August's Eyes

by Glenn Rolfe

  Kids these days. When he was growing up, you watched prime-time TV shows with your family, All in the Family, M.A.S.H., The Mary Tyler Moore Show. You ate meals at the supper table at the same time every evening. There were no video games, no cable TV channels, no VCRs or video rental stores. You were outside keeping yourself occupied, using your imagination and playing with your friends until you were called back in.

  Parents were different then, too. If your kid acted up or sassed you, you hit him with the belt. If you needed something at the corner store even near dark, you sent them out to fetch it. Thoughts of abductions and random killers lurking in the shadows waiting to feed off your poor children was barely a consideration if one at all.

  Llewellyn didn’t dare dream of how much fun he would have had if times were the same today. What kind of wide-open playground would he have to roam and watch and take whatever he wanted whenever he liked.

  He’d seen a few that interested him, the boy with the acoustic guitar out front of the library for one, but his stomach was rumbling. There would be plenty of time still. First he would feast. Not here though. The less people saw his face in town the better. There was a great little truck stop diner on Brunswick Avenue called Ricky’s Place. He could order to-go and sit in the dirt lot scarfing down a sub while he gave the next wave of kids time to show up to strut their stuff downtown.

  * * *

  The diner was busy, but it was mostly old fuckers and big rig drivers come in off the I-95 exit just up the road. He grabbed a roast beef Italian and a Coke and took his lunch in the van.

  As Llewellyn munched on his delicious sub, a native man stepping from the wood-paneled station wagon caught his attention.

  There were a few reasons he’d returned to Spears Corner, Maine. His mother’s funeral, of course, but there was something much more important. Eden Silko. Eden was the author of a novel on the Passamaquoddy tribe in Maine. Llewellyn had placed a call to Eden this morning to set up an interview. Her book held a possible key for Llewellyn’s dream. There was tell of a shaman in this very area back in the mid-eighteen hundreds, and right around the time James Spears showed up to plant his big flag in the center of an already established town.

  Llewellyn could give a flying fuck about the utter slaughter of innocents. What caught his eye was the shaman lost in this tale. A man who stood for something more. A man with not only charisma and a sense of direction but also an admirable ambition. A vision beyond what was expected and what was possible.

  But that was for tomorrow.

  Llewellyn had set up the interview with Eden Silko under the guise that he was a writer for a Midwest magazine visiting the East Coast in search of the most strange and amazing tales.

  Finished with lunch, he headed back downtown in hopes of catching his fly.

  He spotted the boy and a friend on his first sweep of the Shop ‘n’ Save parking lot.

  Fate was on his side.

  Llewellyn gasped when a red Escort nearly clipped the boy’s friend. After a quick exchange with the driver and some checking the friend over, the boys rode out of the parking lot and headed toward Jefferson Stream. Llewellyn and his cousin had fished striped bass out of that waterway all through their childhood. He crawled through the lot, eased onto Maine Avenue and pulled around to Arcade Street, where he parked behind the new bottle redemption and liquor store, Tiger Town. He had a clear view of the boys as they stood skimming rocks into the sparkling stream.

  It was a gorgeous summer day. The humidity still made Llewellyn sweat like mad, but the sun felt good on his forearm as he hung it out the window. He sipped his Coke and practiced patience. If it took all day for the opportunity to present itself, Llewellyn would wait. Since setting eyes on the lanky boy again, he already decided he wasn’t leaving town until the boy was his.

  * * *

  He was starting to fall asleep behind the wheel when the boys climbed up the embankment and biked past Tiger Town. Llewellyn started the van and decided to drive down Arcade Street and loop back around to the start of Water Street. He was betting they’d check out some of the stores. There was a sports card shop, a music store, Reny’s Department Store, Gerrard’s Pizza, and a new pool hall, as well.

  He spotted their bikes outside the entrance to the sports card shop.

  Cruising by, he saw them through the window. The friend stared him down. Llewellyn turned his gaze to the road. Had the friend noticed him following them? It was possible, but nothing that worried him. Still, it was always better to stay back and watch from afar. It was hard knowing the boy was so close. The impulse to be near him was hindering Llewellyn’s better judgment. It had been happening more and more lately, like his need for them, his hunger and desire was growing. He didn’t want to get sloppy now.

  He pulled around and waited outside the post office at the corner of Water and Bridge. When they came out, he noticed the friend was definitely scanning the street before they began riding in the opposite direction. Llewellyn let them cross at the traffic light down the block before pulling out and venturing in their direction.

  It was another hour before the boys headed up Church Street toward the Spears Corner Common.

  They were climbing around the gazebo at the center of the park drinking sodas and taking turns jumping over the railings of the structure. Llewellyn imagined the boy working up a sweat. He licked his lips as the pressure built in his pants.

  The friend climbed the steps and stopped, his head craned in the van’s direction.

  Fuck.

  Llewellyn pulled away. He shouldn’t have parked so close.

  Sloppy, man, he thought. You’re getting too fucking sloppy.

