“Oh. Um, what do you think?”
Detective Smith looked thoughtfully at Brandon, and then shifted his gaze towards Crystal. “I think no matter what happens to the little girls, these families, and these kids, won’t stay close.”
“Why not?”
“I think they’ll move away, and forget it ever happened for the most part.”
“Forget? No way!” Marcus exclaimed. “That was too... too…”
“Too unbelievable?”
“Exactly.”
“Marcus, funny thing is, people have a tendency to forget the unbelievable things, because, frankly, they aren’t believable. We either change or forget the memories altogether.”
“You think that’ll happen to them? It’ll just... vanish?”
“No, I think it’ll fade overtime. And by the time they’re my age, Michael, Crystal, Christian, and Brandon will just be names without faces.”
“Creepy…” Marcus said, gazing out of the window towards the Ohio River.
“Who knows,” Detective Smith concluded, “maybe we went through something like this, but we’ve wiped it away.”
“You mean I could be like a millionaire's son?” Marcus said, wide-eyed.
“Keep dreaming, buddy,” Detective Smith said, laughing.
Walking over to the coat racks, he pulled off a deep, black coat and slung it over his shoulders.
“Why do you wear that?” Marcus asked. “It’s freaking hot outside.”
Shrugging his shoulders, the detective answered, “I don’t know. Just a thing I do.”
Brandon turned around at that moment, and their eyes met for a few seconds. There was a fear in his eyes, a longing to be saved. Swallowing hard, the detective tried to ignore it. Crystal looked up as well, glaring at the detective with an inhumane fury. He tried to shake off the feeling of being watched, and tried to convince himself this would not be a choice he regretted. It was time to move on, time to move away. He would stop by the station, send in his resignation letter, and then off he would go.
Across Marcy, up Highway 62, through Hardy, and many, many miles away in a deep forest, which was just awakening with the sounds of nature’s life, sat an old lady by a creek. Her barren toes were dipped in the water, which swirled around, cleansing her of regrets, fears, passions, and pain. Flipping over a rock in her hand, she patted it softly, caressing the smooth surface.
Her voice, sounding young and peaceful more than ever before, hummed a depressing, slow melody that Mother had taught her, many years ago, when she was just a baby, and then just a toddler, and then almost a teenager.
“Sleep and rest, sleep in peace.
“Twenty years pass by at least.
“When they end, all will see
“Where we rest under the tree.”
It was a terrible day when Mother died. Tears had leaked down her cheeks while Mother sat, old and graying. She whispered her last words, instructing her where to go and what to do. She explained the purpose of life and told her of the evil of men.
“I’m not strong enough, Mother. I can’t,” she had cried, sobbing into her mother’s chest.
Stroking her hair, much younger and more vibrant then, Mother had whispered in her ear, “She has made me stronger.… She has made me us stronger.… She has made you stronger…”
Detective Smith got into his car, slamming the door shut behind him. The familiar smell and warmth greeting him was comforting, like an old friend that would never leave. Still, he saw in his mind’s eye the wish in Brandon’s eyes and the hate in Crystal’s. Shaking that image from his head, he tried to focus on the road ahead while he turned the key and his car’s engine roared to life, much like his own was.
Better adventures awaited outside of Hardy and Marcy. New things to see, new people to help. If all went well, he would never returned here.
In the hospital rooms, Lilly and Grace lay in parallel beds, machines beeping all around them. Above them, the lights were bright and unwavering, with sunshine streaming in through the windows. It was a brilliant day outside in Marcy, with glaring lights glinting off of the Ohio River. Outside in the waiting room, a doctor stood talking to the parents, telling them how Lilly and Grace were both improving rapidly, and certainly would be back to ship-shape health in no time. Brandon looked up hopefully at this, already imagining Grace returning to his everyday life. That would, at least, be one good thing to look forward to.
Beep…. Beep.… Beep…. Beep…. Beep.… Beep….
All of a sudden, both the girl’s eyes opened simultaneously. They stared without blinking at the ceiling overhead, not making a sound, not moving a muscle. The machines continued beeping, until those, as well, stopped.
Grace’s eyes remained open, but clouded over as her heart ceased to beat. Her fingers clenched, released, and sat deathly still on the bed.
Lilly’s eyes remained open until they, too, were glazed over. Her hands thrashed wildly and she let out a pitchy shriek, alerting everyone in the waiting room. While they tried to budge open the door, which somehow had gotten stuck, her head smacked around against the bed posts, red hair flying and lips continuing to emit hoarse squeals.
Then, it all stopped, and she lay there, her lips open in a scream, adorable curls left unmoving, pretty, green eyes still staring wide open at the ceiling. And, in that instant, Nicole Walker lost her only remaining child.
When the doctor smashed against the door hard enough, it finally burst open. Everything was silent. No machines beeped, no girls screamed, and not even a fly buzzed around the room.
Nicole Walker began to cry for the first time in four heartbreaking weeks.
Epilogue
Detective Smith took one last sip of his bitter, nasty tea. Setting it down, he stared curiously at the man across from him, who was glancing about open-mouthed, not believing what he had just heard, and yet having no doubt that it was entirely true. After all, he, Steven, had been there for the first half of those events until the chief sent him to California.
