The Pit in the Woods: A Mercy Falls Mythos

by Nathaniel Reed

  She got the cell phone out of her purse, and dialed the number that connected her with their home answering service. There were several beeps, with no message left. Then there was empty air after one of the beeps. Someone still on the line, but not speaking. She was getting ready to skip to the next message, and then a man spoke. “Myron, I…” Pause. Heavy breathing. Then the person disconnecting. A few more beeps, and then the messages were done.

  “That’s odd,” Donna said.

  “What’s that?” Myron wondered.

  “Someone called for you, but didn’t leave a message.”

  “So how’d you know it was for me?”

  “Well, he said your name, but then hung up. Some guy. I didn’t recognize the voice. But he seemed to clearly know you. He sounded… distressed.”

  “Really? I wonder who it could have been.”

  The server came over to their table and asked if they were ready to order.

  “Yes, I think so,” Myron said. They ordered, and Myron looked at Donna again. “That is odd.”

  “Who do you think it could be?” she said.

  “I have no idea.” But all of a sudden a shiver went through him.

  10

  They arrived home a little after eight. The answering machine

  was blinking. They kids were in bed and they paid the sitter.

  “Should I…?” Myron said.

  “Go ahead,” Donna answered.

  He pressed Play.

  CHICAGO

  1

  His crew finished putting up the last beams on the house’s support structure, as he looked over the plans again.

  “Great job fellas,” Tony said, as he took off his hard hat. He watched as Iris approached in her overalls and dusty workman’s gloves. A hammer swung from the extra loop on the leg’s side. Even from beneath the hardhat her distinctly American Indian heritage was prevalent: tan skin, pulled back chestnut hair, a bowed nose. Her eyes were a swirl of green glass and grey smoke. Iris Curchenbauer’s mother was part Cherokee, but her entire family had assimilated into modern society, with very little of their roots on display to speak of.

  “Hi Tony,” she said. Her smile and tone gave her away. He knew it was never just a “Hi Tony.” Iris liked him, and although she was attractive, and he was a single man, he could not pursue it. He didn’t know how to go about telling her that in a way she’d understand without being hurt. He was her boss, but it wasn’t that simple either.

  “Hey Iris.” The sound of a train going by on a nearby overpass, a regular Chicago staple, filled the room. After all, it was still just wooden beams. Residents largely tuned them out once they’d got used to them. But whoever moved in here was going to have a hard

  time at first, especially if they enjoyed peace and quiet.

  “Man,” Iris echoed his thoughts, “I feel sorry for the poor schlupp that’s going to move here.”

  “True, but the noise will be substantially less once the brick is laid down.”

  “Tony!” someone called. He turned.

  It was Eric. “Want to go get some beers?”

  “Yeah,” Tony said, “And some pizza.”

  “Beer and pizza,” Eric agreed, “Sounds good.”

  Tony Vincent had a good rapport with most of his crew. At least the ones he worked with on a regular basis, like Eric Schaeffer.

  Iris looked at him pleadingly. She wasn’t exactly one of the guys, and he didn’t want to lead her on, but he didn’t want her to feel left out either. She was a great team member.

  “All right!” Tony shouted, lifting his arms, “What say we all go out for some beers and pizza?

  The beams shook with resounding approval.

  2

  The name of the bar was the Beantown Brewery, although this wasn’t Beantown, and it wasn’t exactly a brewery. But having grown up close to Boston, Tony felt at home here. Part dive, part glitz, your pitcher was always full, and the music was always blasting. On one side of the dimly lit vast room were the booths and tables; on the other end the pool hall. In the center of the two was the bar, from which ten overhead TVs projected just about every major sport. The hanging lights over the pool tables illuminated shady characters in dirty jeans and white tees with sleeves rolled up and cigarette packs under them. The curling smoke became a dense fog just underneath the lights, making the scene look seedier.

  On the table side, however, despite the lower key lighting, it was a lot cheerier. Here they’d gathered at least twenty people. They laughed to the strains of Sweet Home Alabama. An unlikely follow up,

  Golden Earring’s Twilight Zone came after that.

