by Jon Bassoff
My breathing quickened and sweat dribbled from my forehead, stinging my eyes. They’ll never find us. I parked the car out front of the restaurant, shook Lilith awake. Time to eat, I said.
Her eyes fluttered open and she watched me with that dead expression. I’m not hungry, she said.
You’ve gotta eat, I said. Don’t know when our next meal will be.
I opened the door and stepped outside, then opened the passenger-side door and helped Lilith out. The air was cold and my breath was thick.
We walked slowly toward the restaurant and ghosts were whispering in my ear. I pushed open the door and we stepped inside. It was a peculiar-looking place, a hoarder’s dream. There were cow and elk and bison heads stuck to the wall, and there was a telephone booth and a saddle and a wooden cowboy and a wooden stove. There was a rifle and a mining lantern and a saloon door and paintings of people long dead. And hanging from the ceiling: a chandelier, a noose, and a snarling wolf.
Our feet echoed on the hardwood floor. The usual cast of characters was sitting at the counter: a skinny man with frightened eyes and an Elmer Fudd hat; a fat man with mutton chops and a NASCAR leather jacket; another fat man with a beard and a lumberjack shirt; and Miss Lonelyheart, face full of heartache. And standing alone in the corner with a candy cigarette dangling from his mouth, a stooped old man with a dustbowl face and aviator shades.
We sat down at a long picnic table in the middle of the café. Nobody paid us any mind, not even the waitress, a woman with balding hair and missing teeth. I handed Lilith a menu, but she dropped it on the table. Time passed. The waitress ignored us.
Eventually I rose to my feet and made my way to the counter. The waitress finished joking with the customers and nodded at me. What can I get for you, darlin’? She studied the torment in my eyes and the scar tissue on my face and I could see that she was more than a little bit frightened of the monster in her presence.
Two coffees and two slices of cherry pie, I said.
Be coming right up, she said.
And then from the corner: I seen ya before! Right here in Silverville! With my own eyes! It was the stooped old man, ranting, his back toward me, hands fluttering in the air like moths.
Shaking my head, I returned to the table and sat down. Lilith stared straight ahead, face expressionless and soul missing, like one of those lobotomy patients from long ago. Outside, the wind moaned like a Halloween ghost. A few minutes later, the waitress came and slid a couple of healthy slices of pie on the table. Then she poured the mud, offered us some cream. And just to make conversation: You two from around here or just passing through?
Lilith opened her mouth like she was going to say something, but nothing came out. She closed her mouth and blinked slowly. Haven’t decided, I said.
Hey, Betty, I’m running a little dry, one of the fat men shouted.
The waitress returned to her clientele, and I drank my coffee and ate my pie. Lilith didn’t even glance at her food. Instead her eyes were fixated on something behind me. I turned around. On the back wall, behind the register, was an oversized portrait of a redheaded woman, surrounded by flowers and saints and crosses. I felt my chest tighten.
That woman…she said, her voice dreamy.
I tried distracting her, pushed the piece of pie her way.
That woman…Lilith said again, this time loud enough for the waitress to hear her.
The balding waitress looked up at the portrait, then sighed and shook her head. Name’s Constance Durban, she said. She used to work here.
Used to work here? What happened to her?
She disappeared.
Disappeared?
I couldn’t figure Lilith’s interest. Her eyes shone brightly, her soul momentarily back in place.
The waitress flashed a conspiratorial smile. Don’t let the hushed setting fool you. Silverville is a hamlet of sins, a million secrets buried alive.
Did somebody hurt her? Lilith asked.
The other folks at the counter all gave us sideways glances. Miss, said the skinny man with the Elmer Fudd hat, it’s best not to talk about those things. Best not to reopen wounds.
Then maybe you should take down the picture, I said.
Sure as hell know him! shouted the crazy man in the corner. Known him since he was a lad! The devil he is, plain and simple!
You hush, Kyle! the waitress said in a firm voice, and he shut up but quick.
