The Lurking Season

by Kristopher Rufty

  The lid shut with a rustling slam.

  Erin closed the folder and set it beside her. She wished Lawrence’s digital SLR was in here so she could see the pictures again.

  Underground tunnels.

  People claimed such things existed—a secretive transit system developed by the Haunchies as a way for them to travel unseen.

  If it was one of theirs, then that means they have little burrows running underneath the entire fucking town.

  Shaking her head, she snorted a laugh. “What am I thinking?”

  To even briefly consider that behind Mr. Brown’s house was an expressway for Haunchies was absurd. To believe in any of this Haunchy nonsense was irrational. She needed to keep her interest in these matters completely professional, from a skeptic’s eye. Start down the other road and she might end up as crazy as some of the Doverton locals.

  Heather

  Though gleaming in grease, the food tasted wonderful. Heather had shoveled each forkful of fried food into her eager mouth as if it were her last meal. She’d regret it later when her stomach felt like it was trying to digest stone nuggets. But now, sopping up egg yolk with the last of her toast, she couldn’t care less. After she plopped the small chunk of gooey yellow into her mouth, the plate was empty. She chewed, swallowed and gulped three heavy chugs of orange juice to wash it down.

  “Hits the spot, right?” said Ted with a knowing grin.

  Heather nodded. With the last bite gone and her glass drained, Heather’s appetite finally hit a wall. She was full. The thought of eating anything else made her nauseated.

  Ted looked at each person. “Who’s in the mood for some pancakes?”

  A unified groan surrounded the table.

  Ted leaned back, pushing his plate away. “Forget it. I don’t want to be the only one eating any.”

  “Ted,” said Debbie, looking at him as if he’d cussed in church, “you can’t possibly eat anything else.”

  “Sure I can. A growing boy has to get his eats. Puts hair on your chest.”

  “No,” said Shaun, “that was the coffee.”

  They all laughed.

  Ted held up his hand. “Miss? Can we get some coffee to go? Our car’s running a little low on oil.”

  Debbie shot forward and shushed him. “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Oh, she didn’t hear me.”

  “Yeah I did, cookie boy,” called Florence. “Told you it’d make your car run for a week.”

  “It might make me run for a week,” Ted fired back with a grin, “if you catch my meaning.”

  Florence’s laughter boomed over the grunted snickers of the men at the counter. “I like you, cookie boy. Your meal’s on the house.”

  “Damn, Florence,” called one of the men. “When do I get some free food? After all, my pictures have made this place a landmark!”

  “When you make me laugh, Lawrence! Humor is the way to a woman’s heart!”

  Ted scanned the others. He rolled his eyebrows. “I think I’m going to marry her.”

  Sighing, Shaun started to stand. “You’ll make a wonderful couple.”

  Ted got up. “We’ll live in a nice trailer, not a modular, mind you. But one of those bulletproof-looking things that you can tow around on a trailer hitch. We’ll see all the lovely trailer parks Wisconsin has to offer, have ten kids, all named Esther and Skeeter.”

  Heather rolled her eyes as she got up. She was grabbing her purse when Debbie announced she would pay for breakfast. There was a minor protest, but Debbie wasn’t giving in. Still, Heather felt guilty for Debbie buying.

  I’ll get the next one.

  “I wonder if I pay up front,” said Debbie, throwing the strap of her purse over a shoulder.

  Shaun shrugged. “Who knows? She never brought us a check.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up on freebies,” said Ted. “That’s my woman. Only the Tedster eats for free.”

  “I’m going to punch you for free, if you don’t shut up,” said Shaun.

  “Don’t be mad. Maybe she’s up for an open relationship. You can have at her too.”

  Florence called from the other side of the wall. “He’s too stocky for my taste. I like them lean, chiseled and dumb.”

  “Well Ted’s perfect for you,” said Debbie.

  Ted nodded. “It’s like we were made for each other.”

