by Amy Cross
Suddenly there's a loud bang from inside the drum. I pause, fighting the urge to turn and run. Seconds later, there's another bang, and this time the noise is more insistent. It sounds as if someone is inside, trying to get my attention. I stand, frozen in place, as the banging continues, getting more and more desperate. Staring at the metal side of the drum, I try to calm my nerves by remembering that there's clearly an animal in there. It's a fox, or maybe a bird. Every inch of my soul is telling me to turn and get out of here, to go and get Bill, but I'm determined to face this alone. The last thing I want is to have Bill come and open the lid and show me that there's an injured crow or something inside. I have to face this fear.
Carefully, I start climbing up the steps by the drum. Soon I'm at the top, staring at the lid. The banging sound is intermittent, but it's definitely still in there. I reach down and open the clasps that are keeping the lid down. Half expecting some kind of creature to suddenly burst the lid open, I wait for a moment, taking a series of deep breaths as I prepare to open the drum and see what's inside. I steady myself, to make sure I won't fall if something rushes out, and finally I grip the sides of the lid. The banging is getting more and more intense, and I can feel my heart thumping in my chest. Finally, I move the lid aside.
The banging stops immediately.
The drum is empty.
I stay exactly where I am. I don't understand what just happened, and I feel like suddenly I'm going to realize that I've missed something. That banging noise was so incessant, so loud, that I can't possibly have imagined it. Besides, Bill heard it as well, back in the town square. Nevertheless, I'm now staring down into an empty drum, and there's absolutely nothing to explain the noise. Nothing... except air pressure. Maybe I'm just desperate to come up with an explanation, but it occurs to me that maybe the pressure inside the drum had become unstable and was causing the lid to vibrate slightly, or maybe a loose part of the drum was banging against the brackets that hold it in position. Just because I can't see any kind of loose or moving part, that doesn't mean it couldn't have happened. In fact, it's the only logical explanation, which means it must be what happened.
I climb back down the steps and lean the lid against the wall. My hands are shaking, and I can't help looking back up at the drum and wondering what really caused the banging sound I've been hearing during the day. No matter how hard I try to tell myself that there must have been a rational explanation, in the back of my mind there's a feeling that I'm wrong.
When I get back to the main square, Bill's nowhere to be found. I call out for him, but there's no reply. Walking to the hotel, I head inside and check the downstairs rooms. It's clear that he's off somewhere, looking for gas and probably having a great time. I guess I was wrong to doubt him. Just as it's easy to get carried away with the idea that there might be ghosts, it's also easy to get carried away with the idea that someone would deliberately sabotage a truck just to keep us in Devil's Briar for a few more days. In both cases, I took a smattering of information and jumped to a decidedly illogical conclusion. The old Bill might have done something to damage the truck, but the new Bill seems truly honest. I guess the accident changed the way he sees the world, and now I have to change the way I see him. It's not going to be easy, though; after all, he still stares at me with that same face, the same face that used to lie to me all the time. The same face that tries not to look too disappointed by our constant failure to conceive a child. Maybe this marriage can survive if I just let go of the past.
"Any luck?" Bill calls out, entering the square from behind one of the buildings.
"Nothing," I reply. "You?"
He shakes his head. "Don't worry," he continues. "I'm still convinced we'll find something. A place like this has to have had a few gas cans knocking about."
"Unless they took them all with them when they left," I point out.
"It's still worth looking," he insists.
"I know," I tell him. I pause, not sure whether to tell him about my little encounter with the drum. "Actually," I say, deciding that it's best to be honest, "I kind of got involved in a little hunt of my own. You know that banging sound we heard? I found out where it was coming from."
"Where?" he asks, lighting up a cigarette.
"There's an old pharmacy in one of the other streets," I tell him. "Out the back, there's some kind of workhouse with an old metal drum. I don't quite get what happened, but it seems like the lid got stuck and created a vacuum, and the sides of the drum kept expanding and contracting. That's what caused the bangs." As I say the words, I realize how ridiculous the whole thing sounds. That banging noise wasn't the sound of metal expanding and contracting; it was a deliberate knocking sound.
