Brain Dead Blues

by Matt Hayward

  The brass section filled the summer air just as they reached their spot on top of the cliff. Etta's soulful voice always gave Alan gooseflesh, and that, mixed with the cold damp of his skin, made a powerful combination. He sat and put on his glasses, listing to the song as Eddie fished out a crumpled carton of smokes from his jeans pocket.

  “Want one?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Alan had only started smoking two months ago himself, and although he didn't like the nauseous feeling that came with it, he did love the smell. He caught the cigarette and motioned for the lighter. Eddie sat across from him against the large oak, nesting his back into it. They sat, smoked, and listened to the rest of the song.

  “Only one more year and I'll be driving.” Eddie swirled his cigarette in his fingers, watching the smoke drift away. “Just one more year, man. Getting out of here the minute I do. Or maybe sooner.”

  “Yeah, and you're taking me with you.”

  “You? You're never leaving this town, Al. Sorry to break it to ya.” He popped the cigarette back into his mouth and drew the comb from his side pocket, running it through his greasy black hair. “You'll work at the dam, just like Dad. Probably knock up some chick just as you're getting ready to go to college too. Then it's all downhill. Hit the bottle pretty hard after that I bet.” He laughed.

  Alan flipped him off. “Why do you always have to be such a dick?”

  “Oh, come on, lighten up. I'm just kidding with you. You'll leave sooner than you think.”

  “Well,” Big Mike's voice interrupted from the radio. “The summer of nineteen sixty-five has just begun. Let's leave behind those winter blues and slip inside our dancin' shoes. Time's running out kids, and those pesky parents of Finis are so unfair, so blow 'em sky high and y'all get outta there!”

  Alan choked on his cigarette. It burned the back of his throat as he hacked and coughed. “What—” His voice was cut off in another coughing fit. “What did he just say?”

  The smile fell from Eddie's face. “It's about time you learned all about what Big Mike said, Al.” He flicked his cigarette over the edge of the cliff. “Finis is a dark place, and you're lucky it's your birthday, because I'm going to give you the best damn present you could ever hope to get: your life.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Eddie pushed himself from the oak. “I won't tell you. I'll show you.”

  He made his way towards the thicket of trees behind him. They were mostly birches. Their spindly gray trunks leaned toward each other as their skeletal branches intertwined.

  “Through here.”

  Alan followed his brother silently. Their feet crunched the dead leaves and yellowed grass. The river ran loudly out of sight. The sharp pine needles poked at Alan's soles as he tiptoed over them.

  Alan kept his gaze on the ground beneath him, stepping carefully. The sunlight and shadows patterned the carpet of debris.

  “You're not a kid now,” Eddie said. “We have got to make this quick. Keep up.”

  Ahead, the thicket cleared, and across the overgrown field in front stood their home. Their home. That old familiar wooden structure their dad had inherited from his father. It was a comforting place with the newly fitted shingled roof. It wasn't much, but it was more than most had.

  And now Alan saw — Mom and Dad were on their knees in the garden, coming in and out of view as the tall grass swayed. Mom's golden brown hair blew back over her shoulders as the wind picked up. Dad's brown puffy coat, the old one Alan had known all his life, was zipped up to his neck.

  Sure, they might have drank a little too much, and Dad might have spoken with his fists on a few occasions, but they were his parents, and deep down he loved them.

  “What are they doing?”

  “Praying.”

  “Praying? Oh come on. We're not religious.”

  Eddie barked laughter and slapped his knee. “Religious? Damn right we're not, at least as far as God is concerned.”

  He looked to Alan, shaking his head. That familiar you're such an idiot expression filled his face. “They're a damn cult, Al. Mom and Dad are part of a cult. The whole damn town is.” He looked to his brother for a response but got none. “Remember Sammy Hogan? His big scholarship last year? What a laugh that was. He didn't go anywhere. He's six feet under back in the wood and the whole damn town knows it too. Him, along with about a hundred others.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Eddie imitated Big Mike, “No more than one per couple, those are the rules according to the scripture.”

