The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

by Rhett McLaughlin

  “Actually, I am. I was thinking we could do it today after school,” Rex said.

  “This afternoon? I don’t know…” Leif nervously sipped his Juicy Juice, even though Rex had strongly advised him not to bring juice boxes to high school. “I need time to prepare.”

  “Prepare for what?”

  “Maybe…figuring out how to not get murdered in the woods?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not a murderer. Weird, yes. But not a killer.”

  “How do you know he won’t hit us over the head with the rake and then, like, throw the hot dogs and Cheerwine at us, and then spray us with the fire extinguisher?”

  “I’d be very surprised if those exact things happened,” Rex said.

  “Pardon me for interrupting,” Hornhat said, putting down his chocolate milk, “but I am quite intrigued by what I’m hearing and would love to join this mission if you’ll have me. I have nunchucks, by the way.”

  Rex knew Leif was expecting him to immediately shut down Hornhat’s offer, and that was his first instinct, but he stopped himself.

  “Hmm,” he said.

  Leif stared at Rex, horrified. “Wait, you’re actually considering this?”

  “Maybe,” Rex said. “I mean, since you’re clearly not gonna come. He does have nunchucks.” Hornhat nodded, pleased with himself.

  “Well.” Leif understood Rex was saying these things as a way of pressuring him to go, but he also knew Rex wasn’t one to bluff. “I think no one should go,” Leif said.

  “All right,” Rex said, shrugging, “I guess it’s me and Hornhat then.”

  “Yes!” Hornhat said, pulling in his fist like he was doing an impression of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone.

  “Okay, I’m in,” Leif said, the words busting out of him, almost involuntarily.

  “Great!” Rex said. “Sorry, Hornhat. Leif is gonna go instead of you.”

  “Aw, seriously?” Hornhat said. “Why can’t it be the three of us?”

  “It’s not that kind of mission, unfortunately,” Rex said. “You’re at the top of the alternate list, though.”

  “All right,” Hornhat said. “That seems fair. But, hey, since I can’t go on the mission, can I at least breathe on your shirt, Leif?”

  Leif thought it seemed almost sacrilegious to let Hornhat breathe on his Hypercolor shirt, considering that Alicia had always loved it, changing the purple to pink with her breath at least once every time he wore it. But he felt a little sympathy for Hornhat, considering he had just been deftly used as a pawn in one of Rex’s schemes.

  “Okay, fine.”

  “Awesome!” Hornhat’s whole face lit up as he stood and approached Leif, then proceeded to bend down and unleash a cannon of tuna fish air. Leif held his breath and watched his left nipple area change color, trying to convince himself that this was a way of honoring Alicia.

  * * *

  —

  AS LEIF WADED through the Cape Fear River holding a rake and a six-pack of Cheerwine, he was thinking he’d given in to Rex way too easily. There was a tight ball of fear in his gut, a genuine (if irrational) concern that they wouldn’t make it home alive. “Let the record show that I think this is a mistake,” he said as they stepped onto the far bank of the river, murky water spilling out of his yellow Asics.

  They arrived at the edge of the small clearing around the Tree. Rex tiptoed out toward the giant trunk, Leif following with a couple of tiny steps. A small fire burned in the fire ring, but there was no sign of Ben.

  “Hellooooo!” Rex shouted.

  “SSSSHHHHHHH!” Leif placed his finger over his mouth and looked at Rex like he’d lost his mind.

  “What? I want him to know we’re here,” Rex said.

  “I think he’s gone. Let’s go home,” Leif said, quickly turning around and beginning to walk back toward the river.

  Before Leif could take one step, Ben jumped out from behind a smaller tree, landing in front of him, spear in hand. Leif peed a little, though it was unnoticeable in his already soaked Umbro shorts.

  “You’re back!” Ben said enthusiastically. He was still in the brown jumpsuit, a rabbit/possum pelt still slung over his shoulders and a bloody bandage still on his hand. “And you did it,” he said, smiling. “You fulfilled the mission. Please, come in.”

