The Thing in the Woods

by Matthew W. Quinn

  “Great. Just great.”

  James looked at the two girls outside, who were now looking at their watches. A small smile kinked his face. No matter how long he kept them waiting, he could justify it by saying Amber wanted to discuss A/V equipment. Wasn’t the customer always right?

  “You want to know what happened out there in the woods?” He paused. “I’ll tell you. But not now.” He looked at the two girls. “You never know who might be listening.” He wondered where Amber might like to meet. The coffee shop where his sister hung out and her friends? No. He wouldn’t want Karen to catch him there with Amber. She’d never let him forget it. “My shift tomorrow starts a bit later than I thought. How about the Baskin and Robbins over by the cemetery after school?”

  Amber smiled. “I’d love to.”

  James looked back at the two other girls. They’d been cautious earlier, but now they just looked bored. James was sure to raise his voice. “Do you need help with anything else?”

  Amber smiled. “I think I’ve got all I came for. Thanks for your help.”

  He watched her walk away with her friends before stepping out of the A/V room. He’d barely gotten out of the door before a sudden whisper from his left stopped him dead in his tracks.

  “Hey!” Based on the accent, it must be one of the locals. James’ head snapped to the left. Did Amber have a boyfriend? It’d be just like some of the kids around here to pick a fight over that, “murderer” or not.

  It wasn’t some jealous local. It was Sam, the film buff he’d helped the other day. James doubted he’d have come to the Best Buy just to harass him. James put his big fake customer service grin back on. “Can I help you?”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  A fearful tingling passed over James’ scalp. He looked around. “Sir,” James said, turning up his best customer-service voice as high as it went. “My supervisor had me scanning in some returns before sending me to help some other customers and I need to get back to that. But I can get someone else who can—”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Don’t start that customer service bullshit with me, son.” He sounded an awful lot like a drill sergeant. “The other day I bought Borat and I decided I want some new speakers to experience it properly. Can you help me pick them out?”

  James sighed. The customer was always right. Or at least that’s what he’d throw at Aaron if he got upset he’d left the returns on the cart. This guy might know more about what was going on. “All right, sir.” He couldn’t sound less enthusiastic. Even if the man knew something, James still didn’t want to end up alone with some strange redneck.

  Sam’s long stride carried him past James into the A/V room. James hung back by the door. Whatever Sam intended would be hard for anybody to see from outside unless they were already watching like Amber’s friends had. On the other hand, he’d be an idiot to try something in public with dozens of customers between him and the door. And he probably did know something about whatever was going on.

  “What can I help you with?” James asked, letting the pretense drag on a bit longer.

  Sam examined a big, blocky subwoofer, seeming for all the world like a prospective buyer. But then he opened his mouth. “All right. Let’s get down to brass tacks. I know Bill Aiken didn’t take his pocketknife to your face.”

  How the hell did he know what the deputy’s bullshit cover story was? “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Sam sighed. “I know he didn’t take his knife to your face because I've seen what really did”—he pointed to the bandage—“that.”

  Fear began a slow march up James’ back like an inchworm made of ice. His gaze darted to the door. How long would it take him to get out of the room, get into the store with the other customers? This crazy hick wouldn’t dare do anything to him in front of so many people.

  “Seen what?”

  Sam sighed. “Stop playing dumb with me. It’s got a lot of arms, eyes that glow, and lives—mostly—in that tree farm.”

  James looked at the door again. It was only ten feet, fifteen at the most. Hell, even if Sam tackled him, he could scream that the man wanted to rape him. That’d get the good people of Edington up in arms. A man trying to molest a kid, that’d score no points with the people around here at all.

  But this man knew what had happened the other day. The deputy who’d interrogated him had known something, but persisted with that bullshit story. Not only that, but he’d gotten the small-town gossip network in on it too. If Sam was willing to break the redneck code of silence, maybe he should listen.

  James sighed. “All right. What the hell is going on?”