  “What scripture, Eddie?” Alan almost shouted.

  “The book, it's been here for years. Loads of small-town folk practice magick and old traditions. They'll play it down if you ask them of course, but they believe it.”

  “Eddie, this isn't funny.”

  “It gets worse. Remember the Flatwoods Monster over in Braxton County the year you were born? Big Mike told us over the radio that it's all true. That thing exists. They say the second born is to be sacrificed in his name, before adulthood, so the family can live on. Only one for every couple. The second child is killed, but you're going to be the first to escape it.”

  Alan's stomach cartwheeled. Eddie wasn't the most imaginative person, and this was one hell of a story. He tried to poke a hole in his brother's logic. “What? And you believe this? Why wouldn't anyone ever put a stop to something like that?”

  Eddie laughed. “You ever see a cop around here? No one gives a shit about our small town, man. We're on our own.”

  “You're playing a joke, Eddie. If you're serious, why wouldn't our parents just kill me when I was born?”

  “Because the rules say you must die when you reach lucky number thirteen. Usually kids are killed at birth, so the parents don't get attached. Hell, I don't know. All I know is that I'm getting you out of here. Big Mike told us everything.”

  “About Big Mike… why wouldn't other people hear his broadcast from anywhere else?”

  “It's a local pirate station, and no one knows who he is. We've had meetings to discuss this, all of the kids. Did you know there are only sixty-seven kids in the whole town?”

  “I never thought about it.”

  “You've never noticed that every child in this town is an only child?”

  “So what are you saying we do?”

  “We're already doing it. We're getting out of here. Johnny's got the car running. Your stuff's already packed.”

  Alan's head was fuzzy. It was as if when he came back up from the water earlier, he had emerged into some horrific parallel existence. One where parents offered their children as sacrifice to some monster in the woods.

  Was he ever going home again? Was he never going to step through that familiar whitewashed door to the smell of a fire burning in the living room? His comics! Was he never going to read another in his bed by torchlight?

  This was one big elaborate prank. Had to be.

  Eddie turned and headed back toward the thicket. Alan gave one final look back at their parents on their knees in the garden before following his brother. Could they really be in on this? Big Mike's voice grew as they approached the cliff through the wood, fighting for sonic real estate against the river's roar.

  “…the night, kiddies. You've all been training for this real hard, and it's going to go great, I just know it. They say Rock 'n' Roll is the Devil's music and then they read their sick book and practice their sick, utterly unmentionable acts. Hypocrites! Each and every one of 'em! But we're not playing their game anymore, no way. Tables have turned, folks, and we're making the change. Our first escapee is Alan Peterson led by his brother Edward and we're all going to pitch in just like we talked about.”

  Alan's feeling of disorientation and lightheadedness increased hearing Big Mike speak his name. The DJ's voice grew distant as Alan's thoughts whirled. His parents were going to kill him? His stomach felt as if its bottom had been removed, just like when he had jumped from the cliff. I'm going to vomit�
�

  From Elm Road, though really more a dirt track than a road, came the growing noise of a large engine.

  “Good, Johnny's almost here.” Eddie's voice snapped Alan back to reality. “Get the radio, squirt, then wave a happy bye-bye to Creepsville, because it's the last time any of us will ever see this place.”

  Alan picked up the transistor radio just as The Beach Boys started “I Get Around.” He was running on autopilot. The happy harmonies came from both the radio in his hand and the radio from the car that came into view through the spindly trees.

  It wasn't Johnny's usual beat-up ride. What came down the dirt track was a new, pearly white Ford Shelby Mustang.

  Johnny in a Mustang? Alan thought. What sort of crazy dream is this?

  Golden dust swirled in the mighty car's wake as it pulled to a stop. Two dark stripes ran the length of its blinding white body. Johnny honked the horn.

  “Time to rock, man!” Eddie called, rushing to the car.

  Johnny smiled at them. “Hey!”

