Out There: A Rural Horror Story

by Cademon Bishop

  They lined a set of old beer bottles on the shooting log. Lara rose the pistol she took from the Beaumont Lodge.

  “Lara, where did ya find that?”

  “I took it from the bike gang,” she smirked.

  “The what-” Before Butch could finish, Lara spun the pistol in her hand and misfired. The bullet struck a tree branch above her with a satisfying thunk, sending a family of birds on a spontaneous vacation. “Damn it, Lara! Look out where you fire that thing!”

  Lara fixed her attention on a bottle. She thought of all the shadows out in the woods, their eyes gleaming. She fired; glass shattered.

  She imagined the head of one of those beings bursting like a water balloon filled with ink. She raised the gun once more, and shot the bottom of a bottle, sending it in a spinning spray. Butch hobbled up with a hand pressed to his forehead as to block out the sun. “Lara, you’re doin’ better, where ya learn that.”

  “I don’t know… Time, I guess.” Lara pulled the trigger and—click—was out of ammo. She sat back on the porch and poured another glass of tea. “Hey, what’s in the box on the fridge?” Lara expected the question to shock Butch. However, he remained stonewalled.

  “What box?”

  “There’s a wooden box.” Lara traced a square in the air. “A bit bigger than a ring box.”

  “It’s a ring box.”

  “Can I look at it real fast? I don’t know; somethin’ sparked my interest.”

  “I’d rather you not… old memories and all.”

  “Right, right, sorry,” Lara knew that was the box, it had the same brass twist-off latch and everything. She wanted to steal it but couldn’t break his trust. He was already a hurt man.

  She drove out the driveway and waved to Butch then it was just her and the open road. A biker stood in a field off in the distance, watching her. The leather jacket glistened in the sun.

  Lara knew it wasn’t Denver. There frame was too small and white hands poked out from the jacket sleeves. Lara thought about chasing whoever it was but a stream beside the road placed an invisible barrier between them. Lara's truck roared as she rushed forward.

  The biker commanded through the field beside Lara. The bike bobbed between trees, then treaded closer. The biker turned their head for a second then spun back to wavering land in front of them. The ditch tapered off, and the biker leaped onto the road. Lara slowed as the road curved. The motorcycle passed from the review mirror to the side mirror, then appeared in the windshield as it drove in front of her.

  The biker turned the bike into a drifting stop, leaving parallel burnt rubber marks across the road.

  The Chevy’s breaks screamed as it stopped.

  The biker stood up and cocked their head as the truck stopped three feet in front of them.

  Lara saw long red hair as the biker slid off their helmet. To Lara’s surprise, it was a woman.

  The woman strolled to her driver’s side window and politely knocked with the back of one finger against the window, “Lara… what are you doin’ all the way out here?” the woman asked, voice muffled behind the glass.

  Lara answered by rolling down the window and propping up the pistol.

  The woman winced, then chortled. She extended a hand and shook the end of the gun, “I’m Lucy.”

  “How do ya know me?”

  “Oh,” Lucy slid both hands into the pockets of her leather jacket. “I’ve known ya for a good while now. I’ve seen you and that bastard Denver drivin’ around yesterday… I know about Johnathan too.”

  Lara’s grip on the pistol loosened. “How do you know Johnathan?”

  Lucy leaned on the car door and rested her head in her hand. “Let’s say we meet and talk at Brookside Garden at… I don’t know, twelve tomorrow? Just to make it broad daylight for ya.”

  “What do ya want from me?”

  “Want?” Lucy placed a hand over her chest in mock surprise, “I don’t want anythin’ from you. I would love to meet and talk on a better time, I don’t want to ruin your day and all. You’re goin’ to see Denver, right?”

  Lara propped the pistol back up. “I’ll go wherever the hell I want!”

  “Okay, okay.” Lucy raised her hands, “I’ll still be waitin’ for ya at twelve.” Lucy strutted off to her bike.

  Denver set water to boil. The scent of saltwater and noodles replaced the dusty smell of his house. He gazed out the kitchen window and noticed a white truck parked outside. Denver would have ignored this, but it kept on appearing then dispersing at random intervals. He forgot about it as the pot boiled over.

