Out There: A Rural Horror Story

by Cademon Bishop

  The photograph was still in the corner of his vision: "Mom, Harv, Malc, Aldo, Dad-Beckett picnic 1951”

  He stared back at the wall clock. 8:45, fifteen minutes, and I’m all... God damn it. A knock at the door broke his relaxation.

  “Mr. Becket, do you have a moment?” An unrecognizable voice called behind the hickory door.

  “Come in.” Harvey stood up and threw the magazine into his desk drawer. In the rush, he missed the drawer and jabbed his Playboy against his Cincinnati Reds mug, sending it to the wall with a dull thud. Pens rolled across the tan carpet. A shaggy-haired young man entered the room with both hands wrapped around a mustard yellow folder.

  “Hey, uh...” The man squinted at the pens spilled across the floor, “sorry if I was interrupting anything, we have something rather urgent. Name’s Donald. I’m from National.” Donald rose a hand to greet Harvey.

  “No need to worry, I was just wrapping up,” Harvey said as he kicked the magazine under his desk and shook Donald’s hand. “So, what brings you here?” Harvey scavenged whatever pens he could and placed the mug back on his desk.

  Donald pulled up a chair and placed two pens he found on the carpet into the mug. “We have a special project for you.” He placed the yellow folder on the desk, nudging it towards Harvey.

  Harvey squinted up at Donald. “Me?” He opened it and skimmed it’s contents. Inside was a map of Kentucky and logs dating back to 1958. Harvey’s eyes widened as he tried to piece together the assorted graphs, instantly knowing it was too advanced for his pay grade. “Why me?”

  “Look, I know this is sudden, but we need help.” Donald slid out a stapled document. “We’re a hidden branch. The government has been denying this urgent case about a town called Joselean Springs.”

  Harvey held up a map of Kentucky, “I’m assuming here?” Then tapped on the sizable red circle in the middle of the paper.

  “Exactly, but as you can see...” Donald slid an almost identical map from the back of the folder.

  “The town just vanishes the following year. In every database we have, it’s gone.” He flips the paper and, sure enough, the town directory was missing a name on its list. “A few people noticed and thought it was a strange mistake. They went to report it, but the higher-ups ignored the reports. This led a few workers to move to unknown branches for six months.

  “The few who managed to get the report through would come back and act as if the whole thing was a slight mistake. Of course, the vanishing of over a thousand people is no mistake. So about two years ago, a small group sought to uncover the issue themselves.”

  Harvey lifted his suitcase on his desk and began packing his paperwork. “What has all this contrived shit have to deal with me?”

  “I understand... I understand” Donald pressed on Harvey’s suitcase. “Hear me out, two Kentucky branches sent out officers ten years ago, and found no sign of the town. We passed the project and this folder to a willing Indiana branch.” Donald looked away and took in a deep breath, “They sent out an officer, only for him to never return.” He folded his arms, his hands shivering. “And now with the project and folder passed down to me. I see it fit to try it again. I’ve seen your work and I think your talent is on par for this task.”

  The latches on Harvey’s suitcase snapped with a satisfying double click. He saw something odd in this whole tangle: How did this man get tangled in all of this? And how could Indiana have a map? “You surely have the wrong man for the job.” Harvey gripped his suitcase handle, “I’m not willing to throw away my job for some idiotic cause.”

  Donald’s hammered his hand onto the desk, “Look! My father died trying to get in from Indiana, and now he’s gone to this ‘idiotic cause’.” He collapsed in the chair, resting his head in his hands as he sunk. “He called me 4 years ago, passing the project and the folder on to me.”

  Harvey let out a sigh and lifted the suitcase to his side, “You can’t force sympathy out of me.” He rolled back his office chair and strutted to the door.

  “Wait! You could be some American hero. Think about it. You could be the man who went out when no one would.”

  Harvey halted and tightened his grip on the suitcase, “I just…”

  “We have a sponsor!” Donald shot up, kicking back the chair he sat in.

