by Micol Ostow
“It’s a sad story,” Jughead agreed. “Did they wear matching cross necklaces, too? Like the one you gave Polly?”
Nana Rose smiled. “Indeed.”
“I thought so,” Jughead said, satisfied. “Still, it’s only slightly less sad than the story about all those girls who were straight-up hung to appease the gods of the maple trees.”
Nana Rose looked at him, taken aback. “Well, but, sonny,” she said, as if explaining something to a very small, very simple child, “Adelaide and Emmaline were family.”
Betty:
So much to fill you guys in on! You were gone by the time Jug and I came down from talking to Nana Rose!
Veronica:
Sorry, Archie got a text from his dad and needed to meet him. Details, please?
Betty:
In person—it’s too much for a text. Please prepare to have your mind blown.
Veronica:
Not totally sure how to prepare for that, but I’ll do what I can.
ARCHIE
“Tell me you didn’t know about this.”
My father looked up from where he was hanging a sign for Pop’s hamburger-eating contest that afternoon. He looked surprised to see me. More likely, it was the fact that Betty, Veronica, Jug, and I were standing over him, totally stunned and looking for answers.
“Arch? You’re early. Or are you here to tell me you can’t help your old man out with this anymore?”
“What? No. I mean—yeah, of course I’ll help, Dad. But first—we need to talk.”
He stopped hammering and really looked at me, like he was maybe finally taking in the expression on my face. On all our faces. “You know,” he said after a minute, “I’ve been at this for a while now and I’m starving. The burger-eating contest isn’t until later. How about we grab some hot dogs and I take a break, and you can ask me all about … whatever this is.”
Twenty minutes later, we were hunkered down on the steps of the Main Street Snip ’N Shear. Betty and Jughead had told Veronica and me all about the Revels history—human sacrifices and all—and we had to know how much our parents knew, and why they had kept it from us.
“Did you know?” I asked again, once Jughead had finished giving him the full breakdown.
Dad sighed and ran his hand over his hair. “No, of course not! Son, I’m not going to lie to you. I had heard stories, you know, about the Maple Man. But to me, he was always … just a boogeyman. A cautionary tale you’d tell children. You know, the Maple Man will snatch you if you misbehave, bury you beneath a maple tree. If I had any idea it was rooted in truth … son, you can bet I would have warned you. Protected you.”
“I believe you,” I said, meaning it. But still, it wasn’t totally enough.
“Charming,” Jughead said, furrowing his brow. The explanation obviously wasn’t enough for him, either. “A children’s story, you say? The Brothers Grimm’s finest might have been more upbeat.”
“Every town has its version of that,” Fred said. “When I was a kid, of course, I believed it. But once I got older, I just recognized it for the urban legend that it is.”
“But it wasn’t,” Betty said, urgency in her voice. “Well, I mean, your version was, of course, but it was based on something horrific that was really happening. And no one ever talks about it.”
“Betty,” I pointed out, understanding how frustrated she was feeling, “they legit didn’t know. I mean, if Nana Rose was telling the truth—I mean, if she remembers it right, and stuff—”
“She does,” Betty swore, shaking her head insistently. “She thought I was Polly, fine, but about the important things? The big things? She’s always in her right mind about those.”
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as, always … But she … sounded pretty convincing, Arch,” Jughead said. “I was there. Betty’s right.”
“But my dad didn’t know. None of your parents probably did, either. It was an urban legend.”
“Frankly, I think I preferred blissful ignorance,” my dad added.
“You and everyone else in this town,” Betty said, distraught. “Did I tell you how my own mother had zero interest in investigating the body in the maple barrel? She’s a news reporter, and this is a possible murder, and not only did she not want to look into it herself, she full-on got mad at me when I tried to ask her about it.”
Dad looked at Betty. His expression got soft as he considered her. “Here’s the thing, Betty,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Anyone who’s grown up in this town? We’ve seen its darkness. We’ve known it our whole lives. And if a tradition was around for a hundred-odd years and then—poof—stopped in its tracks? Well, those of us who paid attention in local history lessons knew not to ask questions. We knew there was probably a reason it stopped, and it was probably a reason we didn’t want to know. I’m sure your mom heard the same urban legends I did—and if she was anything like me, she didn’t want to think too hard about the real-life inspiration behind the legend.”
He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Lord knows, your mom isn’t perfect—let me be the first to say that—but, Betty, she’s human. She makes mistakes. At the end of the day, she loves you. Give her a break for not wanting to do a deep dive on yet another skeleton in Riverdale’s closet.”
“She told you she was busy with the Farm,” Jughead reminded her. “And that doesn’t seem to be a lie or even an exaggeration. It’s entirely possible that this was just a case of her choosing to ignore whatever normal alarm bell might go off in her investigative reporter brain, in the interest of something she thought was more important.”
