The Clearing

by Tom Deady

  “Third, I think there are a lot more feet buried in those woods.”

  Hannah stared. “We have to go to the police—”

  “No! You didn’t let me get to four. People think the police are involved.”

  Hannah glanced beyond Ash, wondering if someone—they—were watching. “Ash, come on. Involved in what?”

  Ashley stood and paced around the perimeter of the gazebo. Hannah thought it was just her way of working off nervous energy, or maybe adding some dramatic flair to her story. Then she realized Ashley was checking to make sure nobody was listening. This brought it home for her. Ashley wasn’t being dramatic, wasn’t embellishing anything she read—she was scared. She finished her loop and sat down close to Hannah.

  “A cult.” The words came out in a harsh whisper. “Religious fanatics, Hannah. Not devil worshipping exactly, but not far off.”

  Hannah thought about the story she’d been reading before the psycho librarian had interrupted. The blogger was speculating that the commune was more religious-based than some flower-power bunch of hippies. The theory was they were some distant offshoot of Wicca or more likely something from abroad, South American origin perhaps, or Haitian. Very nature-based but leaning more toward what the blogger referred to as the dark arts.

  She told Ashley what she knew.

  “It makes sense, Hannah. At least as much sense as this type of thing can make. The girl who disappeared had just moved to town from western Massachusetts. Abigail was kicked out of school there a bunch of times.”

  Hannah got up and did her own lap around the gazebo. Everything on the grounds of the park was bathed in brilliant sunlight, but the gazebo was dark and full of shadows. Hannah longed for that light.

  “Not long after she moved here, she began spending a lot of time in the woods. She dropped the whole goth thing, took out her piercings and let her hair go back to its natural color. Her parents thought it was a positive change, despite the time she was spending doing God-knows-what in the woods.”

  Hannah thought about all the time she spent alone in the woods. Am I a weirdo?

  “Stop it, Hannah. This was different.”

  Their telepathy-thing was back in working order.

  “Her grades were getting better and her family thought the change was a positive thing. Then she just vanished.”

  Ashley’s eyes grew wide with excitement.

  Here comes the drama. Hannah was only half amused at Ashley’s antics. The other half was just plain scared.

  “One rumor—or story, I guess—from a witness that wanted to stay anonymous. They were afraid for their safety. So, does that still count as a rumor?”

  Hannah smacked her playfully on the shoulder. Ashley was teasing her, dragging out the big tell. Hannah grinned, but it faded as soon as Ashley continued.

  “The story goes that Abigail was seen in the woods with an old black lady, and that lady was the one that ran the late-night rituals. The witness said the girl didn’t look right, like she was drugged or something.”

  Hannah’s chest tightened, like a python was wrapped around her, slowly squeezing the air—the life—out of her. The world outside the gazebo shifted, then blurred. Ashley grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

  “Hannah, are you okay?”

  “You don’t think it was Mama Bayole?” Hannah croaked.

  “I think it had to be, but there’s more. The witness claimed the last time they saw one of these rituals, it was different. It’s the reason they left.”

  Hannah waited, focusing on Ashley’s face so things didn’t go all shaky again. This was not Ash’s usual theatrical pause. This was Ashley trying to grasp what she was about to say.

  “They said the ritual involved a blood sacrifice. Abigail was the sacrifice.”

  As Ashley packed her duffel bag, relief washed over Hannah. Ashley’s parents were going away for a week and Ash was staying with her while they were gone.

  “It isn’t a vacation,” Ashley had spat, “more like a ‘save the marriage’ pilgrimage that their therapist recommended. A week away from everything to spend on each other with no pressures and no distractions.” Her words were filled with vitriol and desperation. “I won’t even be able to call them.”

  She thinks she’s one of the pressures and distractions. Hannah’s heart ached.

  Ashley had no hope of it working and had resigned herself to having eventually to choose one parent. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Ashley had broken down. She’d confided that she hoped they would stay together until she finished high school. Then she would go off to college and not have to choose.

