by Ike Hamill
“What exactly do you guys think we’ll find?” Ben asked.
Brett stopped and turned around.
“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s the point, you know? The best we can hope for is that everything has stayed put and is quiet. She said that Eric was gone—replaced by Levi. Maybe she’s right, and maybe she’s wrong. Whatever it is, we’re going to have to make a decision.”
He didn’t feel the need to lay out some of the choices they might have to face. It was silly to speculate. Planning was useful only when a person could guess at all the things that could go wrong. If they had learned one thing it was that they had no idea what they were up against.
“I think it all burned,” Charlie said. “If it didn’t, I’m going to go work with my brother in Alaska. Fuck this place.”
“You’ll need a fake ID,” Eddie said. “I know a guy.”
That notion inspired a low, excited conversation between the boys. Brett started walking again. The creek bubbled down the hill towards the pond. Brett found a good spot and jumped over, landing on the other muddy bank. A few weeks earlier, and they would have probably been knee-deep in runoff. The ground was still soggy from it. Brett climbed the opposite slope to find a better place to make his way down the hill.
The others followed.
The pond was easy to spot through the bare branches. It twinkled down in the cup of the surrounding hills. Brett circled to the east so they would approach the opposite bank from where he thought they had made the grave. He wanted to get a look at it from a distance first. Eddie pulled up alongside him, flanking even more. They pushed through the tangle of bushes at the same time.
The water was almost perfectly still. A morning breeze brushed ripples into the surface and a crow cawed at their arrival.
“Where is it?” Eddie asked, looking left and right at the bank. His sense of direction wasn’t that great.
Brett pointed across the water.
“Where?” Eddie asked.
“I see it,” Ben said, pushing through next to Brett. “That dark rock must be the one she put over the grave, right?”
“Yeah,” Brett said.
“And Eric might be under the water,” Charlie said.
Eddie took a small step back from the edge of the pond.
“Maybe some of us should stay here and keep watch while the others go around,” Ben suggested.
“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie said. He pushed back through the bushes to where the trees were a little thinner before he began to circle clockwise around the water.
Brett stayed put for a minute, looking across the water. There was a dark scar on the far bank where they had dug a hole and then Eric and Nicky had come along to improve it. It could have just been rotted wood, but he also thought he saw black over there, like something had burned. He finally followed the others on their path around the pond. Whenever he caught a clear glimpse of the water, the surface was calm. If Eric was under there, he wasn’t moving.
# # #
It was a cool morning, but they were sweating by the time they punched through to the bank of the pond again. In his effort to get a look at the grave before they approached, Brett had forced them to go through the thickest brush he had ever fought. Charlie had a bright red slash across one cheek from a branch that had snapped back on him. Eddie’s boots were caked in mud.
Everyone was silent as they ducked under the low branches of a cedar tree. The smell of the tree reminded Brett of the chest in his parents’ room when he was a kid.
It looked like someone had scattered the ashes of a campfire on the bank of the pond. Eddie bent to pick up a stick with a charred end. He raised his eyebrows as he glanced at Brett. The message was clear—at least part of Nicky’s story checked out.
Brett was more interested in other evidence. He moved towards the place where he and Eddie had dug a shallow grave and interred the remains of the Trader and the drowned man. It was clear that Nicky had told the truth about the rock as well. The top of the rock had been washed by rain, but mud still clung to it in places. Just above it, on the bank, he could see the hole where the rock had once resided.
The footprints and scrapes in the mud and sand had all been eroded by rain. It didn’t look like anything had visited there since the rain had stopped.
“Over here,” Charlie called.
Brett turned.
Ben was holding a stick. On the end of it was a tattered piece of cloth. Brett and Eddie jogged over.
“It was just drifting around in the water,” Charlie said, pointing.
It was a shirt sleeve, torn and burned at the shoulder.
Eddie raised an eyebrow again—more evidence for Nicky’s story.
Brett cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.
“Eric?”
The others backed away from the pond, surprised by the sound of Brett’s voice. It reverberated off the trees and hills around them.
“Levi?” he shouted the second time.
The crows that had cawed at them before decided that the pond wasn’t tranquil enough anymore. They took off from their perch on west side of the pond.
“You want to flip that rock and see if everything’s still there?” Eddie asked.
“I don’t think so,” Brett said. “Best to let everything rest. Everyone agree?”
Eddie made a show of considering it before he nodded. The other two were quick to go along.
The way back through the woods was much easier. Brett followed the path that they had taken the first time until he found a good place to veer east towards the car. Pushing through the trees to the overgrown yard of the “Under Contract” house, Charlie and Ben had forgotten their earlier fear. The two of them ran up to the house and peeked in the windows, looking to see if there was anything worth stealing in there.
“Come on,” Brett said. “We don’t need anyone wondering why we were out here. If we don’t do anything, they won’t have a reason to question.”
“There’s still furniture in there,” Ben said.