  “You okay?” Denver asked as he poured some noodles into two olive green bowls.

  “Yeah, it’s just…” Lara sat down at the table and rubbed her forehead.

  “What?”

  “I just… I met Lucy and-”

  “Lara, you can’t trust the bike gang no matter what, they’ll manipulate you,” Denver sat the bowls on the table and remained standing.

  “She talked about Johnathan; you can’t manipulate using something that nobody even knows. I could still see her just to get a few-”

  Denver gaveled a hand into the table. “Don’t!” He shouted. He took in a long breath, then reached out for her hand on the table. “Look, don’t trust them. They made me do some messed up things… if not for your safety then for my sake… please don’t see em‘.”

  Lara paused, then wore a semi-sweet smile, “Yeah… I won’t.”

  Denver sat down and took a few bites. He paused and dropped his fork in his bowl, “Well shit, now I feel bad, I’m not trying to control you or anything. You can see whoever and go wherever you want. It’s just they’re-”

  “Unsafe, I know, and I said I won’t…”

  Later that night, they went to bed in Denver’s room and put on an Al Green record to slowly pass the time. The music swayed a bit more than anticipated. Lara sat on top of Denver. He flashed a smirk, and she flashed one right back. She dipped down to his lips. Denver sunk his fingers into the roots of her spice brown waterfalls of hair.

  A slow pit-pat tapped on the window above the bed. The rain caused her to shiver, but Denver’s grip grounded her to safety.

  Lara trailed a finger under his shirt, hooked it, then dragged it up. Denver slid out of his black shirt and tossed it. He slipped a blind hand towards the nightstand and pulled the lamp string. The antique white light flicked off, flooding in cool darkness. The hints of light from the window above highlighted Denver’s chest.

  Lara slid from his lips and kissed down his neck. The sky gray gray. The pattering of rain increased.

  Lara stopped as Denver’s lips sailed across her neck. Lara curved up and grazed a hand across the side of his face. The record stopped, leaving the needle to tisk-tisk-tisk as it spun along the end of the album.

  Denver bent upright and sailed two fingers under her shirt and along the bridge of her back. Her gaze was glued to the ceiling. She let a large breath fill her lungs as she looked down at him.

  The window darkened as if a large bird had flown past it. Lara ignored it and bent down to kiss him some more. She paused as she pressed a hand against his hip and listened for his breaths. A dim white light glistened off his face. Lara lifted herself up, still on top of Denver.

  And saw the white lights.

  Lara tried to scream, but her mouth produced a sound like an empty can of spray paint. She flailed back, kicking the bedsheets across Denver’s chest.

  Lara crawled backward and almost rolled off the bed.

  “What!” Denver caught her balance, “What! Are you okay?” She didn’t say a word.

  She pointed a shaky hand towards the window.

  It was in the window, star-like eyes lit the lingering raindrops. The shadow stood, watching the two of them.

  Denver shot up and rolled off the bed. He buttoned his pants and hurried out of the room. Lara trailed behind, banging against the dresser in her escape. She turned around as she reached the bedroom door. The shadow was gone.

/>   The two of them stood out by the back door. Lara’s teeth made typewriter-clank chatters.

  “Hey!” Denver shouted into the darkness. He held his switchblade in one hand and a dull knife in the other. “Show yourself!” The two paused to listen, but only heard rain. Denver dipped his head around both sides of the house.

  The thing was out of sight.

  Lara clung to Denver’s side and squeezed his hand, “Well shit, where is it…”

  “I think we might have scared it off,” Denver said. They waited for the thing to come.

  Nothing came.

  The rain roared along the porch roof. A streetlamp lit harsh white light over the street and glimmered on the hood of the white truck next door. Beads of white danced in the droplets of rain on the lawn.

  They backed inside and locked the door. Lara heard Denver's heavy, quick breaths as they looked out the kitchen window. Denver tapped her shoulder and pointed to the tiles near the back door.