After that, nobody talked for a while and the mood was solemn. I finished my coffee and pie, got to work on Lilith’s. That woman…she said again.
I threw down my fork, wiped my mouth. When I spoke again, my own words surprised me. It was like another person speaking. You know an old man named Flan Faulk?
Nobody answered, heads bent down.
I heard he went crazy. Stories of rats and rotting corpses. Did he go crazy?
Silence. I nodded at Lilith. Let’s get out of here, I said. You go on outside, wait in the truck. I’m gonna pay. Lilith did as she was told. I kept an eye on her as she walked to the truck, opened the door, and sat inside. No longer conniving, just obedient.
I walked up to the counter, threw down a twenty on the table. Yes, sir, I said. I heard he went crazy and I heard his son went crazy, too. Butchered Constance Durban. Buried her body in the side of the mountain. Do I have the story right?
The waitress looked up from wiping the counter. She was thrown off guard. You’ve got some nerve, mister.
I only ask because I knew the both of them, a long time ago.
Miss Lonelyheart looked up from her iced tea, snarled. Yeah, you got the story about right. They were lunatics, the both of them.
And they never found young Benton, did they?
Everybody looked at each other, but nobody answered.
And they never found Constance Durban, neither?
More silence.
And Flan Faulk?
Mr. NASCAR spit a stream of brown tobacco into a cup. Then he said, Them Denver doctors let him out. Figgered he wasn’t crazy no more. You ask me, they figgered wrong. He’s back in Silverville. At his old place. Keeps to hisself, mostly.
I nodded my head, said, I’m much obliged, and started walking toward the door. I could feel a roomful of eyes staring at the back of my head.
I’d just turned the doorknob when I felt somebody grab my shoulder. I spun around, came face-to-face with the crazy old man. I knew who you was from the moment you set foot in here! I never forget a face! You’re the boy who did the killin’! Then he pulled off his sunglasses and his eyes darted spastically back and forth across his sockets. The eyes of a blind man.
CHAPTER 33
Outside the temperature had dropped 20 degrees at least. I opened the truck door and stepped inside. Lilith sat in the passenger seat, rocking back and forth like an Orthodox Jew praying at the Wailing Wall. Then she turned to me and said, I know that girl. The one in the photograph.
I shook my head. No, you don’t.
Yes, she said. She’s me. Who I’ll become.
I hit the engine and drove. George Jones sang on the radio. “He Stopped Loving Her Today.” The station was full of static, but he sounded better that way. Up the mountain we went, snow falling harder.
Where are we going? Lilith said. Where are you taking me?
I turned and looked at her and for the first time I saw the truth, God’s revelation, and I knew that Lilith was the devil, that Constance was the devil, that my mother was the devil.
We’re going home, I said.
* * *
Twenty minutes passed, maybe more, before we came to an old valley surrounded by a crown of trees. Then the old mining cabin appeared through the canopy like a drunken dream, all indistinct and hazy. Four walls built out of logs, a wooden shake roof, a door, and a pair of boarded-up windows. And just beyond the cabin, an abandoned mine, the rotted boards collapsed on the shaft like a jigsaw of bones.
I felt an ancient coldness rise up inside of me. I let off the gas, and the truck rolled t
o a stop. We sat in the pickup for a long time, me just staring at the cabin, Lilith staring at me. Then the windshield was covered with snow and I couldn’t see anymore.
There were ghosts in that cabin. Men who came to the mountains with nothing but a pick, a shovel, some food, and a jug of whiskey. Digging and drinking and dying. Murder and suicide. Remember Miles Stockton? Taking a break from beating on his pregnant wife to shoot himself in the temple, leaving the poor woman to clean his brain and blood from the wall. Those ghosts never leave, not really.
I turned off the engine, opened the door. Where are you going? Lilith asked.
I’m going to go check it out, I said. Make sure there aren’t any animals inside.
Please, Lilith said.
Please what?
Please…take me home.
Baby, you are home.
I walked slowly toward the mining cabin and the fury was buried in my soul.
