The Guardian's Playlist

by J Powell Ogden

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “More power,” he said, a huge grin spreading across his face.

  We spent the next half hour driving around our neighborhood, and I only stalled one more time.

  “Okay, I think you’re ready for the highway,” he said. “Let’s head out to the Bob Evans in Avon Lake. I’m famished.”

  As we hit the entrance ramp, my breathing quickened, and my heart rate sped up. I accelerated through second and third gear and then, as the front tires hit the highway, I shifted into fourth. My back sank into the seat as we flew easily past a whole string of cars, and I had to rein in my desire to bust the speed limit.

  My dad flipped on the radio and tuned it to the classic rock station. Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road.” I couldn’t have chosen a more perfect song. Feeling content, I rested my left elbow on the door and waved my hand up and down in the cold air stream blasting past us. I looked at my dad sideways, grinning. We were kindred spirits, he and I. This car was no Frankenstein’s monster any more than the Millennium Falcon was a bucket of bolts.

  He grinned back. “You like?”

  I nodded and then teased, “So…Dad, isn’t it a little like, blasphemous for a Catholic to drive a Demon?”

  He laughed and said, “You know, the Demon was only manufactured for two years. Superstitions about demons were common enough that Dodge stopped making them.”

  “So, you don’t believe in demons, devils, evil spirits or anything like that?” I asked, curious now.

  “Lots of people believe in the Devil,” he hedged.

  “Yeah, but do you?” I asked. I took my eyes off the road for a moment to look at him. He was fidgeting.

  “Well, the Church teaches that the Devil is real,” he finally said, as if that settled it. It didn’t.

  “That still doesn’t answer my question,” I pointed out, now extremely curious about how he really felt.

  “Hon, what I believe is this. That God is all good, all knowing, and all powerful. Why would He even leave a Devil around to mess with us when according to our beliefs, He would have the power to do away with him?” He paused and then admitted, “No, I don’t believe in the Devil. I think a person’s soul can have enough darkness in it to explain the evil they do, though I owe it to your mother to say she disagrees with me.”

  The fact that he disregarded Church teaching on the Devil surprised me, so I dug a little deeper. “So, does that mean you don’t believe in Guardian Angels, either?” He gave me a half grin.

  “I don’t know, Bug. Pretty floaty creatures in dresses with fluffy wings? I think if God wanted an army, he could come up with something better than that.” He winked then and pointed at the exit coming up. As I coasted to a stop at the end of the ramp, I thought of my Playlist.

  I wondered what my dad would think about that.

  The sun had sunk behind the house, and cold shadow fingers were creeping across the lawn when Finn’s brother, Mitch, pulled his parents’ enormous SUV into the driveway. I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my weathered fall jacket and hunched my shoulders up against the chill in the air. Cici stood next to me, a perfect fashion plate with her makeup simple but flawless, as usual.

  “Do you have enough room for Cici?” I asked, as Meri pushed open the heavy door of the SUV. Cici and I were so close in age that she often joined us when we went out.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Meri. “Spencer and J. C. couldn’t make it, so there’s plenty of room.” I was disappointed, but tried not to show it. Saturday nights were always more fun with those two around.

  By the time we arrived at the parking area of our favorite picnic shelter, the sun had completely set behind the damp walls of the gorge. The night was deep down here in the valley and the smell of wood smoke drifted toward us over the cold, wet grass from the shelter house. I looked up to see the fireplace already glowing. My heart sank. Use of the hearth was first-come, first-served, but we rarely found anyone out here this late on a Saturday night. There were two figures walking back and forth between the fireplace and the picnic tables.

  “Let’s go,” I said, deflated. “Maybe we can—”

  “No, I think we know them. C’mon,” said Grace. She grabbed my hand and tugged me out of the car. As we approached, the two figures grinned and waved. It was J.C. and Spencer.

  “I thought—” I started to say, but was interrupted when they all turned toward me and shouted, “Happy Birthday, Cate!” It was then that my eyes took in the table. There was a twelve-pack of Coke and a foil pan filled with graham crackers and Hershey bars. On top, the guys had painstakingly arranged at least fifty marshmallows to form the words, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”

  “We don’t do cakes,” explained Spencer, giving me a gruff hug.