  Sam looked around, as though he expected someone to eavesdrop. “It’s been here since before the white men came. The Indians who’d built the mounds worshiped it. When the diseases killed them, the Creek who came afterward took it up.” He swallowed. “The soldiers learned not to poke around, leaving some Indians behind even when the rest went to Oklahoma. Then the settlers came in and learned just why it was that these Creeks didn’t get rounded up.”

  Gears turned in James’ mind. “It killed the soldiers who’d come to put the Indians on the Trail of Tears, and when the settlers killed the Indians, it took revenge.”

  “Yep. We learned to feed it like the Indians did. Animals, or folk we didn’t like. Slaves learned real quick not to run away.”

  Cold sweat began beading under James’ brow. Slaves in most places could expect whippings, brandings, or being sold somewhere worse if they misbehaved. Here, troublesome slaves had become food.

  At least if Sam wasn’t pulling all this out of his ass. Even though he’d seen something shove claws through Bill Aiken’s chest and swallow him whole, his rational mind rebelled at the idea of generations of Indians and rednecks worshiping a tentacle monster. This was real life, not some 1980s horror movie. All Sam needed to do was start screaming “outlander,” and it’d be perfect.

  Still, part of him wanted to know more.

  “When the War came, most men went off to fight,” Sam continued. “Eventually the government sent for more, but the Milledgeville boys didn’t come back. They claimed there were Union men responsible, but never sent in the Home Guard to root them out like they did elsewhere. They’d learned to stay well enough away.”

  James found himself nodding. Freedom from the Confederate draft, in exchange for the lives of the draft men. From what he’d studied in school about Gettysburg or Antietam, not a bad bargain to make.

  He shook his head suddenly. Was he believing this man? Sam kept on talking, oblivious to James’ growing skepticism.

  “And no slaves ran away during the war neither, even when Sherman came close. The men he’d sent—”

  James raised his hands. “Hold it. Hold it right there. People were disappearing around here, and nobody noticed?”

  “It was war.” Sam sighed. “Look, if you don’t believe me, run down to the library. Go get Civil War Mysteries and look up what happened to the men from the 12th Missouri. They fought for the Union at Lovejoy Station before coming here. They ran the Home Guard to ground in the woods east of town but didn’t come out of the forest alive. Do you think a bunch of old men, boys, and slavers’ sons could defeat the men who’d taken Atlanta?”

  He took James’ hand and pressed a piece of paper into it. “Read it,” he repeated. “Then call me. You see your Indian friend lately?”

  A chill rolled up James’ spine. Maad hadn’t been at school that day. Someone had said something about an attempted robbery at Maad’s house, but James had called Maad and gotten only voicemail. Given Maad’s neighborhood, it seemed more likely that someone had gotten caught breaking into an empty house for the metal, Maad had been home sick, and someone put two and two together. The way people gossiped around here, that would be the simplest, most probable situation.

  That didn’t seem to be the case anymore.

  “What happened to Maad?” James demanded.

  “Nothing. Nothin
g yet. But somebody tried.” Sam swallowed. “Four somebodies. One of them being me.”

  James looked back toward the door. There were people outside. He could run, get out of the room into the store where this racist shithead wouldn’t dare attack him.

  Sam grabbed his arm. James snapped his arm down out of the older man’s grasp, pushing apart the thumb and fingers the way his Choi Kwong Do teacher taught so long ago. He followed up with a swing straight for the goddamned redneck’s nose. Stun, then run.

  Sam blocked the swing with his forearm. “Listen!” he hissed. “I’m through with that. No more. Your friend and his girl did nothing wrong. Neither did Bill. And yet that, that thing killed Bill, and Phil sent us—”

  “Who the hell is Phil?” Sam clammed up immediately. James sighed. “Never mind. Sent you to do what?”

  “Sent us to take the witnesses to Him for sacrifice. They don’t care about Bill’s friends, but they do care about you and yours.”

  “Wait a second. The sheriff’s deputies could have made us all disappear last weekend. Why didn’t they?”