  “Oh man!” Tony said, “Do you remember this song? I loved this song!”

  Only a few of them nodded. “Listen to that bass line,” Tony said.

  “Eighties?” Eric said.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m too young to remember the eighties man.”

  The others laughed.

  “Sure, rub it in,” Tony said.

  “Well, I like the song,” Iris said.

  Of course she did. She liked whatever he liked. But she was only five years younger than him and might actually remember it.

  “Hey hey,” Pat exclaimed, “Pizza’s here!” Three servers arrived with a skillet each, and placed one in the center and the two remaining at either end. They’d had to join tables to fit their large party. Most poured themselves another glass of beer before they took their first slice.

  Tony lifted his glass. “I want to raise a toast to a job well done.”

  “Job well done,” they echoed, clinking mugs.

  Owning Good Wood Carpentry was lucrative in many ways. He decided his own salary, had a hand-picked crew that worked for him, and made his own hours. And he got to show his sense of humor in naming it. Originally, it was supposed to be Good God Carpentry, but friends dissuaded him from that title, saying some might consider it sacrilegious. Really, it was a tribute to Jesus, who was a carpenter, but he decided instead to bring the funny, as Conan O’ Brien would say. Although Good God was still kind of funny, depending on how you said it. Tony concluded that Good Wood was a boss name, and much more original than say putting your own name in front of the job description as in Tony’s Carpentry or Vinnie’s Pizza. Blah! Anyway, it started a lot of jokes at work, and built a better camaraderie between the workers. Of course, Tony with his rock hard pecs and bulging arms was the picture of masculine virility.

  “Do you guys want to order some buffalo wings?” Linda offered. She was the only other woman on the crew, besides Iris.

  “Good idea,” Pat said.

  “Beer, chicken and pizza wings!” Eric said. “Fuck yeah!”

  “You mean beer, pizza, and chicken wings,” Tony said. Everyone started howling.

  “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

  “No you said pizza wings dumbass!” Aaron commented.

  “Well, I think we should get two more pizzas to go along with those pizza wings,” Tony added. That got them rolling some more.

  “All right, all right, fine! I’m dyslexic,” Eric said. “I said it backward, big deal.”

  “I think he’s right about the pizza,” Linda said. “We should get more ’cause it’s going fast. We only get like a slice each with three of them.”

  “Don’t get your dingle berries in a knot Eric,” Pat said. “We’re just messing with you. I guess it’s just as likely for pizza to have wings as it is for buffalo.”

  Tony spit out his beer.

  “Hey Tony man, you okay?” Nick said.

  “Yeah, yeah.” But he held his hand out. His face was turning red. “Christ, I haven’t laughed this hard since…since…”

  “Since when?” Iris asked.

  “Since the eighties,” Tony answered.

  Everyone paused for a moment, unsure whether he was serious or not. Then Tony cracked a smile, and got them going again.

  “Man,” Eric said. “Tony, you goof. I’ve got to admit though; the eighties are pret
ty fucking funny.”

  “Yes, they were,” Tony said, although he wasn’t quite sure that he’d answered Iris’s question incorrectly.

  3

  “Hello Tony!” Mr. Sheridan said when he walked through the

  doors of Fabulous China. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Yes, I’ve been busy.” Of course he had. With several construction jobs on the line, and his side work with Habitat for Humanity, he didn’t have much time for leisure. This was one of the few pleasures he had in his free time: admiring the works of art in Mr. Sheridan’s shop. The fine porcelain, the crystal sculptures, the elegant swords and shields, stuff by Lladro and Tiffany. Things the average person couldn’t afford.