  “Thanks, guys! But my birthday’s not ‘til next week.”

  “That’s why it’s called a surprise party,” said J.C., flashing his bright white grin.

  I turned to Cici. “You knew about this too, didn’t you?” I accused. She smiled and looked down at her pretty new boots, nodding. J.C. gave her a sly grin.

  “Well, if it isn’t Baby Sis, blessing us with her presence tonight,” he teased. He appraised her perfect hair and outfit. “Only, your paparazzi didn’t show. Too bad.”

  “Dude,” Spencer said, “I think it’s kinda nice that one of the girls decided to dress up for us.” He gave Cici one of his lopsided grins, and she smiled back at him.

  “So, are we roasting marshmallows or what?” Finn wanted to know.

  The shelter was surrounded on three sides by thick woods and up a short curving path through the trees was the bathroom. We fanned out in the woods to look for marshmallow sticks. It wasn’t long before I could hear most of the group laughing back at the fireplace, but I hadn’t found the right stick yet. Since I liked my marshmallows flaming, my stick had to be thick and green enough that it wouldn’t burn through but also thin enough to accept a marshmallow shoved onto its tip.

  As I tossed another brittle candidate back into the brush, I caught a faint whiff of men’s cologne. I stood up quickly and looked around, but saw nothing. I told myself that one of the guys must have walked through here earlier, but I snatched up the stick I had just discarded, now deeming it good enough, and hurried back to the light of the fire and my friends.

  Back at the shelter, Meri announced it was time to sing “Happy Birthday.” I looked down at the marshmallows and asked, “What? No candles?”

  “Nah…” drawled Finn, grinning, “We thought we’d just light the marshmallows on fire.” And they each grabbed a marshmallow, shoved it on a stick, and thrust it into the heart of the fire. I was soon surrounded by six marshmallow torches and an exuberant but off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday.” What more could a birthday girl want?

  “Save one for me!” I reminded them, blowing them out.

  “Of course,” said Grace, offering me her perfectly blackened marshmallow.

  A short time later, I was licking sticky s’more crud from my fingers and watching my friends while the radio played in the background. Spencer was browning a marshmallow for Cici while the two compared strength training techniques. He was working hard to prepare for basketball try-outs, wanting badly to make the varsity team this year, and as a former gymnast, Cici had good advice to give. They were sitting close, and I checked out Spencer’s expression more carefully, recognizing the eager shine in his eyes. God, he was such a flirt. He was usually harmless, but he’d better watch it this time. That was my little sister he was panting after.

  Finn had straddled one of the picnic table benches near the fire and was whispering into Meri’s ear as she rested her back against his chest, and J.C. had shoved three marshmallows on the end of a multi-pronged stick. He was making Grace laugh while he demonstrated the finer points of mass roast marshmallow production—or destruction—depending on your point of view.

  The fire popped and hissed, its warm light lifting and pulling at the shadows in the trees that s
urrounded us. I felt so lucky in that moment, so balanced. Maybe things were finally returning to normal. I got to my feet and grabbed another marshmallow, wrecking the letter “B” that my friends had arranged so neatly on top of the Hershey bars.

  I froze mid-swipe.

  The music on the radio was warbling threateningly through the opening notes of Pierce the Veil’s “Hang on Till May,” and a wave of nausea tossed over me. I squeezed my eyes shut. It was the song that played while I watched Michael die.

  No. Don’t think about him. Not tonight. Let him go.

  But the song’s refrain called Michael to mind anyway, and when I opened my eyes again, I had the suffocating feeling I was watching my friends from far away. I felt suddenly removed.

  No one noticed I was upset yet, and I wanted to keep it that way. I backed quietly out of the shelter into the waiting arms of the woods beyond. Then my thoughts assailed me.

  What’s Michael to you? Why do you still care so much?

  I buried my hands in my hair, and shouted back.

  I don’t know! I don’t know!

