by David Lovato
Mr. Horowitz retrieved his book from the ground, the page still held in place. He looked at it, finished the verse to himself.
In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.
It was Friday, and Mr. Horowitz walked down the hallway with his closest friend, Mr. Salih.
The Living Dead
He wanted to kill himself.
He went through high school with little to say. He never made any friends. He just shuffled through his days, did his homework, got straight Bs and Cs. He was shy. He would come home and read a book or listen to music. His mom would stay out late nights fucking men she hardly knew. His father was dead. He had killed himself.
He didn’t get along with anyone. He finished high school. He skipped his graduation ceremony. He got a job at the local grocery store. He hated it. He never complained, and he was never rude to the customers, even when they were being assholes. He never asked for a raise.
He moved into a small apartment. He lived alone and hated it. He paid for classes at the community college. He went to class in the mornings, and in the evenings he went to work.
He finished community college, and he didn’t care to go on. He wanted to kill himself. He had just been here too long.
He slept through mornings. He went to work in the evenings. And in the wee hours of the day, after he got off, he walked two miles to a bridge overlooking a river. It was a small drop but a large enough one. He would look at the reflection of the moon in the river, and he’d want to kill himself. He’d stare until he could see the sun’s reflection in the water, and then he’d walk back home and go to sleep.
One night, when the wind was warm and only a little strong, he got up onto the concrete barrier. He stood there, and he waited for the wind to push him over. But the wind died. He wanted to kill himself, but instead he stepped back down. The wind picked back up again. He walked home early that night.
Years passed. He visited the bridge every night, wanting to kill himself. He thought about getting a gun a few times, but the river seemed a much better idea.
One night he stood by the bridge, staring into the water, wanting to kill himself. A car passed by, its high beams blazing. It was the first car he ever remembered driving by. It slowed, and the man driving rolled the window down. He asked for directions.
He gave the man directions, and watched the car fade from view. He wanted to kill himself, though he was beginning to think this river would never take him. He turned back to it. Something floated by in the water. It was far too dark to see, even with the reflection of the moon in the water. He walked home in the morning.
He slept in late. His alarm clock went off, but the radio was silent. He was late for work. He didn’t care, however, because he really just wanted to kill himself. He got ready for work. He turned on the television; he liked to listen to the lives of fake people as he got ready. Only there was nothing on. All of the stations were off the air. He switched over to the emergency channel, and read about an incident. It said to stay indoors.
He walked outside. There were dead people all around. A half of a dead man hung from the balcony of the apartment across from his and up one story. His blood collected on the concrete steps. There was another body below, it appeared as though someone had hurriedly left their home, slipped on the blood, and broken their neck against the stairs. He heard screams in the distance. He heard screams from the apartment above his.
He rushed up the steps. The door was open. He saw a horrified couple standing in the corner of their living room, deep in embrace. Across the room, a young boy was eating his younger sister. The wife ran to aid her. The boy ripped her throat out with ease. The husband screamed. He grabbed a gun from the nightstand and blew little Johnny’s brains against the television, which had a dead signal. The husband looked at him.
“They’re all dead,” he said. He started crying. “They’re all dead.”
The husband put the gun against his own head. He killed himself.
The man walked across the room and got the gun.
He walked to the river. He looked at its reflection. Fifty feet down the road, a car overturned trying to avoid another crazy person. That person attacked as soon as the car stopped moving. It bashed itself against the window. The man could hear the screams of the people in the car, still alive, trapped.
He wanted to kill himself. But he had more important things to do. He knew that the river would never take him. The sun was shining, reflected in the river he would never see again. The man turned and headed toward the wrecked car.
On 68th and Woodland Drive
On sixty-eighth and Woodland drive,
I walked with someone by my side.
Where all about, the creatures’ grunts
Remind me I was no one once.
Far away, that tower loomed
Flashing red, a calling to
Seen from my deck that first night
Before I had you by my side.
And I don’t know what brought me there,
To move my legs, the distant stares
What it was, I didn’t know
Just that it was a place to go.
And long before, before it all
I was a breath amid the squall
Before these people turned to things,
Already I was nobody.
So ever fast and ever far,
Ever crawling through the dark
My head did make my legs to move
Toward the tower, where it loomed
And then by chance I met another
Danger struck, we dared not hover
When safety came, were still together
So why not make it last forever?
We shared our words, tales of past lovers
Eventually we shared each other
For the first time I could see,
You had made me somebody.
Days went by, we moved in darkness
We looked ahead, we stopped, we harkened
One night I looked over my shoulder
Could I have felt the air get colder?
Just one look, I’d told myself
To yonder tower, in good health
Just a glimpse was all I sought
But o, despair that beast had wrought!
For on my watch, I looked away
I should have seen it, clear like day
But death had moved in like a mouse,
There was another in our house.
