B-Sides and Rarities

by K. Webster

  Cool, crisp air rushes in and I gulp in the fresh air that chases away my nausea. Dizziness slows my process, but after some time, I slip out from behind the airbag and out of the vehicle. My gaze follows the path my truck took and I see that the incline was long and high. I’ll never be able to climb that in my lightheaded state, much less get the truck out of here.

  My instinct is to call Mom—to have her ask Dad what to do, but then I remember I’ve left them. I can’t call them back at the first sign of trouble. I’ll have to deal with this shit on my own.

  Removing my phone from my pocket, I frown to see I’m still without service. All hopes of calling a wrecker have been dashed. I’m going to have to climb that damn hill to try and wave someone down.

  The wind picks up, prickling my eyes to the point of tears, but I catch a whiff of something that makes my stomach grumble again.

  Food.

  Bacon to be precise.

  And the heavenly scent is coming from the opposite direction of the gigantic hill I careened down from.

  There has to be a home nearby—someone that can let me use their phone to call for assistance. With newfound determination, I retrieve my backpack and guitar. My baby has been my solace for the last three years and there’s no way I’m leaving her in the truck.

  The trek toward the bacon scent is laborious and I have to lean against a tree to rest whenever a wave of dizziness washes over me. I refuse, though, to die in these woods.

  I’m not sure how long I walk for, but the trees grow thicker, and I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake going in the direction of the bacon, versus attempting to climb the hill up to the road. I convince myself that I do need to turn back when I see a clearing up ahead through the trees.

  Pushing forward, I don’t stop until I stumble out onto the grassy cleared encirclement.

  A cemetery. Nine gravesites.

  The hairs on my neck rise and I freeze. Who puts a fucking cemetery out in the middle of nowhere?

  I set my guitar down and walk over to the first post sticking out of the ground. A circle made from weaved vines hangs from a nail on the hunk of wood that stands about two feet tall from the dirt. Fresh picked flowers litter the ground around the homemade headstone and a chill rushes through me, considering someone has recently done this.

  Knowing there are people nearby should comfort me, but something deep in my soul isn’t comforted at all—instead, it’s freaked the fuck out.

  I kneel on the grass in front of the post and see that it’s been carved crudely into.

  Gloria Loutz – 1968-1985

  Seventeen.

  My heart clenches and I’m reminded of my brother. While he may be perfect in Dad’s eyes, I know better. Like the time he called me when he got drunk for the first time at fifteen and needed a ride home. I’d been there for him then. Just like always. Cam will be seventeen soon and I can’t even imagine the heartache we’d go through to lose him at such an early age.

  The cemetery suddenly seems less spooky and instead sad.

  I rise to my feet and make my way over to the next grave.

  Ellen Harker – 1973-1990

  Seventeen.

  My brows furrow together. The spine-chilling fear once again creeps its way through my veins. Two seventeen-year olds dead within five years apart.

  I can’t read the dates or names on some of the posts, but the next grave I can read sickens me.

  Rebecca Harker – 1978-1995

  Seventeen.

  And another one I can read is the same.

  Emily Walker – 1993-2010

  Seventeen.

  I’m about to bail and head back toward the truck when I hear laughter in the distance. Children. My gut tells me to run the other way, but my need to survive wins out. If I can find someone to help, I can get the fuck out of these bizarre woods and down to LA where I belong. With a decided sigh, I pick up my guitar case and walk in the direction of the laughter.

  I’ve only been walking a few minutes when I come to another clearing. All fear leaps out the window of my mind as I take in the scene before me.

  A village of sorts.

  Children laughing.

  Food cooking.

  It’s almost inviting.

  A huge clearing, probably the size of a football field, houses the diminutive community. Small, wooden homes with smoke puffing from their chimneys line the edges of the woods, all fit with gardens in the front and back yards. Barns with mooing cows and snorting pigs are scattered between the houses. And, in the center of the homes lies a large, handmade stage with benches that surround it.

  Where am I?