  He walked past them back toward the fire. Rex turned to follow him, not sure what qualified as “coming in.” Leif remained on the edge of the clearing, gathering himself. Ben seemed significantly friendlier this time around, despite his alarming way of welcoming visitors.

  “I’m really glad you came through on this. I had a feeling you could be trusted. Would you mind passing me the rake and the hot dogs?”

  Rex handed over the hot dogs, but it took Leif a few seconds to realize he was still holding the rake.

  “Oh. Sure,” he eventually said, walking up to Ben and carefully handing it over.

  “I was in the middle of a game of tic-tac-toe if either of you is interested,” Ben said, gesturing to the ground. “Feel free to use my stick.”

  “Thanks,” Leif said, as if that was at all an appealing idea.

  “I didn’t catch your names last time,” Ben said, tearing open the plastic package and methodically sliding a hot dog down each tine of the rake.

  “Leif. And Rex.”

  “Leef? Not Layf?”

  “My mom wanted to go with Layf, just like—”

  “Leif Erikson,” Ben interrupted, “the first person to discover North America, way before Columbus. Well, first white person.”

  “Yeah,” Leif confirmed.

  “And lemme guess. These nimrods around here kept reading it and calling you Leef, so you just went with it to avoid the trouble of having to constantly correct idiots.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Leif said. He’d never met anyone who had so bluntly (and accurately) stated the lifelong predicament with his name. “Pretty much exactly that.”

  “Well, I’m gonna call you Layf,” Ben said. “Check it out.” He smiled at them as the hot dogs roasted on the open fire.

  “That’s why you wanted the rake and the hot dogs?” Rex asked, in disbelief.

  “Pretty great, right?” Ben said. “We’re all gonna eat well tonight. Leif, would you mind taking over hot dog duty for a bit?”

  “Oh,” Leif said, thinking there was some kind of catch here, that maybe it was a trap. But it did look kind of fun to cook that many hot dogs at once. “Sure.” He took the rake from Ben, who grabbed the six-pack of Cheerwine and stared at it.

  “I only asked for three cans,” he said.

  “That’s how they sell them,” Leif said, dipping the rake into the fire and wondering why he’d never thought of using it in this way before.

  “This is actually better.” Ben placed the six-pack on the ground. “Rex, could I have the fire extinguisher?” Rex handed it over, and within seconds Ben had removed the pin and was spraying it at the cans.

  “Whoa,” Rex said, taking a couple steps backward. “What are you doing?”

  “Do you know what the perfect soft drink temperature is?” Ben shouted over the sound of the carbon-dioxide-powered fire extinguisher.

  “What?” Rex asked.

  “It’s thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit. Three and eighty-nine hundredths degrees Celsius.” A billowing white cloud surrounded the cans. “Now, we could attempt to get these cans there with a freezer. But we don’t have one. And that would take about twenty-five minutes, anyway. A bucket of ice could do the job in about half that time. But we don’t have that either. Lucky for us, and thanks to you, we do have this fire extinguisher, which will get these cans to the perfect temperature in less…than…one…minute.” The spray ran out. Ben reached into the white cloud, his hand reappearing with a Cheerwine. He cracked it open and took a sip. “Ahh, perfect. I’ve been dying for one
of these.”

  The spray dissipated, and soon Leif could again see past his nose. “We brought you a fire extinguisher so you could have a cold Cheerwine?”

  “Yep, and I really appreciate it. You should both help yourselves to two of them. And I think you can take the dogs out. They’re probably ready.”

  The longer they were with him, the more Leif became convinced that Ben wouldn’t, in fact, murder them. He removed the rake from the flame and handed it to Ben as Rex cracked open two cans and handed one to Leif.

  “This really is the perfect temperature,” Rex said, wiping Cheerwine off his lips. “So, what do you know about the Whitewood School?”

  Ben stopped chewing the first bite of hot dog he’d just taken directly from the rake.

  “You should both grab a frank and join me in my quarters.” Ben rested the rake on a log before walking into the crude lean-to he’d built against the Tree.

  Rex and Leif looked at each other before each grabbing a hot dog and walking underneath the branches. Following Ben’s lead, they sat cross-legged on the ground. It was a tight space. All their knees were touching.