And even though I fought and tried
Though for you I’d trade my life,
Though I wished I’d rather died,
All it took was that one bite.
I held your hand, was still so strong
Wept not a tear, but night went on
Somewhere beyond, red light was blinking
Wish I’d not seen that wretched thing!
So we said all we could say,
No word was strong, no debt was paid
And to the sun of a better place,
I watched you slowly fade away.
So I went on all alone
To where the cursed tower shone
My heart had since become a grave,
A shallow place where dead things lay.
At last I reached the tower one night,
Without you there it did not feel right.
You weren’t standing next to me,
And all I was was nobody.
On sixty-eighth and Woodland Drive,
I walk with no one by my side.
Where all about, the creatures’ grunts
Remind me I was someone, once.
Tragedy in Belford
by Steven Fletcher
Dedicated to my Beloved Mary
Introduction
We are put here on this earth for one reason, and one reason only: so we can live the best life we can possibly come up with, living each day at a time. That’s what I did, and that is most certainly what my wife had done. Long live her memory, as wel
l as all of those lost in the Finale.
This is my last project. I had hoped to end my career with a big bestseller, but this will have to take its place. This is probably the first and last documented piece of the Finale. I had to chuckle a little calling it that, actually. I act as if the dust has settled, as if things are beginning to return to normal in this small town. Well, they aren’t. They only seem to be getting worse, and the fact that I am still alive is a miracle.
My name is Steven Fletcher, and this is my story. It’s a tale of uncertainty, and misery, but it is one I feel I must tell. I’m one of those people who feels it is imperative to make one’s mark on this world before death. Somehow, someway, I need to get my name out there. I feel I have done this quite well with my books. I enjoy writing, and people enjoy reading, so it just fits, I’d say.
The words written on these pages are the last that the world will ever see from me. Beloved Reader, if you are reading this, then I am no more, and that’s just fine. I just want you to know how much I appreciate you right now, just for reading this. You are wonderful, and I wish you and yours the best of luck out there in the midst of these creatures. They will not relent, as I’ve found, so you must be careful. I hope you are, and I hope you remain hopeful.
So, without further ado, I present my last work: Tragedy in Belford.
I: Road to Belford
We were driving down the highway, and it was a beautiful day in this part of Colorado. The breeze rustled a few papers in the back of my car as it entered the half-open windows. I always had paper in my car. I think I might be made of the stuff. I took a swig from my Big Gulp, put it back in the cup holder, then looked to my wife, who seemed very relaxed. Her seat was tilted back, and her eyes were lightly closed. I looked at her for a moment and smiled. Her eyes fluttered open. It was as if she knew I’d been looking. She sat up and yawned.
“Do you know where we are, Steve?” There was a tinge of annoyance in her tone, but also fatigue.
“I know where we are, I just don’t know where there is,” I replied. I had my left hand on the steering wheel as we cruised down the freeway. My eyes fell to the needle that was falling rather close to the red E. “We may have another problem though. The tank’s pretty low.”
“Looks like there’s a filling station off the next exit,” Mary said, pointing ahead. I nodded.
“We’ll stop there, fill up, see if we can get directions, maybe a map, and then we’ll be back on track.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mary said. “Hopefully we can get to Belford before dark. I’d like to look around the place a bit before we can’t see anything.”
“Good then,” I said. The exit came up fast, and I took it. As I did, I glanced to the left at the Rockies. They looked small, and seemed to be covered with a thin white haze. Honestly, I can’t decide which I enjoy the most: the mountains, or the ocean. They are equally as stunning, really.
There was a sign a few minutes later. From there, it was about five miles to the Phillips 66. We pulled in and around to one of the center pumps. Not many people were getting gas, but there was one man standing at a pump a few feet from where I’d stopped. He was overweight, and not too tall. A baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants hung from his body. Both appeared to be smudged with something brown. He just stood there near his pump and stared at me and my car. He didn’t seem to acknowledge Mary, which made it even stranger. Mary’s a catch. She’s smoking, and when that man just stood there and stared at me with those blank eyes, it just gave me the creeps. I wanted to say something, but more than that, I wanted to get my gas, a snack, and directions, then leave.
“Look at that guy…” I murmured, lowering down to the window, looking inside the car at Mary. She leaned forward and gave a funny smirk. Then I felt the flow of gas halt and heard the pump’s metallic click. “Do you want to come with me inside?” Mary nodded and unbuckled almost immediately after I asked. We walked toward the doors, and I wanted to look at the man just to see if he was following us with his eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
There was a rack across from the Coors with maps, brochures, and other miscellaneous pamphlets. I browsed for a moment and spotted a Colorado map. It was only a buck fifty, so I picked it up and looked it over. With a little searching, I was able to locate the very small town of Belford, and lead back to where we were. I marked it on the map and then looked at Mary.
