Squatting down, it took him a few minutes, but he finally managed to clear the ditch. Smacking his hands together, he admired his handiwork, and found it odd. This ditch seemed uncannily like a grave. The side and top lengths were perfectly even and parallel. Not even most grave diggers could make a hole in the ground as neat and situated as this one with just a shovel. And there was less dirt than expected either; so little, it gave him the chills. Somebody took meticulous time with this hole, carefully extracting the dirt and not spilling any into it. Needed all of the room possible, apparently.
“See. Nothing’s here.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing,” a voice replied.
His heart froze for a second, and he gulped down the thought of turning around. Something was back there, only inches away. He could feel the hot breath on his neck, and the presence was overwhelming. Maybe it was one of the kids. Please be one of the kids.
When a finger traced down his neck, sending shivers up his spine towards it, his chest began to heave, and he hyperventilated with the sheer fear he felt. It was like nothing ever before, knowing he was in real danger with a real person really just right behind him for real. There was a gun on his side, why not just grab it?
As he moved a hand towards it, a cold, clammy hand came up to rest on his hip, just over the metal weapon, his last hope.
“You won’t need that. After all, there’s nothing here,” a dreadful, slithering voice said from behind him.
That same hand reached and grabbed his gun, stroking the barrel against his side. Now, his entire body was stiff, just praying it would all end and those policemen would get here soon. How far had he gone into the forest? It had not seemed long, but the trees here were thicker and the leaves darker. Hardly any sunshine was visible here.
“Goodbye.”
With one shove, those hands pushed him, and he fell into the ditch. To his ghastly horror, his body fit perfectly as if in a grave. Because it was a grave. Was he going to be buried alive? He rolled over onto his back, determined to get out of this hole.
Before he could react and try to get up, a hooded, long gray-haired figure raised the gun to point at him. With a bang, a single bullet went flying through the air, penetrating directly into his kneecap. He knew that was a non-lethal but terribly painful and unbearably crippling shot. But none of those thoughts were in his head right now.
He screamed, higher and louder than ever before. Sheer, deathly pain shot through him, touching every fiber. He continued to scream as the dirt filled into the hole around his head, and his muffled screams kept going even when his entire head was covered, despite his arms flailing around, trying to free himself. The dirt clogged his mouth, and his eyes ached and itched. Everything in him wanted to break free, but the weight was growing, and the pain was too. She had jumped down next to him in the hole, and now pressed one foot on his injured knee. He would rather die than feel the excruciating agony that surged into him and bit at every piece of his being like an army of needles or ants. Instead, he just screamed.
He screamed as a knife cut open his shirt, before making a few, key incisions on his chest area, slowly ripping open the flesh down his abdomen. Muffled, barely audible screams continued as she took of his shoes, one by one snipping his toes, until they sat in a bloody pile between his legs. His fingers were the next to go, although she had to hold his flailing arms down. Still, he screamed, although they grew weaker as the blood loss took its toll and the air disappeared, when she stabbed him quite purposefully in the most painful places. She continued still, the knife flashing back and forth across his body, slicing and stabbing and wreaking pain, such indescribable, most terrible pain.
Ten minutes later, terribly pleased and disgustingly satisfied, she stood up out of the hole and walked away into the forest.
“Nothing’s here, he thinks. Nothing’s here.”
27. Hostages
“So when were your kids supposed to be back?” Detective Smith asked with a weary expression.
He was in the Moore house, a large, two-story dwelling, mostly white and with a typical, black-shingled roof. There was a small attic above the second floor, with a pull-down ladder, and a large, stone fireplace, but besides those characteristics it was like any house. Mr. and Mrs. Moore sat across from him on the black sofa, Mr. Moore still with a briefcase resting against his leg. Detective Smith had a pen in one hand, a clipboard with papers in the others, and was sitting on a hard, wooden chair.
He had been on his way to Indianapolis when his wife called urgently, telling him that the kids were not back yet. They were supposed to return sometime that morning, and he told her to calm down, that maybe they would be back later in the afternoon. His wife responded that she had gone over to the Walker house that morning after he left, and Nicole Walker said that the kids had gone to Brandon’s house. Apparently, she did not know that Brandon was missing, as well, and Mrs. Moore pleaded with her husband to come home. She said that everything was scaring her, and with the disappearances she wanted to call in a missing person’s report. He reluctantly obliged, calling his boss and saying he had a family emergency. By the time he got home, Detective Smith already was sitting in his living room, talking with his wife. Angry, he had stormed into the house, but seeing the tears on his wife’s face and the tired eyes of the detective, his ferocity subsided.
“They were supposed to be back this morning,” Mr. Moore answered, holding his wife with one arm around her, trying to comfort her. Still, she continued sobbing, repeating at times the names of her two children.
“And has either of them run off before?”
“No, Christian and Crystal are perfect kids, or about as perfect as they come in the teenage years. Never in trouble, always friendly; that’s why none of this makes any sense.”