  “Since you did this noble act for me,” Ben said, “I consider you my friends. And as your friend, I would like to entrust you with my secret.”

  Leif and Rex leaned forward.

  “Last week, I escaped from the Whitewood School.”

  Ben took a long sip of Cheerwine.

  “You…escaped?” Leif asked, his eyes wide.

  “What do you mean?” Rex asked. “What were you escaping from?”

  “Death, I believe,” Ben said.

  “What?” Leif was hit by a full-body shiver.

  Rex didn’t want to believe his story, but since Ben was already defying all reasonable expectations by living in the woods and cooling down Cheerwine with a fire extinguisher, he found himself shaken. “Death? Come on,” Rex said.

  Ben unwound the bloody bandage on his hand and showed them what was underneath. “Look.”

  Leif and Rex both felt queasy as they stared at a deep, still partially open wound traversing Ben’s palm. “Oh my gosh,” Leif said, covering his mouth. “They did that to you at the school?”

  Ben nodded solemnly.

  “You should go to a hospital, man,” Rex said.

  “I can’t. I can’t go anywhere.”

  “Okay, okay, hold on a second.” Rex held his hands up in the air, more terrified than he wanted to admit. “What grade are you in? Maybe you went to Whitewood, but I don’t remember you from our school before that. Do you, Leif?”

  Leif examined Ben carefully. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’m supposed to be entering ninth grade. But you wouldn’t know me because I was homeschooled.”

  “So if you escaped,” Leif said, “why don’t you go back home?”

  “Because my dad will just send me back to Whitewood.” Ben began to slowly wind the bandage around his hand.

  “Not if you tell him they tried to kill you! And, like, cut your hand and stuff.”

  Ben looked deep into Leif’s eyes. “He wouldn’t believe me. The reason he sent me to the school in the first place was because of my…exaggerations.”

  “Huh,” Rex said. He knew that Ben might just be a pathological liar, but Rex’s highly sensitive BS meter was telling him otherwise, and there was something exciting about that, too. Horrifying, but exciting. He needed to be sure, though. “Wouldn’t Whitewood report you missing?”

  Ben laughed. “He’d rather get me back there without having to explain anything.” He lowered his voice, suddenly serious again. “I’ve got no idea how deep this thing goes, but I know there are other adults in town helping him look for me. I’ve had to move twice already.”

  “So, our friend Alicia,” Leif asked, trying not to shake, “are they gonna try to kill her, too?”

  Ben took a bite of hot dog. “Very hard to say. You know about the other kids who died there, right?”

  Leif bit down on his lower lip.

  “Those were freak accidents,” Rex said.

  “You think they would tell the newspapers they murdered kids?” Ben asked.

  “This is bad,” Leif said, his arms wrapped around his knees. “This is very, very bad.”

  “I agree,” Ben said, staring past them at the fire with a haunted look.

  “Yeah. Okay. Yeah,” Rex said, mainly to himself. He hadn’t decided for sure if he believed Ben or not.

  “Look,” Ben said. “Maybe you think I’m making this up. I understand that. I can’t guarantee I would believe me either, considering I referenced my history of embellishment less than two minutes ago. So meet me Friday night at midnight behind the old tobacco barn in the field near the Whitewood School.”

  “What will…what will happen then?” Leif asked.

  “It’s best if you come and see for yourself,” Ben said.

  “We’ll be there,” Rex said.

  “No!” Leif shouted reflexively.

  “Okay,” Rex said, not wanting to get into another argument with Leif. “We’ll think about it.”

  “This is…this is, like, nuts,” Leif said. “Like totally nuts.”

  “We, uh…we should get going.” Rex stood and helped Leif up as he continued muttering about how nuts this was.

  “Think about my offer,” Ben said. “Do it for your friend at Whitewood.”

  “We will,” Rex said.

  “Please take a Cheerwine for the road,” Ben said, standing up. “They taste like motor oil when they’re warm.”

  Once they were back in the river, Leif leaned toward Rex after a big gulp of soda. “Glad we’ll never see him again.”