  As he pulled up to the Stop sign near the Catholic Church, he saw the boys mount their BMX steeds and book ass toward Brunswick Avenue.

  He didn’t want the friend to spot him again, but he also couldn’t lose them. Not now. He wanted to make his move sooner than later.

  Staying under the speed limit, he ducked behind a U-Haul truck. He had to make a few stops to keep his distance. Eventually, they pulled off the avenue and rode out of sight. As he rolled to the driveway, a smile cracked his face.

  The Authorized Vehicles Only sign on the gate welcomed him.

  The Gardiner Gravel Pits.

  This was his moment.

  He slowly drove beyond the gate. He and Alvin had been here plenty growing up. There was only one main way in and out of the pits, and he parked near the first pile of gravel, right before it.

  He stepped from the van and heard their voices as one of them hooted for the other.

  Llewellyn hurried to his knees and leaned against his back tire.

  The friend was already trying to warn the boy from checking on him, but the boy came anyway.

  When he tried to help Llewellyn to his feet, the Ghoul of Wisconsin snatched the kid by the back of the head and rammed his face into the side of the van again and again. When he let go, his heart pumping blood like the thunder of Ragnarok, Llewellyn watched the boy collapse into a pile.

  He could see the front of the friend’s yellow shorts darken as he pissed himself.

  Scooping up his prize, Llewellyn shoveled the unconscious boy into the back of the van and shut the doors.

  He set into a full sprint after the friend.

  * * *

  He had to give up after the kid booked it out a small trail that let out to another road. Would he go straight to the cops? There was no time to wait and see.

  Llewellyn raced home, grabbed his belongings and told his cousin he was leaving for a couple nights. He needed the van and would return it before heading back to Wisconsin.

  That night, in a cheap roadside motel in Winthrop, Llewellyn Caswell introduced the boy, Ethan Ripley, to his dark side. And it was every bit as wonderful as he’d hoped.

  * * *

  The following day, the b
oy was reported missing, but no word came out about any suspects or vehicles. Either the police were holding back important details for some reason or the friend hadn’t told anyone. Fear could hold so many things in check.

  Still, Llewellyn couldn’t take any more chances. That morning, he strangled the life from Ethan Ripley’s beautiful brown eyes. Watching the boy’s lights go out, Llewellyn felt an odd sadness he’d never encountered before. Back home, he still had his boys. They were all over his property. There was no way he could take this one with him, but gazing into those brown eyes, an idea occurred to him. He needed to take a part of Ethan with him.

  When he finished collecting his keepsakes from Ethan Ripley, he promptly disposed of the body in Litchfield Pond, where he could rot with the bones of Steve Norton.

  Llewellyn rented a Ford Escort from a Hertz in Augusta and met with Eden Silko about the Passamaquoddy shaman. After getting the keys to the proverbial golden gates from the woman’s in-depth knowledge of not only the medicine man’s intent but also the precise rituals he used or planned to use, Llewellyn strangled the writer with his belt and left her to spoil behind a dust-covered organ in her basement.

  * * *

  He returned home ready for the next exciting and glorious chapter of his life.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  John stood in the spot where he’d seen the boy get attacked all those years ago. Closing his eyes, he saw it again.

  Oh God, the man snatched Ethan and John had abandoned him.

  And he’d been so scared that he’d get in trouble or that if he ratted on the man, the kidnapper would find him and take him, too, John never told anyone what he saw.

  Crumpling to his knees, he sobbed.

  He’d seen Ethan Ripley’s kidnapper and kept it to himself.

  Tears ran down his cheeks while the wind fluttered his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” John cried. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “But are you really, Johnny?”

  John spun around on bended knee.

  “No, no, you’re not real,” he said.

  August stood twenty yards away.

  “I don’t think denial is working so well for you anymore, Johnny. And I don’t think it’s going to help your friends.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  John stood as August took a wide arc around him and stepped to the tree line. August snatched a leaf from one of the one of the maples and twirled it between his fingers.

  “How are you gonna save them if you keep trying to hide from the truth?”

  “Save who—”

  And it hit him. He had them. Some fucking how, August had Sarah and Pat.

  “Ah,” August said, “now you get it.”

  “Where are they? What have you done to them?”

  “Oh, Johnny, it’s not me you really have to worry about.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Ah, ah…first things first.”

  “I’ll go to the police.”

  August turned to him, those two black eye holes calling him forward, sucking him in, and devouring his will. “You, Johnny? Go to the police? If I could still laugh I would.”

  “I’ll…I’ll do it.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “I will,” John said. The words fell impotently past his lips. Staring into August’s eyes, John felt himself shrinking, withering inside. He was suddenly very much the scared twelve-year-old who pissed his pants and left his friend with a killer.

  “What you will do is join us in Graveyard Land one last time,” August said, stepping into the forest. “We’ll be waiting for you, Johnny. Don’t let us down…or else.”

  He was gone.

