Dark Gardens

by Erb, Thom

  “Oh, I think I know where that is, a good friend of mine used to live there,” Bobby placed the cell phone on the console and started rummaging through the stack of maps in between the seats.

  “It looks like she lives in east Jesus for sure. I’ll text you her address now and the GPS should do the rest,” Her voice chirped and blipped through the bad connection.

  Bobby’s cell phone beeped acknowledging the incoming text. “I got it, thanks B,” He said, looking through the coffee stand map spread out over his lap.

  “You’re welcome gentlemen. Please b… saf…. call me whe-,” Bridget’s voice started to break up and then was gone.

  “Must be the mountains messing up the reception,” Bobby figured and typed in the address Bridget sent.

  Waylon sat stoic, just focused on the road ahead.

  “Hmm okay… well, according to the GPS, it should be about four hours. Not too bad bro,” Bobby waited for a long while for a response. Waylon reached over to the radio and turned it up.

  Johnny Cash’s Ring of Fire filled the silence of the cab and Bobby caught the message and pretended to plunk away at his laptop.

  Light snow speckled the windshield as the empty cargo van headed south down Route 77.

  RT 52 South

  Pilot Mt. N.C.

  8:30 am.

  “When I stop leavin’ I’ll be gone,” Charley Pride sang over the radio and Bobby finally snapped. The song was his mother’s favorite and the harsh memory of her death only a few short years ago washed over him. Now his Dad was gone. His chest tightened and tears streaked down his flushed face.

  “Wayl, are you okay, bro?” He fought from sounding frustrated but Waylon always kept his feelings close to his vest but he knew it wasn’t healthy and Waylon was his only friend and he would do anything to help him.

  “I guess Bobby, I don’t know,” Waylon’s tone softened. The mid morning traffic buzzed by on the busy interstate.

  “Heck, I know you don’t like to talk serious and stuff, but come on bro, we’re talking about your Dad,” Bobby turned the volume down on the radio.

  “I know, it’s just…I should have been there but here I…,” Waylon’s shoulders slumped and his tight grip on the steering wheel lessened. “I wasn’t there for him when my Mom was killed and damn it if I wasn’t there when he needed me again!”

  “You can’t think like that bro,” Bobby pleaded. “He does have other kids you know,” He squeezed Waylon’s quivering shoulder.

  “I know. But Christi has her own family and kids. And Tony, well he’s about as useful as tits on a boar hog,” Waylon wiped the tears from his face shook his head. “Christi said the police found his body after his neighbors complained of the smell,” He choked on the words as the horrific images flooded his swirling mind.

  “He died alone Bobby. Left to rot in that shit hole of an apartment.” Waylon gritted his teeth and punched the steering wheel.

  “You sure you don’t want to head on up to Greensboro? You can grab a flight back to Nacogdoches and be home before dinner time,” Bobby chubby fingers busily Googled flight times on this laptop.

  “No. I can’t do anything back there. Ah the hell with it. Let’s just get to the Pick and I’ll deal with it after,” Waylon said, merging into the next lane. “Besides he would have wanted me to keep picking,” Waylon looked at Bobby and he got the point and let it alone.

  The rest of the drive to Pittsboro was filled with country music and conversations about directions and the bizarrely cold weather.

  Both occupants of the cargo van were content with that.

  Graco Dairy Road

  Pittsboro, N.C.

  10:30 am.

  The snow seemed to lessen as the white cargo van made its way down the crudely plowed driveway. The tall, snow laden short leaf Pine trees created a tangled canopy over drive. Two deep valleys of tire tracks carved the way through curves and slight hills. Waylon struggled to keep the tires from the van in the ruts. The primitive driveway was unpredictable and the layer of ice tucked beneath the inches of snow didn’t make it any easier to manage.

  “Fuck me runnin I sure hope were headed to the right place,” Waylon gritted his teeth and yanked the steering wheel back to the left.

  “Wayl, language please,” Bobby reminded.

  “Whatever. This driveway is for shit.” Waylon grunted and struggled to pull the van back to the right.

  The van climbed a small rise and at the top, they finally caught sight of the Edna’s Golden Apple Curio Shoppe and Oddity Emporium.

  “You have got to be shitting me?” Waylon slowly brought the van to a stop.