  “Yeah,” Rex said. But he knew he would see Ben on Friday.

  And he was pretty sure Leif would, too.

  11

  ALICIA HAD ONLY been at Whitewood for a matter of days, but she’d needed just one meal to grow sick of the food. Knives and forks were forbidden, so anything that required cutting was blended into a spoonable slurry. Lunch was particularly unimpressive today. Even so, Alicia tried her best to enjoy it, shoveling a mystery stew into her mouth as she rubbed her sore neck with her other hand. It had been a couple days since her time in the Roll, but she’d developed an excruciating kink after sleeping an entire night with her head hanging out of the carpet cocoon.

  Still, there was a perverse sweetness to the pain. It was like a battle scar, proof of her rebellion. They’d disciplined her, and she’d survived. She wasn’t eager to visit the Roll again, but she was proud of how she’d handled it.

  One thing was for sure: Her time in the Roll definitely hadn’t helped her standing among her peers. If she had been a pariah before, now she was practically toxic. A small part of her had wanted to believe her defiance would serve as inspiration, a spark to resistance, but it was clear that her fellow students had been trained to distance themselves from mutiny. She tried not to let it bother her; no one at the school was talking to anyone else anyway, so what did it matter if nobody sat next to her at meals, that she seemed surrounded by a bubble at all times?

  As she finished one of her two Saltines and pulled back the foil of her applesauce, the girl beside her—well, not so much beside her, since there were two empty seats separating them—slid her tray several inches in Alicia’s direction. Alicia ignored it, assuming it had nothing to do with her, until the girl slowly slid it even closer. Alicia took a quick glance at her. The girl, who had long black hair and thick eyebrows and looked close to her age, was staring straight ahead while gently wiggling the tray, as if to direct Alicia’s attention there.

  Alicia looked. The girl had mostly cleaned her plate, but left behind some peas.

  Was she offering Alicia extra peas? If Alicia was going to the Roll again, it wasn’t going to be because she broke the food-sharing r
ule for peas. If the girl had been offering an extra cupcake, that might have been worth considering. But there were no cupcakes at Whitewood.

  Alicia really missed cupcakes.

  She stared forward the way the girl did, subtly shaking her head that no thanks, she didn’t need the peas.

  The girl coughed, one hand over her mouth, then slid her tray an inch closer to Alicia, who was starting to get annoyed. Why was this girl so obsessed with sharing her peas? Was she mentally unstable? Or was she trying to get Alicia in trouble? Alicia glanced down at the plate once more, and that was when she saw it:

  J.

  The peas were arranged to form the letter J.

  The girl saw Alicia receive the message. Still staring straight ahead, she patted her chest twice and gave the smallest of smiles.

  Alicia understood; it was a nod to the A that Alicia had written in blood on the wall, the very act that had gotten her sent to the Roll. This girl didn’t want to go by Candidatus either.

  Alicia had gone so many days without genuinely connecting with anyone that the interaction invigorated her, giving her a warm feeling in her chest like a favorite T-shirt she’d discovered buried in a drawer.

  J slid the tray back to its regular position and spooned some peas into her mouth.

  Alicia kept J in the corner of her eye through the rest of the meal, but she made no further attempts to communicate.

  * * *

  —

  TWO DAYS WENT by before J made contact again.

  Not that Alicia was counting or anything.

  The cafeteria exchange—if you could even call it that—had affected her more than she’d first realized. Knowing that she wasn’t alone—that she had an ally at Whitewood, maybe even a friend—made her all the more determined to hold on to her Alicia-ness.

  And weirdly, knowing there was someone she wanted to run into again inspired Alicia to be, for at least a brief time, obedient. She held her tongue and kept her head down, hoping she wouldn’t be sent to the Roll again before she’d communicated with J.

  Opportunities to connect, however, proved rare, and the wait was excruciating. Though Alicia saw her every day at lunch, she couldn’t bring herself to sit at J’s table. She didn’t want to inadvertently reveal their connection to the helpers, who might stamp out the friendship before it even started. No, J had to be the one to make the next move.