Out There: A Rural Horror Story

by Cademon Bishop

  He surfed the BMW down a small gravel road. The trail led to an abandoned barn in the center of a field. The barn was a decaying elephant corpse. Its hulking gray wood body sagged and crooked. Bits of foundation ruptured the roof like a ribcage. A tree sprung out of the structure’s side as if it were some tribal spear piercing through its remains.

  Harvey cruised his car through the open mouth of the skeleton. His headlights illuminated the hollow interior. The floorboards above glinted faint star-like flickers as the moon poured in from the holes in the roof. Harvey kept the headlights on, flooding the barn with white light as he inspected the area.

  Indigo light flooded out the window and pooled on a desk along the wall. Papers were strewn across its dark oak top. A red underwood typewriter rested like a forgotten trophy. The top drawer of the desk only carried a yellowing envelope and a copy of Rock Island Whistle. The book’s musty pages laid as a box of snacks for the rats. The bottom shelf housed hundreds of blank pages. Harvey found a paper still inserted into the typewriter. He slithered the paper out from its dusty coils and held it to the moonlight. ‘January 13th, 1961,’ the paper read.

  “Frank, I know it’s been three months since we last spoke, I’m sorry. Can you please forgive me? Every day I rot alone, wondering what will make you take me back. It’s freezing out here. The tips of my fingers seize and bleed with each furious press. My food dwindling. I miss you; I miss Abe. I managed to work at that lumber mill just up the road. I got about 200 saved now towards going out somewhere. Frank, I just want t-”

  The paper suspended on that last letter T—an ink noose. Harvey plucked a blank page from the bottom shelf and slid it into the typewriter.

  H-A-R-V-E-Y.

  He held it to the moonlight. To his surprise, the old gallow worked.

  Harvey moved along his open casket tour to the upstairs. A ladder was nailed on the left wall, so he heaved his tired body up. Two windows gave the pointed attic an eerie glow. The tree from downstairs intruded into the attic and vanished into the roof.

  He shut his car off and made a cot in the rafters out of a hay pile. He slept under his cigarette-scented coat and nestled into the make-shift bed. His mind blared images of him and Debbie as he tried to sleep. Her dress, her touch, his mistake.

  He hated crying.

  Side C Track 7

  It Ain't Me

  9/5/77

  I got up this morning around 7:30. I could have woken up at 12, but the sunshine blaring in my face told me otherwise. I am sitting in a barn, logging my investigation, hoping I can use it when I make it out of here—if I make it out.

  This morning I bought a box of cereal for breakfast and snacked a little in the car. I started my search for the elusive devil around noon. I drove into town, asking just about every business on that broken-down street for a damn phone book. Each building was a cadaver of broken dreams. I felt like a grave robber going to each one and asking for the phone book. An old hag who ran an antique shop owned one.

  “Yeah, I’ll give it to ya,” she rattled on, “But… times are hard, so ten dollars will do ya.”

  To my satisfaction, she loosened her scheme when I touched the doorknob on my way out. There was no luck there. I don’t why I thought hell’s hotline would be in the yellow pages.

  I got to a place to plug in my suitcase phone and called the biker gang and planned to meet up at their base this afternoon to see if we knew anything else.

  Dinner was fine. I grabbed a burger down at this bar, called deer something. I could be mixing the name up with the graveyard. Hell, I couldn’t tell you the difference even if you asked me. Both were probably filled to the brim with dead people and alcoholics.

  I reeked of salt, sweat, and tobacco. So I took a dip out in this clear pond just behind the field from the barn. The bar of soap nearly shot from my hands when I heard twigs breaking just behind me.

  “Who goes there?!” I barked out at the outcropping of trees. Something barked back. A Mastiff huffed just above the water. The saggy old mutt didn’t sneer at me, it only cocked its glossy-eyed head. “Hey shoo!” I called at it. The stout creature stood stonewalled. “Go on! Shoo!”