  “Not every deputy’s in the congregation, and some’ll hesitate if they’re sent after someone who’ll be missed. But they’re moving now.” He paused. “Read that book. And then call me.”

  He abruptly turned and left. James looked down to the paper in his palm. It was a piece of copy paper with a phone number scrawled on it. He grit his teeth. He should throw it away and be done with it. He only had a couple more months stuck in this crazy place. Then he could get the hell out.

  But then he’d never learn just what the hell was going on. Was there really some monster in the woods eating people? For hundreds of years? That couldn’t possibly be true.

  His hand drifted back to the bandage across his face. Could it?

  Slowly, he slid the paper into his pocket.

  “So,” Ellen Martin said from across the black chain-link table. “You still think he didn’t do it?”

  After their excursion to the Best Buy, the three had crossed Fayetteville Boulevard to the Happy Cow, the new shop where one could buy frozen yogurt by the ounce. The trio sat at the table outside, the striped canopy keeping the May sun at bay.

  Amber’s gaze fell to her vanilla frozen yogurt liberally festooned with cookie dough. A twinge of guilt about her faster metabolism crossed her mind as she compared her dessert to her heavier friend’s smaller and simpler portion.

  But something far darker than guilt lurked deep in her mind. She had a darn good idea who—or more accurately, what—had killed Bill and marred James’ freckled face. But she dared not tell her friends her suspicions. Who knew who might be listening, or who they might tell? She didn’t want to have visitors in the night just like—

  No. Stop that right now.

  “Ellen, if the sheriff really thought he’d done it, why isn’t he in jail?”

  “Deputy Richards said his daddy was with him,” Jessica added helpfully. “Giving him advice. Keeping him out of trouble.”

  “Deputy Richards wasn’t there,” Amber retorted. “He was questioning Katie—”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “Katie Wallace. Can you believe she’s still dating Maad? Even going to Tech with him? I mean, he’s—”

  “Jessica, quit it. Nothing’s wrong with Maad. In fact, he came pretty close to being the Minstrel in the play.”

  Jessica shrugged and returned to her yogurt. “I’m just saying. Deputy Richards said Katie said James drove out of the woods muddy and bloody, just like if he’d gotten into a fight.”

  Or barely escaped something else.

  “Amber, do you really think Bill tried to kill him?” Ellen said. “I mean, if Bill really wanted to, he wouldn’t need to go to all the trouble of racing him first.” She paused. “I know you like him and all, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good person. At all.”

  Amber reddened. A scowl soon complemented the red on her face. “Oh, I know that.” Her last boyfriend had been handsome and was even being scouted for soccer scholarships as a sophomore. And then she caught him under the bleachers with her best friend. Her then best friend. And that hadn’t been his first sin.

  “If Bill didn’t try to kill him and he didn’t kill Bill, what happened?” Jessica asked.

  Amber had to think quickly. If she let her suspicions air, not only was she putting herself in danger but she was risking James’ safety too. If they thought he was blabbing all over town, threatening to reveal their dirty little secret…

  “You remember that circus that got closed down in Fayetteville last year?” The other two girls nodded. “Well, I heard they lost a couple animals. Big cats. Maybe one or two made it down here, and that was what attacked them.”

  Ellen nodded. “Makes sense. There’re plenty of deer and turkeys hereabouts.”

  The conversation soon shifted gears to the more prosaic subjects Amber had little interest in. She ate her yogurt and contributed just enough to be polite, but her mind was on her upcoming meeting with James. She’d like to call it a date, but it wasn’t a date.

  She almost sighed.

  When his shift was over, rather than going straight home like he was supposed to, James headed down Fairmont Street toward the red brick Edington Branch Library. A wise man had once said, “Trust but verify,” and given what had attacked him that Saturday in the woods, being skeptical right now struck him as really fucking stupid.

  When he got there, he plopped himself in front of a surprisingly modern computer at a weathered desk and typed in the number of the library card Mom insisted he get. Sure enough, the library had Civil War Mysteries and it was in the 0000 section.