  Tony had a successful business, and did fairly well for himself, but he wasn’t wealthy by any means. Every now and again he bought one of the smaller crystal sculptures. He’d truly splurged once and spent over a thousand on a porcelain piece of a male and female dancer. The man was all tuxedoed out and the lady was in ballerina attire, standing on her tippy toes, her arm outstretched to meet the gentleman’s hand. Only their fingers gently grazed one another. It was a powerful piece that stood on the mantel above his fireplace, and he’d had to take the money he paid for it straight out of his savings account which currently held about eleven thousand dollars. He supposed he was starting to save for retirement, he wasn’t sure. He certainly wasn’t putting any kids through college.

  “How’ve you been?” Mr. Sheridan asked.

  “I’ve been okay,” Tony said.

  “Just okay?”

  “Eh.” Tony made a so-so gesture with his hand. He’d more or less lost most of his accent, but at the moment looked a little like Robert De Niro when he does his “whatever” face.

  “How about yourself?” Tony asked.

  “Not so bad. Business is a bit slow, but I expect it will pick up in November.”

  “Yeah, Christmas season, right.”

  Tony walked around. “Well, anything…” He stopped. Anything new come in? was what he was going to say, and then he saw it.

  The dragon was green, wings outstretched. Its tail snaked through the display case, with an arrow shaped tip pointing upward at its peak. It was humongous, and amazingly detailed. But the most amazing thing was the gaping maw. Its mouth yawned wide open, rows of wickedly sharp teeth gleaming. The artist had captured the dragon in mid roar, just as it began to breathe fire. The curls of red-orange flame leaped from its throat, looking alive. Its eyes were red jewels.

  “Wow,” Tony said.

  “Yes, yes,” Mr. Sheridan said, apparently used to this response by now. “It’s magnificent isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” His mouth still hung open. “Who’s the artist?”

  “She’s a new artist. Laurie Starling. It’s her second piece.”

  “What was the first?”

  “I haven’t had the good fortune of acquiring that one, but I believe it’s a mermaid sculpture. If it’s half as good as this one, I’m sure it’s exquisite.”

  “What kind of price tag does something like this fetch?” Tony asked. Mr. Sheridan pointed to the little plaque Tony failed to see, lost in the enormity and the grandeur of the things life-like detail. He whistled.

  “Oh yes,” Mr. Sheridan assured him. “The finest pewter and bronze; the armored accents on the shoulder and spikes on the tail are polished silver, and the eyes genuine rubies, very high quality.”

  “Do you have layaway?” Tony joked.

  “Yes, but for twelve months, not twelve years.”

  Tony sighed. Yeah, he got it. There was no way in hell he could afford it. He might be able to pay it off in five if he didn’t eat, bathe, brush his teeth, or use the toilet.

  “Mr. Sheridan?”

  “Yes Tony?”

  “Do you think…?” he began, and his cell phone went off.

  Mr. Sheridan looked uncertain.

  “Excuse me,” Tony said, embarrassed. “I thought I put this on vibrate.” He answered it. “Hello?”

  It was Eric Schaffer. He was frantic. “Tony, it’s me. Eric!”

  “Eric, what’s wrong?”

  Mr. Sheridan watched Tony with concern now.

  “It’s my wife,” Eric said. “She’s not breathing. I just came home Tony, and she’s not breathing!”

  “Calm down Eric. Did you call 911?”

  “Yes, yes! But I don’t think they’ll make it here on time. What do I do? She’s dying on me Tony! She’s dying!”

  Oh God, Tony thought. “Do you know CPR?”

  “I, I think I remember.”

  “Try it Eric, quickly!”

  “Oh baby please don’t die on me, please don’t die.” His words were choked with wracking sobs.

  “Do it!” Tony screamed. He heard the phone fall to the floor. A couple walked in the shop and looked as if they were ready to walk back out, but curiosity won over.

  A few seconds later Eric was back on the line “It’s not working Tony! It’s not working! She’s dying on me man!”

  “Keep doing it until the ambulance arrives, Eric! Don’t talk to me! Don’t stop until they get there! I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be there as quick as I can. Hang in there buddy!”

  Tony looked at Mr. Sheridan. “I’m so sorry about this. I have to go.”

  “I understand.”

