The Pit in the Woods: A Mercy Falls Mythos

by Nathaniel Reed

  Fortunately, the worst was over. She’d have the cast off in a few days. Unfortunately, it meant she’d had to miss a lot of work. Being a soccer coach at the local high school, she kind of needed her legs. And yes, she missed the kids, even the ones that ogled her (though unbeknownst to her that was pretty much all the boys, and even a few girls). The most striking thing about her was her hair. She still kept it back in a ponytail, as she did in her teens (the sport almost demanded it). But she had grown it down to her butt. If she knew some of the things kids fantasized about her she’d probably have to quit her job altogether. Yet it wasn’t entirely unfair to say that she did enjoy being home some days, just sitting on the porch, watching the leaves fall and change color, dancing in the breeze. This suburb of Connecticut was her little slice of heaven.

  Getting into the shower was not. She propped her injured leg on the lip of the tub and started pulling towels from the stack on the lid of the toilet tank. It was there so she’d be ready to go in the morning, not that she was going anywhere. She really hated this inactivity sometimes. She wasn’t a soap opera watcher, so she found herself reading, listening to music, or watching one of their old movies on DVD or a Blu-Ray re-release. She spent her days counting the minutes until her husband came home from work, which wasn’t her ideal way to live.

  She pulled down her gym shorts and wrapped the Saran wrap around her leg. After the difficult shower was done she put on a pair of her husband’s roomy pajama pants to cover her leg, cinching it tight to fit her frame, and a T-shirt to sit on the porch once again. She took a book with her.

  The pumpkins were out early, and she noticed one of them was already rotting. She wondered if she should take it back when she was able or get Dan to do it. They still had one left in the kitchen. Maybe she’d carve it later, and just replace the bad pumpkin. It would give her something else to do and kill some time.

  Staci never thought she’d have to kill time. She’d always been the popular girl in high school. Though everyone knew her around here (she used to run in the morning before coaching, and all the kids’ parents knew who she was) she rarely had time to go out. There were her obligations to the school, and then there was her husband, and her two kids Shelley and Brad. Though she was home now, she couldn’t really go anywhere, even if everyone else weren’t at work. Sally Hendricks came over sometimes. She usually brought soup over; maybe thinking you caught a broken leg like you did a cold, and the same remedies applied. But Sally was all right. She was good company on these long boring days, and always good for a laugh.

  She almost wished it was summer, so the kids would be home, at least. She was usually the one that drove them back after school, when she was done at the high school, but now her husband did. It was a good thing both kids had picked up some after school activities, since he didn’t get off work until five.

  Maybe she’d call Sally and see if she wanted to drive to the mall, or the grocery store. Something, anything. Hell, maybe even catch a movie. Now there was an idea. Staci limped back on her crutches, and then it happened again. That bad feeling. She had it all day before the car crash. Now it was the house phone that was creeping her out, and it wasn’t doing anything. Staci looked at it as if it were alien. Get a grip Staci. It’s just the phone. But she knew very well to listen to her hunches. They’d gotten her through situations most people would cower at. But she didn’t want to think about those things, although they inadvertently lead her to thoughts of her high school friends, which were good. They’d all be in their early forties now, like her, or mid-forties. She wondered what they were all doing now. Sometimes, a lot lately, because she had too much time to think, she missed them immensely. It was hard to find friends like that. It was the reason she married Dan. He was her best friend, and her lover. The reason Staci Donovan became Staci Summers.

  She laughed, never having realized the coincidence until now. Johnny’s last name had been Winter, and in a sense both described their personalities. They were absolutely polar opposites. It was a wonder they ever got along at all. Of course, they weren’t the most connected. It was always Jeremy, sweet Jeremy, and Myron. Tony and Johnny both graduated first, being seniors when they met. So it was she, Jeremy, and Myron for a while. Myron was only a freshman. Jeremy and Staci had been sophomores. It was odd enough that people from different grades would associate with one another, but of course, theirs had been a special friendship.

