by Travis, Todd
“Kinda, yeah. My name is Darin.”
“And my name is Agnes, pleased to meet you. You’ll have to fill out a form to get a library card. I’m fairly new myself, though you wouldn’t know it to look at me. I’ve been here only ten years yet folks around here still refer to me as a newcomer. That’s the way it is in these parts, I guess.”
“Why’d you move here?” Darin asked as he pretended to peruse the stacks.
“My old mister, when he retired, he wanted to come back here. He used to live in this area and so we came back. He passed away five years ago and I stuck around, though this town is as dead as can be, but I don’t have nowhere else to go, so this is it.”
“I’m real sorry about her husband.”
“I was, too, but it’s part of life, dying. So. What can I get for you, young man? Can I recommend some Hemmingway, Twain, Faulkner? Any of the classic masters?”
“Actually, I was … hoping for some advice.”
“Advice you can have for free and you don’t even need to get a library card.”
“I’ve been asking people here for directions to a certain … place, and no one will help me, no one will even talk to me once I bring it up. Maybe you won’t want to tell me how to get there, either, but maybe you can, at the very least, tell me why?”
“Oh my goodness. Well, where is it you were needing to go?”
“I’m looking for the Leary crybaby bridge. I know there’s one here, I found a picture of it online. But I can’t find it myself and … no one will talk about it. Why?”
Agnes stared at him for a full moment. Then she stood and pulled down the shades and dimmed the lights. Darin thought she was going to kick him out, but then she started talking as she went about closing up shop.
“That’s a sore subject around here, so my husband told me. Every once in a while you get one of those ghosthunters, you know, from the reality shows, showing up in town, asking about the bridge. It’s not that well known, but a few have heard about it, so they pop up once in a while and no one will talk to them about it. But you’re not one of those people, are you?
“No ma’am, I’m not.”
“I didn’t think so. You don’t have the look. I was curious about the bridge myself, after one of them swung by asking about it some years ago, but my husband, he forbade me from ever going to look at it. Married forty years and he’d never forbidden me from doing a single thing I’d wanted to do, but this he did. It caused a right rift between us, I’d have to say. I’m not of the type to be told I can’t do something I want to do, even by the man I love.
“Finally one night, he told me the story. It seems that sometime in the late seventies, early eighties, there were these kids. Not too popular. Into strange music and attire, wore makeup like that big band from the time, KISS, was it? Something like that. They were bullied a lot, beat up on and generally mistreated by others their age. So they got into something …”
“Black magic.”
“So you know.”
“I only know part of it. There were five of them, right?”
“Six.”
“Six, not five?”
“There were six, of that my husband was certain. Six kids. They got together at the bridge, and … well …”
“They invented a game or something?”
“More than that. They killed someone.”
“Killed someone?”
“I’m afraid so. Killed someone, I don’t know who, out on the bridge. That’s why no one goes out there. It’s said that you can still hear him crying there, late at night.”
She turned everything off, motioned for him to follow her outside and he did so. She continued her tale out on the sidewalk, by her car.
“My husband didn’t live here at the time of all this, he was in the army. But he had family here and I guess a lot of bad things happened after that, things he heard about. People died or went crazy, others moved away. It was thought that the town was cursed. My husband was a big strong man and he didn’t believe in curses and magic and ghosts, he’d heard it from the people he grew up with, but thought it was all balderdash, which is one reason why we moved back here when he retired.
“But he changed his tune after we settled and he saw the aftermath, after he spoke to childhood friends. And I don’t know it for certain-sure, but I had a suspicion that he went out and looked at the bridge for himself, sometime after we moved here. He was that way, you know. Headstrong and fearless. But one day he just changed completely. He got … I don’t want to say scared, but … there was fear there, I suspected he went out there and saw or heard something and was afraid to tell me. I didn’t know about the bridge then, I’d find out later, I just thought it was a change of life thing. But I’ve thought about it a lot since and I’m certain that’s what it was. He went out and got scared and that’s why he forbade me from going out there myself. And I believe that if we could have afforded it, I think we would have moved away from town again. But we’d bought a house, so we didn’t, we stayed and we were fine until he died. But, on his deathbed, he made me promise to never, ever go looking for that bridge.”
Agnes looked Darin in the eye as the streetlights came on one by one. “My husband, he was six foot five, two hundred fifty pounds and was a firing range instructor for the army. He could shoot better than anyone he knew and always carried a gun. And he was afraid of that bridge. Now, now that I’ve told you all of that, young man, do you still want to go out to that bridge?”
“I don’t want to, ma’am, believe me. And I am afraid. But I have to. If I don’t, I’m afraid much worse things might happen. My friends are caught up in something to do with the bridge, and so am I. It’s changing them, hurting them. I have to.”
Agnes nodded. “You remind me a little of my husband, when he was young. Headstrong. Very well. That road over yonder is Crescent. You follow that out of town and it’ll turn into gravel. You stay on that for two or three miles, it winds around once you get into the trees but stay with it and you’ll come to the bridge. I’d wait until morning, though, if I were you.”
