The Thing in the Woods

by Matthew W. Quinn

  Something moved out of the corner of his eye. It was Aaron Lee, the short Korean guy who was the team lead to James and four others. He’d left the shelves brimming with cell phone accessories and was heading James’ way.

  Oh shit! James immediately snapped to attention. He hoped his supervisor hadn’t seen him scowling and potentially annoying customers. Unhappy employees could end up fired employees real quick.

  “You all right?” Aaron regarded him with his narrow brown eyes. He didn’t seem angry, not yet. That was good. He remembered when his old Choi Kwong Do instructor would get mad when he made a stupid mistake. That was never fun.

  James nodded quickly. “Yes sir.”

  “Good.” Aaron pointed toward the front of the store. A tall man with thinning red hair and a goatee looked lost amid the long black shelves brimming with DVDs that lay a few yards from the double doors. “I think he needs some help.”

  “Yes sir.”

  James set off briskly across the blue carpeted floor toward the movie section and tried not to kick himself. His drifting off even for just a moment had gotten Aaron’s attention. Though his supervisor didn’t seem mad at him, who knows what he’d be writing in some evaluation later. He didn’t need to get into trouble with the manager. Based on the traffic—or lack thereof—in the movie section, she might need to cut staff sooner rather than later.

  He found the man still walking up and down the aisle like he was looking for something.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” James said in his most sincere voice. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Yes, thank you,” the customer said. His accent sounded like syrup in James’ ears. “I’m looking for that movie with Sasha Baron Cohen in it…” His voice trailed off. He reddened slightly and looked down at his feet.

  James kept his big fake smile going. “Do you remember what the storyline was? We have several movies with him.” None of them worth a damn, but you didn’t hear that from me.

  The man thought for a moment. “It’s the one where he pretends to be a foreign reporter—”

  “Bruno?”

  The man made a face. “Good heavens, not that one. The one where he’s from Kazakhstan.”

  James wondered why the customer didn’t want Bruno. Was it the rampant gayness? If it was, the man was going to get quite a surprise when the naked man fight broke out. Freaking out about that sort of thing was something James preferred to leave for Baptists, but that scene was entirely too long.

  “I believe you’re thinking of Borat, sir.” James looked down the aisle and saw some copies lined up. “Let me get that for you. Would you prefer DVD or Blu-Ray?”

  “Blu-Ray.” The customer smiled proudly. “Just got a new player.”

  A little genuineness crept into James’ smile. Despite the older man’s lapse in taste, he could always appreciate someone who went the extra mile to get a quality picture. “That’s awesome. The newer movies look really nice when you get them on Blu-Ray.”

  “Yep. And not just the new movies either. I got Casablanca too. Lauren Bacall’s a real looker and it shows, and you can just see the crags in Humphrey Bogart’s face.”

  That was odd. Back when he has money to spare, he’d bought the Blu-Ray of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The movie itself didn’t look any different. He’d paid an extra ten bucks he really should have saved for the rainy day now drenching him just to see the actors’ skin flaws in more detail in the DVD extras.

  Still, it looked like the Blu-Ray upgrade had worked out for this customer at least. “Wow,” James said, sincerely this time. “Never heard of that before.”

  “It was remastered one frame at a time. Everything’s so much more detailed now. It’s like seeing a completely different movie.”

  James nodded. Part of him wanted to use the excuse of making a customer happy to keep chatting, but he could see more customers filtering in behind the man. He’d need to help as many as possible, to make up for his earlier brooding.

  “I’ll be sure to check it out, sir.” That wasn’t a total lie, since he’d at least swing by the Redbox at the local Walmart and see if it was there. Netflix had been one of the first casualties of the family cutbacks, before Dad had started helping himself to James’ paycheck.

  “Thank you for your help…”

  “James. James Daly.” He seriously considered saying “Bond” instead. Nope. That’d be lame even by his low standards.

