Gravestone

by Travis Thrasher

  Everything is gray, and I can’t make out the end of the street. A dark cloud of doom seems to be stuck in this place, or at least stuck right over me.

  When the road turns, I see the partially concealed sign of Solitary. Underneath reads the statistic that has never caught my eye until now.

  Population 1772.

  I think about how many people that is. Almost two thousand. They can’t all own red robes and conduct sick rituals in the middle of the night. Not all two thousand. I refuse to believe that.

  Population 1772—no wait, strike that. Now it’s population 1771.

  The wind howls, and again it seems to speak to me.

  Not now, Chris, not like this.

  But that’s my fear talking.

  I stood by the sideline and watched and waited when I should have done something. Anything. I should have gotten the car and forced Jocelyn to come with me. We could be in Canada by now. I could have forced Mom to come somehow.

  No, you couldn’t.

  I could have saved Joss.

  She could still be by my side this very instant.

  No, she couldn’t.

  One thing the last twenty-four hours has taught me: I will never again be complacent. I will never just wait and wonder.

  I’m going to seize the day, as they say. Or seize someone’s throat. Whichever comes first.

  The snow launches another offensive right as I pass the sign of Solitary. I can still only see dimming nothingness in front of me.

  Until I see the figure.

  I have a bit of déjà vu and remember a figure like this seeming to guard a town when I thought that town didn’t need to be guarded. When I thought Solitary was just another little town stuck in the middle of North Carolina.

  The figure stands in the middle of the road.

  Then something else emerges at his side. Something low and dense.

  A dog.

  The dog has to be the German shepherd. The figure has to be that guy. The one I saw the day I rode my bike into town. The one I spotted at my driveway that one morning. The figure with a red mountain-man beard and a long trench coat.

  I don’t slow down.

  The dog seems to jerk forward at me, but something keeps him restrained. He must be on a leash.

  Flakes fly all sorts of ways as my footsteps feel weighed down, my feet no longer just cold but numb, my back damp with sweat, my nose a frigid Popsicle.

  The man just stands there, facing me. I can see his face under a hood.

  Is there anybody normal in this crazy town?

  “Hello,” I call out.

  But the word gets sucked into the storm as soon as it comes out.

  “Hey, can you help me?”

  This of course is crazy, but I don’t know what else to do. Nothing is as it seems in this town, so why should some dark, hulking guy with a scary dog necessarily be bad? I’m already here, and running away seems to be a bit ridiculous considering I can’t even—

  “Chris, over here!” a voice says.

  It’s a guy’s voice, but not one I recognize. It seems to be flying around the air just like the snow. I turn to the side where I thought it came from and don’t see anything—just the side of the road and the forest behind it.

  I turn again and see something coming toward me.

  “Chris, watch out!”

  The moving thing has to be the dog.

  It’s bearing down on me and flying over the snow.

  I think of that other dog I saw in the woods. The dog-thing-creature that was after me.

  What’d I ever do to dogs?

  I turn to run, and this is of course stupid, but I don’t know what else to do.

  I slip but regain my footing and then race down the path I’ve been walking. I decide to veer right into the woods.

  I don’t look behind me, but I can hear it.

  “Chris, over here!”

  Then I see something coming out of the woods toward me over me on top of me and I don’t know if I can—

  3. Something Warm

  I awake in a golden field, and that’s when I realize I’m dead.

  This is heaven, and an angel is looking over me. I see the outline of a head and long hair with a sun-crossed halo behind it.

  “You’re really stupid, you know that?”

  I didn’t think angels were supposed to say things like that.

  “What are you doing, Chris?”

  The head moves, and for a moment I’m blinded. Then I see her.

  Jocelyn.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Are you always going to be this dense?”

  “Are you there? Are you really there?”

  “You have to be more careful.”

  I move to stand up, but then I feel like that one time I had too much beer with Brady and vowed never, ever to do that again.

  “You have to know the sides, Chris. You have to find out who you can trust and who you need to stay away from.”

  She looks as beautiful as I remember her.

  “I’m sorry,” I begin, moving toward her, wanting to touch her.

  “This isn’t the place for apologies. It’s a dream, dummy. You’re just talking to yourself. You know that.”

  “This isn’t heaven?”

  She laughs, and suddenly she begins to fade away. “You’re still very much in Solitary. And that very much is not heaven.”

  I hear her laugh before the field and the sunlight fade out.

  “Chris?”

  That’s definitely not Jocelyn’s voice.

  I wake up and feel my body shivering.

  “Sorry it’s so cold. It’ll get warmer when the fire gets going.”

  The view in front of me opens like a blurry film. I see waves of candlelight. No, it’s a fire that’s starting. I see some kind of lamp floating in the air. No, a lamp on a shelf. A flickering lamp, maybe a candle or kerosene.

  “Drink this,” a guy says.