Detective Smith nodded and wrote something down on the paper he had fastened to a clipboard. “You’re aware of the disappearances recently and the cornfield fire?”
“Of course,” Mr. Moore replied. “Brandon was one of their best friends. Christian, Crystal, Michael, and him; those four were inseparable. Hanging out around town, spending the night at each other’s house,”
“And that’s where they were? At Michael’s?”
“Yes, we let them stay the night for one or two days, hoping it would do all of them some good. Especially Michael. He was really torn up about it last time I saw him.”
“And when was that, may I ask?”
Mr. Moore looked at the ceiling thoughtfully, counting something on his fingers. “About a week ago, I think.”
“Before the fire and Brandon went missing?”
“Yes, before, so I couldn’t imagine how he must have been that day. I didn’t go to work that day, either. Spent most of the day around town, talking to folks and hearing all the rumors. Patricia here dropped the kids off at Michael’s.” She let out a wail, and Mr. Moore worked to comfort her, saying it was alright and not her fault.”
“It’s not your fault, Mrs. Moore. The chief doesn’t want me telling you this, so don’t spread it around, but something bad’s going on here in Hardy. He won’t admit it, and sent my partner out West for looking into it, but I know.”
“What do you think is going on?” Mr. Moore asked. Mrs. Moore looked up curiously.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that much. But earlier today there was an officer who called in three bikes by the side of the road, out near the forest. Can you imagine any reason those three kids would have gone out there?”
“Well, Christian was in a boy scout troop, once. They camped out there.”
“My poor baby!” Mrs. Moore cried.
Detective Smith nodded to the husband. “Thank you. I’ll head out that way myself, now. You two don’t worry. I’ll get your kids back, and everyone else’s.”
While Detective Smith walked over to the door, Mr. Moore jumped and came over to him. Whispering, he asked, “Could I... I mean... can I come along? I wanna be there; I wanna help.”
Det
ective Smith looked at him seriously, shaking his head. “No. You can help here. Hold you and your wife together. Don’t worry about the kids; I’ll worry about them.”
“But- but I can help!”
“Here. You can help here.”
With that, Detective Smith walked out of their house, shutting the door behind him.
*********************************
By the river, the sunrise looked spectacular, just barely visible through the trees. Rays of brilliance shot through the branches and twisted around trunks. Birds were chirping merrily, while smaller animals peeked out of their homes, chattering about the strange people walking through the forests, when visitors were seldom seen.
Down near the riverbed, three teenagers slept quietly, dirt caking their faces and grime behind their ears. The second night had been much less adventurous than the first, and they spent nearly the entire evening finding a tree they could climb. Finally, they found the perfect one, a short, thick-trunked tree with many branches, so that Michael did not have to repeat his athletic jump to grab hold of it.
While Christian and Crystal had relative ease gaining a foothold and making their way up it, Michael struggled mightily, using only one leg. His ankle smacked hard against the trunk one time, making him almost pass out from the sharp needles it stabbed through his body, but after the pain subsided he managed to get onto a branch, where he quickly fell asleep. A few branches higher than him, Christian and Crystal also managed to find rest, spending that night with aching backs and numb shoulders from the awkward resting position.
Now, early in the morning, the sunrise glared straight into their eyes. Blinking furiously, Christian woke up, immediately feeling the soreness pressing all over his back like a tight shirt that was too small. He let out a sound, complaining about the pain, and it woke up Crystal, who started giggling until she, too, began to whine.
“What’s going on up there?” Michael called.
“How’d you sleep? It freaking hurts!” Christian yelled back with more than a hint of jealousy.
“Hey, I’m like two branches down. No need to shout.”
“Michael, how did you even walk the next day?” Crystal asked, stretching her shoulders back and immediately regretting it.
“I don’t know, but you two won’t have anyone to help you walk.”
“Yeah, well, neither will you,” Christian said. “Hard enough today without dragging you along.”
“That’s fine; I’ll manage,” Michael called back carelessly, feeling at least rested, even if every part of his body still hurt.
“No, you will not!” Crystal exclaimed.
“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’ll get a stick or something.”
“What’s that gonna do?”
Christian answered her, “Help him walk, duh.”
“That’s not nearly good enough!”
“What are you his mom?”
While they bickered pointlessly, Michael carefully made his way down the tree. When he got to the ground, his ankle screamed once again, so he rested against the tree, taking as much weight off of it as possible. Scanning the surrounding area, he saw a large, thick branch a few feet away, just taller than him. Hopping over, he picked it up and jumped, using one foot, back to the tree. Gritting his teeth, he planted both feet on the ground, which cast him into excruciating agony, before swinging the branch like a bat at the tree.
A loud, cracking noise exploded, while Michael fell backward and the branch split in two.
“Michael!” Crystal shrieked.
“What the heck are you doing?” asked Christian.
Grinning up from the ground, where he was laying on his back, Michael held up one part of the tree branch, which had split perfectly in the middle. “Got my crutches.”