  “Excellent. I’m Sam Dixon.” He extended his hand and James took it, avoiding an awkward pause. They shook, Sam’s hand rougher than James’. “I’m fixing to expand my movie collection, so I might be coming back soon.”

  That’d be nice. There weren’t many people around here as interested in film as Sam seemed to be. And if he could connect to other customers like this, the less likely he’d be laid off. There were worse places in Edington to be working than the Best Buy—some “shop and rob” convenience store or that shitty diner near the little airport came to mind—and not having a job wasn’t an option.

  “We’d love to see you back, sir. Thank you for shopping at Best Buy.”

  Sam turned smartly on his heel and walked off toward the bored-looking woman a little older than James who manned the cash register. James smiled, for real this time. However much he didn’t like working at Best Buy—especially when he didn’t get to keep much money—it was always good to make oneself useful.

  He looked down the length of the movie aisle. A blonde-haired woman with an equally blonde-haired little daughter was in the next rack over, the one with the family movies. He set off toward them with a bit more of a spring to his step than usual. The Fantastic Mr. Fox had only been out on DVD a few weeks. Perhaps they might be interested in that.

  Chapter Two

  Phillip Davidson handed white-haired Ruby Jones the tray with her order. The blood-red barbecue sauce dripped off her pulled-pork sandwich to mingle with the yellow-white macaroni and cheese heaped beside it.

  “That’s seven whole dollars and fifty whole cents,” he said. She had been coming here for the last twenty years, long before the goddamn Shane’s Rib Shack had opened up, and he didn’t even need to tell her the price anymore. But he still did, as he always had.

  “Thank you kindly,” she said, handing him the money. Exact change, as she always did.

  A smile crossed his broad face, a smile that actually reached his gray eyes as his beefy hands opened the register. “You’re welcome.”

  She turned and walked across the rough wooden floor to sit with her husband of forty years. Phillip watched them eat for a moment before his gaze drifted over to a parking lot holding only a few older cars. The Shane’s Rib Shack down the road had many cars, newer cars.

  He frowned. He’d been as glad as the others when the folk who worked in Atlanta started moving to Edington, especially when the last mill closed and the folk who’d lived here their whole lives had less money to spend. Most of the newcomers had made their way through the trees masking his restaurant from Fayetteville Boulevard to taste and praise his food. Business had been good.

  For a while, at least. Then the tide of new arrivals became a flood. The chains, the ones they’d patronized before they moved south to Edington, soon followed. The newcomers who’d visited him largely drifted away. Not only that, but they took some longtime customers with them!

  Not all of them, but a lot. There were still loyal patrons like the Joneses but the younger crowd was all but gone. They went to Shane’s instead, or that Ryan’s place with the all-you-can-eat pricing. It was true his fare cost slightly more, but he bought local when he could and actually paid his employees. Doing that kept business in the community; the chain parasites sent their profits elsewhere.

  He frowned. Even without the mill, there was still the sheet metal plant and the furniture distribution center. Edington didn’t need to make itself a “bedroom community” for the Atlanta carpetbaggers infesting the city itself and starting to ooze into the county.

  He
shook his head and looked away from the parking lot. Bitching wouldn’t bring cars into the parking lot and customers into his restaurant.

  But he knew what, or more specifically, Who would. The congregation he oversaw gathered in the woods and offered sacrifices, particularly the human kind, to the power that had dwelled in this land since the first Indians raised the mounds. He had helped the good Edington folk survive the Spanish, the British, the Federal army, and the first round of carpetbaggers the Union troops had brought with them. The second round would not be a problem for Him.

  He’d just begun pondering unleashing Him on Shane’s when the bell at the main door that announced visitors jangled. Phillip’s gaze snapped upward. It was Sam. Phillip smiled. “How’re you doing?”

  “Just fine.” Phillip’s smile drained away. He could tell from the younger man’s tenseness and waffling tone that this was a lie. This wasn’t like Sam. He watched as Sam looked up at the menu and ordered a pulled-pork sandwich just like Ruby had. Phillip whistled loudly for the cooks to get on it.