  As a group, they headed to the counter. The stools were occupied by the same brusque customers who were there when they’d arrived. A new guy stood by the counter, leaning over it on his elbows. The first thing Heather noticed about him was his bushy moustache, how it draped his lips like a skunk’s tail, concealing the mouth behind it.

  Debbie broke away and approached Florence, who stood behind the counter on the other side of an antique cash register. Heather noticed a glass display with pastries inside. There was a lemon cupcake with a cookie wedged into the thick whipped topping. She was tempted to buy it for later.

  It’ll take you a week to work off all the calories you just ate. No sweets.

  Steph kept walking. “I’m going to find the little girls’ room.”

  Florence pointed. “Keep heading that way, dear. It’s to your left.”

  “Thanks.”

  “If anyone else has to go,” said Shaun, “now’s the time. We’re not stopping again until we get to Doverton.”

  Forks clattered when they were dropped onto the plates. Florence flinched away from the register as if Debbie had pointed a gun at her.

  The new guy peered at them from over his shoulder, eyebrows curved to a furrowed point on his forehead. He suddenly seemed very interested in them.

  A burly man, who seemed to be slowly wilting around the seat of the stool beneath him, turned to face Shaun. “What’d you say, boy?”

  Shaun’s eyes widened. He gulped as he scanned the faces leering at him. “Um…”

  Florence gasped. “My God, Doverton.”

  Shaun frowned. “What’s the big deal?”

  A tall and unnaturally scrawny man leaned over the counter, bringing his fists to his closed eyes. His mouth recited a prayer in a rushing whisper. He had a dark shadow of a beard on his cheeks that were scarred with pockmarks. His nose was red, as if sunburned, a small welt on the tip like a swollen spider bite.

  Amused, the new guy shook his head, as if he found the reactions to Shaun’s statement funny. “You’re going out to Raimi Road, right?”

  Another gasp from Florence. She rested the back of her hand on her forehead as if stifling a faint.

  Heather cleared her throat. “Yes…”

  “Thought so,” said the new guy. “Was just there earlier. I guess it was your boss we met.”

  The burly man, uninterested in what the new guy had to say, rotated on his stool, turning toward Heather. The swivel groaned with objection. “What in Heaven’s name for? Of all places to go, why there?”

  “Well…we’re opening a center.” Heather was tempted to explain their intentions, but stopped. She could tell by the glares being thrown at her that they wouldn’t understand.

  Florence shook her head as if she couldn’t justify what she’d heard. “A center? In Doverton? Don’t you have any idea what happened out there?”

  “What’s still happening out there?” the burly man added. “Two girls vanished at the start of the summer. They still haven’t found them. Probably never will. They’re not the first either. And they won’t be the last…”

  Heat seemed to rise from Heather’s collar, wafting over her chin and drying out her lips. She knew her cheeks had turned scarlet, little rosy dimples that showed everybody how uncomfortable she felt.

  “Happened three years ago,” said the burly man.

  Florence reached out to him, tapping his shoulder with two extended fingers. “Al, don’t talk about it.” She looked at Debbie. “
Just pay your bill and go.”

  Debbie kept her stare on Al a moment longer before turning around. “How much?” she asked Florence.

  “Seventeen, even.”

  Ted stepped forward. “I, for one, would like to hear about what happened three years ago.”

  “Same here,” said Shaun.

  Al turned the stool so he faced them all, leaning his back against the counter. “It’s an awful story, son.”

  “I’m a grown-up,” said Ted. “I think I can handle it.” The wet cluck of his gulp suggested otherwise.

  A corner of Al’s mouth curved up. “Can you?”

  A pregnant pause held the question in the air.

  The crashing jingle of the cash drawer opening made everybody but Al jump. He laughed.

  “Fine,” said Ted. “Don’t tell us.” He looked to his right, toward the restrooms. “What’s taking Steph so long? Did she forget how to go?”