  4

  When he arrived the ambulance was there and they were pulling Eric’s wife onto a stretcher. Eric was standing on the porch, shaking. Sheila was apparently breathing again, because she had a respirator over mouth and nose.

  “How is she?” Tony asked.

  “They’ve got her breathing a little,” Eric said.

  “That’s good.”

  “Come on,” one of the drivers told Eric, “If you’d like to hop in the back with her.”

  “Go on,” Tony said. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Eric nodded.

  “What hospital are you taking her to?” Tony asked the driver.

  “Chicago Memorial.”

  “Thank you Tony,” Eric said. “I think it helped. The CPR.”

  “That’s good.”

  Eric got in the back of the ambulance behind the stretcher and waved to Tony as the doors closed behind him.

  5

  Later that night there was a knock at his door. Tony opened without thinking to ask who it was. He was surprised.

  “Iris! What are you doing here?”

  “Hi Tony. Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

  Oh, oh.

  “All right,” Tony said.

  “What’s wrong?” Iris said.

  “Oh, um, Eric called me earlier. It’s his wife. She had a mild heart attack.”

  “Oh my God! Is she all right?”

  “I think so. They’ve got her stabilized. I saw her at the hospital this afternoon. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but Eric is a mess.”

  “No doubt. And she’s so young too.”

  “Yeah,” Tony said. “She’s apparently right around the age where the earliest heart attacks start.”

  “That doesn’t look very promising.”

  “No,” Tony agreed. “Jeeze, I’m sorry. Come in. Have a seat.” He guided her toward the sofa.

  “Maybe this is a bad time.”

  “No, it’s fine.” He sat next to her. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion he already knew.

  “Okay, here goes,” Iris said letting out a deep breath. “God, it feels like I’m still in high school. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” She made as if to get up, and Tony took her arm.

  “All right,” she said. “This is going to sound so childish. How

  many years have we been working together Tony?”

  He lifted his head, thinking. “Um, I’d say about three years.”

  “Three years, right. And in those years people get to know each other.”

  “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” Tony said.


  “Yes, that’s probably true, but I’ve really come to like what I do know. I’ve come to like you Tony. There, I said it.”

  Tony looked at her, waiting for more.

  “Well,” Iris said, “Aren’t you going to say anything? God, I knew it! You don’t feel the same! I feel so stupid!”

  “Don’t,” Tony said. “You’re not stupid. I’m flattered, really, but…”

  “I know, I know. You’re my boss. It’s not appropriate.”

  “Right.”

  “Well, let’s just say you weren’t my boss. Would you consider…?”

  “Look Iris, I admit, you are very attractive. I’m sure any guy would be lucky to have you…”

  “Just not you,” she finished for him.

  “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  “Oh.” The question was on her face.

  “I’m just the wrong guy, at the wrong time, in the wrong place.”

  “You lost me Tony. What are you trying to say?”

  Tony let out an exasperated sigh. “This can’t go any further than here. I can’t have the rest of the guys know.”

  “All right, God, Tony. What is it?”

  “Iris, I’m… gay.”

  “Gay?” she said, as if she didn’t understand the word. Yes, that was pretty much the reaction Jeremy had when he first told him, and the reaction everyone he’d ever told had. Disbelief.

  “Yes,” Tony said.

  “You can’t be gay.”

  “Why not? Because I don’t look it?”

  “Well,” Iris said, “It sounds stupid, but yes!”

  “Sorry Iris, we don’t all talk like women or strut like drag queens. All gays aren’t that flamboyant.”

  “Oh my God, you’re serious!”

  “Yes, Iris. I am.”

  She bowed her head. “Crap, now I really feel stupid. How big of an idiot am I? I fall for a guy who’s not only my boss, but also happens to be gay. No wonder you’re single. Man, I sure can pick ’em.”

  “Come here,” Tony said, opening his arms. He held her close. “I’m really sorry. For what it’s worth I’m glad you picked me. I’m just sorry I can’t reciprocate.”