Jane, perhaps make her crash the car, but what about the baby? Until she knew for sure that they were in mortal danger, she couldn’t take the risk.
She watched out of the window and the view reminded her very much of their first day in Eden. That glorious day had been full of hope; their whole lives had stretched out before them rich with promise. She had wandered through the town square, pausing to cast her eyes over the window displays. The people had been so warm and wel
coming; both Michael and she had been almost smothered by affection from virtual strangers.
“Nearly there,” Sarah-Jane said pleasantly. “Not much further.”
“Nearly where, SJ?” Emily kicked the back of the driver’s seat, “Nearly fucking where?” She screamed, losing her control. “Where are you taking me, you bitch?” She punctuated with more thudding kicks.
“Nearly there,” Sarah-Jane said oblivious. “Nearly time.”
Emily began sobbing gently. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to be strong; she wanted to be a heroine in one of Michael’s novels, but this was real life. She had witnessed a bloody murder right in front of her eyes and now she was kidnapped by a betraying best friend, and being dragged towards a destiny not of her own making. She wanted to fight. She wanted to scratch the eyes from Sarah-Jane’s face, to pull the hair from her head in bloody handfuls, but all she could do was softly cry.
The car pulled gently into one of the few parking bays opposite the town square. The day had turned to dusk and the streetlights cast a warm glow across the lush green lawns. She could see people through the gloomy light. There seemed to be hundreds circling the square; dark silhouettes gathering ominously.
Sarah-Jane got out of the driver’s door and Emily felt the car’s suspension lift. She watched as her ex-friend walked around the front of the car to the passenger door, reached in and retrieved the bloody axe. Emily felt her heart race as Sarah-Jane opened the rear door and motioned her out.
“Please,” she begged. “Please, Sarah-Jane; don’t hurt me.”
SJ looked at her like she was mad. “Hurt you? Don’t be silly, Emily, dear. Why on earth would I ever hurt you?”
Emily looked at the blood-crusted axe and the stains of Mrs. Thirlby that hung splattered across Sarah-Jane’s chest.
“I would never harm you, Emily. I love you. You’re the most special person in this town,” she said seriously. “We all need you, so very much.”
She allowed herself to be helped out of the car and waddled her way towards the town square as Sarah-Jane held her arm with one hand and the axe in the other. They wandered slowly across the deserted road. All of the pretty store fronts were dark and empty; their quaintness was now replaced by an air of sinister watching and waiting. The glass fronts were all laden with early closing signs due to the Woodland Festival. Emily had expected the town square to be teeming with activity and life, but there was only a hushed silence. Whatever the Festival was, it was apparently a quiet and somber affair.
“Everyone’s here,” Sarah-Jane said happily. “They are going to be so glad that you came.”
“Who’s here, Sarah-Jane? Who’s waiting?” She pointed towards the ominous dark audience.
“Everyone that’s anyone,” she replied
Eventually they came to the centre of the throng; they passed through almost everyone that Emily recognised from the town, and the friendliest faces were suddenly glazed and distant. The wooden, hand-carved bandstand that had held such family friendly events throughout their short time in town now looked imposing and threatening. Emily could see several figures standing patiently around a wooden table under the structure. The table was carved from tree trunks and adorned with thistles and brambles. Twisted branches curled around the sides like serpents and blood red roses sparkled in amongst the dark thorns.
There were three men standing with their arms behind their backs and welcoming smiles on their faces; she recognised all three. Sheriff Quinn stood proud in a fresh and pressed uniform. Eddie, the tram driver, wore a long white robe with gold braided trim that was matched by Morgan, the deli owner.
“Mrs. Torrance,” Sheriff Quinn boomed warmly, “welcome! It’s almost time.”
“Almost time, almost time, almost time,” the other three chanted as a whisper. The words soon became leaves on the wind as the gathered crowd took up the chant. Emily felt hysteria rise and threaten to consume her whole. No one would look her in the eye and every expression was vacant.
“Help me,” Emily sobbed. “Please … please.” She looked around desperately for aid, but none was forthcoming.
Sarah-Jane prodded her forward with the axe handle and Emily stumbled. She looked at the hand-crafted wooden table; it was long enough for someone to lie on and there were leather straps connected, one on each of the four corners. She looked in terror as she got closer and saw that the table top was stained with dark maroon colours. It also had several ferocious grooves dug deep into the wood, grooves that looked about the size of an axe head. She began to scream.