  Emerging from the woods, I decide I’ll head toward the first home to ask for help. I’ve barely made it three steps when the ice cold barrel, of what I believe is a shotgun, pressed against my spine halts me.

  “Who the hell are you and why are you on our land?”

  And the fear comes crashing back.

  Chapter Two

  Willow

  I stare at my ten-year-old sister Alice who’s lying on the bed in the infirmary as her eyes flutter in her sleep. So precious and pure. Too good for this world. Mother says some people were put in this life merely to serve as a stepping stone to the ones who can make a difference. She says that those that are the stones make the biggest ripples in the pond and are so very important. And even though I smile and agree with her words, I don’t believe them.

  My sister, riddled with red whelps and a fever that nearly burns my palm at the touch, has been kissed with disease. The elders on the council have ordered her to be quarantined in the infirmary. I’m the only one who is allowed to see her because they claim I am immune. When I was only two years of age, I suffered the same illness. And by some miracle, I was spared. Mother claims it is because I’ve been chosen for something great in Empyrean.

  “Momma,” Alice murmurs, her voice thick and muffled.

  Earlier, when I brought her some warm tea, she could hardly swallow the healing liquid for her tongue was so swollen, and ended up dribbling it down her chin. I’m worried that she’s taken a turn for the worse.

  “Shh,” I coo, stroking the hair that’s matted to her sweaty brow. “Momma came to see you while you slept.” My lie is foreign on my tongue. Lying to my sister is difficult, but necessary. I can’t break the heart of a dying soul. Life has already made her its example, and I’m not going to be its accomplice.

  Her pale blue eyes that match mine, almost exactly, roll back behind her fluttering eyelids. My heart sinks into the pit of my belly and I chew on my lip, worrying that her time is soon. Without my sweet sister, I’ll be the lone child in my household. Not that it’ll matter for long anyway. Upon my eighteenth birthday, my father will match me with that of an unmarried, and hopefully young, man in our community to wed. Then, I’ll start a family of my own.

  Family is extremely important in Empyrean.

  Every family has multiple children, most, no less than six. My family only had the two, Alice and I. When Momma gave birth to Alice, there were complications and her womb was ruined for future childbearing. The only other family in town with a small amount of children is the Walker family. Mr. and Mrs. Walker had Jordy and Emily.

  My thoughts darken at the thought of my old friend. When I was just a twelve-year-old girl, I had looked up to Emily. She was beautiful and intelligent. Emily always made time for everyone and loved to braid flowers into all the young girls’ hair. We all thought of her as a surrogate big sister, myself included.

  When she passed away, my heart had been broken. Her brother, Jordy, was devastated. It was after her death that he and I grew close as friends. Through her death, a relationship was born. Jordy, weeks after her death, promised me he’d look after me—that I would always be protected, so long as he’d had any say in it. So when the council was rumored to have said they wanted to match him and me after my eighteenth birthday for marriage, I was ecstatic.

  I wish I could say the same for Jordy.


  He’s been distant and angry ever since.

  Yet, just last night, he’d stolen a kiss and whispered his assurance against my lips.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Willow.”

  Dragging a fingertip over my bottom lip, I smile at the memory. Jordy is the most handsome man in our village. He’s tall and broad shouldered, with a jaw that seems to have been chiseled from rock. I find myself staring at his rugged face while at Circle Session when he’s not looking. How lucky will I be if the rumors are true? To be matched with such a beautiful man both inside and out?

  As I draw closer to eighteen, I grow more and more excited to be matched in marriage to whom I hope will be Jordy. But I sense his apprehension and fear that we won’t, in fact, be matched. There are other eligible bachelors in Empyrean that have yet to wed. One, in particular, I catch staring at me often.

  Jude Brooks.

  His clout within the council worries me, that if he puts forth an interest in me, they’ll vote in his favor. I’m not sure why I am of any concern to him. He’d be better off marrying Jane Stephens. Her husband passed away last winter and she’s a widower. She’s closer to his thirty-eight years than I am. Marrying Jude would be like marrying my father.