  Johnny Morris had been Eddie's best friend for as long as Alan could remember. “I thought if we were finally leaving, we should leave in style.” Johnny threw his hands up as if he were weighing something invisible. “Nabbed it from my dad's show room. What a pony, huh?”

  He had on sunglasses and a black muscle shirt, and Alan figured that Eddie was thinking the same thing he was — Johnny Morris looked like the coolest kid to ever walk the face of the Earth.

  “Johnny, you old dog!” Eddie shouted, clapping his hands and moving like he needed to pee. He popped the door, hopped into the passenger seat, and bounced on the leather.

  Alan moved slowly toward the car, the radio clutched tightly to his chest. He still felt as if he needed to vomit.

  The great white's idling engine purred. Johnny climbed out and popped the seat down so that Alan could crawl into the back.

  “Johnny, is it true?” His voice sounded weak.

  “True as true can be, kid. Sorry to tell you, but happy to tell you happy fucking birthday, 'cause we're getting you the hell out of here.” He slapped the white metal of the door impatiently. “Come on, Daddy-O, we got to get moving.”

  Alan let himself slowly into the backseat. The smell of new car made his stomach feel even worse. Johnny slammed his door shut and shot off so fast that Alan's head hit the leather headrest. He was once again knocked back to reality.

  A tingle of excitement crept through Alan. He despised that he liked the rush, but he couldn't deny it. He wasn't a kid anymore. He thought that maybe his parents had told Eddie to take him to the river as they set up a surprise party, but that had been far too hopeful.

  The picket fences swished passed as they sped down Pine Street. Once a picturesque quiet slice of suburbia, those pickets all seemed like jagged teeth now. This town was bat-shit crazy.

  “There's Mrs. Stewart,” Eddie hissed, looking out the window. “All right, slow down.”

  Johnny did. Mrs. Stewart stood with a hose, watering her front lawn, a slim woman with a pretty polka-dot dress. Her home behind her was a replica of every other home on the perfectly manicured street.

  From the radio came Big Mike's voice again: “All right, kids, we've reached it. It's Big Mike's Countdown! Is everybody ready? Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five!”

  Mrs. Stewart lowered her garden house to wave to them, her face a wonderfully warming, country smile, but Alan now knew behind that smile lay dark and twisted secrets… In anticipation, his balls crept back inside him as Big Mike's countdown continued. Eddie smiled back to the woman, and slowly raised his middle finger.

  “Two! One!”

  Johnny hit the gas, and suddenly Mrs. Stewart's home exploded. Boom!

  A rush of hot air shot past the car, bringing the scent of gasoline and charred wood. Alan shot his head out of Eddie's window to look back down the street, wind around his face. Fireballs of all shapes and sizes rained down to the perfectly maintained garden below.

  Where the Stewart's home once proudly stood was now a black and flaming gap, like a cavity in an otherwise perfect mouth. Alan's adrenaline rushed through his bloodstream, making his heartbeat drum in his ears.

  Mrs. Stewart's body lay on Mr. Roger's lawn across the street, a black slump surrounded by burning debris.

  Both Eddie and Johnny were whooping at the top of their voices. “Did you see that? Laura did it, she actually planted the bomb! What a gal! You think the rest of them had the balls to do it?”

  A second explosion answered his question. Alan ducked back inside from the window in shock. It sounded like the Rogers’ place. He was surprised to hear himself cheering with the other two.

  Once again, a rush of hot air blew past the speeding white Mustang, carrying smoke and screams. Those screams were deserved. Another extraction from the rotted gums of Pine Street.

  They hit the intersection at the top of the road and waited. Behind them, more homes exploded. The engine purred, the homes roared, and The Beach Boys sang. Alan could feel and hear the impact of flaming objects hit the street behind the car. The charred and burning smell became overwhelming. How many homes had gone sky high by now? Six? Seven?

  From the end of Hazel Street to their left, where the public entrance to the woods lay, came the unmistakable roar of engines. Alan positioned himself in the backseat of the Mustang to get a better view. He watched the rushing black, toxic smoke of Pine Street as cars came into view from the Hazel Street wood entrance.