  Hannah wondered how it had happened. Ashley’s parents weren’t bad people—they just seemed bad with each other. Something had happened at some point that sent them in opposite directions. Or maybe they’d just drifted apart over time. The only common ground they seemed to have left was Ashley, and they both clung to it. Hannah had spent many an uncomfortable evening watching them snipe at each other while trying to show Ashley they loved her more than the other. It was sad and it did look hopeless, but Hannah was a romantic. She secretly hoped this trip would fix something and help them hold it together.

  Ashley hoisted the duffel bag, impatient to get out of there. “Ready, fool?”

  “Ready,” Hannah answered.

  They walked downstairs where Ashley’s parents waited. They were all packed, their luggage in the car. Hannah looked at each of them, wondering what they were thinking. Were they excited to be going? Scared? Would they spend the week worrying about Ashley? If they knew what we were getting into, they would. More likely they wouldn’t leave at all.

  The ride to Hannah’s house was quiet. They were each lost in their own thoughts and Ashley was banging away on her cell phone, thumbs flying. She knew the signal at Hannah’s house was nonexistent and she’d be jonesing for social media all week.

  Hannah watched the Wallaces from the back seat, musing as she always did about the wonders of genetics. Mr. Wallace was a tall, beefy guy. Not fat, but not too many cheeseburgers away from it. His wife was also tall but built like Olive Oil from the old cartoons. Both had the pale white complexion and light hair of western European descent. Ashley had beautiful skin that looked tan year-round and black, curly hair. Hannah always joked that she looked more like the Wallace’s daughter than Ashley did. As she watched, Mr. Wallace’s hand snaked across the front seat and intertwined with Mrs. Wallace’s, bringing a smile to Hannah’s face.

  They arrived at Hannah’s and Dad came out to say hi and wish them well on their trip. He grabbed Ashley’s bag from her and motioned Hannah to follow him into the house, leaving Ashley to say her goodbyes.

  “What do you think, Hannah, are they going to be okay?” Dad asked, once out of earshot.

  Hannah had told Dad about the trip and she knew he was rooting for them too. I guess I know where I get my romantic side from. She thought of Ashley’s parents holding hands in the car—something she had never seen them do before.

  “I think they are, Dad,” Hannah said, nodding as if to confirm.

  He smiled and put his arm around her, pulling her in for a quick hug. “That’s good, honey.”

  He sounded sad. Will that ever change?

  Hannah brought Ashley’s stuff to her bedroom, and a few minutes later they heard the car pull out of the driveway. Ashley stepped into the room and Hannah went to her immediately. Ashley’s face was streaked with tears and she was shaking. Hannah held her tight, not saying anything, just letting her get it all out. What could she say?

  Finally, Ash pulled away. “I’m sorry, Hannah. You must think I’m a big loser baby.”

  “I know you’re a big loser baby. Now I actually think you might have a heart.”

  Ashley sniffled, then laughed. She grabbed a tissue from the box on Hannah’s dresser.

  “Okay, I cleared out a drawer and some room in the closet for your summer wardrobe,” Hannah said, trying to get to a positive side of the situation.

/>   Ashley made a face and started unpacking.

  “After dinner, we’ll take Scout for a walk and make a plan.”

  Hannah whispered, she was on the alert knowing Dad might be able to hear her from anywhere in the house. As if to prove her right, Scout came bounding in at the mention of his name. Ashley stopped what she was doing and bent to pat the dog. Scout rolled over for a belly rub and Ashley indulged him. Seeing Ash like this was weird. She wasn’t usually very affectionate, but Hannah guessed saying goodbye to her parents was still affecting her.

  Dinner was uneventful. Ashley was subdued, still thinking about her parents. Hannah was anxious to get away so they could figure out what to do next. Dad seemed confused by the relative quiet, stopping occasionally to look at each of them like he wanted to say something. Then he’d go back to eating.

  They cleared the table and started the dishwasher. Dad moved into the living room and flipped on the TV, looking for the Red Sox game.

