“The driver? Did he die too?” asks Rita. The doctor opens his mouth as if to answer, but then hesitates. I know what he's thinking: The driver's okay, but that's not news to tell people like the Larch's.
“I'm sorry, but we can't release confidential information like that to anyone but relatives and police,” he says. Jason looks up from the ground and glares at him. He may be idiotic, but he's not totally oblivious to the facts. He shoves the doctor and rushes into the ward. I jump to my feet. He's going to try and hurt Mr. Mario! Both of his parents rush in behind him, but I'm not sure if they're going to stop Jason, help him, or just watch.
I hear loud footsteps and see both the sheriff and Deputy Yew rushing down the hall to stop him. I take a step forward as if to help, but what am I going to do against a guy like Jason that the police can't? I hear shouting and yells of surprise and objects breaking and slamming. There's a serious fight going on in there. Before I can figure out just how much damage Jason is doing I see Shana approaching. Her eyes are wide open, and before I can even think about what to say I rush over and hug her. She muffles her sobs in my jacket, and I can feel the warmth of her tears against my neck. I think of a million things I can say to try to make her feel better, but I don’t want to belittle the justifiable grief she is wracked by. I can't find anything to say but
“I'm sorry.” It comes out in a choke and I have to try multiple times to successfully force it out. I try to think of something else to say that wouldn't be redundant, but nothing comes to mind, and honestly, if it was the other way around, I don't think anything Shana could say would dull the pain. Words can't cure this kind of loss. Her parents remain down the hall.
I'm still hugging Shana when the door bursts open. I completely blocked out the noise the Larch's were making. Jason has a bloody nose and is cuffed, being pushed by Deputy Yew who can barely contain him.
“Help! Police brutality! Police brutality!” shouts Rita, but not one of us believes her.
“He doesn’t deserve to live while my brother dies!” shouts Jason. I can hear Martin trying to reason with the sheriff, who's walking out behind them with a paper towel against his lip. Jason must have hit the sheriff.
After they all clear out of the hallway, I turn my attention to see my parent’s reactions, but they're gone. Bubbe is the only one still there, and she's standing with a look of disapproval across her face. I hear footsteps back toward the other end of the hall and see my parents walking back with the rest of the Hawthorns, attempting to console them as well. They sit down across from us, and Shana and I walk over to sit down next to them. All of us are speechless for over an hour until Dr. Spruce steps out of the ward and looks at us.
“Excuse me? Redwoods?” she asks. We all look at her.
“You can see your son now.”
It almost feels like a sucker punch to leave the mourning Hawthorns to go see my brother, but I have to see him for myself. The doctor leads us down the care ward that almost looks no different from the public areas except for the fact that these floors were tiled linoleum instead of carpeted. She leads us around several turns until we get to the recovery ward. We're taken to a room with four beds. Two of them have curtains pulled to hide the patient inside.
“Adam is over here,” says the doctor, pulling the curtain on the bed closest to the door.
I almost can't believe my eyes. There lies my brother Adam, who I had inspected this morning before his trip, not four hours ago. He was happy and grumpy, and ready to go have fun. Now he barely looks alive. If not for the oxygen mask on his face, I would doubt he's even breathing. I walk over and reach for his hand. His left arm is in a cast, and this one has an IV attached to it. His hand feels cold in mine. I sit on the edge of the bed. I lean in and kiss him on the forehead. As I do I can see a tear splash onto his face and I wipe my eyes against my sleeve. I stroke his face with my hand gently, and quietly, almost whisper the first couple lines of Adon Olam, his favorite hymn. I sing it slowly and out of melody, hoping he can still hear me. While doing so I can feel more tears coming and move my face away to keep them from falling on him.
I look behind me and see my parents and grandmother keeping their distance, waiting their turn. I get off the bed and let them approach. I slink back into a nearby chair and watch them. My grandmother joins me, but we don't say a word. Mom sits on the bed next to him, where I was, and Dad leans against the wall. Nurses walk into the room occasionally to check on Adam, and the other patient, who I bet is Mr. Mario.