"Figures," Bill replies, taking a drag on his cigarette. "I told you the human mind can play tricks. A place like this might as well have been designed to fuck with our heads. I even..." He pauses, before smiling and shrugging. "It's totally understandable."
"Did something happen?" I ask, suddenly realizing that maybe Bill has had his own strange experience while we were separated.
He shakes his head.
"You didn't get spooked out by something, did you?" I ask.
"Not a chance," he replies. There's a brief pause, and eventually he looks over and sees that I'm staring at him. "I just took a look around, like you," he says, somewhat unconvincingly. It's pretty clear that something got his attention, but it's not likely that he'll admit to it. To Bill, something like that is a kind of weakness, and he's not the kind of guy who'll admit to being - in his own eyes - weak.
"Did you find any..." I pause, not sure whether I want to know the answer. "Did you find any more bodies?"
"No," he replies. "You?"
I shake my head.
"At some point," he continues, "we're going to have to take a look inside some of the residences." He pauses. "I'm not sure I'm too keen on doing that. I've got a feeling people might have died here."
"Give me that," I say, indicating his cigarette. Taking it in my hands, I enjoy a quick drag before passing it back to him. I don't usually smoke, but under stress I tend to relapse a little. "I can handle one more night here," I say eventually, figuring that I need to be pragmatic, "but after that we have to start thinking about alternative plans. If we haven't found any gas, I want to get moving tomorrow. Deal?"
"Deal," he replies, and I can see from the look in his eyes that he means it. Something's changed since I last saw Bill a couple of hours ago. My experience with the drum was creepy enough, but I get the feeling that Bill might have had his own strange encounter.
"I guess it's sandwiches for dinner, then," I say, sighing as I turn to look at the hotel. The thought of sleeping in there for a second night is kind of horrifying. Then again, I didn't actually get any sleep last night, so I figure I shouldn't have too much trouble this time. It's only for one night, and I'm damn well going to make sure I check every inch of the room before I even try to sleep. "I'm sorry about earlier," I add, turning back to Bill. "I should never have doubted you."
He smiles. "Are we friends again?"
"Friends," I reply, as we walk up the steps that lead to the hotel's main door.
"I guess we should probably remember to check under the bed tonight," he says, stubbing out his cigarette and throwing the butt to the ground. "Just in case... Well, you know, just in case there's anything there that shouldn't be?"
We head inside. In a strange way, I feel a lot better. Having opened the lid of the drum and seen that there was nothing inside, I feel as if I confronted my fear. Sure, I don't know what caused the banging sound, but I can at least accept that it wasn't a ghost. Devil's Briar is a spooky place and, like Bill said, the human mind is capable of joining the dots between seemingly random events in such a way as to create the impression of supernatural activity. It's easy to get freaked out, and to start believing that strange forces are all around; after that, it's not much effort for the brain to start hallucinating. But Devil's Briar is a ghost town in name onl
y. It's an empty, eerie place, and it's a place filled with mystery. While Bill can be a jerk, I envy him the ability to block out all this crap and just focus on what's right in front of him. I wish I could do the same, and ignore the fact that the banging on the drum sounded like someone trying to get out.
Chapter Seven
1925.
"She was a good girl," says David Haynes, standing before Gilly's coffin. It's late in the afternoon, and the entire town has gathered in the square to mourn the passing of the poor child. Many people have tears in their eyes, for Gilly was well known around Devil's Briar as a pleasant, happy girl who loved nothing more than to play in the streets. Her passing has come as a terrible shock to the community, particularly as word has spread of the manner in which she was killed. The only consolation can be that her death, although horrific, was hopefully at least quick.