  Lara tilted her head, “What are you-.” Denver covered her mouth, then made a swinging motion from the back door to the living room. Lara saw it. She gasped back Denver’s hand, producing an odd static sensation on his palm.

  A set of footprints trailed into the living room—Mud-stained shadows. Denver held his blades close and followed the trail.

  The large living room window lit water-warped light from the streetlamp, covering the room in a warbling glow.

  The shadow stood by the far back wall, expecting them. The white window light rippled across its glossy, featureless face. A scar sagged across its stomach in the same place where they cut the being at Walling’s. The being pointed at Lara. Its fingers seemed too long to be human. It watched the two of them, the way a lion would watch its prey. They heard the shadow speak; however, its words came out muffled and warped. The being dug its fingers into the scar.

  Denver flinched as he watched each finger pressed through its body, like passing a pen through a water balloon.

  Lara could hear a wet snapping sound as it ripped into itself, parting the skin like a curtain. Ink black blood trickled across the carpet. She anticipated a stew of organs to pour out the being’s body; however, underneath the black jell was cloth—Torn blue cloth.

  The shadow screamed as it lacerated its way up, exposing more and more of the darkened blue. The cut curved from diagonal to vertical, making its way up its neck. The being used two hands as it split the seam up its neck. Its scream became more and more defined as it tore further, exposing pale skin along its neck. Soon it had its slick black fingers sunk in the slit up its face.

  Lara recognized the blue cloth—It was Jonathan's sweater, only torn, and blood stained. Lara felt as though her legs were going to fall out from under her. She couldn’t see him; couldn’t handle the thought of looking at his face again.

  It pealed back the black jell of skin as if it were a hood. Its black blood puddled into a large disk in the center of the room. Lara recognized his wavy black hair and his sharp face.

  Blood coated the entirety of Johnathan’s face. His bottom lip trembled like a seizing worm. The color from his skin washed away, leaving a pale veiny imitation. His eyes were faint glowing moons. He heaved and gasped, body swaying and rocking like a storm strung ship. The old jell-like skin was still wrapped around his arms and below his waist.

  “L, Lar… Lara,” Johnathan muttered. Lara stepped forward. Denver barred her back.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” Lara cried. “Please don’t hurt us, believe me, I tried to save you I really did, I wanted to save you I-”

  “I’m not here to kill you…” Johnathan dragged himself forward, his feet sloshed on soaked carpet. The skin trailing behind him made sloppy slapping sounds as he hobbled. ”I miss you… I woke up like this… when I died. I searched for you.”

  Denver stomped forward, clenching his switchblade. “Lara, you don’t know if this is the real Jonathan. It could be a trick!”

  Johnathan backed up. His glossy black hands shook. “Lara, that was you in that crash, wasn’t it? I found you at your work. I knocked, but you ran off. I tried again and… I think ya remember what happened from there. I didn’t want to leave you behind. I couldn’t. So, I found you over here… I’m sorry I stared, I just finally found ya and I didn’t want to leave you again.” Johnathan’s eyes watered “I want you to come with me…” He inched forward, forming a black trail as he shuffled. “Please, I know it’s a lot to give up, but this town ain’t gonna give you much… I feel so, so alone.” He raised out a hand, his fingers twitched. The ink black skin glistened.

  Denver gripped Lara’s hand, “Lara, don’t!”

  She turned back towards Denver, “I at least owe him,” and reached out. Her fingers felt Johnathan’s jelled palms, then held onto his hand. Their hands joined like a shake on a car deal. She tried to pull back, but the jell seeped around her finger. She looked down at the horrific deal, then back up at Johnathan.

  “I’m… Sorry, Lara…” The tears in Johnathan’s eyes faded into his blood-stained cheeks. The grime from his arm swarmed across Lara’s wrist.

  Lara yanked her hand back, but it only caused the skin to spread further. She could feel the same blue spark energy radiate from her hand, but the sludge over her palm silenced it.

  Denver lunged forward and heaved a butcher’s knife above his head, then swung it into Johnathan’s arm. Johnathan wailed. Denver swung again and heard a brutal yet satisfying snap.