“I wish I could but I can’t.”
“Very well. You have a phone?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You see anything suspicious, you call the police and tell them you’re out there.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Agnes got into her car. “Go with God, young man.”
Chapter Sixty-Six
When Shakes opened the door to his house and saw Valerie, he was at first dumbstruck to the point of speechlessness, and being without words was not a condition Shakes had ever known, ever since he first learned how to talk. But dumbstruck he was.
“Hello, Samuel,” Valerie said as she pushed passed him, her portfolio folder under one arm. “You’re looking positively yummy.”
“Thanks,” Shakes finally stammered. “So … are you.”
And she did, Valerie had went all in on the goth outfit, black fishnet stockings, miniskirt, high black leather boots, teased and colored hair, glitter makeup and a see-through short-sleeved blouse over a black bra. The scars on her arms stood out prominently.
“Well, it’s a party, is it not?”
“It ah … it is. It definitely is.”
Faye stood up from where she sat on the couch, two muscular male athletes in tight T-shirts and jeans by her side, one holding her drink, the other a tray of fruit, both attending her. There were a couple of girls lounging in the kitchen, trailing Shakes.
“So you’re back in the circle. What changed your mind?” Shakes asked.
“I told you. Darin was a dick and, well, I finally just … let myself … play the game. This afternoon. And it was … wonderful. Hello, Faye. Having fun, are we?”
“Valerie,” Faye said. “You really played the game by yourself?”
“What do you think? I thought this was supposed to be a private party, no … pets … allowed. Or did I have that wrong?”
Shakes nodded. “That’s right. We ju
st were waiting for you to show. You didn’t text first, so … but yeah, no, ah … pets. Girls? Go.” Shakes snapped his finger and pointed. The girls set their drinks down and left the house without word.
“Living out your dirty fantasies, Samuel?” Valerie asked him with a knowing smile. He flushed a deep shade of red. Valerie turned toward Faye and raised an eyebrow.
Faye looked at her boys. “Bitches, leave.”
“Oo, so butch,” Valerie said.
The boys set their things down and also walked out, also without a word. Valerie went to the counter to a bottle of tequila and poured herself a shot.
“Darin really ran away?” Faye asked.
“Yes. He was afraid. A scared little boy. Not a man,” Valerie drank the tequila down quick. Followed it with a lime.
“What’d he say?”
Valerie brought out her phone and played the recorded voice mail message.
“Val, I’m sorry, I can’t do this shit anymore, I can’t. I can’t hack it. I’m getting my cash together and I’m hitting the road. I can’t take you with me, because it’s too much hassle, the two of us together, especially where I’m going. Don’t take this personal, it was fun, but … that’s all it was. I’m not going to fucking jail for arson because of Shakes. I’m out, I’m sorry but I’m fucking out of here.”
Valerie tossed the phone on the counter and poured three shots.
“Since there are no longer four of us, but three, I think we need a new nickname. The furious three doesn’t quite have a ring to it, does it? Why not just the Three?”
“Not the three musketeers, I hate that,” Faye said.
Valerie put three slices of lime on the rim of each glass and carried it to them. They each took one.
“No, just … the Three.”
“I like it,” Shakes said. “The Three!”
“To us,” Valerie said. “To the Three.”
“The Three,” Shakes said.
Faye didn’t say anything, just clicked her glass with theirs. They all drank. Valerie’s eyes roved around the room, searching for what Darin had told her to look for. He’d seen it when he was here. Her eyes lit on it and she smiled.
She turned and noticed Faye staring at her, intent.
“Nice scars,” Faye said. “You do that to yourself?”
“Some eat their pain. I cut through mine,” Valerie turned to Shakes. “Samuel, darling, can you hook my phone up to your stereo? I want to hear my music.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Darin drove in the dark on a bumpy gravel road, low hanging trees scraping the top and side of the car. The wind howled and rain fell harder and Darin began to worry in earnest he wouldn’t find the bridge in time. The road gradually disappeared, too, turning from gravel into a path that wouldn’t allow the car to go any farther. Darin had to stop, park and climb out. As he did, though, he heard the sound.
The crying. The exact same mournful cry that he’d heard on the website, only louder and closer. It sent a chill to his very bones. Darin popped the trunk, got out the can of gasoline and kept on moving forward. Walking around a bend in the path, he finally saw what he was searching for in the distance.
The bridge. Old and decayed, it swayed over a swollen river.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Valerie danced to her beloved Beatles’ tune “Paperback Writer” in the rec room as she drank more tequila. Her cheeks burned, she wasn’t used to alcohol, but she kept her body moving and her mind focused as best she could. She noted that Shakes couldn’t stop staring at her. She also noted that Faye noticed this and was clearly unhappy about it.
He’d plugged her phone into his stereo and she played music. She wanted to postpone the game play as long as possible. She opened her portfolio and removed all the charcoal drawings she’d created of the bridge.
“For you, Samuel,” she handed him one. “And this one is for you, dear Faye.”