  “Haven’t seen you in awhile,” Phillip began innocently. “Everything all right at the plant?”

  Sam shrugged. “Orders’re still down, but there’s a steady flow from China of all places. It’s like there’s no recession over there. I thought they made enough of that their own selves, but they’re buying our sheet metal too.”

  Phillip pursed his lips. If it wasn’t the job that was bothering him, it had to be something else. Time to be direct. “You weren’t out with the rest of the congregation in the woods last week.” If he’d been sick—or more likely looking after Brenda—that’d be excusable. Otherwise, not so much. With so many outsiders moving into town over the last few years, maintaining OpSec was even more important than usual.

  Sam looked around. “I hadn’t seen Leroy Tolliver downtown in two weeks. Knowing—”

  “Not so loud!” Phillip hissed. He looked around. “You want to talk about that, get back here.”

  Phillip stepped back from the counter. A moment later, Sam came in through the two-way swinging across from the bathrooms. Phillip looked over the counter toward the dining room, then pointed at the kitchen. “Back there.” The noise of the dishwasher and other machines would provide adequate cover for a quiet—and hopefully brief—conversation.

  The two men withdrew to a corner in the hot kitchen beside the automatic dishwasher, well away from where one of the cooks stacked the black-edged meat for Sam’s sandwich. Phillip looked straight at Sam. The younger man swallowed and began to speak. “Leroy was a drunk, and a mean one at that. But he was a veteran. Like both of us.”

  Phillip’s spine went straight, like he was on the parade ground once again. Once a Marine, always a Marine, that was the code. Sweat beaded beneath his thinning gray hair. He grit his teeth. He’d been leading the congregation since before Sam set off across the Atlantic for Desert Storm. He wasn’t going to put up with any questioning from this young pup.

  The doorbell rang again, grabbing Phillip’s attention. It was Bill Aiken, short and muscled from work on the county road crew, along with his very blonde and very pregnant girlfriend, Sarah Payne. Phillip frowned. Although he figured she’d make a right big order at least, the two of them really ought to get married, at least before the baby was born. From the look of her, there wasn’t much time. He’d have to talk to Bill’s pa, for her sake.

  Rather than approach the counter, the two stood a ways off and looked over the menu on the wall. That bought time, but he’d have to get this conversation over quickly. He couldn’t afford to lose any more business.

  “Sam, that was no different than anything we’ve done before. He keeps Edington safe and prosperous; we feed Him. That’s the covenant. Tolliver was a danger to the community, and He took care of that.”

  Phillip looked back toward the teens. They still looked at the menu on the wall. If the younger man was going to speak his piece, now was the time. He did. “Phillip, he wasn’t some hippie who’d let the terrorists win. He was a—”

  “You’ve got a one-track mind, don’t you?” Phillip’s voice cracked like a whip. “Tolliver’s a Marine, same as me, but unlike me, he let the shit we deal with break him. All that drinking made him a goddamn worm, and He put him out of his misery. Now nobody has to tolerate him pestering them for change when they go downtown. Jimmy Thompson, our brother in the faith who owns the computer shop, has seen customers flee his store when Tolliver came around in a thirsty mood. That costs him money and if business drops enough, might cost one of his employees their jobs.”

  Sam stepped back toward the counter. “You don’t need to get all bowed up.”

  “I’m not bowed up. I’m laying down the law.” He gave Sam a hard look. There weren’t very many congregants who’d turned traitor. He’d helped kill one at the command of the previous high priest, a murder they’d pinned on the Klan decades ago. He’d rather not do that to Sam. The younger man was a veteran, after all, and kin besides.

  “But—”

  Phillip leaned forward so he could whisper in Sam’s ear. “You’re into this up to your neck, just like me. How many sacrifices you been at? How many times was it you who brought Him the bacon? I can name at least two.”

  Sam looked at him, stone-faced. “Yes sir.”