“Now you see why I had you come meet me early in the day. A story like that takes a long time to tell,” Detective Smith finished, a calm smile spread across his face.
Indeed, outside the sun was beginning to set behind the buildings of Hardy, which had grown since the last time he was here, way back in 1995. Many things had changed since then, with nearly all of the families he knew moving away. It seemed like every time the catastrophe of missing children occurred, a large turnover in the people making up Hardy’s small population resulted in a new batch of unwary, uncaring townspeople, who soon would face that danger all for themselves.
“It’s a beautiful town,” he said, talking more to himself than to Steven, who was still scratching at the thinning hair on his head, blinking rapidly and trying to make sense of it all. “Quite a beautiful town.” Still a beautiful town.
In the diner, only a few people remained sitting, eating their late meals or talking about the times. Every waitress had whispered at some point throughout that day about the two men sitting there at the table, talking alone in hushed voices. One seemed very nervous, while the other appeared confident but weary.
Lines marked the once vibrant face, with eyes that glowed less brightly and older than their actual age, glancing lazily at everything, as if he had seen it all before. His old, black coat was ragged and dirty, having long ago ceased to think of itself as belonging to a police detective, because it no longer did. Was he still a detective? Well, of course. Nobody truly stops being one. That was beside the point, though.
“We’ve both gotten older,” he said to Steven, who snapped out of his haze, staring at Detective Smith in both amazement and nervousness. “Much older. Although I like to think of myself as the Indiana Jones, Harrison Ford-type of old guy. Remember when those first three movies came out? What a franchise.”
Steven finally spoke up, ignoring the rhetorical question his old friend had just posed. “Why did you tell me this... this horrible story? Why did you make me come all the wa
y from California, where I was just beginning to be happy?”
“To give you nightmares, of course,” said Detective Smith with a laugh.
“That’s not funny,” Steven growled. “I... I was happy. Really happy. Why do you want to ruin that?”
Detective Smith took on a serious gaze, looking Steven right in the eyes. “Neither of us can be happy until she’s beaten. I know somewhere, deep down, you had to know how it ended. You needed to understand.”
“What I need to understand,” Steven growled in a similarly annoyed tone, “is why you dragged me all the way back to this hole in the ground, this dot on the map, to give me nightmares.”
“This ‘hole’ was your home, Steven. Still is. I left, too, after it all ended, and forgot just as much as you. I was happy, living life how I wanted with who I wanted, but then I came back here. Not for long, just for a little thing. And now I’m stuck.”
“Why’re you stuck here? Just leave. Like I’m going to.”
“No,” Detective Smith said grimly, “I can’t.”
“And why not?”
Detective Smith gulped, showing a hint of that youthfulness passed away through years of work and turmoil. For a second, his eyes looked sorrowful, before regaining their steely, emotionless manner. “You don’t need to know. I just need you to write this story down somewhere; keep it fresh. If anything happens to me, tell everybody. Maybe that’ll break the cycle. Maybe it’ll set us free. Maybe they’ll be warned. Or maybe I’ll fail.”
“But why would anything happen to you?” With a suspicious glare, he added, “And why can’t you write it down? I mean, I know your handwriting is bad but now they’ve got comp-”
“I’m going after her, Steven.”
“Wait, what? Why?” All accusations were wiped from Steven’s mind.
Detective Smith wiped his forehead with a hand, before continuing slowly, in a dark tone, “She has them. She has all of them.”
“No,” Steven gasped. “I’m sorry, Daniel. I didn’t know. I thought they were just-”
“Other people’s? Even if they were, I’m going after her. This has to stop.”
“Let me help you. Two is better than one. We can-”
“No, Steven. This is my battle. I need you to keep what happened as a record. If anything happens to me, expose this evil. Maybe it’ll stop. Maybe it won’t. I don’t know, but I have to try and beat her. I don’t have any other choice.”
“Daniel, I can help-”
“No. This is my battle.”
With that, Detective Smith pushed out his seat, which grated noisily against the floor, while he glared at anyone who dared to challenge his gaze. Turning around, he walked to the diner door, but just before he opened it turned around and his eyes wandered towards Steven one last time, who was racking over something in his brain. Finally, Steven looked up, and their eyes met.
Simultaneously, they nodded to each other. Each knew what was going to happen, and where it was about to occur. Daniel was right, Steven decided silently; he had no other choice.
Pushing open the door, Detective Smith walked outside into the fair weather of Hardy, which bristled with excitement over the coming of July, when new things always seem to appear. Celebrations, parties, dread of the new school year; July was jam-packed. This year was different, though. The adventures came a month earlier, as they did every twenty years.
Glancing down casually at a newspaper, he saw the headline blaring out about some new law the Marcy city council had passed. What really caught his eye was the short line just above that, declaring the date:
May 26, 2015.
We sure have gotten older, he thought solemnly. But I guess She has too. I hope that’s a good thing.
Steven watched him walk away, longing to help and yet not knowing what to say. It was terrible to be helpless and hopeless. After nodding to the waitress, who gave him a toxic look, he left the diner, heading for the hotel where he was staying.