  The dog wobbled off, then veered towards my clothes. Its raisin of a nose prodded at my pants. Detective Slobber Snout sleuthed through my jean’s pocket, unhinged my pack of Salems, and licked through just about every cigarette. That was where I drew the line. I splashed out of the water and waved it off. The dog turned at me as if I were asking a question. I wanted to push the thing, but it was large enough to bite off my arm. I slipped my legs through my pants and strutted off back to the barn.

  The damn thing was trailing me. I stopped. It sat. The dog’s head poked out from the grass like a hunting lion.

  Once I made it back, I tossed my shirt onto a nail on the barn’s foundation.

  The mutt is sleeping under my sports coat as I write. The autumn wind sends semi-sweet wafts through the barn. I can hear the low burble of toads and the call and response of the birds outside, and, if I’m lucky, I’ll listen closely and hear something similar to hand caught in a woodchipper as the dog snores.

  Chapter 8

  Side B Track 8

  A Touch of Hay

  Harvey arrived at what he thought was the Beaumont Park’s utility closet, where Lucy said they would meet. He ambled towards the entrance and knocked on the gray metal doors and heard echoing footfalls behind the door.

  “Hello?” Harvey said, feeling insane as he spoke to the door.

  “Who goes there.” Lucy called; her voice shot from a beige speaker hooked on the roof of the building. That familiar electronic masking coated her words.

  “Uhh… breaker breaker, this is bandit… who the hell do you think I am?”

  “Copy,” the speaker cut off with a shrill beep. Harvey heard a small rattling as Lucy rolled the door’s bolt. “Hey Harv, come on in!” A vivid red light hung above her. She stepped out of the cramped concrete closet.

  “What kind of porta potty is this?” Harvey said. A long stairwell came into view as he walked in.

  “The place got a long story,” Lucy said. “You’ll see, go on down.” Harvey gripped the black pipe handrail and descended the dark steps. All senses of earth faded as Lucy shut the door. Harsh red light blared behind him; pitch black lulled in front. A low droning hum came from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Where does this lead?” Harvey asked.

  “You should hit the floor right about… now!”

  “Wait wh-” Havey tripped on the last step. He saw the faint illumination of red around his shadow and then… yellow? An orange light glowed in the room next to him. Three people turned their heads to see who had stumbled in.

  The place was an unfinished brick walled basement. Thick pipes trailed along the walls. Three branching paths faded into darkness on each wall. A scarlet sofa sat in the center of the room. A hefty man with shaved hair reclined back, his arms spread across the sofa’s surface.

  Harvey winced when he saw that the man’s right arm looked like someone dipped it into boiling water. The man kicked his feet back onto a wooden coffee table. Next to his grease-black boots were copies of Mad Magazine. A TV played Family Feud in front of the couch. Empty bottles of alcohol stood on pipes on the left wall.

  “This was, gonna be a tomb for some rich folk,” Lucy said as she squeezed past Harvey. “But the city took it and turned it into a main plumbing facility. Now we live in its remains like rats.”

  “Hey, name’s Collin,” A tan, muscular man outstretched a firm hand out towards Harvey.

  Harvey tried to piece together who Collin was. He looked like every race imaginable, skin a dark amber tan, hair black and curly. “I’m-”

  “Harvey,” Collin finished. “Lucy told us all about you. This here is my little brother Cain.”

  Harvey couldn’t tell if Cain was just a short 20-year-old or an older looking 15-year-old.

  “Hey...” Cain said, as he was working with a motorcycle part,
“and here’s Leonard.”

  Leonard threw up a peace sign as he slumped on the couch.

  “Is this all of you?” Harvey asked.

  “Mostly,” Lucy said. “Not everyone’s biker material. Now c’mon, Show us what ya got!”

  Harvey slid two photos from his jeans pocket, “I believe this is a location of importance.” He passed around the pictures. “And this is who our devil is,” Leonard peeled himself off the couch and gathered with the others to look. The gang huddled near the photos like cavemen around a fire.

  “I don’t think we’ve seen this person,” Cain said, passing the photos to Leonard.

  “But wait, we done- aguh, shit! Cain! My arm! How many times do I gotta get it through ya peanut-sized skull? Don’t touch it. Ever!”