  Harvey’s grip loosened. He turned, nodded his head, then let out a dejected sigh, “Just give me the damn folder.” Donald slid the folder off the desk with a grin. Harvey snatched it from his hands and tucked it under his arm, “Your ass better be in here by the time I clock in, understood?”

  Donald raised his chin, “Loud and clear, Mr. Becket!”

  Harvey strolled forward. He was eager to drown in more than apple brandy tonight.

  Chapter 2

  Side C, Track 2

  Respire

  Record date: September 6th, 1977 6:48pm

  “Being the mayor ain’t an easy job. I’ve had to hop through so many odd cases. The first election after the rain ran smoothly. I won 1960 with a close beatin’ against Freddie Mcguire, so I was expectin’ the next year to be just as hard, but not a single person offered to run. So, I stayed.

  “Gotta’ system set up I call the raincoat project. It’s, uh… pretty self-explanatory. The rain is hard, but over the years, I’ve gotten used to it, and most people don’t fight about it, so things just kinda’ rest the way they are. Most things rest where they are.”

  Side A, Track 2

  That Steadfast Journey

  Draped in a white tee shirt sprayed with mud and faint blood stains, Lara limped down the dirt road. A slight morning fog flooded the vast expanse. The image of Johnathan’s melting face pulsed with each passing thought. She kept pushing it away as she pieced together the dream she had in that broken-down house. Every morning would bring the onset daja-vu from her dreams offered. However, this night was different; she was transported elsewhere.

  — — —

  She dreamed of being in a rustic cabin. Wooden planks covered the two front windows, and a football sized rock kept the door shut. A woman about her age lay curled on a hay bed. Scant orange embers hid around the burnt logs in the fireplace and cold air seeped through the slit beneath the door. Lara wanted to say something but woke up instead. All she knew was that the woman was alone in this cabin.

  — — —

  Lara bit the side of her tongue as the thought of Johnathan crept back up. She found a set of tire tracks down the dirt path. Did someone drive down here? Something glinted further down the path. Lara bent down and dug around the glint, her fingers stung as she sifted through the rain seeped dirt. She dug up a key with the letters “R.A.” on one side and “VAV 373” on the other.

  She slid the key into her jeans pocket and followed the golden Aster flowers on the edges of the path. Why the hell did I wake up here?

  The trek home should have been her primary concern. However, her mind was plagued with that question: Why? Why me? Why there? Why Johnathan? She remembered her and Johnathan eating at the Wild Rye Dinner, the way his hands felt as they joined for a second, and then the sudden clip of her failing to drag his body.

  Shit… I lost him. Lara stumbled as she fought the urge to cry. Unable to control her breath, she leaned on a tree and wept. Her hands shook as she clung to her shirt. It’s all my damn fault, I could’ve moved him if I was strong enough, I could have saved him. She struck the tree with her fist, then realized how sore her hands were.

  Lara was reluctant about returning home, but it was all she had. She spent most of her time finding places to explore so she wouldn’t have to be at home. Stone Bowl Pond, a patch of concrete behind the lumber mill was her favorite patch of paradise. Lara and her friend, Dian, discovered it while they traversed the industrial part of the town, when they were eight.

  Lara saw glints of yellow through the trees in front of her and picked up her pace. Her knees ached as she dashed closer to a right turn sign nearby a road. She collapsed to her knees in front of the roa
d. Her head spun with an uneasy slew of emotions. Lara brushed back her auburn hair with and lifted her head up.

  She knew this road. The sun glared on the road with broken glass like shadows from the tree limbs above. The peeking dandelions in the grass along the road’s bend and the scratched yellow edges of the turn sign seemed so welcoming. Huff Ridge Road, she thought, just fifteen minutes from town.

  Joselean Springs was densely packed with nothing. Near-death businesses and a few restaurants were the highlights. Lara crossed through Buckhorn Cemetery, just in front of Joselean Springs high. She was grateful to be free from the school’s grasp. In a dead town, you could only imagine how dead the classes were.