  She wondered how it had been for Myron his last year

  without any of them there to talk to. Although they’d both shown up for his graduation, she had no real sense of how he’d spent his time at Liberty high. No friends stopped to congratulate him when he stepped down from the stage with his diploma; only his parents, and she and Jeremy. There were only perfunctory claps when they called his name from the podium. None of the whoo-hoos and whistles some of the others got. And Myron’s parents weren’t much for the whoo-hooing. She’d felt bad. She really hoped he was doing okay for himself now. If

  anyone deserved a break it was Myron.

  Suddenly the phone didn’t seem so menacing. She picked it up and called Sally.

  “Hello?” Sally said.

  “Hey gal pal, what’s shaking?”

  “Shaking? Not much. Unless you mean the Shake and Bake I’m putting on the chicken for tonight.”

  “Oooh, Shake and Bake. Sounds exciting.”

  “All right. Whatya want?”

  Staci laughed. “I thought you might want to get out of the house for a while. Maybe hit the malls. Scope out some boys. Catch a movie.”

  “Well, my days of scoping out boys are over, but I can go for the malls, and the movies.”

  “All right. What time you picking me up?”

  “Jeeze girl, I’m not your boyfriend. I’ll pick you up when I pick you up.”

  “As cheery as ever Sally. I’ll be ready and waiting. Ta ta.”

  “Tootles.”

  She loved Sally. She was the Queen of deadpan, that dry delivery Americans referred to as British humor. Of course, Sally wasn’t British. She was as apple pie as they came; also known as the Queen of bake sales, soccer mom (which was how Staci knew her; Sally’s son being on the soccer team that Staci coached), and a mean maker of gingerbread cookies and Eggnog at Christmastime. She was looking forward to a bit of girl hangout time.

  2

  They saw a chick flick, of course. It was more Sally’s forte than hers. Staci preferred action adventure or comedy. She’d had too much drama and horror in her life to want to see it on the big screen. Being a stay at home mom, Sally didn’t get out much; only occasionally when the kids were in school, so Staci humored her. They hung out at the mall for a while and bonded over Barnie’s coffee at the food court.

  “You mind if we make a stop at the supermarket before we head back?” Sally asked, “I’ve got to pick up some coffee.”

  Staci raised her cup of java and her eyebrow.

  “I mean coffee to make at home silly.”

  “Sure,” Staci said. She paused before adding, “Of course I mind.”

  To the casual observer Sally would look peeved, but Staci saw the smile behind the serious look.

  “My car, my call,” Sally said.

  “Of course,” Staci grinned. “So why’d you ask?”

  She saw the corners of Sally’s lips go up slightly. “Keep it up.”

  “Maybe I will,” Staci said. She decided to let it go, just in case.

  The supermarket was blessedly quiet. She was used to going at night with the after work crowd, but Staci could appreciate how much more relaxed it was when everyone else was in their stuffy offices and car garages. She and Dan shared the housework, normally, when they both worked. But she mostly shopped on her own.

  “Coffee, coffee,” Sally was saying, searching the aisles.

  “Hey, hey,” Staci protested. “Lady with crutches here, remember? Slow down.”

  “Right, sorry.”

  “Besides, what’s your hurry? I thought yo
u knew this place inside out.”

  “Why?” Sally said dryly, “Because I’m here all the time?”

  It was getting harder and harder to tell when Sally was joking

  these days. PMS, mid-life crisis, take your pick.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Staci said, covering herself.

  “I’m sure.” Sally flashed a quick smile. Back to deadpan Sally. “I think it’s the next aisle.”

  They steered into the condiments aisle and Staci got a fright. There was bright red stuff all over one side of the aisle. Quickly she realized it was only ketchup. A couple of bottles had fallen over and broken. They still make glass bottles? She got an instant flash to when she was eleven years old, when her real dad was still around. Staci and her mom had gone to the supermarket while her dad was at work, and almost walked into the aisle before realizing there was a lady on the floor about twenty feet ahead. She lay there perfectly still, on her side. From their vantage point you could only see the top of her head, not her face. It was impossible to tell if she was unconscious or dead, but there was a red pool forming underneath her locks of brown curly hair. Staci could remember every minute detail. The way her head was turned to one side, her body kind of twisted the other way, one knee bent, the other leg straight. Even though she couldn’t see her face she could tell the lady had to be in her mid-fifties or early sixties. She was wearing a brown skirt and loafers, some sort of sweater, or an open sport coat.

