The Return

by Anthony M. Strong

  “It’s this one, for sure.” Ben pointed. “Look, see that ridge there, running down the right side, it looks a bit like a trunk, and that hollow could be the eye.”

  “Boy, you sure did have a vivid imagination as a child.” Sally scooted over to the rock. “So what now?”

  “Now we dig I guess.” Ben strode over to his pack and unzipped it. He pulled out a gardener’s trowel.

  “You brought that up here just to dig for the box?”

  “Yup,” Ben beamed. “Well, and to bury our poop. We’re in the wilds now.”

  “Aw. My little boy scout.” Sally laughed. She pointed at the low building near the tree line. “There’s a toilet over there though genius.”

  “That thing?” Ben grimaced. “It’s got to be nasty as hell in there. I bet it hasn’t been cleaned in like, forever. No way I’m using that.”

  “Suit yourself,” Sally retorted. “But this ass likes a toilet seat. There’s no way I’m crapping in the dirt.”

  “Don’t blame me if you catch something.” Ben turned the trowel over in his hand and walked back to the rock. “Or worse, a snake bites your butt.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Sally said. “Where did you bury the box?”

  “That’s a good question.” Ben scratched his head. “If memory serves, it was on the side nearest to the lake.”

  He squatted down and examined the ground, then pushed the trowel deep into the earth.

  “Can I help?” Sally hovered behind Ben.

  “I don’t think so.” He prodded the ground again, moving the trowel to a different spot.

  Sally fell mute, watching as Ben poked around, trying out different locations. One time, after hitting something hard, he dug down only to discover an old tree root, the gnarled wood brown and twisted.

  She yawned, suddenly bored, and wandered down to the edge of the lake. “It will be dark soon.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t you think we should build a fire?”

  “Probably.” Ben was still hunched over, engrossed in his search. “Why don’t you collect some wood and bring it over near the tent. If I don’t find anything soon I’ll give up for the night.”

  “Sure thing.” Sally strolled along the shoreline for a while, and then turned toward the woods when she reached the old BBQ grill. There was plenty of dry, dead wood here, and it wasn’t long before she had a nice pile accumulated.

  Ben looked up when she walked back toward the rock. “I can’t find it.”

  “Come on, we’ll search again in the morning.” Sally rested a hand on his shoulder. “It’s getting cold, and I don’t want to spend the night in pitch darkness. Not to mention, we’ll have to eat dinner cold if we don’t get the fire lit.”

  “Fine.” Ben pushed the trowel into the earth one last time, with the same result as all the others. “I’m not leaving until I find it though.”

  They sat around the fire on a pair of small camping stools and watched the sky turn from crimson, to dark blue, and finally to black. It was a clear night, the wide band of the Milky Way slicing across the heavens like a celestial river. Low on the horizon a full moon cast silvery white light across the waters of the lake, glinting highlights that danced atop the low waves stirred by a chill breeze.

  Ben sat with his legs crossed, a paper plate of beans in his hand and a half finished bottle of beer next to him. He dug a fork in and ladled the meal into his mouth, eating fast, until the plate contained nothing but streaks.

  Beside him Sally finished her own meal and discarded her plate into the fire, watching the flames reduce it to nothing but ash, then swigged her own beer, licking her lips. She huddled close and rested her head in his shoulder, a contented look upon her face.

  “I was hoping to find the box today.” Ben threw his plate on the fire and stuck the plastic fork into the ground with the handle poking up.

  “I know.” Sally nuzzled into him. “We have all day tomorrow though.”

  “What if it’s gone?” Ben asked. “It’s been fifteen years. There must have been hundreds of people camping up here since then, thousands even.”

  “Let’s worry about that when it happens.” Sally poked at the fire with a stick, watching the flames leap into the air, sending sparks flying up into the heavens. “I wish we had marshmallows.”

  “Hmm.” Ben closed his eyes for a moment. “That would be nice. We don’t though.”

  “I need to pee.” Sally put her beer down and climbed to her feet.

  “Want me to come with?” Ben looked up.

  “Nah.” She reached into her pack, pulled out a flashlight, and glanced in the direction of the bathroom. “I’m a big girl. I just hope it’s not too gross in there.”

  “Why don’t you just go over by the rocks?” Ben pointed. “It’s much closer.”

  “I don’t think so,” Sally said. “It’s not very ladylike.”

  “Up to you.” Ben turned his attention back to his beer. “Don’t forget to take the TP.”

  “Got it.” Sally plucked the toilet roll up and took off in the direction of the restroom.

  Outside of the circle of light cast by the fire it was dark and eerie. For a moment she wondered if she should just go back and make Ben’s day by squatting down near the rocks, but then he would tease her about it for weeks, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

  She played the flashlight over the ground ahead, looking out for debris or holes that might send her tumbling, and picked her way forward. Once in a while she raised the flashlight and shone it around to make sure she was still heading in the right direction.

  She reached the building and pulled the door open, wrinkling her nose at the putrid smell that wafted out.

  This won’t be so bad, she told herself, taking a tentative step inside, and looking around.