  I recoil and tighten my lips.

  “Okay, fine, it’s fine. It’s just something warm.”

  I want to say that something warm in this place is probably poison, yet my mouth can’t say anything.

  “Look, just relax, okay? You almost got mauled by that dog, then you hit your head on a tree branch.”

  I still have a gash on my side from running through the woods and getting stuck with a branch two days ago.

  These woods are treating me very well.

  The world does a mini-earthquake as I try to sit up.

  “Just take it easy.”

  I try to make out the figure sitting across from me. I’m on a sofa that seems like it’s about ready to collapse. The walls seem to be moving around us, as if we’re stuck in that trash compactor in the very first Star Wars movie.

  “My name is Jared. I’m your cousin.”

  When the blurriness goes away and I can make out his face, I panic.

  I see a boyish face with a faint beard and mustache. For a minute I try to remember if I’ve ever seen him before. My head hurts too much to think.

  “Did your mother tell you about me?”

  I shake my head.

  There’s quite a bit Mom’s neglected to mention.

  “Well, look—I can explain later. My father is your uncle.”

  “Uncle Robert?”

  My voice sounds trippy and slow-mo. Like Uuuuuuunnnnnnccccccclllllllllleeeee Rrrrrrrrrrrooooooooobbbbbeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrtttttt.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where is he?”

  The guy looks at me with a solemn stare. “That’s what I want to know.”

  “But if you’re his—What are you doing—Where are—”

  “Take it easy, Chris. That hit on your head was quite a knock.”

  “The dog did that?”

  Jared makes a face—some kind of weird expression that I don’t get—then shakes his head. “That wasn’t any ordinary dog.”

  “Are there any ordinary dogs around here?”

  He just laughs an
d then hands me a cup again.

  “Drink it. If I were here to hurt you I would have already done so.”

  I hold it.

  “Drink.”

  So I do. The warm liquid that is probably tea, though it might also be Dream Juice, not only tastes wonderful but seems to both revive me and warm me up.

  “Let me tell you a story, Chris.”

  “About what?”

  “About my father. About his disappearance.”

  He pauses, looks at the door as if someone might be coming in at any minute.

  “This could happen to you, too. So listen carefully.”

  4. Trust

  “What do you know about my father?”

  “Uncle Robert?”

  Jared nods and waits for an answer. The cabin we’re in only has a couple of windows, and they’re iced over, so it appears to be the middle of the night in this darkened room. I can hear the purring of wind outside. I shiver as I start to feel my toes again.

  How’d I get here? I blacked out and then—then what? I recall an engine. Like a motorcycle. Or maybe …

  “Did we ride a snowmobile to get here?” I ask.

  “What else could we have ridden in this weather? I had to strap you around me to keep you from falling off.”

  Part of me thinks he’s making that up, just like the fact that he’s Uncle Robert’s son.

  “I didn’t know—Mom didn’t even know he had any children.”

  “He never quite got around to sending out a birth announcement, not to mention staying around after I was born. Calling him my father—well, that’s stretching it a bit. I only learned his identity after I turned twenty-one. By then, it was too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “He was already missing. That’s why I want—why I need to know everything I can about him. I need your help.”

  There’s a part of me that doesn’t like this. That doesn’t like sitting here in another cabin with someone else I don’t know, wondering what exactly is going on.

  At least there are no dogs around here.

  I think back to Midnight, who was curled up in a ball when I left her.

  “All I know is my mom and Uncle Robert lived around here when they were younger. They moved after their mother died. Moved to the Chicago area, where my mom stayed. According to her, Uncle Robert went off to college but dropped out after their father died.”

  “And you’ve never seen him since?”

  “I remember seeing him a few times. A few weekends. I remember jet-skiing with him when we went up to Michigan. Doing stuff like that.”

  “Why’d you and your mom come back?”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Answer my question first,” Jared says.

  “I’m tired of not knowing anything around here.”

  “Look, Chris, I’m only trying to help.”

  “Then tell me—”

  “I don’t know.” The voice echoes off the walls. “I have no idea. That’s why I need your help. Anything you know about where he might have gone.”

  I think of the items I found in Uncle Robert’s closet. The gun, the iPod, the zip drive.

  Don’t tell him too much.

  “Have you talked to my mother?”

  The guy shifts his eyes in a way that isn’t too settling.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Listen, Chris, you might not believe anything I’m saying, and that’s fine. I get it because of—because of everything. But I know. I know what happened to her.”

  “What happened to who?”

  He shakes his head as if he’s already tired of this conversation. Or of me.

  “What happened to Jocelyn.”

  “You know?”

  The guy curses. “Yeah. A lot of people around here know. But you’re never going to hear about it again.”

  “We have to get out of here and tell somebody. Anybody.”

  “Is that what you were trying to do?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you able to dial 9-1-1? Or shoot off an email to someone? Anyone?”