  Jonathan’s fist squirmed on the ground. The hand ran back to its body. Denver stepped on it as if it were a roach. He nearly gagged as he felt the hand snap under his foot.

  Johnathan’s torn limb jetted ink, making the carpet resemble a gruesome Rorschach Test.

  Lara swung her hand, trying to get the sludge off, but it inched forward, stealing around her elbow. “Denver, get over here!” she said as she tried to strip the muck.

  Denver was about to swing his switchblade at Johnathan but spun back to Lara. He pulled and tugged at the black taffy—It only stretched further.

  “Oh, you bastard!” Johnathan hobbled towards the two of them, “Denver, I was so close, wasn’t I? So close to knowin’ your little scheme. You’re just too afraid to tell her.”

  Denver readied the switchblade, “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about!”

  “OH really? I don’t know,” Johnathan dashed forward, a mad grin grew across his face. “I DON’T KNOW!” His white eyes were bouncing trails of light. “OH, I DON’T-”

  A cracking shot echoed out the front window. Glass shattered; Johnathan halted. Ink splattered across the wall as Johnathan’s head jerked left. He outstretched a hand and collapsed onto the carpet.

  The sludge on Lara’s arm melted like wet sand. Denver and Lara staggered back. Lara stared out the shattered window in disbelief. The white truck outside ignited its engine and made a u-turn into Denver’s driveway.

  Lara and Denver ran towards the side door and onto the driveway. The truck’s front door opened; thick boots dispersed puddles of rain. A tall man in a black poncho got out of the truck.

  “Don’t try pulling any shit on us.” Denver said. The man raised both hands in retreat, then lumbered forward. Denver flicked on the driveway light. The man lifted the hood of his poncho as he reached the driveway’s roof. Revealing his salt and pepper beard and his graying mop of hair. Tears streaked his face.

  “Hey…” The man spoke in a low voice. The corners of his mouth shivered, “It’s been a while.” He tried to smile, but his mouth kept on fighting back.

  Lara covered her mouth. Tears pooled around her eyes. She could never forget that face. The face that hung like an empty casket across photo albums. The myth of a face was alive. “Dad?” The once picturesque man was now withered. His eyes were beginning to write the prologues for bags.

  He finally gathered enough strength and cracked a smile. “I made it home…” They hugged. He placed a hand on her shoulder and paused. Lara took in every detail o
f his face; the texture of his skin, the sandpaper scruff that grew along the sides of his face in the way ivy grows on the side of long forgotten houses. “I got some explainin’ to do… you got some time?”

  “Sure,” Lara’s voice was muffled in his flannel shirt as he hugged her once more. Their eyes darted to the house as the back door slammed. Denver ran back inside. Johnathan left an inky smear from the living room, then into the kitchen—stopping in front of the kitchen window that overlooked the porch. Black ink drops made a grotesque crumb trail across the kitchen tiles and out the back door.

  Side C Track 10

  A Fear In a Beer

  I flicked on my tape player as I sat in the booth. Our conversation went smoothly. The mayor was a hulking individual, a stout smokestack. I think his name started with a J.

  I placed the interview earlier within my chronology so I could give an authentic sense of background. Further along the log, I mention a connection between a waitress and me. This was a front for my self-image.

  I ordered my drink and sat down. I could feel the table shift a little as he sat. A bit of his beer spilled from his glass and onto the table. A waitress bent forward to wipe it all down. I gave her a cocky wink, and she gave a smirk back. Me and Mayor Hale began to chat.

  I omitted the rest since it was a rehashing of the interview. I also tossed a part where I gained the waitress’s phone number, which you can probably guess was also another lie. The meeting went smoothly until I became one cocky piece of shit.

  I thought I could test him. Maybe, just maybe, I could push some heroic envelope and save the day—this was my second most detrimental mistake in my investigation. I still think about who all could have been spared if I hadn’t gone astray. Asking him about Lucy was an idiotic shot in the dark, and I sure as hell struck something. The whole interaction went a little like this:

  Side B Track 10