  Phillip smiled and clapped him on the back. “That’s a good soldier.” Sam turned to head for the door back out into the restaurant. “Don’t forget your sandwich. It’s on the house tonight.” He knew how to use both the stick and carrot.

  The teenaged couple turned away from the menu and headed toward the counter. Good thing they took so long to order. Secret societies were supposed to be secret. It’d be hard to keep something a secret when it was getting discussed at a public barbecue restaurant, even one the carpetbaggers who wouldn’t know not to ask questions rarely visited.

  When Phillip returned to the counter, Sam had gotten his sandwich and for whatever reason had decided to eat it in the restaurant. The couple made their orders, which Phillip immediately set the cooks on filling. While his staff went to work, Phillip kept his eyes and ears on the couple as they chattered amongst themselves. He had to make sure they hadn’t heard anything they oughtn’t. If they had, they’d have to be brought before Him, to join the congregation or die. In the past people generally made the intelligent choice. The congregation’s purpose was to protect the town. One didn’t protect the town by killing its residents too often.

  Fortunately, nothing they’d said or the way they looked at each other made him think they knew too much. He’d get their tags when they left and have Bowie keep an eye on them. Always better to be safe than sorry. And however much he didn’t cotton to hurting a baby who hadn’t been born yet, part of him wondered if He would appreciate a snack and a half.

  When the couple returned to their seats, Sam drifted back toward the counter. “No more of this here,” Phillip said before the younger man could even open his mouth. “Loose lips sink ships.”

  Sam nodded. “Understood.”

  “Good. Now, onto happier subjects. What’ve you been up to lately?”

  “Well, I got a Blu-Ray player the other day. I just went by the Best Buy and got a new movie for it.”

  Phillip smiled. Even if Best Buy had forced some of the local electronics shops and video stores out of business, it at least provided more goods at lower prices and hired local kids besides. Some money staying in the community was better than none. And, he had to admit, they had a lot more to buy. “What movie?”

  Sam frowned. “It’s got Sasha Baron Cohen in it. I couldn’t remember the title and one of the kids at the store helped me find it, but now I’ve forgotten it again.”

  “Hope it wasn’t Bruno.” Phillip scowled. “Queer filth, that was. I read online someone was trying to get theaters from screening that piece of crap.” Luckily the local movie theater was still local and the owner knew just Who would be the last thing he saw if he screened that pornography. No need for a futile fig
ht with the dissolute courts to keep everything shipshape.

  “Oh no,” Sam interrupted. “Not that one. The other one. Borat.”

  That one wasn’t much better, with that mustachioed degenerate shoving his ass into another man’s face, but Phillip had to admit he found the scene with the bear and the ice cream truck funny. “Good. That one’s good for a few laughs. You and Brenda going to watch that tonight?”

  Sam nodded. “Yep. Hopefully it’ll lift her spirits.”

  Phillip nodded. Brenda was his cousin’s stepdaughter. She hadn’t been right since she miscarried three months ago. He reckoned she and Sam should try again in the little time they had left, but he’d read in the Reader’s Digest that trying too soon wasn’t safe. In any event, he couldn’t imagine anybody getting amorous by watching that movie.

  “I hope so too.”

  Chapter Three

  James turned his rattletrap blue 1998 Saab—Dad had sold his old 2004 Civic and replaced it with this piece of garbage, pocketing the difference—into Turner Glen. He deftly avoided a pothole as he descended deeper into the neighborhood in Deliverance country where Mom and Dad just had to move the summer before his senior year of high school. Turner Glen was a single street ending in a cul-de-sac. Five houses, only two occupied, butted up against acres of trees. Dad had to drive the whole length of the neighborhood a few times a day to make the place look busier and hopefully deter metal thieves or hobos from getting into the empty homes.

  The house Mom and Dad had dragged him and Karen sixty miles into the middle of nowhere for was red brick, but leaned toward salmon-colored rather than the dark red common in downtown Edington. Black shutters flanked the windows, and there were a lot of windows. It was twice as big as the house they'd on Channing Drive in Buckhead.