"I'm sure everyone will join me in commending poor Gilly's soul to God," I say, stepping forward when I realize that David is in no fit state to speak to the assembled crowd. As Mayor of Devil's Briar, I have had to speak at memorial events before, and it is never more difficult than when the deceased is a child. "At a time like this," I continue, "it is difficult to find the right words to express our sorrow. We must mark the passing of a beautiful and happy young girl who undoubtedly had a wonderful future ahead of her, and it is inevitable that we find ourselves wondering why God would let such a terrible thing happen." I pause, trying to think of the right thing to say. Glancing up at the huge cross that towers over us, I realize that I have no answers. Why did the Lord allow Gilly Haynes to die such an early and horrible death? "We..." I pause, the words drying on my lips. "We..."
A few feet away, Gilly's mother Lilith breaks down crying. As I watch her husband comfort her, I try to think of words that will ease the grief of the town.
"Such a shame about old Lilith," Lawrence Evans whispers in my ear suddenly. "I fucked her a few times when her husband wasn't around. Not bad in the sack."
I pause, staring out at the crowd. How am I supposed to go on speaking, when I have such a coarse and vulgar distraction ringing in my ears? Glancing over to the side, I see Victoria and her uncle watching me. Victoria's face is filled with sorrow at the fate that has befallen young Gilly; her uncle's expression is harder to read, and he looks a little stern, as if he does not entirely approve of how events are unfolding.
"I'll fuck Victoria up the ass, you know," Evans says. "I'll part her cheeks and stick my -"
"Stop it!" I say firmly, turning around. "Stop it at once!" There's no-one behind me, of course. After a moment, I hear Evans start to laugh, before I turn back to face the crowd. Sweat is pouring down my face and I feel as if I have quite lost my place. "I do apologize," I say. "Please, give me a moment to gather my thoughts."
"Allow me," says a voice to one side, and I turn to find Mr. Paternoster has come over to assist. Astonished, I step aside.
"That poor woman's grief is unbearable," Victoria whispers as I join her. Suddenly, she links her arm with mine. I have no idea why she does this, or what it means, but it feels rather wonderful.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Paternoster says as he starts to address the crowd. "The sound you hear is the sound of a woman who has lost her child. It is the pure, unfiltered grief of a woman who has been dealt life's cruelest blow. No words can express such sorrow. Perhaps, for many of us, it seems wrong to express grief in such a way, but I would ask all of you to take pause for a moment, and to listen to this woman's true, honest humanity, and her almost primal cries of anguish for her dear child."
No-one speaks. The only sound is coming from Lilith Haynes; kneeling in the dirt, she wails and moans, her sobbing cries filling the town square.
"Lilith," Mr. Paternoster says after a moment. "Is there anything you'd like to say?"
There's no way, of course, that a woman could possibly be expected to address such a crowd. Mr. Paternoster clearly doesn't know how to handle the situation. Why, asking a woman to talk sensibly about grief is like asking a duck to give a lecture on mathematics. It's simply not possible. Women have their place, and that place does not involve oration. Taking a deep breath, I step forward to address the crowd once again.
"Thank you," Lilith says suddenly, looking out over the crowd.
I pause, and Mr. Paternoster puts a hand on my shoulder, as if to hold me back and ensure that Lilith can speak. Were we not in public, I would admonish him for such presumption.
"My daughter was a wonderful little girl," Lilith continues, her voice frail and weak. "She was only seven years old, but she lived a good and happy life. I don't know why God chose to take her, and I suppose I'll never understand. But one thing I do know is that God has taken her into His heart, and we shall all be reunited one day in His love." She starts to weep again, and her husband takes her in his arms.
"Fucking whore," Evans says.
I turn, still expecting to find him standing behind me.
"Are you okay, Mayor Caster?" Mr. Paternoster asks.
"Yes," I say, feeling a little flustered. "Yes, I'm quite fine." I watch as the crowd starts to disperse. I'd planned to address them once again, but they seem to have decided that the memorial service is over. "That was a very touching moment," I continue as Mr. Paternoster and I watch David and Lilith Haynes tending to their daughter's coffin. "I must admit, I was quite surprised by the way in which Mrs. Haynes was able to address the crowd. One does not automatically think that a woman is capable of such eloquence."