----------
Michael drove back into town carefully; his battered face was painful and felt huge and swollen. His right eye was puffy and almost closed and his lip was grotesquely engorged, making talking an arduous task. Despite his injuries, he still felt safer driving the car; Thom had about ten minutes’ worth of experience and Casper had apparently never driven before in his life. Michael felt that crashing into a tree was perhaps not the greatest way to begin a rescue attempt. His stomach churned with an acidic torrent; his wife and unborn child were out there somewhere having God knows what done to them, and it had been his Nancy Drew investigation plans that had led to this. His guilt was overpowering. He’d put them all in peril by leading them down a road of real dangers whilst caught up in his literary world. All the while, when they had been discussing ways in which to find the truth about Eden, he had been thinking about the book - the book that would flow from all of this; the true story bestseller that would land with a statement. But look at them now. He was busted to shit, Thom was on the run for his life, Sarah-Jane and the doc were God knows where and poor sweet Emily carrying their child was in mortal danger; of that, he was sure.
“Are you sure that this is the right way?” he asked Casper angrily.
“Yes, the town square is where they will gather, beneath the wooden bandstand. Haven’t you learnt that by now, Michael? It’s all connected to the forest and their dark bounty. They own us. Every myth, every legend. It all dates back to those damn trees.”
“What are they going to do with Mrs. Torrance?” Thom asked nervously.
“I’m scared to think, child,” Casper replied in a small voice. “At this point I just don’t know what Quinn is capable of anymore.”
Michael pulled the car over; they would have to approach the town square on foot. Due to the severe lack of cars in town, any car approaching would shatter the silence and notify everyone of their intentions.
As they all began to walk stealthily, his heart wept for Kurt, the poor deputy; another that had suffered because of his arrogance. He had watched Quinn shoot the man down in cold blood, blowing his innards all over Michael’s kitchen floor and all because Michael had gotten the man involved. All he could hope for now is that he might have the chance to live to regret his own actions.
The town seemed deserted. Every house window was black, curtains were drawn against the night and prying eyes - sleeping minds and sleeping thoughts, distant from the events outside. They edged their way through the darkened neighborhood. Michael had been prepared for the masses to be out in force but the streets were bare and dark.
Through the darkening night, they crept. Michael felt Thom’s apprehension but was relieved for the company. Casper’s presence was a surprise but Michael knew that his cavalry charge was severely depleted and he needed all the help that he could get.
They eased into Main Street and went past the row of stores that surrounded the square. Michael could just make out the silhouettes spread out across the lawns. Dark figures stood huddled and motionless, illuminated only slightly by the gentle glow of the streetlamps and strung fairy lights, hoisted especially for the festival.
“Jesus, there’s hundreds of them,” Michael whispered nervously.
Casper dipped into his pocket. “Maybe this will help.” He drew out a smallish silver revolver and handed it to Michael.
Michael took the gun. Despite being relatively small, it was still surprisingly heavy.
Michael had never handled a gun before, but there was something reassuring about the weapon. “So where do we go?” he asked Casper, still testing the gun's weight in his hand.
“We go towards them, I suppose,” Casper said, pointing at the gathering.
Michael looked across at Thom; the young man was firm and steady and his eyes were focused and devoid of the sort of panic that Michael himself fought against. Casper looked pale and nervous and Michael couldn’t blame him. Whatever the purpose of the Festival was, it was surely something to be feared.
Michael paused and looked long and hard at the large gathered crowd, his feet refusing to move forward despite the urgent need.
“I know that you must be scared, Michael. I understand … I truly do … but Emily is there with your child,” Casper said, moving closer to Michael and whispering in a strangely seductive tone in his ear. “After already losing a child once, I don’t think that you would want to go through that again. That car coming out of the darkness when poor Emily was all alone in the darkness. All of that pain and guilt that you carry, knowing that you could have saved your child once before, can you really afford to make the same mistake again?”
Michael felt his feet move forward. Casper was right; he couldn’t lose another child - he couldn’t be responsible a second time.
He began to drift forward and the trees loomed up to greet him. He crossed the road, the asphalt giving way to the wet grass. His mind was drifting and his focus was waning. An unwelcome hand tugged at his arm. He shook off the annoying interruption.
“Michael?”
A soft voice permeated the gloom around his thoughts; he ignored it and began to cross the open grass.
“MICHAEL!”
The voice insisted again, the tugging harder, leave me alone, he thought, Emily needs me, my baby needs me.
“MICHAEL!”
This time the shout was punctuated with a loud slap and a cry of pain. Michael suddenly looked back. Something was wrong, something was off, but he couldn’t think; his mind was a foggy haze. Something someone said was wrong. Suddenly, the seas parted and the sky cleared, and all of a sudden he could think again. “Casper,” he said, raising the gun up to shoulder level, “how did you know about the accident? How did you know about us losing the baby back in the UK?”