Soon the relief of seeing Adam still alive fades and I begin to worry about Shana. Is she still outside? I look for a clock, and since I don't see one, I pull out my phone. It's one in the afternoon. Have we really been here that long?. There's no way they waited this long for us after hearing the news about their daughter. I may not have lost Adam, but I've lost Denise. That loss is even greater for Shana, but I feel that she needs some time alone right now. I see how badly Jason Larch is taking it, and he’s taking it out on the people around him, so I can only imagine how terrible Shana must feel, leaving those emotions inside, and they are just two of the families that lost children in that crash.
I slouch back into the chair, not wanting to get up. I close my eyes. How could something like this happen? So many children dying at once and all from a small community like Murphy, where almost every resident has personally met at least one of the deceased children. I hear the sound of wind rushing, and open my eyes.
I’m still in the hospital chair, but I can’t move. My brain tells my body to move, but I only get a nudge in response. My body is tingling all over, like static is passing through me. Did I doze off? This must be a dream. I try to look around as best as I can with my limited mobility. The room is significantly darker. I close my eyes again, but the wind gets louder, and is accompanied by the sound of screeching static. It matches the stiffness in my body. It’s like the static is howling, and it gets louder as my eyes close. What’s going on? Is this a nightmare? I realize that the howling static seems to be coming from my right and I move my eyes in that direction.
Then I see it. Just out of the corner of my eye stands a dark figure, but I’m not sure what it is. It’s shadowy, and its movements are violent and jagged, like static, but I can only see it through my peripheral vision. Why couldn’t this happen with my face turned to the right? I realize that it’s standing over Adam’s bed, and I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out but wind, nothing but an exhale. I try harder, but still nothing. I keep trying, watching the blackness. I start trying to yell, and then I scream, and although I fail in doing so, I can hear my voice, just a little squeak. I push my voice out as hard as I can and can hear a slight moan. I get some feeling return and keep trying. My voice gets louder and louder until I feel a jab on my wrist.
“Alyssa!” I open my eyes.
“Are you alright?” asks Dad. I look around. I’m still in the hospital. I look and see three confused pairs of eyes on me, but the room is bright with afternoon light and clear of dark beings. Adam’s heart is still beating.
“Oh... um yeah, it was uh. Just a nightmare,” I say as my thoughts return to me.
“Sounded terrifying, what happened?” asks Mom.
“Oh just. I couldn’t move, but I was awake,” I explain. “Oh alright well we should probably get going anyway. Visiting hours are almost over and I want to check in with the Hawthorns,” says Dad. Visiting hours over? I look at the internal clock on my phone. It’s a quarter to four. I slept for nearly three hours, and yet it seemed like I just dozed. What was that thing though? That entity I saw. It’s as if it was watching Adam, but why? Was it just a nightmare, or some kind of omen?
4: The Funeral
Denise’s funeral is the first I’ve ever been to. It is being held outdoors in the local cemetery, and since we aren’t part of a congregation (the only time we even make the trip is for the High Holy Days), Dad is leading the ceremony as lay leader in place of a Rabbi. I’m surprised at the number of family members that flew out
here on such short notice, but there are no less than four additional families related to the Hawthorns here for the funeral.
Only a few people of our community were invited to come, including us, the sheriff, the Willows, The Sourwoods, and a few other individuals. Many other families have their own funerals to attend, and others like the Larches simply aren’t welcome. I offered to play some songs on my guitar for the funeral, but Mrs. Hawthorn says that some of their family members might look down upon music or anything celebratory at a funeral. We aren’t even allowed to bring flowers!
I specifically told Mom that I want flowers and music and junk food at my funeral. I want to go out with a bang, but this funeral just makes me feel worse about Denise. It’s only been three days since the accident and it feels like there has been no real preparation other than chairs and the coffin lying before us. I’m sitting in the front row, but the rest of my family (aside from my Dad), sits in the middle section, making room for the Hawthorn’s relatives to take their seats up front.