The front door was all boarded up. Walk away. There’s no redemption here. Breathing heavily, I raised my leg and slammed my boot against the wood. It was rotted and splintered easily. After five or so more kicks, the wood was pretty well broken through. I pushed the smashed door out of the way and stepped inside.
The act of breaking open the door filled the shack with dust rising in the slatted sunlight. Shoulders heaving, I studied my surroundings. A cracked lightbulb hung perilously from the ceiling. There was a wood-burning stove and a gas lantern and a wooden chair and a small cot. I walked farther inside, the boards creaking under my feet. Then I stopped, stood there for a while, dread oozing everywhere. In the back of the cabin, wood piled high. I knew there was no turning back. Redemption is a song for the delusional. Sweat dribbling down my forehead, I got busy pulling off the firewood. Beneath it all was an old miner’s rug, tattered and torn. I tossed it aside, saw the small padlocked door on the ground, layered with dust and grime. I stood staring at that hatch for some time, just thinking and thinking. Hands trembling, I removed the chain from around my neck, unsnapped a key away from the dog tag. Get out, soldier. The walls are collapsing. I dropped to my knees, gripped the key tightly. Get out. I pushed the key into the lock and turned. It clicked open. After tossing the lock aside, I grabbed a hold of the edge of the hatch and lifted it up, letting it slam behind me on the wooden floor. I gazed downward. A long, darkened ladder. Something terrible in me. Get out, soldier! That’s an order.
I walked across the room and grabbed the gas lantern. Kerosene still inside. I opened the shield and lit the flame with my lighter. My hands still trembled and the ocean still boiled. Wheezing steadily, maggots crawling beneath my skin, I turned and walked out of the cabin, back toward the truck where Lilith’s face had vanished beneath the snow-covered windshield.
I opened the passenger’s-side door. Lilith’s eyes shone with rage and they could see every sin I’d ever committed.
It’s time to go, I said.
You don’t have to do this.
We’ve come this far. No sense in turning back now.
She had a hard time walking. Nerves maybe. She kept falling into the snow. I’d kind of drag her for a while, then pull her back to her feet. I saw that she was crying. I slapped the tears out of her. That tooth in my mouth was aching, rotting. The rats were gnawing on my brain.
Inside the Skull Shack. Lilith inconsolable. What is this? she said, fear, fear, fear. Who lives here?
I grinned, said, You live here. But she didn’t get it.
Please, she said. Joseph…
Devils, I said. Then I pointed toward the open hatch. We’re gonna go down there, I said. Have a look-see.
Lilith shook her head. No, she said. Not this way.
I’m sorry, but there’s no other way. I didn’t want it to end like this. Honest I didn’t. I grabbed her by the arm, pulled her toward the ladder. But you gotta sleep in the bed you made.
She looked up at me with the same stare I’d seen so many times before. We’d all seen ghosts, every last one of us. I shone the kerosene lamp toward the ladder. Lilith peered downward. Wha…what’s down there? she said, dirty tears rolling down her face.
I don’t know.
Slowly, we made our way down the wooden ladder. It smelled damp and dank. My legs felt rubbery and I thought I might collapse. Lilith held on to my arm, digging her fingers into my ligaments. She wouldn’t stop crying.
We finally reached the bottom. I raised the lantern, shone it around. I looked at the ground, saw an old mattress covered in shit and blood and maggots. Lilith began to faint. I held her up.
I took another step forward. And that’s when I heard moaning, soft and low, and came face-to-face with the monster.
A nightmarish vision, its hair and teeth missing, eyes sockets empty, a bloated purple tongue lolling between swollen and bloody lips. Skin sloughed from a shriveled little body, spine badly contorted, arms and legs gnarled.
Help me, the monster cried in a little girl’s voice, as Lilith fell to the floor. The monster stood over her. Please. Help me.
I lost control, screaming, crying, screaming. My soul was disintegrating by the second. But Lilith didn’t see anything, saying, What is it, Joseph, what is it?