  “Okay, okay, jeez, I get it.”

  Leonard collected himself, “Y’all, look! We done seen this place before!” He pointed to the pond in the back of the photo. “Ain’t this the place by that factory, remember? We threw em bottles in that water.”

  Collin grabbed the photo and tailed his finger of the surface. “Hey hold on ya might be-”

  Harvey drifted away as the gang debated over the photo. He strolled towards the hall in the center of the back wall and stretched his head as far as he could into the darkness. He saw a door 20 feet away in the dark. A harsh red glow outlined its edges, making it look like someone had drawn a ruby rectangle out in the darkness. He wanted to step in, to walk towards whatever hung out in that pitch-black hallway.

  “Harvey, get outta there!” Lucy said. Harvey stumbled back. “It’s unsafe, whats just our little broom closet. Ya ass can get killed just walking down there. A bit of that hall falls into a sewer drain.”

  “Why is a broom closet placed so far back?”

  Lucy responded to Harvey with a shrug, “Y’all wanna head on over to that concrete place when it gets dark?” The boys looked at each other and gave a collective nod.

  “Luce, we’re in,” Leonard said.

  Harvey walked back towards the group, “I guess I can meet you guys over there.”

  “You know where it is?” Lucy grinned and folded her arms.

  “Nope.”

  “I can lead ya over there!” Leonard said, “I can’t drive with this arm anyways.” He waved his hand in the air as if it weren’t already obvious. Harvey turned away for a moment, his eyes drifted towards the TV.

  “Name something most people associate with satan.” Ray Combs called as Family Feud still played.

  I can’t get any closer to these people, Harvey thought. But this might be your only chance to get closer to your mission.

  “Sure,” Harvey said.

  Lucy smirked at him, “We’re gonna uncover somethin’ special tonight.”

  “What are ya interested in?” Leonard asked with an elbow popped out the window of Harvey’s BMW.

  Harvey paused, trying to figure out if he had had anything that could be considered an interest. “Sports… does drinking count?”

  Leonard laughed, “That’s a dangerous interest.”

  “Shit, I don’t know,” Harvey tried to talk over the wind billowing out the open window. His dirty blond hair flailed in the air stream, “I just read and do whatever comes up. You got any interest?”

  “I like stories. Books are okay, but I enjoy collectin’ the raw, hidden stories. That’s why the gang still keeps me around; I know a lot of the town.”

  Harvey squinted at the setting sun, an overgrown field blurred past his right, “you got any friends outside that group?”

  “Not really.” Leonard turned towards the set of houses on his left. “You got any friends outside your group.”

  Harvey was about to say something but soon stopped. “I got a dog I’m trying to get rid of.”

  “A dog!?” Leonard said, bewildered.

  “Yeah, uh, a dog? Four legs, brown hair?”

  “I know what a damn dog is. Haven’t seen one in a while.”

  Harvey rose one hand in surrender, “I don’t need it, they are just dirty pests that shit everywhere.” The rush of wind subsided as Leonard rolled up the window.

  He turned to Harvey; his eyebrows low. “Ya alone where you at?”

  “I’m fine being by myself if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You don’t get to pay attention to that dog all the time. Hell, that thing’ll take care of you more than you take care of it. Turn right. I’ll pay for the food for ya.”

  “I’m fine.” Harvey smacked the top of the steering wheel.

  “Are ya fine alone?”

  The dog strolled in the wheat fields around the barn when Harvey returned. Harvey poured the dog food—which he reluctantly bought at Walling's—into a hole he tore out of a cereal box. “Hey boy, you gotta home?” The mastiff just huffed back.

  “Thing’s gotta collar?” Leonard asked.

  “Nothing,” Harvey stepped out to look back at the pond where he and the dog first met. He looked at the pack of cigarettes then glanced up the dog, “I gotta name for it?”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Salem! Or how about Sal?” The dog waddled over towards them.

  “I think it likes it.” Leonard rubbed the dog’s side, “Sal go eat your dinner.” The dog looked up and licked his other arm. Leonard cursed between his teeth. Sal ambled towards the cereal box.