I look at Dad standing before the coffin. He’s reciting prayers, but I can barely hear him. I’m lost in my own train of thought. What do we do now? I think. Do we just move on, carry on like normal? Or will things be different now? Empty?
As I think, I look around at all of the faces looking at my father. I’m surprised to say there aren’t that many people looking directly at him. Many are looking at the ground, others at their hands, and even some of them are looking around like me. I look and see Leanne Sourwood, the girl who keeps trying to show me up on track. She has short blonde hair that comes down to her ears, and bright blue eyes. I won’t say she’s spoiled, she does work hard, but she also likes to use that to one-up people, and even today she’s wearing the most casual dress clothes on the market. It’s as if she has no time to dress for a funeral, as if she’s beyond them. My dress comes down to my knees, and I have tights that cover my legs down to shiny black pumps. Right now she’s staring at me angrily as if I’ve done something to her. We’re excused from school until the funeral finishes, and so I haven’t had the chance to use Shana’s idea to beat her in a race, but she’s still glaring at me. Is she jealous of something? I look away, trying not to make this funeral seem awkward.
After Dad finishes reciting the passages, they lay Denise into the grave, and we all line up to pour a shovelful of earth into it. Since I sat in the first row, I am one of the first lined up to take their turn. As I approach, one of the funeral staff hands me a spade, and I scoop up a shovelful of dirt and place it upon Denise’s still very visible coffin. The dirt splashes against the coffin, not even making a dent in filling up the grave. I hand the shovel to one of Shana’s relatives behind me, and move on. I stand and watch as everyone takes their turn with the spade. Some of their relatives cry, or say a quick farewell as they take their turn. Others remain silent and solemn.
When Leanne is handed the spade, she looks reluctantly at the grave, as if she doesn’t want anything to do with the burial, but she quickly recovers from her hesitation and dumps a hefty amount of soil into the grave before handing it back to her mother. Leanne didn’t lose anyone related to her in the crash, but I’ve heard that she lost a baby brother to pertussis sometime before I moved here, but she never talks about it. Either way, it’s probably not the first time she’s had to deal with something like this. Leanne and her mother are the only Sourwoods that came, and lined up behind them are the Willows. The Willows didn’t lose any of their children in the crash. Their youngest is four, and an only child. When everyone in the line has taken their turn, the grave is still nowhere near filled. It’s now that Dad ushers some of the mourners to stand around the grave and recite the burial Kaddish. Most of the people around the grave are Denise’s family members, in fact I think my Dad- who’s leading the ceremony, is the only one not directly related. After the burial Kaddish, he leads all of us- at least those of us that know the words (not including me) into the mourning Kaddish, while the hired funeral staff takes over filling the rest of the grave.
After the burial, Dad hosts a memorial session, and throughout the whole event I can feel Leanne’s eyes boring holes into my neck. I catch her looking at me twice, and then avert my gaze, knowing she’s still looking at me. If I’ve done something to set her off, I don’t know what it could be. After the memorial, I decide to confront her.
When most of the audience drifts around the site, not wanting to be the first family to leave, I approach Leanne. I tap her on the shoulder and she turns around to face me. It’s only when I get this close to her that I realize just how pallid her complexion is. She barely has any more color on her skin than Adam. She looks me up and down, sizing me up, as if she hadn’t noticed me all day, and wonders why I have the audacity to purse my lips at her like this. She raises her eyebrows. I hold my hands out and shake my head.
“I don’t like passive aggressiveness Leanne. What is it?” I say. She cocks her head to the side as if not sure how to respond to my approach. I can tell she originally intended to play dumb for her initial response, but is intuitive enough to know that I’m ready to skip that.
“I don’t like you,” she finally says.
“It seems like more than that. You don’t stare at someone for hours just because you don’t like them. You look like you want to kill me. Like you hate me. Why?” I ask.