  “Holy,” Bobby uttered and sat up straight to get a better look.

  Below them at the bottom of a steep hill sat over twenty acres of shacks, dilapidated barns and hundreds of rusted out cars, trucks and buses and other wrecks that were too far gone to make out. The property was all fenced in with what Waylon guessed were ten-foot walls made of scraped metal panels and other various “jimmy-rigged” fencing.

  “Uh, is this just an old junk yard?” Waylon’s words fell from his mouth with dripping disappointment.

  “Oh come on buddy, this could be a gold mine down there,” Bobby’s optimistic tone startled Waylon, gave him a wishful look, and slowly pressed on the gas pedal. The van slowly lurched down the snowy slope.

  Johnny Cash sang “One Piece at a Time” and the lyrics made Bobby giggle. Waylon shook his head, held onto the steering wheel, fought to keep the van inside the ruts, and prayed they wouldn’t have to stop fast. The driveway was like riding on rails.

  “Hold tight Bobby Boy, this could get ugly,” Waylon half joked and kept the van as straight as possible as it sped toward the large metal fence at the bottom of the hill. Bobby didn’t utter a word and held onto the Oh crap handle of the ceiling of the van.

  The van fishtailed a bit but Waylon managed to keep it from overturning and brought it safely to a stop a mere inch from the large front gate and they both sat there a moment in silence. A large chunk of ice and snow flew from the top of the van and smashed against the rusty-pitted plate of the gate with a deafening boom.

  “Shit,” Waylon slammed the van into park and flipped Bobby the bird before he could chastise him.

  “Well, I bet that got their attention,” Bobby undid the seat belt and shoved his cell phone into his jacket pocket. The snow faded to a few random flakes as Bobby got out and closed the door.

  Waylon snatched the keys and his phone, shoved them into his pockets, and got out of the van. Glad to give his butt a break. The sun made a break for the dark clouds, shone down into the snow buried valley, and crafted harsh shadows as they examined the front gate of Edna’s Golden Apple Curiosity Shoppe and Oddity Emporium.

  They jumped as a loud metallic clang rang from the other side of the solid metal fence. A caw of crows and beating of wings filled their ears as the large gate creaked open.

  The large gate opened inward and created big ruts in the snow inside the compound. A short, stocky form yanked the bulky gate and shoved it back in a huff. The man stepped out of the shadow and his bowling ball like, muscle bound frame startled Waylon and Bobby as he came into view.

  “Howdy y’all welcome to Ms. Edna’s place,” The stout fellow dressed in stained overalls, overstuffed boots, and shaggy earmuffs, offered his shaky, hair-covered hand to Waylon, never making eye contact. His body shook nervously and even in the cold temperatures, his large hand was slathered in sweat.

  Waylon stepped back and gave Bobby a nod toward the strange doorman who stood shaking with his large hand outstretched.

  “Uh, nice to meet you. I’m Bobby Garrity,” He said giving Waylon a disapproving pout.

  “Ms. Edna is expecting you. You can pull the van into the courtyard over there,” The stocky man pointed to a cleared area of snow around a large maple tree inside the fence.

  Waylon got back into the van, fired it up, and drove it into the courtyard. The tires spun a bit but the
van moved and pulled into the compound. The van was surrounded by a dozen cars in various states of decay and disrepair. He thought it odd and opened the glove box and grabbed at his Glock, but then shook his head and slammed the door closed on the compartment door and chalked his bad feeling up to his pissy mood and got out of the van and joined Bobby.

  “You okay with this?” Waylon asked taking in the various carcasses of rusted out vehicles and bizarre lawn art décor.

  Bobby gave him a gentle shove. “Ah bro, this place is awesome. This could be IT. This could be the pick of a life time,” He swirled around, taking in the wonders of the compound.

  Waylon just patted Bobby on the back and surveyed the snow-covered landscape and the large house that lay before them and wondered if his Dad would have thought it a bit strange too.

  The stocky man closed the gate, locked it with a heavy padlock, and waddled passed them, and motioned for them to follow.

  Bobby shrugged his chubby shoulders and fell in line behind the bulky gatekeeper.

  “Um pardon me sir. Do you have a name?” Bobby asked, skipping a step to catch up.

  “Knost,” The bulky man muttered as he climbed the rickety steps of the two-story house twenty feet away that seemed about ready to collapse like a tired skeleton.