  Raindrops, light at first and then thick and striking like a relentless swarm of hornets, began to fall.

  Thunder rolled to life overhead as John stood in disbelief.

  Drenched in failure, failure to save Ethan, failure to keep Sarah safe, to keep Pat safe, and swallowed by the sins of his past, John walked back to his car like a zombie, dead on the inside, rotten to the core, and filled with maggots ready to finish him off.

  He was soaked when he climbed behind the wheel and started his car.

  Passing the Town Hall and the police station, John knew August was right. He wasn’t going to tell anyone. Who the hell would believe him?

  He was out of options. He knew where he had to go, and there was only one way to get there.

  * * *

  John drove straight home and ran into the house and to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

  He snatched the bottle of sleeping pills he’d purchased earlier this summer when he was having trouble sleeping from dealing with all the bullshit at work.

  He’d stopped taking them once the boys of Graveyard Land started waiting for him.

  After grabbing a beer from the fridge, he swallowed down two of the pills. He didn’t know if that’d be enough, so he took two more. He didn’t want to overdose on the damn things.

  An urge to leave a note struck him. He was going to Graveyard Land intent on facing the full evil that awaited him there. He knew he might not make it out. He grabbed a pen from the counter and scratched out a note on the yellow lined pad sitting by the house phone.

  Taking his beer with him, John walked to his bedroom and picked up the dream journal from his nightstand. Maybe there was something in here that could help him. Something he could use against August.

  He flipped the cover open and gasped.

  His head already starting to feel heavy, he stared at the blank pages. All his notes were gone. He fanned through the entire book.

  “No,” he said.

  He flipped back to the front and saw two black, inky scratches for eyes staring back.

  Tiny black dots began to appear around the sketched black holes. The dots began crawling and multiplying, taking shape…spiders. Dozens of them moved out from the ink-black eyes to the edge of the notebook. John felt one tickle his hand.

  He dropped the dream journal and swatted the spider from his skin. The book had landed flat, August’s eyes still staring up at him. The spiders poured from the ink and crawled to life across his floor.

  They were everywhere.

  Despite his fear, John felt too damn tired to run. He stumbled to his bed and slid back toward the headboard as they began to climb over the comforter. He kicked his legs at them, but there were too many.

  They swarmed him in a blanket of thousands of tiny black legs.

  He tried to cry for help when one skittered over his lip and funneled into his open mouth.

  * * *

  It was One Eye who shook him awake. Johnny sat up, coughing and trying to spit the spiders from his mouth. But they weren’t there.

  “Johnny,” One Eye said. “Come with me now. There’s not much time.”

  Johnny couldn’t shake the feeling of creepy crawlies tracing the topography of his flesh. He jittered and twitched like a kid with some kind of bad physical tic as he followed One Eye through the graves.

  The boy waved him over to a tall gravestone set before a bush.

  “Down here,” One Eye said. “Quick, I don’t know when they’ll come but I have to tell you before they get here.”

  “What is it?” Johnny asked, crouched below the outstretched bush and tucking in beside the boy under the natural bower it created.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything before. August would’ve killed me. Or worse.”

  Johnny couldn’t figure anything worse, but he shut up and listened.

  “It’s about August.”

  “What about him?” Johnny asked.

  “That’s not his real name.”

  Johnny knew before One Eye said it.

  “His name is or, I mean, it was—”

  “Ethan. Ethan
Ripley.”

  “Yeah, you figured it out?”

  “I…I remembered.”

  “Well, he’s after you, but it’s not just him. It’s the Ghoul.”

  “The Ghoul?”

  “This is his place. His place for us. All of us.”

  “All of you?”

  “He calls us his boys.”

  The Ghoul and his boys….

  “The Ghoul is Llewellyn Caswell,” Johnny said.

  One Eye dropped his chin and nodded.

  “And if you’re his boys…oh my God,” Johnny whispered. “You’re all his, his….”

  “We survive here. He leaves us alone, mostly. He likes to know we’re here with him.”

  “Is this place, Graveyard Land, real?”

  “It’s a spirit world,” One Eye said. “We’re always here with him, but he told us it wasn’t complete. That one of his boys was still out there.”

  “Me?”

  One Eye nodded.

  “Can we stop him?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” One Eye said, suddenly tucking his knees up to his chin and hugging his legs.

  “If he…if he created this place, then there must be a way to destroy it.”

  “But what does that mean for me? For all of us?”

  “Are you happy here?” Johnny asked.

  One Eye looked away, a tear rolling over his plump cheek.

  “Listen,” Johnny said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I need to find August, er, Ethan. Where is he?”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Sarah awoke in the blackness to the sound of rain stinging the shed’s metal roof and someone fiddling with the door lock. Her insides clenched anticipating the horrible boy who’d brought her here. The door swung open and a large man dragged another body inside and placed it opposite her.

  “Hey there, girly,” the man said.

  Gray light invaded enough of the shadows to illuminate his face. She didn’t know his name, but she recognized him from town. She’d seen him somewhere before.