  My nostrils flare in disgust and I swallow down the fear rising in my chest. I’ve seen Jude exact punishment on those that break laws in Empyrean. I worry that if he were my husband, I’d see those punishments firsthand and my life would be miserable.

  With Jordy, I could be free to love. I could bask in the warmth of his smile and would gladly make love to him over and over in an effort to fill our home with many children, hopefully girls, since they are considered a greater blessing to one’s family. Jordy is already matched to me in my heart. If the council votes otherwise, it’ll be nearly impossible to sever the strings that tie my soul to his.

  Alice coughs, and I pinch my brows together in worry. All thoughts of Jordy and Jude fall to the floor in a soundless heap as I focus on my sister. I clutch on to her splotchy hand and squeeze it.

  “I love you, little one,” I sing.

  A smile plays at her pale, dry lips and my heart soars. She always loved when I’d whisper songs I made up into her ear. In Empyrean, singing is forbidden. According to the elders, it invites demons into the Circle. The Poems of the Past are chants we speak in Circle Session that sound remotely like singing. Everyone murmurs them softly and they echo through the trees in a musical fashion.

  Once, on a run for supplies to The Farrow, the forbidden, barren land outside of Empyrean, Jordy smuggled in a surprise for me. He called it a music box. I’d only been thirteen at the time, but we’d gone behind his father’s barn and he turned on the unusual contraption. The sounds were scratchy as he turned the knob. But eventually, it cleared up and beautiful words moaned out from the box.

  The woman in the box was singing and it was the most magnificent and foreign thing I’d ever heard. Jordy reminded me that it had to be our little secret. Each day we’d have a listen until one day it wouldn’t work. He told me he’d find a way to fix it for me. But he never did. Now, the music box hides under my bed. I still pull it out from time to time to see if it will miraculously work again.

  It never does.

  However, my voice does work. And the songs I heard so long ago are permanently etched in my brain and heart. I go to sleep murmuring them and wake up whispering them. They bring joy to my soul and I have Jordy to thank for that.

  Shouting jerks me out of my thoughts and I stand from my sister’s bedside to see the cause for alarm. I grab hold of my long frock and lift it from the ground as I hurry to the window. At the tree line, I can see several men standing over a figure. One of those men is Jordy, and the muscles that can always be seen through his thin shirt are taut, stretching the fabric to its limits. Jude is barking out orders, his shotgun bouncing in his arms with each word. And I spy my father frowning and pointing my direction.

  What is happening?

  They all appear to be angry and that has fear clawing at my insides.

  “I’ll keep you safe, Willow.”

  Jordy’s promise, as always, calms my insecurities and I take a deep breath. They’re heading for me, which most likely means someone is hurt and needs medical attention. I tear myself from the window to tend to one of the empty beds in the room. I’m just rolling the sheets down when the door bursts open.

  “There,” Jude barks, pointing to the empty bed I’ve prepared. “Tie him there until we can figure out who sent him or where he came from. He’s a threat to our home.”

  My father and another older townsman named Edward drag an unconscious, bleeding man toward the bed. My eyes widen at seeing the foreigner. In Empyrean, we never get visitors from The Farrow. According to the elders, they’re diseased and evil. I shrink away from the man until my back is pressed against the cold, wood wall.

  They situate the man on the bed and set to tying each of his hands to the post of the bed, rendering him immobile. He’s passed out, so it’s not like he’d go anywhere anyway. I’m curious about him, but also frightened.

  “Willow,” Jude’s deep voice cuts through the now chilled infirmary air.

  I jerk my attention over to him. “Yes?”

  “This intruder is injured. Please see to his wounds and the moment he regains consciousness, I want to be notified. The council will want to interrogate this outsider.”

  His nearly black eyes skim over me and a pleased smile turns up the corners of his mouth. Jude is fairly handsome when he smiles, but he’s awful on the inside. The sinister air about him is always throbbing from him and vibrating me down to my core. I cannot stand to be in his presence, especially alone.