In my panic, I dropped the lantern and it crashed on the ground, glass splintering everywhere. I was a blind man, falling apart, making my way up the ladder. I didn’t look back, but I could hear moaning and screeches of terror. I pulled myself out of the dugout and rolled to my back. I struggled to my feet and started lifting the hatch. Lilith and the monster were right behind me. I had to kick at them with my boot to keep them down. Finally, I got the hatch shut and locked. They were pounding on the hatch, the both of them. Body trembling, I backed away slowly, then turned around and staggered out of the shack.
Soon the pounding and the screams became more and more muffled and then the world was quiet, gone, gone forever.
CHAPTER 34
Memories get mixed up memories change one person remembers it one way somebody else remembers it a different way I grew up in a small Ohio town my parents died in a car crash remember the rats and the sickness mother was withering away I was almost at the mountain when the engine gave out the Christ rat especially as soon as those buildings collapsed I knew I wanted to be a soldier everyone said he was crazy I said they were crazy I was in Mosul we were driving down the road and it was midnight it was pitch-black and our lights were off we were wearing night-vision goggles how far you going partner he said and his face was melted as soon as I saw those buildings collapse I knew I wanted to be a soldier as far as you can take me she reminded me of somebody that was certain Constance Constance Constance we were driving down this road and there was this tiny bridge over a little canal and one moment you’re whole and beautiful from the darkness in the sea to the sunshine on the hill in the forest filled with trees my shadow has gone still I grew up on the mountain I grew up in a small Ohio town nobody would miss him I thought it’s perfect I grew up in a small Ohio town what do you need the Sterno for the woman said its just like napalm it’ll burn your skin good if you’re not careful my name is Joseph Downs here’s my dog collar with my name on it I served my country proudly as far as you’ll take me I said Nick McClellan deserved to die Lilith deserved to die Mother deserved to die memories get mixed up I was badly injured unrecognizable his face was melted my name is Joseph Downs my name is Benton Faulk I served my country proudly.
CHAPTER 35
I sat in the truck outside of the Skull Shack. The hearse engine was humming but I didn’t drive, couldn’t drive. Instead, I just sat there studying my face in the rearview mirror, trying to find something, the truth maybe, but the truth was vile. The past changes and we forget. I reached behind my head, ripped off my dog tag, and placed it in the palm of my hand. I stared at the name for a good long time. Joseph Downs. Then my fingers tightened around the identification tag, and my eyes clenched shut. I squeezed harder and harder until the tag sliced right through the palm of my hand, drew blood. I watched in bewilderment
as the blood dripped like a faucet onto the upholstery.
Eventually I pushed the truck into gear and hit the gas. I drove around for a long time, Lilith’s screams echoing in my ears. I felt weary. I needed to lay my head somewhere.
Down the mountain a ways, I came upon a little motel, hidden beneath the pine trees. The vacancy light shone and I parked in front of the office next to an old Plymouth with suicide doors. I walked slowly to the motel and my hand was covered with blood.
The office door was closed and locked. I pounded on the door a few times and waited. Some time passed before an old lady with long gray hair and a long gray nightgown appeared. Her face was groggy as she peered out the window. She unlocked the door and opened it. It’s late, she said.
Can you give me a room? I said. I’ve been traveling all day.
She sighed. All right. Come on in.
In the corner of the office there was a potbelly stove burning and I walked over and warmed my hands. It’s getting cold, I said.
She saw the blood on my hand, and her eyes narrowed. You okay there, son?
Sure, I said. Never better.
She handed me a key. Room three, she said. Check out is eleven. That’ll be thirty-eight dollars.
I pulled out my wallet and handed her the money. Sorry for waking you, I said. I just need a few hours of sleep.
Don’t worry about it, sugar. You have a good night.
The room was basic. A bed, a dresser, a toilet, a sink. No artwork. No television. I got out of my clothes and lay on the bed.
I slept; I don’t know for how long. I didn’t dream.