  The room was small, with a toilet on one wall, and an aluminum washbasin on the other. A sign above the basin declared that the water was not fit for drinking. A metal box on the wall still bore the instructions, Diapers and Tampons Only, although heaven knew how long it had been since either of those items had found their way in there.

  She choked back a snort of disgust when she saw the toilet. A thick crust of grime covered the seat. Black mildew crept up the sides, reaching from the floor like mottled tentacles. The water in the bowl was brackish, a rotting leaf floating on top.

  She hesitated.

  Squatting down to pee suddenly didn’t seem so bad, and who cared if Ben made fun of her? Only, she was here now, and it seemed stupid not to do her business. Besides, it would only take a moment.

  She took the toilet roll and pulled a wad of paper free, then folded it into a square several sheets thick before bending over and wiping the seat. The makeshift cleaning rag did a fairly good job removing most of the top layer of filth, although the seat was by no means clean. She dropped the paper into the bowl and tore off several more sheets, arranging them around the seat until she had a clean area to sit on. She inspected her work, and, noting that it was as good as it was ever going to be, tugged at her jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down.

  She lowered herself onto the toilet, careful not to dislodge any of the arranged toilet paper, and settled down, letting out a sigh as she began to pee. The trickle of water splashed into the bowl like a mini waterfall, joining the mucky water already there. Sally leaned on her elbows and looked around, playing the flashlight over the walls.

  The room was a mess of graffiti, a slew of badly scrawled messages blotting out other, older ones, like a spider had crawled across the wall depositing words. The number of crude slogans adorning the walls, a few of which she did not even understand, was evidence that the facility had been unisex. No girl would write anything that base. She read several of the messages, smiling at a few, disgusted by others, until the beam of her light picked out something else, something unusual.

  There, high on the wall, almost too high to be drawn without the aid of a ladder, her eyes sett
led on a five-sided star, a pentacle, with sides turning inward upon each other to create a never-ending line. In the middle was a grotesque, crude rendering of a goat’s head, the red paint used to create it bright and fresh.

  Sally balked. Surely this was not what it looked like? But yet, she could not deny the proof of her own eyes. She noticed something else too. It wasn’t old like the other graffiti. A shiver ran up her spine. Suddenly she didn’t want to be here anymore. It was time to clean up and get back. She reached for the toilet paper, her fingers brushing it, almost closing on it. Then she heard the sound. Nothing much, a low whimper, but enough to get her attention.

  Sally froze.

  She sat there in the darkness, the beam of the flashlight wavering in her shaking hand, and listened.

  Everything seemed normal now, quiet. Maybe she hadn’t heard anything at all? After all, it was easy to get spooked in a place like this, especially given the dubious nature of the art adorning the wall. Still, it was better not to linger. She tore off a couple squares of paper.

  Something moved on the other side of the toilet door.

  Sally stifled a whimper of fear, her heart pounding so hard she thought Ben would able to hear it all the way back at the camp.

  It came again, a shuffling, dragging sound.

  Sally dropped the squares of toilet paper. She stood, making as little noise as possible, and buckled her pants, then stepped toward the door. She reached out and rested her hand on the handle.

  No sooner had she touched the handle, than there came another sound. A long, drawn out scrape, like nails on a chalkboard.

  Sally pulled her hand away like it had been burned. What was that? It sounded like…

  Claws running down the door, a slow, steady drag, deliberate and controlled. Whatever was on the other side of the door was no animal.

  “Ben?” It must be him. It was the only thing that made sense. “This isn’t funny.”

  No reply.

  “Come on Ben.” Sally contemplated opening the door, showing him that she was not afraid. There was just one problem. She was. “Say something. Please?”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  The sound was strange, almost like someone rapping on the door, but not quite. It had a weird timbre, and it set her nerves jangling.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Sally backed up, a knot of panic rising in her throat. If it was Ben on the other side of the door he was taking the joke way too far, and she knew him well enough to know he would not do that. She looked around, frantic. The only other way out of the bathroom was a small window in the wall above the toilet. It was small, but maybe she could fit through.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  That sealed it. There was no way she was opening the door. The window it was.

  She balanced the flashlight on the ground with the lighted end upward to provide as much illumination as possible, then set a leg each side of the bowl, and reached up. She ran her fingers along the window ledge, ignoring the gross things her hand touched, dead flies, roaches, and something that scuttled away as she brushed close to it. She found a latch and gripped it.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  She pulled on the latch, crying out with frustration when it didn’t move.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Come on. Open.” Sally hissed the words, mustering all her strength. The latch dug into her fingers, and for a moment she was afraid it might cut her, but then, all of a sudden, it gave way with a sharp crack.

  She let out a grunt of satisfaction and pushed on the window. It tilted outward on rusted hinges, the movement slow and stiff. She raised herself up on tiptoe in an attempt to look out of the window, but it was still too high, so she put a foot on the toilet seat and gripped the sill, intent upon climbing up.

  From across the room the door handle rattled.

  Sally shot a look backward in time to see the handle turn. She gasped. It was coming in. Somehow it knew how to open the door. There was no doubt now. Whatever was on the other side of the door was not an animal.