  “A fire nearly wiped out half the town,” Al said suddenly, his Midwestern accent so heavy it had a pirate’s drone to it. “I’m a volunteer fireman, so naturally I went out there to offer my services. I couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves. They were calling for backup on the CB, begging any neighboring authorities and firemen to come. They needed ambulances, as many as could be spared. The blaze was out of control when I got there, burning the dried cornfields on the Carlson farm like gas-soaked kindling. It quickly spread to the other fields, gobbling them up just as greedily.”

  “Carlson farm?” said Shaun. “That’s where we’re going.”

  “Carlson owned somewhere in the ballpark of five hundred acres on the other side of Whisper Lake, some say more, I don’t know for sure.”

  “And Mystic Lane,” said the new guy. He looked at Al, giving him a wink and nod as if telling him “you’re welcome for the help”.

  Heather heard the soft scuffle of shoes on the dirty floor. She glanced back and saw Steph guardedly approaching. Her eyes were wide with concern. She looked at Heather and those already wide eyes seemed to stretch even more. Heather shook her head, hoping she understood it was best to not ask.

  Heather faced the group. Everyone in the diner was focused on Al. Debbie took the change from Florence as if on impulse, her hand rising and closing around the bills and coins without looking at the plump waitress.

  Al nodded. “We don’t know how many the fire actually killed, but there were a lot of dead bodies. We checked some of the houses that didn’t burn too. Inside of those we found corpses…murdered months before.”

  “Murdered?” said Ted, grimacing.

  Al smiled coldly. “Parts of the bodies had been taken. Meaty parts. Just like that teenage boy this summer.”

  “Oh my God,” said Debbie, closing her eyes.

  “This is the good part,” said the new guy, rolling his eyebrows.

  Florence groaned then snapped her fingers at the broad-shouldered cook. Nodding, he picked up his pace as he scooped food into Styrofoam containers.

  Al released a deep breath that puffed his cheeks. “Seemed many folks in Doverton had been butchered, their houses and barns picked clean. The bodies were left behind—most of the bodies, anyway. Other houses were empty, as if the owners had packed up and left, though their cars were still parked in the driveways, garages—you catch my drift.”

  Heather lowered her head. She’d researched the property after Chad warned her something bad happened to the previous owner. The empty farmhouse was the center of an unsolved massacre that stretched through the entire town. He’d tried talking Randy out of buying the property and hoped Heather would help convince Randy. By then it was too late to back out.

  “No one lives there now?” said Shaun. “In Doverton, I mean.”

  “Oh people are still there. You just can’t get some folks to leave their homes, no matter what. I can understand it. Others couldn’t sell their land. There are also some Amish and Mennonites out there somewhere. They live off the land and don’t bother nobody. The state even hired a sheriff and a deputy or two to patrol the town. Before everything happened, Doverton didn’t have anybody like that out there. The county police looked in on them from time to time, but mostly it was just citizens volunteering.” He took off his trucker cap. An oily shell of dark hair was underneath. He scratched his head and put the hat back on. Tiny white flakes fluttered down to the sprinkles already on his shoulder.

  Florence said, “You guys ever hear of that horror author Gary Butler?”

  Heather hadn’t. And when the others didn’t say anything, she supposed they hadn’t as well.

  Al picked up from there. “He went missing around that time. They found his car and another that belonged to some kids stranded at Whisper Lake. Looked like somebody took sledgehammers to them. His girlfriend went missing too. I think I remember her name being Wendy. The other car—the college kids were on their way home from a concert or something. Something happened to them at the lake, just nobody knows what. The fire began across the lake from where their cars were left, out on Mystic Lane. That’s an old farm road that Vincent Carlson owned, way back in the woods. I’m sure you’ll see it soon enough.”

  “And that’s our house?” asked Debbie.

  “It was condemned and, to be honest, I’m surprised some locals looking to erase it from Doverton’s memory never burned it down. Vincent was one of the many bodies we pulled out of the rubble. And from what I’ve heard, some things were discovered on his farm that nobody’s willing to talk about. Strange things. But that’s just local tittle-tattle. Don’t know if I believe it myself since I didn’t know Carlson that well. My daddy did, though, when he was still alive. He used to get corn from him years ago, but Daddy’s been buried for ten years. Thankfully he wasn’t around to see what happened.”