  A pack of oddball hatchbacks and old, beat-up classics came from hiding, crawling slowly towards them. Cars of all shapes, sizes and colors. Alan counted at least forty. The sun gleamed off their metal surfaces, and between the earth shattering explosions on Pine, The Beach Boys grew in volume from the combined radios on Hazel.

  “The cavalry has arrived, gentlemen,” Eddie said, now quiet and serious. He swung back to face Alan. “Happy birthday, shit-for-brains. Your present is your life. Let's ride.”

  The roar of the engines kicked into life to their left as Johnny led the way straight ahead, toward Bull's Point, the kids' make-out spot— the highest point in all of Finis, West Virginia.

  It dawned on Alan that one of those explosions must have been his own home. He was shocked to discover a smile creeping across his face.

  Mike's voice blared from the radio once again: “It worked, you crazy kids! Now go, go and don't look back. What's to come next is the real Big Mac. Get to Bull's Point as quick as you can. A treat for the eyes is my present to the newly free man!”

  Alan's heart punched his ribcage as his glasses fogged. He laughed hysterically as Eddie banged the roof with one hand and Johnny honked the horn repeatedly. They drove that way for a long time, a constant barrage of noise as they barreled further up the dirt road.

  When they reached Bull's Point, Johnny cut the engine as the other vehicles approached. He left the radio on, and The Kinks began to play. To either side, Alan listened as the first of the other kids parked and cut their engines, too. The three boys climbed out and stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the whole of Finis. From up here it seemed tiny, surrounded by woodlands, nestled away from absolutely everything.

  Flames throbbed on Pine Street. From behind, car doors popped and slammed and chatter grew as the other kids joined them on the edge of Bull’s Point. As they watched, another home went up in flames with a satisfying boom— the biggest one yet. Every tree within a mile radius leaned backward as the house rained down in bite-sized pieces.

  From either side, the crowd cheered. They clapped, hugged, and danced on the spot.

  Alan looked to his brother and said, “Dare you to jump.”

  Eddie grinned. “Not when I know what's still down there.” He pointed to the far side of town. To the woods. “Look.”

  From the thicket came a noise like a freight train, cutting through the explosions and the cheers. A frightening hoot of anger made Alan's hair stand on end and his eyes bulge. The roaring triumph from the gathered crow
d died down. Nothing in existence could make a sound that terrifying…

  “What is that?” Alan asked, his eyes wide. Eddie nodded toward the woods again.

  As they watched, the creature emerged. Bending trees in its wake, it stood at least ten feet tall. Alan's nerves sung and his heart tried to escape his chest. A united gasp came from the crowd, but that sound seemed very far away.

  The creature's body was slim in proportion to itself, its arms slender and long like birch tree branches. Alan's head slowly shook from side to side in disbelief. Its skin was an ashen gray, and its spider-like fingers flexed, visible even from where they stood. The figure's head was round and bulbous, with two sickly dark holes for eyes, reminding Alan eerily of a skull.

  The creature lurched slowly through the pines, trembling and quivering. Alan's stomach twisted as it slapped one grotesquely long-toed foot in front of the other.

  “We need to get out of here,” he said.

  Eddie smiled. “Calm down, man. It's Saltushom. Known to some of the folks around here as the Flatwoods Monster. The one I told you about.”

  As they watched, the creature leaned its gaunt frame over the bleeding, sprawled body of a parent and scooped it from the road. Its lower jaw seemed to dislocate as it stuffed the person shakily inside. A quiet sharp sound, like a branch snapping, drifted to their collective ears. The crowd let out a combined eeew and one kid screamed.

  “I don't think we need to watch this,” Eddie said. He turned to Alan. “Where do you want to go?”

  Alan thought about it. “Everywhere.”

  “Good.” Eddie smiled. “Let's go everywhere.”

  The fires roared from below and the engines purred all around, as The Kinks played on the radio.

  An Angel And A Reaper