“That would explain my mother’s behavior, too,” Veronica added. “As mayor, she’s presided over some truly horrific moments in Riverdale’s living history. She’d want the win, and if she learned something atrocious, the hard way, by opening Pandora’s box—”
“More like Pandora’s time capsule,” Jughead quipped.
“However you want to dub it,” Veronica continued, “I could see her thinking a million-year-old blip on the radar wasn’t worth upending her grand plan to rebuild our town’s spirits. In Riverdale, the old mantra ‘no publicity is bad publicity’ doesn’t really hold up.”
“One thing still doesn’t make sense, though,” Betty protested.
“One thing?” Jughead laughed.
Betty gave him a small smile. “When we were at Pop’s that day—when your father was talking to us about opening the time capsule. He said that there were some people who’d really pushed to bring the Revels back. But neither of them said anything more.”
“I remember,” Jughead said. “Pop was pretty quiet. Which—he gets that way, but …”
“But,” I agreed.
“Well, it’s not like you won’t have a chance to see him, to ask him a few questions,” Veronica pointed out. “He’s got hundreds of burgers to cook before the contest this afternoon.”
“It feels weird, though,” Betty said. “Celebrating the Revels at all, I mean now that we know its ghoulish history. All those girls who died. And everyone—the whole town—they just went along with it. For more than a century.” She shivered, even though it wasn’t that cold out, and she was wearing a jacket.
“I hear you, Betty,” my dad said. “But Riverdale’s skeletons will be locked in the town’s proverbial closets whether you celebrate the revived Revels or not. You can’t change the past. You can only impact the future—by reclaiming the Revels and giving them a purely positive meaning for our town. For our history—going forward.”
“I think ‘history going forward’ is an oxymoron,” Jughead said, “but I get what you’re saying, Mr. Andrews, and I’ll allow it. It’s a good point. We can turn the bad memory into something good.”
“It’s all that we can do,” Dad said.
BETTY
Dear Diary:
In the end, it was actually almost straightforward—in a twisted sort of way, of course. Jughead and I should have realized it, the second we talked to Nana Ros
e about the history of the Revels. But of course, given the horror of what she was revealing to us, we were more than a little bit preoccupied.
Once it clicked, though, I was convinced that talking to Pop Tate would be the final key to understanding the connection between the body in the maple barrel and the sordid history of the Revels. He had the pocket watch, and he had the family connection to the mayor, to the Revels. He had to be the missing link here.
All around us the block party was in full swing: booths selling smoothies, Reggie’s dad’s top collectible cars on display since the Motorcade finished, a WRIV tent handing out bumper stickers as Mom grabbed random passersby for Revels-related sound bites. But Archie, Jughead, Veronica, and I were single-minded, fixated on Pop Tate, and what he might have known about the Riverdale Revels’ dark origins. He was easy enough to pin down—we found him manning the grill at his booth.
“You kids here for the burger-eating contest?” Pop asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Sadly, no,” Jughead said. “Actually, we really need to talk to you.”
“To me?” He looked surprised. “About what?”
“Pop, we know you know about the Revels—the original Revels,” Veronica said seriously.
His expression darkened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“We know, too. About the history, the sacrifices.” I fixed him with a steady gaze. “You know. And I’m willing to bet you know the truth about the time capsule, too.”
“Betty, what are you going on about?” Pop asked. He was trying to sound light—but he was trying too hard. I could see it in the worried glint in his eye.
“Pop, it’s okay. I understand why you wanted to hide the town’s history from us. But the fact that our ancestors sacrificed pure young women as part of their Riverdale Revels still doesn’t explain how a skeleton ended up in a maple barrel time capsule more than seventy-five years later. And we need answers.”
“And you think I have them?”
“Nana Rose told us about your family’s connection to the first mayor of Riverdale,” Jughead said.
“And how Mayor Little abolished the original Revels in 1861,” I continued.
“Didn’t you say that your family had been close with the Little family, going way back?” Archie asked, not really expecting an answer.
Jughead peered at Pop, intent. “We know that in 1941, when the murder-free Revels were canceled for good, the town created a time capsule. I’m guessing the dead body inside wasn’t on the original agenda.”
“Pop, there was a photo,” I said. “From an article—the only article—about Miss Maple. It was damaged, but it was a picture of a cross … and, I think, that pocket watch you were wearing last night.”
I swallowed, then looked at him. “Your family goes almost as far back as the Blossoms around here. And someone in your family was involved with at least one of those pageants, front and center enough to have made it into a picture in the news. So if you know anything … please … tell us.”
Pop paused for a moment, breathing hard. He was obviously considering what to tell us, how much. “Pop,” Veronica implored, “it’s over. Just … give us the truth.”
He took a deep sigh. “You kids want the truth? It’s an ugly one, at that. But then, you know that, given everything you’ve lived through here, in this town.”
We all nodded, solemn, listening.
“You know the story behind the Revels. Young girls being murdered, strung up in Fox Forest. Eventually, the practice died out, thank the good lord. But my ancestors, they knew eventually the day would come—that someone with enough power would come along and erase the whole bloody history of the festival. And they couldn’t let that happen.”
“Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it,” Jughead said, nodding. Pop made a noise of agreement.
“So the year that the time capsule was to be buried—the year the door was officially closing on the Revels forever, my grandfather and his brother, they waited until dark … and they dug one of the poor girls up.”
We all gasped in unison. This story had just transcended into a new level of horror show.
“They pulled her out. They broke the seal on the time capsule, and they laid her to rest inside. When it was buried a few days later, no one was any the wiser. And there her bones have stayed ever since.
“When my dad got a little older, his father told him what he had done back during the founding. And then later my daddy told me. Generations of Tates have passed along our legacy: custodians of this knowledge, of the Maple Woman.”
Jughead was still slowly processing. “So the time capsule was …”
“I suppose you could call it a precautionary measure,” Pop said slowly. “A lot can change in seventy-five years. People grow older, they forget. Grandpa Tate knew eventually the Revels would be resurrected. He wanted to be sure that the people of Riverdale remembered their real history. That way, when the capsule was opened generations later …”
“Cat’s out of the bag.” Archie shuddered. “And we’d all have to face the truth.”
“At the Jubilee,” Jughead said. “That was when this all was supposed to happen.”
“Yes. But things were so … it was a dark time, with the Blossom boy being killed,” Pop said, his face creased in pain. “The town council canceled their plans for the Revels—and the time capsule. All I could do was wait for the right moment to suggest it was time to bring the Revels back—and let everything play out the way Grandpa Tate intended.”
“And no one had any idea …” I said.
“… because basically every single news article or record about it had been destroyed,” Jughead finished.
“Exactly.” He sighed. “But in time, it became clear enough that there wasn’t going to be a ‘right time’ to bring the truth to light. Something dark always seemed to be brewing.” His eyes shone. “That’s the nature of evil.”
“So now what?” Archie asked.
“Now the truth finally comes to light,” I said, resolute. “Even if people in this town don’t want to face it.”
“B,” Veronica placed a hand on my arm. “You know I’ve got your back, ride-or-die. But …”
“But?” I looked at her. Where was she going with this?
“What if … the truth didn’t come to light?” She glanced around at our puzzled faces.
“We … bury the truth.” I turned the idea over in my head.
“Who’s it going to help at this point, anyway?” Veronica said softly. “This town … hasn’t it seen enough death? My mother brought the Revels back—”
“—because Pop talked her into it,” Jughead interjected.
“Well, okay, but, whatever my mom’s faults are—and I think we can agree, I’m pretty straight about her having plenty—she legit wanted the Revels to be something nice for this town. Something to unify us, amid … all the darkness.”
All the darkness.
I thought about my father, rotting in a prison cell. I thought about my mother, too caught up in a creepy cult to be even marginally aware of the craziest murder story this town had seen in two hundred years (which was, in and of itself, saying a lot). I thought about the semipermanent marks I had in my fists from clenching my hands so tightly against exactly that darkness, for so long.
“Bury it,” I mused.
“Exactly,” she said. “So many of our friends worked so hard for the Revels and this pageant, and they’re really looking forward to it. The whole town is, really.”
“Burying it—at least that’s on theme,” Jughead said.
“I can’t believe you’re pushing for the pageant, V,” I said, laughing a little. “You were totally opposed to it when your mom first made the announcement.”
“Oh, I remember,” she said, smiling to herself. “But I think Pop is onto something. This town knows more than enough darkness. We deserve to take a beat and pave the way for something brighter.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “We
bury it.”
“We cover it up,” Jughead said. “For the town’s sake. But we don’t forget.”
We all nodded, and I saw a wave of calm come over Pop Tate’s face for the first time in who knows how long. I knew none of us could have forgotten the truth, even if we’d tried.
“For now,” Veronica said, prodding us out of our collective reverie, “let’s get going. We have a pageant to get to.”
JUGHEAD
Backstage at the Riverdale High auditorium, tension was thick enough to spread on a pancake. After Evelyn and Ethel’s confession, the antics and incidents that had plagued earlier rehearsals had stopped. Now people were purely excited to be competing. But no amount of preparation would ever truly feel like enough. Your intrepid boy reporter may have chosen to abstain from the festivities, but I observed, with my keen writer’s eye, as contestants like Fangs Fogarty and Peaches ’N Cream went through last-minute changes to their interview responses, tuned instruments for talent portions, ran through vocal warm-ups, stretches, and slathered—was that really Vaseline? Yes, it was—on their teeth. I saw Cheryl wave a lint brush over Toni as Toni teetered in impossibly tall heels and even taller hair. Kevin, too, was in the wings, his swelling having mostly gone down, and whatever residual might have been left, more than dwarfed by the broad smile on his face. My own leading lady, Betty, stood with her best friend, taking selfie after selfie from behind the scenes, laughing in between each click of the phone’s camera.