  I shake my head. A knot seems to be forming on the back of my head.

  “The town is in shut-down mode. It’s been like this before.”

  “Shut-down mode.”

  “The snow’s only made it easier. Listen to me—there’s nothing you can do.”

  I start to go off about what I think we should do, but Jared interrupts me right away.

  “There’s nothing you can do now.”

  “We have to talk to my mom.”

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s with them.”

  The firelight in the cabin illuminates the partial scruff on his face. I see the earnest look in his eyes; a guy not much older than I am, staring at me for help and answers.

  “Look, man, I understand,” he says. “My mom couldn’t handle stuff and moved right after telling me about my father. Sometimes I think—I don’t know. I think that something really bad happened to her here. The way it happens to a lot of people around here.”

  For a moment I get up and hold the coffee mug as if it might be a weapon I’m going to need any second. “You’re lying.”

  “Chris, sit down.”

  “You’re just another person in this crazy town who’s trying to lie to me.”

  “And why would I do that? Now, especially?” His voice is calm and assured. He waits for me to sit back down and listen to him. “They don’t know about me. And maybe—I don’t know. I’d like to think that somehow that’s why my father had nothing to do with me. He was protecting me. Wishful thinking, maybe. I’m not trying to do anything here but help you and find my father.”

  I’m tired from the overload on my brain.

  “What do you mean, Mom is with them?”

  “She knows. She knows everything.”

  “She knows about Jocelyn?”

  He nods. “I’m not saying she wanted it to happen. There are a lot of people around here who don’t like what’s happening, but they have to put up with it. She’s probably protecting you.”

  “There’s no way.”

  “Why did you guys come back here?” he asks again.

  “To get away from my father.”

  “Really? Why here? Why Solitary?”

  “Because that’s the only place my mom knows. She wanted to find Uncle Robert.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe she knew he was already gone?”

  I sit in silence. The wind howls, and I feel like finding the nearest blanket and burying myself under it. I don’t want to go outside anymore. I don’t want to go anywhere.

  “All I know is that your mother knows, Chris. I’m just searching for my father. And I’m worried—I’m worried that he still might be alive. For now.”

  I shake my head. The world feels dizzy.

  This isn’t really happening, is it?

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “What’s going on here? With this town? With everything?”

  “I think it all got worse with that pastor. Pastor Marsh. When he came back, things started to happen.”

  “Came back from where?”

  “I don’t know—from exploring the world or something. He moved back to this town with ideas and plans. Big plans.”

  “For what?” My voice sounds hoarse.

  “I think that an evil has hovered around this area for a long time. And he was the reason why it suddenly came back. With a vengeance.”

  “Why haven’t you gone for help? Gotten out of this town and tried to get help?”

  “Because my dad is missing, man. Plus, I tried. I went a few towns over to a guy that I know. Who’s been in our house and eaten at our table. A guy I knew I could trust. And they’d gotten to him. I told him everything I knew—this was half a year ago. I told him about my father missing and then my mother taking off. And about others missing—high school students. The stories—stories that ar
e shared in the middle of the night when nobody else is around. I told him all this, and what does the guy do? He ends up reporting a break-in at his house and claims it was me.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. And I—there’s nowhere to go. Not yet. If I knew my father wasn’t alive, then I’d leave here. But that’s what they do, Chris.”

  I think about what they told me. The warning on New Year’s Eve.

  That’s what they do, Chris.

  “So what are we going to do?” I ask.

  “Listen to me, okay? You have to lie low. For a while.”

  “Have you been leaving me notes at school?”

  He looks surprised at my question, then shakes his head. “What kind of notes?”

  “Just notes saying the same thing. To keep to myself. To stay out of trouble.”

  “Not everyone around this town is like that pastor. The problem is that you don’t know who you can trust.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Jared shifts in his seat and hovers on the edge of it. “Listen, Chris. You gotta trust me. We have to trust each other. Okay?”

  For a moment I’m spiraling, doing somersaults down the side of the mountain.

  Then I nod.

  I have to trust someone.

  5. The Ghost in You

  This should be our conversation:

  “Where’ve you been?” Mom asks.

  “I tried to go into town to reach the authorities to tell them about the ritualistic killing of the only girl I’ve ever loved in my sixteen years.”

  “And how’d that work out for you?”

  “The big guy guarding the town sent his dog to attack me. Knocked me out, and when I came to I met my cousin, who told me not to trust you.”

  “Is that right? Hmm. What would you like for dinner? Campbell’s soup or a bologna sandwich?”

  Instead, our conversation goes something like this:

  “. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .”

  Because when I come home, Mom is sleeping.

  I think she was sleeping when I left.

  Of course, in the world I’m living in, I check to make sure she’s breathing. She is. I can smell that sweet sickly scent in her bedroom. The bottle of wine must’ve gone really well with her lunch.