  “Well, I guess his name is Knost,” Bobby joked and followed. Waylon didn’t find the same humor and scoured the area for possible good picking. Nothing but old washing machines and an old rusted out 1985 Dodge Omni welcomed them as they reached the steps of the lilting main Shoppe.

  “This way fellers,” Knost said, opening the front door which its faded red paint was peeling like three day old sunburn. A stuffed beaver sat guarding the door on its hind legs. Even in death, they’re worthless. Waylon muttered and stepped up on the loosed steps.

  The heavy door creaked open as they stopped at the top of the stairs. A cold wind swept down into the valley and the snow stung their faces.

  “Let’s get out of this crap,” Waylon bitched and pushed past Bobby and the bowing Knost.

  “Uh, after you,” Bobby shrugged his shoulders and patted Knost on the back and quickly rubbed his wet hand on his pants, then followed Waylon in the Shoppe

  Inside the Shoppe, room was hard to come by. It smelled of mothballs and mold. Filling the room was everything from turn of the century paintings, to teapots, lunch boxes, ceramic bottles and porcelain dolls- which creeped Waylon out. He turned his attention to the stack of old newspapers on the makeshift wooden counter to his left.

  “Wait here sirs… I fetch Miss Edna,” Knost timidly spoke and shuffled between the tall piles of “treasures.” He quickly disappeared at the far end of the room behind a faded and torn Stars & Bars flag, acting as a curtain.

  “Do you believe this place, Wayl? “ Bobby’s excitement could barely be contained inside his chubby body. His head whirled about as if on a swivel.

  Bobby picked up an old book from the many stacks and blew the inch thick dust off. “Who the heck is Snorri Sturluson?” He coughed.

  “Ya got me, but I will say the old broad has a lot of stuff.” Waylon feigned looking through the yellowed papers and tried hard to ignore the shark-like eyes of the dolls lining the wall too his right.

  “Come on bro, try and see the potential here. Besides, B said that Miss Edna had treasure beyond…”

  “Your imagination,” A croaky voice that sounded like an old porch swing that was in bad need of some oil.

  “And that we do Gentlemen, I guarantee,” Miss Edna spoke and stepped into the room, with one thin hand on her hip and the other caressing a doll with sightless black eyes and twine-like yellow hair. Waylon spun at her voice and then quickly turned away, freaked out by the hell-spawned doll.

  Knost caught him and let go a low giggle but went silent when Ms. Edna glared at him.

  “Well hello Ms. Edna, I’m Bobby Garrity and this is Waylon Lafford and we’ve heard you have quite the uh, eclectic collection. It’s mighty good to meet you Ma’am,” Bobby quickly crossed the room and offered his hand. Waylon nodded but stayed in place.

  “Oh, mercy me, ain’t y’all just so sweet,” Ms. Edna tilted her head and patted her thin, frail face.

  “Your friend…is he shy, or have I offended him in some way?” Ms. Edna tapped her lips with her wrinkled forefinger, peering at Waylon, who was busy trying not to look at the wall of corpse-like dolls behind the old woman.

  “Oh, of course not Ma’am. Waylon here is just a little weirded out by, uh… your dolls, um, there,” Bobby struggled to find the right words and stepped back and snatched Waylon’s shoulder and smiled as he pulled him back to where Ms. Edna was patiently waiting, with a wide yellow smile upon her taught face. Her deep-set dark brown eyes seem to match the army of creepy dolls behind her tiny frame.

  “For the love of god bro, at least pretend you give a shit,” Bobby whispered through a tight-lipped smile. He pushed Waylon’s protesting body forward.

  “Uh, hum, it’s nice to meet you Ma’am, “Waylon looked at the old woman’s worn, tattered saddle shoes and forced a smile, offering her is hand.

  “Well, dear sir, it’s mighty nice to meet you Waylon,” She purred, jutting her hand passed his and bending her boney wrist as to give him ample room to kiss her hand. Her pale, liver spot-filled face creased with a huge smile. It made Waylon’s testicles shrivel up inside.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Is all he could muster as he apprehensively kissed her limp, cold hand. He could feel the coffee churn in his empty stomach and prayed for calm waters.