  Lara watched the storefronts reflect in the rain puddles as she drew towards town. The buildings sprawled for a decent mile before they fizzled off into neighborhoods and farmland. It was hard to see which stores were open and which were left to rot—especially under the pale gray sky. Business ran on thin strings of life support from the thin strings of people that lived nearby.

  Lara’s work stuck out like a sore thumb on the outskirts of town. Walling’s convenience store was the second widest building in town—first place going to the high school. She was unsure if she had to clock in today and would rather not find out.

  1407 Goldfinch Lane was both a blessing and a curse. Her home rested at the end of a downhill gravel road. White paint flaked off its wooden sidings. The black pointed roof helped the house resemble a makeshift church. The words “home sweet home” was barely legible on the ebony mailbox.

  She was happy to be back, yet the thought of her mother hampered any tinge of freedom. Lara let out a sigh when she saw that her white Chevy C10 was the only car in the driveway.

  Lara held the doorknob and took in one last inhale of fresh air before stepping in.

  A familiar waft of cigarette smoke and dust flooded Lara’s nose as she entered the living room. She accidentally crushed a beer can on her second step and a carton of Camels on her third. Her mother would toss her cigarette boxes on the ground as if they could erode in the carpet—judging the amount of filth they just might. A crinkled bag of potato chips lay next to a used paper plate on the smudged glass top coffee table.

  Her mother’s ash tray rested in the center of the mess. Lara could have seen a sketch of a dog in its center if not for the layer of soot. Bits of gray cigarette dust were sprinkled along the scarlet red carpet and cooking magazines were tossed about near the armrest of the sofa. Her mother kept the vintage, wooden radio on, a dim yellow light in the unlit kitchen, guiding her towards the bathroom.

  Lara flinched when the drops of shower water hit. The mere sense of those repeated drops sent tears in her eyes. She pressed her forehead against the ceramic tiles and sobbed.

  He’s gone.

  After calming herself down, Lara hopped out of the shower and grabbed clean clothes. She tossed her bloodied shirt in a plastic bag under her bed so her mother wouldn’t find it.

  A minute later, she strolled into the kitchen to find whatever lunch she could mix together. As she peered into the fridge, the front door slammed shut. Lara froze.

  “So just where the hell you been?” Her mother said, leaning in the doorway.

  Lara shut the fridge door, causing jars to shutter and clink, “Mom! Mom, I… I can explain, but-” She pressed her back against the refrigerator.

  “I ain’t hearin’ shit!” Mellisa stormed into the kitchen, snatching a beer bottle off the ground on her way.

  “I just fell asleep in my friend’s car,” Lara backed up towards her room.

  Lara’s mom flung the bottle, “I told you I ain’t hearin’ shit!” It burst into hundreds of brown shards on the wall next to Lara. A shimmering fragment scratched her neck. “I ain’t dumb, spit it out!”

  Lara inched backward, “Look, mom, I accidentally...”

  “Accidents don’t mean shit, you were supposed to be here last night, before the rain kicked in.”

  Lara opened her bedroom door and tried to run, but her grabbed her arm. “You were sleeping in more than just cars, you whore!” She yanked Lara forward and dropped her on the glass littered carpet. She almost had the wind knocked out of her as she hit the ground and felt the faint pinch of glass across her spine. “Get out!”

  “Mom…”

  “I said get out!” Lara's mother grimaced away from her. “You can’t do this me…” Her breath fluctuated in uneven angry huffs. She paused to control herself. “If you’re gonna start pullin’ the same kinda shit your father did, then don’t start pullin’ it with me.” Her mother stomped out of the hall and into the living room,

  “Get out.” Lara whispered to herself. Closing her eyes, she relaxed her body. “Let go…” Lara groaned as she sat up and patted shimmering brown specks off her arms. She stood and limped towards her room.

  Lara snagged her leather backpack and slid the one picture she had of her and her dad into the front pocket. She tossed a worn white journal, The Old Man and the Sea, letters from her friend Michael, and a few pens in her backpack’s front pouch.