  The memory of his father’s death seemed to drain the speech out of Al. After a couple long moments passed without Al saying any more, Heather supposed he was done.

  Shaun was the first to speak. “Okay…well thank you for sharing…that story.”

  “I wasn’t telling you because I like talking about it.”

  “Either way, thank you. I had no idea.” He looked at the group. “Let’s head out.”

  “I need to use the potty,” said Ted.

  “You’re going to have to hold it.”

  “But…”

  “You’ll live.”

  Shaun was the first to get to the exit. Everybody else piled around him. Shaun was heading out when Al spoke again.

  “You go out there, you watch yourselves.”

  Heads turned to Al. It was Shaun who said, “What?”

  “There’re things in the woods out there, and in all those cornfields, running around, that shouldn’t be. I’ve seen them. And, believe me, they haunt my nightmares.”

  Heather repelled a shiver. It felt like a row of icy claws were scraping down her back.

  “Thanks,” said Shaun. He sounded tired and stressed.

  One by one, they filed out. Heather let go of the door, hearing it being caught behind her and flung open.

  “Wow,” said the voice behind her. “You guys really know how to make a first impression.”

  The group stopped walking, turning around to face the man behind them. The Moustache Guy who’d seemed delighted to offer his knowledge between Al’s pauses. He was still smiling, a slimy arch on his face that made Heather’s skin crawl. She’d seen it on ill-behaved kids’ faces before they did something wrong.

  “We just want to be left alone,” said Ted. “Thanks.” He started to head back to Shaun’s SUV, but stopped when the guy talked again.

  “I’m Lawrence Whitley, a photographer for Repose Publications. We do the Fable Wisconsin books, among others—mostly trashy romance and trashy horror and trashy crime fiction.”

  “Like the trash, do you?” said Steph.

  “Hell
no,” he said, grimacing. “I hate the stuff. But I do like doing the Fable Wisconsin books.”

  “Well,” said Shaun, “keep at it.” It was his turn to start to leave and stop when Lawrence wouldn’t let him.

  “The author they mentioned in there? I did the cover for his book. Took the picture of this big ass dog and edited in some blood and other scary things.”

  “Congratulations,” said Ted.

  Lawrence huffed. “Anyway, Al wasn’t bullshitting you. He did go missing. Turns out he was out here because he’d gone to pick up a friend, a secret lover. The boyfriend of the secret lover confirmed it. It’s quite an interesting story, really.”

  “And I’m sure we can read all about it in your book,” said Ted. “Is that what this is? Trying to make a sale?”

  “Well—no…”

  “What do you want?” snapped Heather. She was sick of his annoying voice and sick of this damn place. Ready to get to the house. This asshole was purposely holding them up.

  “You’re not going to be welcomed here,” he said. “Hell, I’m not welcomed here, either, so I can speak from experience that it might not be a good time for you.”

  “A little late for that,” said Ted.

  Lawrence shrugged a shoulder. The stack of Styrofoam containers made squeaking sounds. “I’m just the messenger, and, believe it or not, I’m just trying to do a good deed. Totally against my character, if you knew me.” Another shrug. “And now I’m out. But I can practically guarantee we’ll see each other again.”

  Walking with his chin up, he headed for a large white van on the other side of Shaun’s SUV.

  “I feel like I stepped off the spaceship in Pluto,” said Ted.

  “You’re not the only one,” agreed Steph.

  “Now that that’s over with, let’s get on the road,” said Shaun. “I don’t ever want to see this place again.”

  Heather

  Leaning forward, resting his forearms on the steering wheel, Shaun drove. Occasionally, he would look out the window.

  Debbie turned, her lips tight. It looked as if she wanted to say something. Instead, she turned her gaze to the window beside her.