Now Leanne purses her lips.
“Look around you,” she says. I look around.
“Everyone here has lost something. Everyone except you,” she continues.
“You don’t think I’m suffering from this?” I ask.
“Your phony empathy can’t compare to real suffering. You’re just playing along, not sure how to handle it. You think you’re the lucky one,” she answers.
“Are you saying that Adam should have died too?” I ask, getting angry.
Her eyes tell me that is the truth, but her mouth doesn’t want to admit it out loud.
“I’m just saying it’s not fair that you all got to cheat your way out of it. This is one of three funerals I’m going to, but this is probably the only one you’ll go to. Am I right?” she asks snidely.
“Cheat my way out of it? What do you-”
“That’s because you don’t care about the dead children. The only reason you’re here is because of Shana, out of respect, but you don’t feel any loss for her sister.”
“How can you say that? They’re like family to me.”
“But they’re not your family. You haven’t suffered any real loss. You think Lady Luck is on your side, but it’s about time- oh,” she stops and puts her hand to her face.
I narrow my eyes and try to figure out what’s wrong, and then I see it. I see a little trickle of red running from between her fingers. She’s having a sudden nosebleed. I think about offering help, but after her selfish reasoning over how I didn’t lose Adam or care about Denise, I really don’t think I should. She pushes past me, I guess to get a tissue, but the closest building to the funeral site is the funeral parlor which is a few hundred feet away, so she breaks into a jog. It almost mimics the speed she runs in front of me on track.
Something catches my eye. I look and see Lionel Willow running around the graveyard, seemingly unattended. Lionel is pretty short, even for a four year old, and the puff of curly brown hair on his head is almost as big as his face, but it’s not him that catches my eye. I walk over to investigate closer and as I approach I almost see it. It’s mid-afternoon, bright daylight so you can see through the lightly spaced tree line, but in one area, in one gap, you can hardly see anything. Instead there is blackness. It's not just a shadow; it's out of place, like someone is standing there. Could it be someone hiding behind a tree? No with the way the sun is positioned, from behind the trees, the shadow would be cast toward us. This one is in one spot. I walk over to it, hoping it's just a trick of the eye.
As I get closer I can see that the shadow is moving, and I recognize the movement. It's got those violent, jagged contortions like the
static being from my dream. Only this time it's not as vivid or as clear. If not for the incident in the hospital, I probably would think it’s all in my head. I walk over to Lionel and he looks up at me. I've only met Lionel a few times, mostly on special occasions, and every time I meet him he gives me a big baby-toothy grin and says
“Hi.” This time Lionel stops moving and begins to cry. I squat down and put my hand on his shoulder. He's starting to wail and I heard a pair of footsteps approach. Mrs. Lionel comes swooping in and picks him up.
“What are you doing way out here?” she asks him, but more in a cooing manner than scolding him. She looks at me quizzically.
I shake my head and say “I saw him running around over here and came to get him then he freaked,” I explain.
“Oh, but he loves you! Maybe something spooked him. This isn't a very happy environment,” she explains with a grin just as toothy as her son's. Her teeth are bright white. In fact, it looks unnatural, but with her being a dentist I guess you can expect that. He begins coughing and a spot of blood appears on her neck.
“Oh I see,” she says.
“Someone's allergies are acting up, huh?” she says in that same cooing manner. I give a forced smile and she nods back at me before patting him on the back and walking back over to the others.
At that I remember why I came over here and look back to the tree line. The being is gone, but I can still... feel it. I look around the trees from my position and when I don't see anything, I turn back around. Is it really the same thing I saw in that dream? I wonder. I know my eyes aren't playing tricks on me. Maybe it is some kind of omen? Maybe Death is watching over us hungry for more? I begin to walk back and notice the place is starting to clear out. I don't see any of the Sourwoods and it looks like the Willows are about to take their leave as well. In fact, even the cemetery staff seems to be done with their job. I guess that's my cue to catch up with my family.
The Slender Man Page 3