  Lara slung whatever clothes she could into a mesh bag. Hoisting both bags over her shoulders and trembled towards the kitchen. She paused in the hall between her room and the kitchen and stared at scratched cedar door in the middle of the hall. She twisted the knob with a, expecting it to be locked. To her luck, it was unlocked. She peered her head behind the door, letting the pale-yellow hall light glare through its frame.

  Her father’s room was kept like a long overdue grave. A family photo of the three of them hid behind cracked glass. Dust carpeted the dark oak counters and the lemon-yellow bed sheets were made for him to come back. Everything in the room remained the same since he left fifteen years ago. She closed the door, resting her palm on the door frame before she left.

  As Lara clung to the back door, she thought about saying some last remark to her mother. Thanks for everything, she thought as swung the back door open. Bags bobbed, as she bolted to her truck. She tossed all her items on the side seat and started the engine. Before taking off, she took one last look out at the frayed, casket of a home.

  It’s been twenty-one years… and a damn long one at that.

  The engine roared, and gravel sprayed as she drove up towards up the main road. Lara spotted her mother in the rear-view mirror. No matter how little care she had for her mother, Lara still felt her pain. Dad running off and then this. Her mother was a ship rocking to unwavering tides, but some ships don't return from the sea.

  Side B, Track 2

  All That Glitters

  Cincinnati became a distant, shaking memory in Harvey’s rear view mirror, as he drove towards the sunset. Upon his demand, Project “J.S.” equipped him with a cherry red BMW E21. The conversation this morning with Donald was straightforward. He took the task. Donald passed down the folder and a piece of state-of-the-art equipment from national: the Rotary Transceiver. The idea baffled Harvey, an entire telephone packed into a suitcase. Not only that, but it weighed only 10 pounds and was covered in snazzy, baby-blue leather.

  Harvey felt a sense of zen as the car purred further along the highway. The hills on both sides of him rippled in waves of yellow and green. The road cracked though the sea of land.

  He eyed the content in the back seat; a late-night read, a week’s worth of clothes, and what he liked to call his toolbox. The toolbox was a metal army ammunition case he inherited. It contained his essentials: a black voice recorder, an understocked first aid kit, and ammo. The stayed gun strapped to his waist.

  Harvey flipped open the mirror on the sun visor, stroked his dirty blond hair into place, then adjusted his silver-rimmed aviators with a smirk. With hours of road left ahead of him, he turned on a rock radio station and reflected on his plan. All Donald asked for was a: “simple and easy: go in, locate a target, then evacuate.” Harvey had a plethora of these in the past and couldn’t possibly ignore it with the pay it brought. When he had reported and captured the target ins
ide Joselean Springs he would profit more than enough to make him retire. With the windows down, the warm air whizzing by and the plethora of scrawny trees blurring out of view, a thought kept bothering him, almost as bothersome as the honey yellow sun set half blinding his view.

  Just how the hell do they get that money? He never thought of the logistics till now. All he had was that blond twig named Donald, a folder listing out information he never bothered to read, and an uncredited twenty-year record. The amount of income from this was too good to risk, plus he could sue with the document they signed.

  His headlights shone bright cones on the road as night drew in. A “Welcome to Kentucky” sign flashed by as he cruised down the empty highway. Trees spun in beautiful warping arrangements. The air churned into a slight chill intensifying the scent of that country air. Cincinnati made him forget that cigarette fumes and car exhaust covered up the sweet air.

  Reminiscing on that smell made his eyes dart to his bag. Just one, he thought. He swung his hand into the back seat, drifting in the center of the road as he fumbled through the zippers of his backpack. The pack of Salem Cigarettes spun in his hand, and with a free finger, he flicked it open. Passing the cigarette into his steering hand, he shifted his posture, trying to snag the silver Zippo lighter out of his back pocket. Harvey never enjoyed their taste, but he kept them for the buzz and as an effort to relate to his coworkers bought.

  A wisp of smoke trailed into the star strung night as he reached what he hopped to be Joselean Springs. Harvey loosened his pressure on the gas, expecting to be shot by some insane clan that hid in these Kentucky hallows. He pulled his car to the side of the road and studied his map, keeping one hand on the strap of his gun holster.