Better get to work, he thought.
Ten minutes later, he was sitting at the desk in his room, looking out of the window around Hardy, which held a familiar sense of home, and still the sickening look of a city that will never stop growing and a hometown that refuses to stay yours. Sunshine gleamed onto his face, a momentary beam of warmth, before that too was overcast by clouds, and the whole city appeared less friendly. Dusty, rundown, and still trying to grow; it reminded him too much of Marcy.
Unfolding his laptop, he opened a new document and looked at the screen, thinking for what words to say, and how he should begin. There was so much emotion and memory in what he was being asked to write. So much grief and so much joy. And despite it all, the words instantly jumped to mind, and he had no doubt that it was right; those words remained truthful. Detective Smith had knew it, the kids had known it, now he knew it too. She Watches Always.
BONUS
To You Awesome Reader,
Thank you so much for reading my book! If you would like to read more of my work, check out my Amazon Author Page or my account on Goodreads. Also, I’d love to get to know you more. My email is [email protected]. If you message me, I promise I’ll always. Simple as that. And if you’re not comfortable messaging me yet, check out my blog, davidkummer.com, and that’ll hopefully make me seem more like a friend, because that’s what I want to be in the end. Friends. I write the best book I can to entertain you, and hopefully don’t charge too much. I’ll talk about anything: sports, politics, favorite foods (mmm).
Also, if you review any of my books published and then email me at davidkumer7...bla bla bla, I will send you a copy of a free, unique short story that you won’t get anywhere else. I have it in a pdf form at the moment, but if you ask I can change it’s form to kindle-adaptable or whatever you want. And for every book I write, I have a different story, so I can promise you’ll never get a repeat.
Until next time, friend!
Oh, and if you’re in the reader’s version of the “show-hole” and you liked this book, I suggest you check out Mark Edwards. He’s my favorite author, as of the moment. I’ll keep you updated on how that changes, or you could just check my blog.
Audios! Keep the lights on tonight.
Yours Truly,
David
Without further ado...
As Trees Turned Away: A scary COLLECTION of Thrilling Short Stories
Massacre Max: Part 1
Lights flickering in the darkness, barely visible even when they were working; this was the first sight I was met with of Hawken Inn. Quite a dreadful place to stay, if you ask me, but no other choice presented itself. Some things are worth staying for, and some even dying. And sometimes, you cannot leave because outside the locked door is a man who wants to kill you.
It was a miserably cold night when my car broke down on the side of the road. October, just a week before Halloween, and already it was getting close to the forties. Ridiculous, especially for me, who was living in South Florida only a year ago, where it hardly ever got below the seventies, no matter the time of year. My car, which had moved with me, was getting up there in age, and so, of course, it decided to break down at the worst time possible. On the side of a lonely road, it started sputtering to a stop. Reluctantly, I veered to the side of the road, far enough that a large car could easily pass without having to switch lanes. Thank goodness the road was on a downhill slope so I was able to get over. I was not worried about a semi truck coming through here, since there had been no other headlights than my own for dozens of miles.
The road was slanted more than I had expected, and unintentionally my worn-down vehicle rolled into a ditch on the side of the road. Striking the steering wheel with my fist, the horn went off loudly and made me jump.
“Dumb thing,” I muttered as I pulled the door handle. At least I had not run into any trees or telephone poles.
Opening the door to the cold air outside, I pulled my coat tightly around me and trudged up the road, the full moon high overhead in the cloudless sky.
After about fifteen minutes of walking, I saw lights up ahead. Getting closer, I could make out a few flickering letters. The last three spelled Inn so I began to veer in that direction. I could stay in there and spend the night; then I could call the mechanics in the morning to come fix my car, whatever the problem was with it.
The inn was right on the side of the road, so it was not long before I stood inside and began to walk over to the desk. Reaching it, I asked them if any rooms were open for me to stay the night in.
“Room 210,” the desk attendant answered me without looking up from her cell-phone.
One quick money transaction and a few minutes later, I was still waiting for her to hand me the key. After shifting awkwardly a few times, I finally asked, “Can I have the key?”
“Oh yeah, sure. Whatever, dude.”
She handed me the key to my room, so I grabbed it and walked away, irritated but just ready to go sleep, even if it was in yet another hotel bed. I had, after all, been on the road for three days, sleeping in any hotels or inns I could find. This was, by far, the most stressful work trip I had ever been on, and for the amount of money I was being paid, or lack of it, my nerves were stressed much too far.
Throwing open the door of my room, I threw my bags on the only bed and looked around. No television, no couch; just a small fridge, a bedside table with a digital clock on top of it, a closet, and a bathroom. I grabbed some shorts and a t-shirt, my toothbrush and toothpaste, and snatched a towel from the closet, where they were stored; I still have no idea why they were put in there.
About half an hour later, I laid my head down on a pillow to sleep, looking forward to a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, I could be out of this dump by noon and on the way to my destination, as long as the mechanics could get my car figured out. Judging by the first impressions this hotel had made of the town, I would not be surprised if tomorrow night ended the same as this one.
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