By the time they got walking down the river again, the sun was rising higher every minute it seemed. With water rustling by and the wind picking up speed, they strolled along, Michael still getting the hang of his makeshift crutches, Crystal halting every few minutes to stretch, and Christian in a permanent state of soreness, moving like a zombie as they went.
“How close is the bridge?” Michael asked, looking over to Christian.
“See for yourself.”
Crystal gasped, and Michael turned to look ahead of him.
There, up the river a ways, was a gigantic, stone bridge. From this far, it seemed like any other bridge, crossing over the river in a perfect arc, except that moss covered its sides and hung down like curtains from the top, forming a wall of secrecy. Trees were clustered together on the side they approached, while the opposite end was completely void of them. There seemed to be no signs of life on the stone curve, which looked a little odd the closer they got to it.
The stones were roughly laid, with cracks appearing all too often, and large holes staring out at them like dark, mysterious eyes. While the bridge did indeed cross the river, it was curved quite forcefully, giving the appearance of a semicircle whose ends had been squished together, until the top was about ready to crack in half.
“Why’re the trees like that?” Michael asked.
“Don’t know,” Christian answered. “Guess some dude chopped down the trees on one side when the village was still here.”
“I wanna cross over there,” Michael said. “Go across the river here and up the bridge on that side.”
“Why?” Crystal asked.
“I don’t like the look of those trees. Too close, too dark. I feel like if someone had to hide, they’d do it there.”
“We have weapons?” said Christian.
Crystal rolled her eyes. “If you wanna call them that.”
“Just go,” Michael said.
Shrugging his shoulders, Christian led the way across the river, which came up to their chests. Crystal shivered while they pressed across, and Michael wanted to put an arm around her, but he was even more occupied with not losing his balance. The sticks kept getting stuck in the muck and mud at the bottom of the river.
“Hold up,” he called when the other two got out of the riverbed and turned towards the bridge.
“Having trouble there?” Christian asked, laughing.
Michael did not laugh, he just forced himself to keep walking, eventually getting out of the river. Soaking wet once again, smelling like every foul thing you can find in a forest, and having trouble even simply moving, it became obvious to him that this adventure might all be for not. They had heart, and they had tried, but now this was it.
The sky overhead was beginning to cloud, covering the joyful sun. Michael felt the same way. Whatever pretend happiness and laughter they had shared, it was now covered by the daunting task at hand, and the real threat of a danger they could not name.
As they walked on and the other two talked quietly, he continued thinking, while all around him sprinkles were beginning to shower from the sky. That month of worrying, planning, and stressing had all led to this. All those tears he cried, those memories that haunted him, those moments engraved in his mind with burning terror and agony... it all ended here. At the bridge, he would meet the lady who took his sister.
This was the end.
Lilly.
“Guys,” Crystal said, interrupting his thoughts, “I think we should check under the bridge.”
By now, they were close enough to see clearly just how extensive the cracks were and how frequently the gaping holes of darkness dotted the bridge. Those curtains of moss were stretching down nearly to the water, which rustled by calm as ever, while ripples formed where the rain water touched it. Despite looking calm and composed, inside they were terrified of this structure, with its dark corners and hidden secrets. It was raining harder now, transforming the dirt into mud and leaving dots on the bridge.
“That thing looks like it’ll fall down any second!” Christian exclaimed. “I’m not going under there.”
“Crystal,” said Michael, “the picture was on the top. I wanna check that out first, and then we’ll go under.”
&nb
sp; She nodded while Christian looked at the two of them as if horns were growing from their ears. Ignoring his gaze, Michael trooped closer to the bridge, trying his hardest not to look at the daunting stones.
“This place scares me,” Crystal said.
“Same,” Michael agreed.
“You two realize going under that thing is insane?” Christian asked. “Like, we’re gonna die if we go under there.”
“Christian,” Michael addressed him, turning around, “if you say that again I’ll make you go first if we have to.”
He immediately silenced, and resorted himself to following his sister and Michael onto the stone.
Before they went onto the bridge, he handed them each a hammer, the half-shovel laying forgotten beside them. Everyone stared at each other, and they could all see the others were nervous. Sweat broke out on their foreheads and Christian’s lip shook like it always did when he was overly anxious.
Their leader turned around to face the trees, holding his pocket knife so tightly that his hand shook.
When Michael took the first step and felt the hardened stone underneath his bare foot, he could have sworn the entire thing was going to cave in. It felt unstable and shaky, despite its stone material. Even though it did not actually sway one way or the other, or do anything else to acknowledge their presence, Michael thought the stones were slowly falling when he took another step. A minute later, when he stood at the crest of the arc, he was certain this was not safe.
“I’m going,” Michael said, pointing to the end of the stone, where it met with dirt and many trees, all bundled together and impenetrable to the naked eye.
“But we can’t see you in there,” Christian said, water dripping from his glasses. “It’s too dark and there’s too many leaves and stuff. At least take a hammer. All you have is that knife.”
“I’m fine. And ’m still going,” said Michael with a determined look on his face. “You two stay here.”
“Let me come,” Crystal said, running up to him.
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