  “Dad, we’re taking Scout for a walk. We’ll be back soon.”

  “Thanks, girls. Remember, stay out of the woods and don’t go bothering Mrs. Bayole.”

  “Sure. Want anything for the game before we go?”

  “A beer would be great. Thanks, Hannah.”

  She grabbed one out of the fridge and brought it to him. He was leaning back in the recliner, watching the pre-game show. The volume was down low, and she knew he’d be napping by the first pitch. She handed him the beer, then impulsively leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Love you, Dad. Thanks for letting Ashley stay with us.”

  Dad smiled and patted her hand. “It’s my pleasure. She’s a good friend, more like a sister to you. I’m happy to have her. Now go, gossip about girls at school and giggle over boys or whatever it is you two do twenty-four-seven.”

  Hannah and Ashley walked out to the road with Scout trailing close behind. The night was hot, but the humidity was down and there was a bit of a breeze to make it comfortable. The sun had just hit the tree line, casting the road in shadow. Off in the woods, the crickets and peepers began waking up, filling the air with the music of summer.

  I’ll never get tired of their songs. Hannah dreaded winter evenings when the only sound was the wind whistling through the bare trees or the cracking of ice.

  “Okay, boss, what are we going to do?” Ash finally asked.

  They were far enough from the house to start the conversation. Hannah thought about Ashley’s question before answering. She’d been thinking about it all day, but still she paused.

  “If the blogger was right, we can’t go to the police. There’s no way we go near Mama Bayole or the library. I—”

  Ashley had stopped walking and grabbed Hannah’s arm. She was staring at something behind them.

  Gooseflesh crept up Hannah’s back. Was someone following them? She followed Ashley’s gaze but was relieved to see nothing unusual. Ashley turned slightly to the left, then back toward Hannah’s house again, her lips moving, her face a portrait of concentration. Hannah let her work it out, keeping an eye on Scout sniffing around the side of the road.

  “Route 33,” Ash finally blurted out.

  “Um, what about it?”

  Ashley bounced on her toes, her excitement contagious. Scout ran in crazy circles around them, barking. Hannah found herself smiling in anticipation, the jitters of a moment ago gone.

  “Route 33, from your dad’s story. If you go through the woods behind your house far enough, that’s where you end up!”

  Hannah frowned, trying to picture it. If Ashley was right, that meant the commune also used to be back there, along with the altar and the bones.

  Hannah’s voice came out quiet, shaky. “Maybe they never really left, the hippies, or whatever they were. Maybe these sacrifices have been going on ever since.”

  The girls were sitting on Hannah’s bed with Scout curled up on the rug, occasionally looking up at them. Dad was sound asleep on the recliner.

  “Ash, I think we’re in over our heads. Maybe we should tell Dad and let him decide what to do.”

  Ashley looked at her like she was crazy. “You want to quit? Now? This whole thing was your idea. Now it’s getting interesting, and you want to bail?”

  “Interesting? Ashley, it’s getting dangerous. People are being killed. We might already be in danger.”

  “Danger, shmanger. When did you get all chicken-shit?”

  This was just like Ashley. Once something was edgy or just a bad idea, she was all over it. Resorting to name-calling and pressure to get Hannah to go along was nothing new either.

  “I don’t think it’s being a chicken to not want to get killed. Think about it. I mean really think about it. You might end up on that stone altar with Mama Bayole or the crazy librarian or someone worse standing over you with a knife. Is that interesting?”

  Ashley sighed, but Hannah knew she was getting through to her.

  “You’re right, it is getting dangerous. If we tell your dad before we know exactly what we’re dealing with, we might be putting him in danger. Especially if he goes to the police and they are involved. They won’t be after us at that point.”

  The words shook Hannah. Ashley was right, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was sincere or just playing Hannah to get her way. Whatever Ashley’s motive, there was no way Hannah was willing to put Dad in harm’s way.

  “Okay, okay, but we have to be careful. We make a plan and we both stick to it. If anything gets weirder than it already is, we go to Dad. Deal?”