  “Mama, is that ketchup?” Staci had said. It was the only thing she could think of to say. Even then she knew it wasn’t. There weren’t any broken bottles or anything nearby, except for what seemed to be a few stray items that had rolled out of her purse across the otherwise pristine white floors. The sight of that lady had frightened her tremendously. It wasn’t the blood, or what could have been blood, or the fact that she was on the floor. It was the stillness of her body. Some lady had tripped and fallen, maybe broken her head open, and simply died. Or worse, she had fallen; hurt herself so bad that she just gave up trying to get back up again, and just lay there waiting for death to take her. And no one else had noticed her but them. It was their dirty little secret.

  “Mama, is that ketchup?” She wanted her mother to tell her

  more than anything that yes, that’s what it was.

  “I don’t know honey.” Her mother’s eyes were open wide, staring. She grabbed Staci’s arm and said, “C’mon, let’s go.”

  At the time she didn’t protest. Mother always knew best, except it didn’t feel right to just leave her there. She didn’t want to go near her, but it seemed wrong to leave and continue shopping. This was a case of parent and child both in shock, neither knowing the correct action to take, and deciding rather than make a decision, to do nothing.

  Staci imagined someone else coming upon the body. Seeing, in fact, that the lady was dead. They would hear the screams from five aisles down and they’d know. They’d know she was dead, and they shouldn’t have left her there. But the screams never came.

  Ten minutes or so later, they were still shopping, getting ready to bring their purchases to the register, and she could see it on her mother’s face. She was waiting too, waiting for the screams, or the paramedics to arrive- something! That nothing happened was even more disturbing. Did she somehow get up, not dead after all? Was it only spilled ketchup? She was so still. The questions would trouble her for days. They left without a clue.

  About a week or so later the incident was forgotten. The human brain, especially those of children, is incredibly resilient. Of course, no one ever really forgets. All memories are stored away in some mental file, to be accessed later, sometimes at will, sometimes when you least expect it. This was something she didn’t think about much. Years could easily go by with no conscious memory of it, only to be triggered by an unrelated event, an association in the brain, like now.

  “Jesus Staci, are you all right?”

  She looked back up from the spilled ketchup at Sally. “Yeah. I mean, yes, I’m fine. Just had a bad flashback.”

  “You scared me there girl. I told you to lay off the acid,” Sally said.

  Staci forced a smile. The thought that she would ever do drugs was actually really funny. Staci was as clean as they came. She didn’t smoke or drink. She always kept herself healthy and in great shape. With that childhood memory fresh in her brain she couldn’t find much reason for merriment.

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, let’s go get your coffee.”

  She gave wide berth to the broken ketchup bottles, crinkling her nose in disgust. Staci didn’t fail to notice no one else had wandered into the aisle.

  3

  She brought the knife down again, stabbing. It made a satisfying sound as it cut through the meat. Hey, might as well get in the spirit of the season. Besides, the kids loved it.

  “Hey mom,” Brad said, “You’re massacring that pumpkin.”

  Shelley laughed. “Yeah, she’s Smashing Pumpkins.”

  “No,” Brad disagreed. “Smashing Pumpkins would be taking a sledge hammer to it… like Gallagher.”

  “Who?” Shelley said, making the type of disgusted face only her eight year old features could manage. Framed with a head of blonde curls this face would always make Staci’s heart melt. Brad’s, who was ten, reciprocal face wasn’t nearly as good. And he had his dad’s straight brown hair.

  “No one you dope.”

  “Hey, don’t talk to your sister like that,” Staci said.

  “I can’t help it; she’s a doody-head.”

  “Brad,” Staci warned.

  “Kay, kay, where’s Dad?”

  “Upstairs, getting changed.”