“It looks like we’re set,” I said. “Do you want something for the road?”
“Yes,” Mary said. “Maybe just a Diet Dr. Pepper.”
It was not long before we were driving in the mountains, and on track, which was nice. There was quite a lot of vegetation. A lot of pines. They were beautiful. Many were very tall, and there was that pungent pine smell. It reminded me a lot of Christmas morning. The pines swayed gently in the breeze.
I took in a mouthful of the mountain air and looked at Mary, who was drinking her pop and reading a book. The cover was slightly faded, and a bit torn, but I could still make out the title.
“We should be there in less than an hour,” I threw out there, not even sure if Mary would hear me from the other world she was in. I saw her nod, and I smiled.
I turned up the volume on the radio, AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” started to flow from the speakers. I turned the knob a little more, and found myself singing along with Bon Scott. Mary turned toward me while reading, and smiled.
“What a dork!” She said. I returned the smile but didn’t say anything back. I loved that song.
It was still light out when we arrived in Belford, and we were happy to finally get here. I was exhausted, and only wanted to lie down and sleep for a hundred days. We’d only be in Belford for a few, so six or seven hours would have to do. I was hungry as well, so that would come first.
The road into Belford sloped a bit, and entering the town on the left side was a rocky wall that towered over us. As high up as we were, there was so much more mountain above. On the right was the town, and a guardrail so one would not go crashing down into it. This scenario wouldn’t have been possible anyway with the pine-covered hill. It was a sight to behold. The town was great. If I am correct, only about one thousand people were living in Belford. What a quaint little town it was.
II: First Night in Belford
“This is great!” Mary said between two bites of a big fat greasy burger. “I love little diners like this.”
“This is nice. Great food, and everyone seems so friendly,” I said as the waitress walked up with a smile.
“How is everything tasting?” she asked.
“It’s great, thanks,” I said. “Could I have another Coke?”
“Yes, of course,” the waitress said. Her smile remained as she walked back to top off my glass. I swallowed the rest of my chicken sandwich, and took a peek out the window. The sun was setting on Belford, and the yellow light filtered through the half-pinched blinds. Soon, the waitress returned with my pop, her brown curls bouncing with every step she took.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” I said with a smile.
“You’re very welcome. If there’s anything else I can get you both, don’t hesitate to ask.” We thanked her and she went off to a table farther down behind us.
“Are you going to the church tonight, Steve?” Mary looked at me with a napkin in hand. She used it to delicately wipe some ketchup from the corners of her mouth.
“I was planning on it. It looks so old and full of character. I hope it helps me out. I need a little inspiration here. This book’s nearly finished.”
“Can you do all of that tomorrow instead of tonight though? I was kind of hoping tonight we’d just relax.” Mary smiled. I grinned in return, and nodded.
“Of course. I hadn’t planned on doing any work tonight anyway. I just want to talk to the reverend and get some facts, and his permission to set up a little ghost tea party in the first place. Tonight is ours, honey.”
Later, we arrived at the motel. It rested on Main Street, where all the main bui
ldings were. We could see Town Hall, and farther down, the church. It was a one-room building; its white siding was crying faintly for a new paintjob, but it was probably not going to get one. The tall steeple looked very sharp from our motel room, poking the darkening sky.
“I was really expecting this place to be a dump,” Mary said, lying on the bed. She hadn’t showered or changed. She just lay there with her back against the headboard of the queen-sized bed.
“Yeah, it’s not half bad,” I replied.
“I think it’s really romantic. I’m glad we came here.”
“Me too.” I sat down on the bed, and kissed Mary on the lips. I pulled back slightly, but felt a need for more. We kissed again, this time longer. I laughed as I pulled myself out of it. “I’d better go over there before it gets too late, but I’ll be back before long, and we can get back to this.”
“All right,” Mary said in a stronger, sexy tone. I couldn’t wait. As quickly as I could, I put my shoes on, grabbed my keys, and went to my car.
It was a very short drive to the church, which was nearly in the middle of Belford, and it was even bigger than I’d imagined. Taller, I mean. It was a school house in the 1800s, so it didn’t have a lot of space, but it sure was tall. I parked the car and headed for the front doors. The steps groaned in pain as I climbed them, and the doors were unlocked. Inside, the reverend was in a chair at the altar, looking over some papers. I hoped he wasn’t too busy to see me for at least a few minutes.
“Excuse me, Reverend?” I said. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” The older man looked up. He looked a little like Dabbs Greer, which threatened to make me chuckle, but I kept myself composed.
“Please, come in,” the reverend said. I walked up to him, and he stood up, smiling. “You don’t look like you’re from here. Are you new to the town, mister…”