  Caution abandoned, she put a foot on the seat, praying that she would not slip into the nasty brown muck in the bowl, or worse, fall and sprain an ankle.

  The door creaked.

  She tested her balance, and then lifted the other leg to stand fully on the toilet, gripping the edges of the window frame, pulling herself up, ignoring the pain when her ribs grated against the hard edge of the window sill.

  A hinge squeaked.

  Sally dared not look around. Instead she redoubled her efforts to escape, pushing her arms through the frame and heaving upward until her head was through. It was a long drop to the ground below, and she could not tell if she would land on grass or rocks. It was too dark. With a groan she remembered the flashlight, which she had put down to pry the window open. It was sitting next to the toilet, useless.

  The door slammed open.

  Sally squealed and wriggled forward, her concerns about the drop secondary to her fear of what might be coming up from behind. She felt herself start to tip forward as gravity took over, her body sliding through the opening. She half expected something to grab her ankles at any moment, to yank her, screaming, back into the toilet, but then she was falling, the ground coming up fast.

  She shot her arms out to break her fall, but even so, she slammed into the hard earth, and fell sideways, her breath rasping and heavy. For a moment she lay on her back looking up at the open window, dazed, but then she remembered the sound of those nails on the door, the handle turning, the door slamming open. That was enough to galvanize her. She scrabbled to her feet and bolted around the building, going in the opposite direction to the door. With any luck whatever had burst in to the small room was still in there, and if it wasn’t, well, she would do her best to outrun it.

  That didn’t stop her slowing for a moment when she reached the corner though. Better safe than sorry. She peered around, back toward the door, but all she saw was trash and an accumulation of dead foliage. Further away, across an expanse of loose sand and gravel that sloped toward the lake, were the tent, and the glowing red safety of the fire.

  I can do this, she thought to herself, taking a deep breath. Then she was off again, her legs carrying her as fast as they could, her eyes scanning the ground ahead for anything that might trip her. Now she did risk a glance backward, toward the building, and was relieved to see nothing there, no crazy murderer in pursuit.

  When she reached the camp she barely managed to skid to a halt before ending up in the fire.

  Ben glanced up. “You took your time.” He saw the look on her face, her disheveled appearance. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s something up there,” Sally said. She leaned over to catch her breath. “It tried to get into the rest room.”

  “What, like an animal?”

  “I don’t know.” Sally glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well what then?” Ben hopped to his feet. “If there’s someone poking around up here, scaring you…”

  “I don’t know if it was a person.”

  “You said it wasn’t an animal.”

  “I know.”

  “Well it has to be one or the other.” Ben stepped past her. “Come on, let’s go see what is going on.”

  “Go back?”

  “Yes,” Ben said. “I don’t like the idea of someone snooping around in the dark.”

  “Ben, stay here.” Sally gripped his arm. “Please?”

  “Don’t be silly.” He shrugged her arm away. “Won’t you sleep better knowing there’s no one around?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Give me the flashlight.” Ben held his hand out.

  “I don’t have it.” Now Sally felt stupid. “I left it there.”

  “Great,” Ben said. “We’ll have to go and get that back anyway.”

  “Can’t we do it in the morning?”

  “And what happens if one of us need to pee again?” Ben took her arm. “I don’t want to fall down out here
.”

  “Please don’t make me go back there.” Sally resisted, hoping Ben would change his mind. When it became obvious he was not going to, she followed him. “Can we at least make it quick?”

  “What, you think I want to be trudging around up here instead of enjoying the camp fire?” Ben took it slow. Now that they were away from the glow of the fire it was almost impossible to spot obstacles that might trip them without the flashlight. When they reached the restroom Ben stepped inside and picked the light up. He swung it around the small room, and then turned to her. “There’s nothing here.”

  “There was a few minutes ago.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s gone now.” Ben shook his head. “It was probably a raccoon or a possum.”

  “It was not.” Sally could feel her anger rising. He didn’t believe her. “There was something, somebody, up here.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t just spook yourself? It is pretty gross in here.”

  “Really?” Sally pointed to the window above the toilet, still stuck open. “You think I climbed out of a damn window just because I got scared for no reason?”

  “Maybe,” Ben said, but now his voice faltered, as if he did find that a bit extreme. “Whatever, it’s not important. If there was anyone hanging around, they’ve gone now.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Do you see anyone?” Ben swung the flashlight in a wide arc. “It could have been some drunken idiot camping out somewhere close. They probably stumbled down here to use the john and disturbed you.”

  “Let’s just go back to the tent.” Sally didn’t feel like arguing. It was pointless.

  “Suits me.” Ben pulled the restroom door closed and played the flashlight over the ground.

  Together they made their way back to the camp. Sally was relieved to get back to the fire. The night had turned chilly and she was shivering.

  “Did you bring a knife up with you?” Sally asked, as Ben picked up a couple of thick branches and threw them on the fire.

  “No. Why?”

  “I’d just feel safer knowing we had a way to defend ourselves.” Sally warmed her hands, watching the flames lick at the new wood. “You know, if anyone comes around in the night.”