  Ashley flashed a triumphant smile, quickly replaced by a serious look. She held out a hand, trying hard to maintain her solemn expression. “Deal.”

  Hannah slapped her hand away, grinning.

  Ashley tried to look shocked but couldn’t keep a straight face. They both laughed, the tension between them disappearing like ripples on a lake.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  Hannah saw something in her friend’s expression that hadn’t been there before. This had taken on some importance to her. It wasn’t just Ashley looking for an adrenaline rush—this had significance. Maybe in some weird way it was tied to the emotions she was dealing with regarding her parents’ faltering marriage, but Hannah wasn’t about to pry.

  “We have two leads to follow up on. First, the witness. He must know something more than what he wrote on his blog. No way would he dare print everything he knew. Second, the friend of my great-grandfather that was on the road crew. There might be something else he was afraid to tell his coworkers. If he’s still alive,” she added, “I guess he’d be pretty old.”

  Ashley was nodding. The look in her eyes was unnerving.

  “Sounds good. It makes sense that you follow up on your great-grandfather’s friend. I can try to track down the blogger.”

  “I’ll talk to Dad in the morning and see if I can get the name of the guy. If he’s still alive, I’ll find him.”

  Ashley stood and paced around the room. She stopped and snapped her fingers. Scout opened one eye, then went right back to sleep.

  “I’ll take your bike over to the West Meadow Library in the morning. I can do all the research there and not have to worry about psycho-bitch. Hey, do you think we should check on Mrs. Cheevers? What that crazy librarian said... You don’t think they’d hurt an old lady?”

  Hannah replayed the confrontation in her head. I don’t think you’re going to be seeing Mrs. Cheevers around here anymore. She... retired.

  Ashley was right—it sounded ominous.

  “I’ll add that to my list. I’m not quite sure how, but I’ll figure it out.” Hannah said.

  She was almost as excited as Ashley again. At the same time, a weariness came over her and she yawned. It wasn’t even that late, especially for summer vacation, but she was exhausted.

  “What do you say we kick Dad out of the living room and find something mindless on TV? All this mystery solving is taking a toll on me.”

  “Good
idea, maybe we can find The Babysitter or something.” She laughed and ran out of the room.

  Hannah followed. “Or maybe we can find that reality show about the crafty teenager that kills her annoying friend.”

  The next day, they split up early to tackle the jobs they had agreed upon. After breakfast, Ashley rode Hannah’s bike to the West Meadow library, while Hannah hung around the kitchen, trying to figure out an angle to get the name of Grampie’s friend out of Dad. She couldn’t think of anything clever, so she went with the straight-on approach.

  “Dad, that was quite a story you told about Grampie. I can’t picture him as a young man, hanging out with his posse on a road crew.”

  Hannah pictured the great-grandfather she knew from pictures, a kindly old man. Frail and gentle-looking. It was hard for her to think of him any other way.

  “Grampie was something,” Dad said.

  He was smiling, his eyes far away. Hannah already knew how much he adored the man who had raised him, and even if she hadn’t, his expression in that moment spoke volumes.

  “I thought of something while I was watching the game last night but I—”

  “Watching the game?” Hannah cut in. “Dad, I don’t think you made it to the National Anthem.”

  He laughed, a sound she would never get tired of hearing after it had been absent for so long.

  “Wait here,” he said, putting down his coffee.

  Hannah finished up the dishes while Dad went to the basement. She heard him rummaging around in the boxes he had been going through the other day. A few minutes later, he bounded back up the steps and into the kitchen, beaming, carrying an old, dusty book of some sort.

  “Grampie kept a kind of scrapbook/journal thing. I stumbled across it the other day. I’d never seen it before.”

  They sat at the table and Dad started flipping through the pages. He stopped at a faded old newspaper story with a grainy picture of three men holding shovels. His fingers moved over the picture like a man reading braille. Hannah waited, knowing Dad was reliving his memories with his grandfather. Finally, he looked up, his eyes shiny.