  “I will inform you,” I promise with a squeak.

  Stealing a glance in Jordy’s direction, I catch him clenching his jaw together tight. He doesn’t care much for Jude and it shows. When my eyes meet his green ones, his soften and he winks. The gesture warms me and chases away the chill from the crisp autumn air that has swept through the infirmary.

  “Come,” Jude ushers the men. “We’re all susceptible to Alice’s illness. It is best for us to deposit the intruder in Willow’s care. She’s more than capable.”

  They all grunt out their agreement and retreat, leaving me alone with the man that I’m too afraid to look at. Instead of facing my fears, I stride back over to Alice. Her breathing is ragged, but she’s fallen asleep. The air is now cold in the small infirmary, so I drag the blanket that is covered up to her chest all the way up to her chin. I hope she’ll sleep away the illness and wake up being the spry, fun-loving sister I remember.

  I turn my gaze away from her and try to find the courage to look at the man. A large, unusual shaped case sits beside the bed, along with an overstuffed knapsack. He seems to have been traveling. How in the world did he end up in Empyrean?

  With cautious steps, I make my way over to the man. His dark, brown hair is shaggy and unkempt. Full lips are slightly parted, and I catch myself staring at them. I blink several times at seeing his face that isn’t smooth like the young boys in town, nor is it thick with hair. No, it’s somewhere in between and quite alluring, actually. The smattering of hair over his cheeks intrigues me and I itch to touch it with my fingertips.

  Have I lost my mind?

  Shame courses through me at my unclean thoughts of the intruder. His shirt is black and a picture of an eyeless man with wild hair is painted on the front. Rob Zombie. That must be his name. I find it unusual that he’d wear clothing with his name emblazoned on the front. The Farrow is a bizarre and evil place though, from what I’ve been told. I’m thankful Mr. Zombie is tied up and unable to harm my sister and me.

  He groans in pain, and I’m jolted from my thoughts. His face is covered with blood. I’ll need to clean his wounds before he bleeds out all over the infirmary. There’s no telling what sort of diseases he’s carrying and I don’t want my sister to become further infected. With an annoyed huff, I locate a medical supplies basket
and carry it over to the man.

  I don’t want to sit beside him, but his arms are bound and in no way a threat to me. So, despite my desire not to, I take a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. Setting the basket on his chest, I dig through it until I find a cloth and some antiseptic. Drenching the cloth, I then set to cleaning his face. His eyes flutter and his full lips move, but he doesn’t wake. I frown when I realize a cut on his forehead will require stitches. It is something everyone in Empyrean learns in school, simple medical procedures, but it isn’t something I love to do.

  My stomach twists and I sigh in resignation. I will have to sew him up. The others can’t be near Alice, so that leaves me.

  “Here goes nothing,” I mutter under my breath.

  Stitching him up turns out to not be as bad as I anticipated and when I clip the thread afterwards, I smile while I admire my handiwork. Momma would be proud.

  “Are you an angel?”

  The deep timbre of the intruder’s voice rattles through me. Jerking my eyes to his chocolate-colored ones, I’m drawn in by his magnificent features. His eyes, behind them carrying stories and truths and knowledge, bore through me. I’m snared in his visual trap and I’m at a loss of what to do. My bottom lip trembles as I attempt to find words to reply with.

  I want to look away from him—to clear my head of the foreign thoughts racing through my head—but I can’t. Instead, I stare back at him.

  “An angel,” I tell him with a prim sniff of the air, “is nothing more than a child’s fairytale.”

  His lips draw up on one side in a crooked smile that sends my heart galloping off a cliff. “Looks like I got my happily ever after, huh?”

  My skin flushes at his words and I shake my head at him. “You must have a head trauma, sir. You’re not in a fairytale. You’re an intruder.”

  His smile falls and his gaze flicks up to where he realizes he’s been bound. I watch in awe as his biceps flex when he yanks on the restraints. I swallow down my unease when his narrowed eyes meet mine.