Mr. Paternoster smiles. "In my experience," he says, "there is far less difference between men and women than is often supposed. In fact, because they are so seldom allowed to speak in public, I find women have often spent longer contemplating their thoughts in private, which makes them particularly powerful speakers when they get the opportunity."
"Perhaps," I reply, a little confused. I still find it hard to believe that a woman could speak to a crowd in such a way. Women have certain skills and abilities, but in many other ways they are generally inferior to men.
"The poor woman," Victoria says as she joins us. It's clear from the look in her eyes that she grieves for the dead child, and that she is deeply affected by the pain she has witnessed today.
"You know what I want?" Lawrence Evans sneers. "I want to see Lilith Haynes fuck Victoria. I want to see them bang titties as they writhe naked on the sheets. I want to see Lilith reach her tongue into -"
"That's enough!" I say loudly, determined to drown out Evans' voice. After a moment, I realize that both Mr. Paternoster and Victoria are looking at me with concern in their eyes. They must think I've quite lost my mind. "I'm sorry," I say. "I'm afraid this has been a very trying day, and I'm not entirely sure that..." I pause, taking a deep breath in an attempt to compose myself. How can I possibly explain my behavior? "You must accept my apologies," I continue. "I'm sure you can't quite understand, being strangers here, but the death of that little girl has had a profound impact upon the whole community, and as the head of that community I feel the loss all the more strongly. I remember... I remember when little Gilly was born, and I watched her grow up. It will take quite some time for the people of Devil's Briar to come to terms with the grief we feel at this deeply troubling time."
"The death of a child is always shocking," Mr. Paternoster replies. "One does not necessarily have to be a long-standing member of a community to feel such sorrow."
"Come on, old man," Evans says. "Victoria's standing right next to you. Twenty-two years old and ready for her first fucking. Touch her. You're a man. You want her. Take what you want. Squeeze her firm tits. Reach under her dress and slip her panties down. She'll act shocked, but I bet you she'll like it. She'll get all wet down below."
"Thank you!" says Lilith Haynes rushing over to Mr. Paternoster. Shaking him by the hand, she smiles through her tears. "What you said just now was so beautiful, and so true. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to speak about my poor dear daughter."
"Think nothing o
f it," Mr. Paternoster replies. "Once again, you have my deepest condolences, and of course those of my niece."
Lilith smiles at Victoria and myself, before hurrying back to the coffin. It's quite extraordinary, but in her fevered state of mind she quite forgot to thank me for my own contribution this afternoon. Does the woman, in her grief, forget my position in this town? I am the Mayor of Devil's Briar, and as such I demand respect. Now is not the time to make an issue of her rudeness, but I will be sure to speak to David Haynes in the next couple of days and voice my concerns about his wife's behavior.
"Forget that bitch," Evans whispers. "Her pussy stinks of fish anyway."
"I feel I must return to my office," I say, finding it harder and harder to push the voice out of my mind. "There is a lot of work to get done. A town such as Devil's Briar cannot simply run itself. I can assure you that the role of Mayor is about more than just standing up and making speeches. I must attend to a great many vital functions."
"Allow me to walk with you," Mr. Paternoster says. We turn and walk past the coffin, with Victoria following a little way behind. "I believe," Mr. Paternoster continues, "that we were to have had a meeting earlier today, Mayor Caster. Obviously it can wait, but was there anything of any urgency that you wished to discuss?"
I glance back at Victoria. I had intended to ask Mr. Paternoster whether he would consent to the prospect of Victoria becoming my wife; I had hoped to explain to him all that I have to offer, and I had genuinely believed that by this evening I would be engaged to be married to this wonderful, enthralling young lady. Now, however, such thoughts seem far from possible. This is certainly not the appropriate time to have such a conversation.