“Get in the car,” Brett ordered.
LETTERS
May 10, 1977
Brett,
I planned to drive all the way to California, but my car made it as far as Colorado. I found a place to stay while I got the transmission worked on, and accidentally found a job. That was good news since I was almost out of money anyway. My parents wired me a little, but they were pretty upset that I decided to take off in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.
I hope that everything stayed put back there. I don’t regret leaving. I should have done it a long time ago, and I encourage you to do the same, but I do regret not making sure that everything stayed put. Send me a letter and let me know you’re okay.
Sincerely,
Nicky
June 2nd, 1977
Dear Nicky,
Sorry it took me so long to write back. My folks piled up my mail and forgot to mention it. I don’t have a box at the place I live, so I got one at the Post Office. In the future, please write me at P.O. Box #3217.
We went out like we said we would the next day and found the rock that you had put down. As far as we could tell, it hadn’t been moved. No sign of your friend Eric. Maybe he skipped town. I hear that the cops are floating the idea that maybe he had something to do with all the bodies found in the Carroll house after it burned down. My boss says he grew up with the county coroner and that guy has had his head up his own ass for more than a decade. The initial report suggested that a couple of the Carrolls might have died because of an animal attack. Lily and Jessie might have been sick because he said that they choked on their own vomit. That’s what killed Hendrix.
Everyone has a theory.
The cops hassled me and Eddie, of course.
It’s just dumb luck that we were in a bar all evening and everyone saw us. We didn’t walk down to look at the fire until we heard about it from volunteer guys who were called in.
The new girl at Dottie’s is next
to useless. She can’t make a sandwich or a pizza to save her life. They put up a picture of you, like a memorial or something.
So, no sign of anything yet. I’ll keep you informed.
Thanks for not putting any information in your letter. Eddie says they read everything that goes to a P.O. Box. I don’t want to find out if that’s true.
Brett
June 8th, 1977
Brett,
Terrible couple of days. There’s a killer named Bundy who escaped from the courthouse before they could lock him up. He killed a bunch of women and now everyone is convinced that he’s going to continue his rampage. I have to work nights and I’m still walking everywhere. It’s not fun.
I’ve been reading some about the soldiers who came back from Nam and how they remember their time there. Some of the men who reportedly went through the worst stuff don’t seem to remember it very well. When they hear stories about what they experienced and did, they say that it almost seems like a different person experienced it. Images flash before them, but it’s like they’re remembering a movie. One guy with an amputated foot said that he still gets up in the mornings and tries to stand up, forgetting that he has to put on his fake foot before he can walk. Each day, it’s like he has a little burst of amnesia that gives him enough time to get the ball rolling.
I wonder if maybe I’m experiencing a little of that.
By the time I really have any distinct memories, I’m already up and moving.
Nights can be rough though. After work, I have trouble getting to sleep. There’s a group here where women get together and talk about their abusive boyfriends. They don’t make me share anything and it helps to sit there and listen.
If you see Eric and you figure out that he needs help, please let me know immediately. I will come back for him, but only him, do you know what I mean.
Take care,
Nicky
June 12th, 1977
Dear Nicky,
First, stay safe. Find someone to walk to work with. One of those women from the group you were talking about will be able help, I’m sure.
Second, things got a little weird around here.
Have you ever heard of Darren Cornish? He lives off of Foreside Road and he was down at the Spike getting shit-faced last night. Eddie got a conversation going with him, and he was telling Eddie about his land. He and his siblings had chopped up the family property so they could all build houses. Darren got a piece near the road that happens to be downstream of a little pond out back.
He said he started hearing voices in the night a couple of weeks ago.
After he got even more drunk, he said he saw a little monster that his dogs wouldn’t stop barking at. When Eddie asked about it, Darren claimed that the thing looked almost like a rat that had been burned so badly that it was completely bald. But he also said it had human teeth that snapped at the dogs when they got too close.
Everyone laughed at Darren and eventually the bartender cut him off.
As far as I can figure, no harm has come to Darren or his family. He swore that he was going to set up a sniper nest in his back window and kill the rat thing to protect his family. I’m guessing that the cops will be paying him a visit soon. There were a couple of off-duty officers at the Spike and they heard everything.
I haven’t seen Eric at all. I’m almost certain that he’s gone for good.
Eddie and I have plans to go out on a hike soon. I will let you know if we see anything interesting.
It’s funny you found a group for women who were abused by their boyfriends. Well, not funny, but you know what I mean. What I’m trying to say is that I was that guy. I swear that I never beat up Lily, but I gave her a couple of bruises. If she hadn’t been smart enough to dump me, it might have progressed to that. I’ve been talking to a guy about it. We had our second session last week. It’s all the way down in Portland, but it’s subsidized, so the price is right.