  Then, I quickly turned and headed up the trail through the trees toward the bathroom. It was colder away from the fire and the path was dark, becoming almost pitch-black as the light from the shelter lost its influence. I could see nothing of the path beneath my feet or of the forest on either side of me, and I felt ahead with my toes in case there were branches or roots strewn across the trail.

  Shit. Why didn’t I think to grab one of the flashlights off the table when I left? I thought about going back, but rejected the idea. Just use the bathroom then the song will be over, and you can go back, and everything will be fine again. I took a deep breath in through my nose and…my heart nearly stopped.

  There it was again. So faint. Was I imagining it? Was it just the woods? Some late-blooming wildflowers? But even as those thoughts entered my head, I knew it wasn’t. It was the subtle fragrance of men’s cologne, and I wasn’t imagining it.

  Hugging my elbows to my chest, I looked from side to side and over my shoulder, peering into the black woods in search of the source. Visions from my childhood nightmares broke through, and my heart raced. Would the shadows grow fiery eyes next? Long fingers? Barbed tongues? I wanted to run, but I knew the moment my feet took flight, I’d fall flat on my face in the inky darkness. I took a few more steps forward and then stopped to listen again.

  Nothing. And the fragrance was gone.

  Big baby, I thought, and started toward the bathroom again. Thankfully, I was now bathed within its light. I felt braver, until…again, a mix of citrus and pine, a fresh, clean-shaven scent, assaulted my nostrils. I spun around, but there was nothing but empty trail behind me.

  Pull it together. Just breathe. I backed up and the fragrance disappeared. My head cleared slightly, and I stood there panting. Too chicken to brave the path again, I reasoned that the bathroom was my best shot at safety, and I turned toward it. The scratched and dented door was hung so it swung inward and had been propped open with a rock. I envisioned myself shoving the door open, stumbling inside and then barring it against whoever was following me.

  I reached for the handle and was totally overwhelmed by the citrusy-pine scent. It stung my nostrils, burned my tongue and made my eyes water. It throbbed in my head and body, blocking out everything else.

  Damn it! Think! In or out? My hand was paralyzed on the door, my eyes squeezed shut in denial of the sensory onslaught. Then the thought, this is the part in the movie where the dumbass camper goes to explore the bump in the night alone, flowed unbidden into my head, followed by, must be some logical explanation, the camper says to herself—just before being disemboweled by Cletus, the Ax-toting Freak. Upon completing that thought, I heard the bump that had heretofore been missing. Only, it was more like a barely-audible shuffling sound.

  It was coming from inside the bathroom.

  My heart stopped again, and I decided thinking was overrated. I opened my mouth and screamed.

  The hair-raising sound that pulsed from my throat continued in waves, nonstop, until two familiar hands grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “What happened?” The two hands held me roughly at arm’s length, and I opened my eyes to see J.C. looking me up and down. I threw my arms around his neck and squeezed tight.

  “Thank you, God!” I cried.

  His body was warm and solid beneath his thick sweatshirt. He petted me reassuringly. “Okay…” he said. “Now, what the hell was that all about?” I pulled away to see Grace, Finn, and Meri standing behind him, and Spencer limping up the path with Cici at his side, trying to function as a crutch.

  “What happened to Spence?” I asked, stalling for time.

  “Root. Path. Dark,” Spencer answered, wincing with each footfall.

  “Cate?” prompted Grace.

  Oh, this was embarrassing. “I heard a sound,” I said quietly.

  J.C. raised an eyebrow. “You heard a sound?”

  I took a deep breath and said with more force, “I heard a sound in the bathroom, and I smelled…someone.”

  J.C.’s eyes flicked to the door, and he reached out for the handle, but I stepped in front of him, barring his way.

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? There’s someone in there. Can’t you smell him?”

  J.C. sighed. No, he didn’t believe me, obviously. I looked around at the rest of my friends. They were shaking their heads at each other and shuffling their feet in the dried up autumn leaves.

  Finn stepped around Meri and stood beside me. He sniffed the air near the crack in the door. “It only smells like a park bathroom.” He sniffed again. “And…maybe like animal scat?”