  “Oh, Waylon, you remind me so much of my husband, Baldwin. You handsome devil, I might just keep you here with me,” Her cackle made the hair on his body stand on end and it took all he could to keep a polite smile on his flushed face.

  “I…um thank you Ms. Edna,” Waylon couldn’t get away from the old woman fast enough and pulled away. He backed into Bobby, who wasn’t moving an inch and leaned into his ear.

  “Treasures beyond our imaginations,” Bobby’s hot breath was about as creepy as the lecherous women still holding his hand. He relented and bowed slightly at Ms. Edna and forced a smile.

  “Well, I do believe I have embarrassed this young man. I am so dreadfully sorry young Waylon,” Ms. Edna folded her hands in a prayer-like formation and returned Waylon’s bow. She never took her wide eyes off of him.

  “Oh, no harm no foul, Ms. Edna,” Bobby offered and stepped between them. “He gets that all the time. It must be the red hair.”

  Waylon furrowed his brow and took a deep breath. This was really the last thing he needed. A warm room. Warmer shower and several Bud Lights would have been his preferred choice. One last pick. He told himself and smile at them both.

  “Goodness me gentlemen. Forgive my ill manners. May I offer you a warm drink or a piece of my delicious apple pie?” Ms. Edna flushed and motioned toward the backroom.

  Waylon, tired and impatient spoke,” That’s okay we’d like to get to checking out your property,”

  Everyone in the room, but Waylon and Ms. Edna’ cringed.

  “Um. I’m sorry Ma’am we’ve been traveling for hours and Waylon here, he’s uh. Just tired is all.” Bobby’s words came quick and Waylon didn’t know why he bothered.

  “Oh, that’s quite alright Mr. Garrity. I know what Mr. Lafford meant. He’s very much a focused young man. I like that,” Ms. Edna looked Waylon up and down with one pencil thin eyebrow raised. “Why Mr. Lafford, you bring a heavy weight to Ms. Edna’s Shoppe. Let us get to the pickin’ then. What do y’all say?” Her words were cold and bore deep into Waylon.

  “Knost, fetch me my outside clothes,” She ordered, and smiled at Waylon and Bobby.

  “Yes’um,” Knost replied softly, ran into the back room, and returned with a large bear fur cloak and matching headdress. Knost helped her don the winter garb and rushed to the door.

  “Let us precede gentlemen,” She said, “after all, the day’s a wasting and there’s oh so much treasure to behold,” Sh
e brushed them both under their chins as she passed and sauntered out the open door to the snow-covered compound.

  Knost waved his monster-sized hands toward the door, bowing his shaggy head.

  “After you Captain Couth,” Bobby said, mocking Knost’s motion.

  “Up yours Elvis-boy,” Waylon half joked and ignored Knost as he followed Ms. Edna out into the light snow fall.

  Bobby followed and Knost slammed the door and waddled past them to catch up to Ms. Edna.

  Ms. Edna’s pace was brisk. Her words came in a torrent of descriptive words. Her North Carolinian accent was thick and fast. The two forty-something year-olds had a hard time keeping up with the old woman. Over the next four hours, she took them from one pile of rusted out pre-world war II vehicle to the next. A few small buildings held some interesting old gas station signs and random scrap they could have found anywhere. Waylon was slowly losing his patience and the further and deeper the old woman dragged them on, the more apparent it became. To make matters worse, the mid day sky turned to dark clouds and the light snow turned to sleet, soaking them to the bone. Bobby kept looking back at him, shooting him mean looks through his coke-bottle glasses. However, there wasn’t any huge treasure or holy grail as promised in this entire crap hole.

  Waylon tried to focus, tried to keep his chin up. But images of his Dad and the last hostile words they shared and the kidney punching feeling of guilt kept needling him with each and every slippery, fruitless step they took into this junk heap. He lagged behind Bobby, the old woman and even Knost, who just trudged along on the fringe of their line of sight. That seemed weird to Waylon, but he let it go, not caring about him or the whole Pick. That was until the Ms. Edna stopped suddenly in front of a large worn wooden gate. She spun in the light snow and ice puddles and faced them.

  “Now Young Waylon, I’m getting the distinct feelin’ that I have yet to successfully impress y’all with all of my glorious keepsakes and wonders,” Ms. Edna pursed her thin lips and slowly walked to him and tapped him on the burly chest.