I wanted to control Lily, and when she wouldn’t do what I wanted her to do, I wasn’t always able to keep myself in check. Sometimes, I would just squeeze her fingers too hard when we were holding hands. A couple of times, I grabbed her by the wrist or arm. Maybe worse than all of that was the way that I tried to manipulate her, you know? I’m really lucky that she was so smart. She had enough sense to push away when she figured out who I was, and that’s lucky. If I had ever really gone over the edge, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.
Hell, I can barely live with myself as it is.
We hadn’t been close in a long while, but I still miss her like crazy now that there’s no way we can ever be together again. Some part of me held out hope that we would eventually find each other again.
Sorry to ramble. My hand is cramped.
Brett
June 19th, 1977
Dear Brett,
Don’t apologize for rambling. I enjoy the news from home. All my mother writes me about is what she cooked for dinner each night and who has a new hairstyle. I hope someone can help out Darren Cornish. Sounds like he might need it. I’m eager to find out what you and Eddie see on your hike. Are Charlie Holdt and Ben Trout doing okay? Those guys were inseparable with Jessie Carroll. I hope they’re coping with that loss.
This is my second time mourning the loss of Eric. He disappeared for a while when he went back to Ohio to live with his mom. You’re a much better penpal than he ever was. I only got one lousy postcard from him the whole time he was away. This time, I’ve had nothing.
I’m glad to hear that you’re talking through things with someone. The women I meet with are starting to give me a courage to think about my own place in the world. They’re so brave and they challenge themselves to take control in a world that has never offered them an opportunity to have any say in their own lives. A lot of them moved from a house where their father dominated them right into the lap of a boyfriend or husband who does the same thing. It’s all they’ve ever known.
Sometimes it feels like we’re all just doomed to repeat the patterns that we were indoctrinated with growing up. And even people who recognize it clearly fall into the same damn loop. Then these women prove all of that wrong. They stand up to oppression and support each other until they can break free.
I won’t be able to keep going to the meetings unless I start to share a little. I’m not going to talk about my last week or two back home, but I think I’ll talk about how I felt trying to fit into a life in that town. People were so nice on the surface and so unkind behind your back.
My work is going well. I don’t remember if I mentioned. My car broke down in this town in western Colorado one day and I found a shop that would start work on it without a deposit. For out of state cars sometimes they won’t. Anyway, that afternoon I was walking around and I saw this guy hanging a sign on the window of a restaurant. They were desperate for someone to do kitchen work. By that same night, I had a job and a place to stay. Then, after a month of working there, they asked me to manage the night shift. They do a lot of prep for catering at nights. It’s crazy. I keep telling myself that I’m just passing through, but this town is really growing on me.
Take care,
Nicky
June 30th, 1977
Dear Nicky,
A lot has happened.
Eddie and I went on that hike. The rock was still in place and we didn’t see any fresh footprints in the mud, but someone had been there. All of the dirt had been scraped from the rock and it looked like someone had been trying to carve something on it. Maybe they were just trying to break it apart, I don’t know, but there’s one part that really looks like someone began to chisel out 16. Your guess is as good as mine.
I turned to Eddie and asked if he thought the tree man was back in town. He looked like he didn’t know what I was talking about. So I gave him a different name and Eddie still didn’t know. Then I asked about our other friends and Eddie was in the dark about that too. Finally, and I know how this sounds, I asked him why we came out on that hike at all.
He looked at me and said, “I thought you were looking for something.”
I honestly don’t think he had any idea that we had been there before or what had happened there. It’s different for me. I read your letters frequently and my memory is refreshed when I do. You remember those little notebooks we used to carry around for a bit? You remember how we had to write everything down so that we could keep on track? Eddie doesn’t remember any of that. I even went over and talked to Charlie and Ben and see what the condition of their memory was in. I’m starting to wonder if part of this is because I don’t live in town anymore. I have an apartment across the river, so I have a little distance.
Anyway, worse than all that is what has been going on with Darren Cornish.
Now that Eddie is losing his memory, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about this. So, like I said, I went over and talked to Charlie and Ben. Charlie Holdt was a blank slate. Ben Trout, on the other hand, had a pretty good grip on things. He was the one who turned me on to what was going on with Darren Cornish.
Darren and his wife have four boys, pretty spread out in age. The oldest is going into high school next year. Ben was assigned to the kid as a mentor because he’s a good prospect for JV football. So, Ben is giving the kid a ride home one day and the kid says to drop him off down the road a piece. Ben got a little spooked because they were pretty close the old barn there. They struck up a conversation before the kid got out and he started laying some pretty heavy stuff on Ben. He told about how his father, Darren, was always watching through the upper windows of the house with a rifle. He would shoot at anyone he didn’t recognize. Apparently, Darren thinks that there’s something out there in the woods that’s trying to poison his family, but that’s not the word he uses for it. Darren says it’s trying to “sour” the family. That’s why the kid didn’t want Ben to drive him all the way home. He didn’t want Ben to get shot.