  Leonard and Harvey glanced at the reflection of the setting sun in the pond behind the barn. Harvey noticed a bead of sweat trail along Leonard’s forehead. “Harv, what’s your story?”

  Harvey hesitated on Leonard’s question, giving them time to listen to the chirp of the birds. “I don’t got much of a story.”

  “That’s alright.” Leonard stepped closer towards the water. “I still would like to hear it sometime before ya leave.”

  “I’ll tell ya then.” An odd sense of dread swept through Harvey—he had no clue of how he could leave this place.

  Side A Track 8

  That American Beauty

  Denver lived in a thin brick house down Arbor Lane. He moved in just three months ago and didn’t own much. In his kitchen, he had assorted siliverware, a cutlery knife, an old china plate, two Wild Rye Dinner glasses, and an avocado-green bowl with fading flowers printed around its sides. Lara sat on a wooden rocking chair in the living room and clicked the radio on the table.

  She watched in ashamed allure as Denver hopped out of the shower and ambled down the main hall and into his room—wearing only a towel. For a split second, she could see the gloss along his abs, the thin spray of black hair brushed across his chest.

  “Sorry, there ain’t much round here!” he called from his room.

  “No, it’s alright!” Lara said. Denver slipped on his belt as he walked into the living room. That alluring guilt held her again.

  “We got about 40 minutes till we need to start headin’ out towards stone bowl… is there anything ya wanna do?”

  “You wanna go sit on the front porch and just talk for a second?” Lara said as she peered out the wide window that stretched the across the living room’s front wall.

  They sat on the porch’s concrete ledge; Lara could feel his cold skin press against her. A choir of crickets chimed off in the distance. The air had that fresh, warm grass scent.

  “Say, how are ya parents?” Denver asked.

  “Oh… left my mom just last week. Dad ain’t been there much… we could never find him anywhere. What about you?” Lara bunched her fingers into her jeans, not looking up at Denver.

  “Dad works in the mill, so I never gotta see em much.” Denver squeezed Lara’s hand. “He had a distant kind of care. His feelin’s would only come out on our birthdays in a simple thanks and a five-dollar bill. We would hang out often. At 18, he let me drink beer. That was a night where I almost saw him crack. He started tellin’ me bout’ this story about him and mom and just stopped.” Denver stared out into the vast, somber sky. “I still think bout’ that day. A lot.”

  “
Momma used to be quite sweet.” Lara squeezed Denver’s hand back. “Then, when dad left, she began to rot… Hell, you could see it in her face too. She was always tired of somethin’. I guess havin’ your husband leave ya can do that…” Lara gazed towards the sky with Denver and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  He felt so warm and so familiar as if her fingers were made to rest in between his. Their gazes shifted away from the lumbering sun and locked onto each other. Every moment of hers fell into some rhythm. Denver’s lips greeted hers like waves greeting a shore, rhythmic, soft, calming.

  They left the house late. Anxious silence filled Lara’s truck. Denver pushed the radio knob, but only soured the moment with Conway Twitty.

  “Are you okay?” Lara asked.

  “Yeah, I’m… are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was just a little stressed, the way you reacted to that kiss, uh, I’m sorry.” Denver turned the radio knob off.

  “I’m all good, that was my first kiss.” Lara let out a slightly shaky sigh. “You know I’m into you… Right”

  “Yeah,” Denver said. “Are you okay with, you know, me being me?”

  “Yeah?!” Lara scoffed. “What? You’re fine, and-” She squeezed his arm. “-You’re fine. I don’t really give a shit what your past was like, what color skin you got, or who you are. You’re pretty sweet and that’s all that matters.”

  “Same goes for you.” Denver smiled and cracked the window a little. “I was just worried about how you felt.”

  “Thanks.” Lara pressed the radio back on. Conway Twitty lost the awkward twang as they rode along New Colombia Drive towards the Elk Horn Woods.

  Lara parked on a gravel path towards the woods.

  “Hey, ya seen Michael?” Dian called as she leaned against her car.