“Wow, these are great,” Shakes said. “You did all these?”
“It’s what I see in my dreams,” Valerie spread more of her artwork out on the couch.
“They’re great,” Faye said without enthusiasm. “Let’s get to it, let’s play the game.”
“What’s your rush?”
“What’s your malfunction? We’re here to play, I’ve been waiting to play all day. I have a list here,” Faye said.
“You guys haven’t been waiting to play,” Valerie said. “You’ve been playing for DAYS. Come on. I saw your pets, I’ve seen your handiwork.”
“Right. Well, we were waiting today because … we just wanted to be sure of you,” Shakes said. “We wanted to … ah, see you play. The Ed and Darin thing, it got out of hand and shook us up, and so … we want to be certain the circle is secure now. We want to take it to the next level. We each made a list. Here’s mine.”
Valerie glanced at it. “Nice. Extensive, imaginative. I see you put your parents number one on the Kill list.”
“They’re number one on mine, too,” Faye said.
“Yup,” Shakes nodded. “It’s finally time to deal with them. Mine are both away again this weekend, as usual, but this time they won’t return.”
“Mine are at some all-you-can-eat restaurant, where I hope they choke on whatever it is they’re stuffing into their mouths.”
Shakes turned down the music and brought up the game site on his big screen. Faye sat down as the bridge howled.
“And Valerie, ah … we also decided that you should go first,” Shakes said.
“You DECIDED? For me?”
“Valerie, you were outside the circle. You can’t just waltz back in,” Faye said. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“It’s a circle, not a pyramid, Faye. No single one of us is on top deciding what the others have to do. That’s not how it works.”
“We, ah … understand that,” Shakes said. “But we’d really prefer, in light of everything that’s happened, that you go first.”
“You have to be blooded in,” Faye said.
“Very well,” Valerie said.
“Where’s your list?” Faye asked.
“It’s all up here,” Valerie tapped her forehead.
“Well, we … already put your father’s name in the box for you.”
“Well, that was a waste of your time,” Valerie said.
“Why is that?”
“Because I already did that this afternoon.”
“You did it already?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“So your father is …”
“He’s home, hanging from a beam in the garage. He’s dead.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Darin emptied the entire can of gasoline over the length of the bridge as rain fell harder and harder and the bridge rocked in the harsh wind. He walked to the end of the bridge and pulled out a lighter, but couldn’t get the flame to catch on it.
“Come on, damn it, come on!”
He crouched down and shielded it, finally getting a spark. He lit the gasoline trail and it took hold. But just as it did, the rain turned from hard and steady into a near torrential downpour that snuffed the fire out. The bridge swayed and howled as if mocking him.
“No!” Darin screamed. “God damn it, no!”
Chapter Seventy
“Well then, ah … you’re going to have to kill somebody else, then,” Shakes said as he handed her the keyboard. “We’d really appreciate it.”
“We’d appreciate it NOW,” Faye added.
Valerie stared at the screen for a moment, then quickly erased her father’s name and typed in someone else’s. She hit enter quickly.
“Wait, you did that too fast, I didn’t see who it was!” Faye said.
“That’s not my fault,” she said and tossed the keyboard. She sat down on the couch, crossed her legs and sipped another drink. “You wanted me to kill someone, so I killed someone.”
Chapter Seventy-One
Darin kept trying to relight the bridge to no avail. E
ven with the gasoline, everything was far too wet and he couldn’t keep his lighter going long enough to overcome the rain and moisture. Then, in an instant, the wind and rain stopped. Everything became quiet and still as if a switch had been flipped.
Darin, shocked at first, then began flicking his lighter again, desperate for a spark. He froze when he heard the noise, however. Someone was approaching the bridge. From the sound of it, it was several people. Darin glanced around, then slipped back under the cover of a nearby willow tree. He heard voices. Young voices, teasing and laughing.
Six teen boys appeared out of the darkness and walked out onto the bridge.
Chapter Seventy-Two
“Valerie’s right, we asked her to kill someone and she killed someone,” Shakes said, relief in his voice. “The circle is complete.”
“I don’t like it,” Faye said.
“Faye, it doesn’t seem like you like anything about me these days,” Valerie said. “What’s the matter? You jealous?”
“We’re complete. Protect the circle,” Shakes said. “Moving on. We have other names and, ah … tasks to tend to, do we not? What I propose is that we take turns, one at a time, going down each list, yes?”
“If you say so, Daddy-o,” Valerie smiled sweetly at Shakes. She noticed that he’d left his phone on the bar at the end of the room. And Faye’s phone was on the couch next to hers.
“Fine,” Faye said. “Let me go next.”
Valerie’s phone, next to the stereo and plugged into the speakers, dinged a text message. Shakes, standing the nearest to it, picked it up before Valerie could move.
“Hey, Val,” Shakes said. “Can you, ah… tell me how, if your dad is hanging dead in the garage, he’s sending you a text message at this instant asking you if you want him to pick you up when Ed’s private memorial service is finished?”