  Just as expected. When he was in the fourth grade he’d gone through a Bigfoot phase and that was where the Bigfoot books were, along with the UFOs and conspiracy theories. For a moment he wondered if the thing he saw was a cryptid. Maybe the locals were worshiping some kind of Loch Ness Monster? There obviously wouldn’t be just one—even turtles only lived for around a century or so—but that would explain it. The Edington Plesiosaur? The Edington Monster Squid? He shook his head. If it were that mundane, someone around here would have had it up on his wall next to the deer heads by now.

  Finding the book wasn’t that hard. The jacket was gray with blue letters. The binding had eroded at the corners. It didn’t look like it had been checked out or even moved in years. Dust came with it when he pulled it free.

  The springs of the comfortable burgundy chair in the corner by the magazine rack squeaked as he settled in. He hoped he hadn't broken anything. He didn't need a huge library fine on top of everything else. He opened to the table of contents and looked for the chapter Sam told him about.

  The 12th Missouri Volunteer Infantry were part of a force chasing General Hood’s Confederates into Alabama after the fall of Atlanta. While moving south and west, they’d sent a mounted foraging party toward Edington. They’d broken a group of Home Guard on the road north of town and pursued them into “a wet wood.” The men never returned. After the war, a soldier barely more than a skeleton claiming to have been with the unit was found at the Confederate prison in Andersonville. All he would say about what had taken his companions was “the thing in the woods.” He’d died soon afterward. No investigation of the missing soldiers was ever made.

  “Well shit.” James immediately realized he’d just said it out loud, in the quiet of the library. An old lady sitting in another one of the purple chairs fixed him with a disapproving glare from behind an issue of Cat Fancy. He turned red. “Sorry.”

  He thought back to the ATV race, to the dark, wet woods. He’d come in on an ATV rather than horseback. And when the thing came, he could outrun it. The Union soldiers only had their two feet or their panicking horses. They’d died horribly in the damp and dark, eaten alive by a monster—

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” someone else’s voice intruded. James nearly jumped out the chair. Karen stood there in front of him, her backpack hanging off her shoulder and wh
at could easily be described as “a shit-eating grin” across her wide face. “Somebody should be in his room when he’s not at school or work.”

  James had a ready answer for that. “I’m supposed to be at home and when I’m not at work or at school.” He gestured toward her with the book. “This is a history book. This is for school.” He smiled back, deliberately mimicking her expression as much as possible.

  Karen shook her head. “Nice try. You took U.S. History as a junior before we even moved here. That’s not for school.”

  James looked over his shoulder. There were too many people in the library. How was he supposed to explain this without someone dangerous listening in? If Sam were right, there could be a lot of unfriendly ears out there.

  “All right,” James said. “Amber asked me to—” He realized he’d said “Amber” and not “Sam” a second too late. Karen wouldn’t know who Sam was, but she sure as hell knew Amber.

  Karen started laughing. James’ ears burned. He looked around. The old lady was fortunately still too engrossed in her magazine to notice. Karen managed to slow down long enough to actually speak. “Amber? Took you long enough!”

  James reddened even more. “Amber wanted me to read something in one of these books before we meet up for ice cream tomorrow. Don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

  Karen laughed. “Oh don’t worry, I won’t.” Her grin widened. “If you take out the trash for me the next two months.”

  James sighed. So much for sibling solidarity. “Fine.”

  Karen smiled. “That’s a good brother. You two have fun.”

  She walked away before James thought to warn her that he was in danger and that meant she could be too. He looked at his watch. It didn’t always take the same amount of time to get from work, but he was pushing the envelope in terms of what he could explain away by claiming traffic.

  He put the book away and scuttled out of the library.

  Chapter Nine

  “You’re saying your dad got shot by a sheriff’s deputy?” James asked. He immediately shut his mouth. The Edington High School cafeteria was loud and crowded during fourth-period lunch, but his voice carried.