  “Scat?” asked Spencer, confused.

  “You know, like an animal has been in there, and like, shit in a corner or something? I’ve gone out with my dad to trap and test animals for the health department, and I’m just saying, that’s what it smells like to me.” Finn shoved his hands in his pockets. He was right. I recognized the smell, too.

  J.C. reached out for the door again, but my hand shot out to hold it in place.

  “You don’t smell…guy’s cologne?” I asked, tentative now. I couldn’t smell it anymore, but I knew I hadn’t imagined it. There was someone here.

  “No,” said J.C. Finn shook his head in agreement.

  “But I heard something,” I continued lamely.

  “What’d you hear, Cate?” asked Spencer, exasperated.

  “A shuffling sound, like someone was dragging something around.” My mind began to imagine all sorts of things that could be dragged around in a darkened park bathroom. None of them were pleasant.

  “Maybe it’s Big Foot,” teased Spencer with a crooked grin.

  “Shut up, Spence,” said Meri, rolling her eyes.

  “Maybe we should call the park rangers,” suggested Cici.

  “No!” came the immediate chorus.

  Finn sighed. “They’ll just drive out, find nothing—because there is nothing—and then make us all go home.” He looked at me. “Cate, you know that’s what’ll happen.” Yeah, I did know that, but I also knew that this is the part in the movie where Cletus, the Ax-toting Freak, jumps out of the bathroom and bludgeons half your friends to death and then chases the rest of them screaming their asses off into the forest. This thought entered my head as if it were the most reasonable conclusion in the world, but damned if I knew who Cletus was. I was ready to stand my ground, but I could see that J.C. would not be deterred. Testosterone and a little stubbornness went a long way.

  Tell Cletus I said hi, I thought grimly. I took a few steps back and waved J.C. forward, only to detect the not unpleasant but unnatural scent of cologne again. It was layered softly over the more powerful scent of the woods surrounding us, but I felt a little better, because if it was back here by me, it wasn’t in the bathroom, which was a good thing. Right? At least J.C. should be safe. I threw a suspicious glance over my shoulder, but saw nothing but trees. I looked from side to side at my friends, but
they didn’t appear to be picking up the scent at all. It was maddening.

  J.C. put his hand on the door again.

  “Maybe, you should grab a weapon or something?” asked Meri, clearly spooked. J.C. dropped his hand and looked at Finn, who shrugged and handed over his flashlight, which was one of those super-heavy, 18-inch long, industrial strength lights. J.C. turned it on and aimed its dusty beam through the crack in the door.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said, angling the beam of light under the two sinks that were mounted on the wall beneath a stainless steel mirror. He pushed the door open a little and stuck his head around the corner while Finn stood behind him with his hand on his back. I changed position and stood up on my toes to try to see over their shoulders. Two yellow eyes glowed in the darkness about two feet above the floor back in the corner next to the trash can. When the flashlight beam hit them, two mangy black lips in a damp, pointed muzzle curled back, revealing knife-edged teeth that glistened with foaming saliva.

  “Jesus,” Finn hissed, “Back up, J.C., very—”

  He was cut off by a menacing growl. The creature flew at them, jaws snapping, spit spraying everywhere. J.C. stumbled backward and avoided falling only because Finn grabbed him under the arms and held him up. J.C. yanked on the edge of the heavy door, but it was blocked from closing by the rock wedged into the crack. Crazed yellow eyes and sharp, snarling teeth filled the gap, fighting to leverage their way out.

  “Oh, shit!” cried J.C., struggling to keep the door wedged against the rock. He slammed the flashlight down through the crack onto the creature’s head and it fell, senseless, back into the bathroom. He kicked the rock out of the way and wrenched the door closed; only he forgot his fingers were in the way. Belting out an ear-splitting obscenity, he pulled his fingers free and then let the door fall shut.

  He cried out in pain as he staggered back from the door, cradling his hand. There was a deep purple dent across the base of his fingers, which were already beginning to swell. Blood dripped from his pinky. Bent over and bracing himself with his good hand on his knee, he shook his mangled hand. “Ahhh…damn it!” he cried.