  Brad got that sly look.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Staci said, pointing the knife at him.

  “Aww,” Brad said, disappointed, “What are you going to carve?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe an evil Brad eating monster.”

  “That would be cool,” Shelley said, “Make that! Make that!”

  “You got it Shelley.” She pointed the knife at the pumpkin now, squinting one eye. “Pumpkin, prepare to meet your maker.”

  4

  “You sure you got it mom?” Brad said.

  Staci held the pumpkin in one hand while she held herself on

  a crutch with the other. She was leaning over the bushes attempting

  to place the pumpkin on the porch sill with the others.

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Staci said, impatient. And she almost did, right before an image flashed violently through her brain, like the knife she’d brandished earlier. The pumpkin rolled out of her hand and toppled over the porch sill onto the porch itself with a hollow whump.

  Staci cried out. The crutch she held shot away from her, and she fell backward, her injured leg straight out. It was fortunate for her Brad caught her or that leg might have been bent and broken again, the way she was falling.

  Although Staci was twice his size, Brad was impressively strong for a boy his age. His palms held her up, high on her back by the shoulders, and as she struggled to keep her balance on her good leg, he hoisted her back up and set her straight.

  Shelley and Brad both said, “Mom, are you okay?” at the same time, several times.

  “Yes, yes,” Staci said, shaking her head, as if trying to rid herself of her thoughts. “I’m fine. Thank you Brad.”

  “Sure mom, I…”

  Staci went up the steps and back inside without looking back.

  I told you I’d help, was what Brad was going to say. But even for a boy of ten, he knew there was something more going on here than a loss of equilibrium. Of course, he didn’t know what that meant exactly.

  Staci sat at the kitchen table. They followed her in.

  “Mom?” Brad said. Staci was holding her hands to her

  temples as if she had a massive headache. Shelley looked on with dismay.

  “I’m okay,” Staci said. “Just a little headache, that’s
all. Can you go put that pumpkin back up for me Brad?”

  “Sure mom,” he said, unsure. He left, and Shelley stood there staring.

  “Shelley, go help your brother.”

  “Kay,” she said, but wasn’t sure why her brother needed help

  putting up a stupid pumpkin, and her look said as much, but she went.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Staci whispered to herself. What was that? Except she knew exactly what it was. It was her sixth sense, warning her of danger. But up until now it had only come to her in feelings: distress, anxiety, and inexplicable worry. She had never had a mental image, a fully formed picture in her head. But this one was clear as day.

  She saw Johnny. John Winter. Not how she knew him as a kid, but what she imagined he would look like as an adult. He was attacking her.

  5

  It worried her the rest of the day. But come morning, she pushed the thought away. It was ridiculous. She’d been thinking about him earlier, that was all. The danger, if there truly was any, probably had nothing to do with him at all. Yet her feelings had never been so specific. Sometimes (and this was rare), she’d pick up dates or times that things were supposed to happen. It’s what scientists; those that delved in that kind of stuff anyway; called precognition, or clairvoyance. She’d always had some level of it as a child.

  Sometimes she felt the danger coming from one thing, and it was something else entirely. But there was some relation. The first time her stepfather tried something funny she’d had a bad feeling about her mom all week. Nothing about him. But later she realized- it was her mother that had let him in her home. She was, if not entirely responsible, certainly a catalyst. And Staci couldn’t sense specific danger from someone unless it was someone she already knew, like her mother. Her stepfather was a stranger, and she couldn’t pick up anything directly from him. She certainly couldn’t pick up thoughts. That was Jeremy’s talent.

  But this?! Johnny? Sure, he could be a bit cold, a bit brooding, maybe even violent back in his Dragon days, but would he ever hurt a friend? Never. She’d bet her life on it. It had to be someone else. Someone close to him she didn’t know. But the whole thing was ridiculous. She hadn’t seen him since high school. God, I need to call Sally and get my mind off this. Or better yet, call Dan. She hobbled over to the house phone again, and stopped. Her head started to pulsate. Were her powers going haywire? Was she going crazy?