Out There: A Rural Horror Story

by Cademon Bishop

  “You’re not crazy,” Denver sighed through his teeth.

  Lara squinted out the front window, “We’re back... right?”

  “Hey, anything seem weird to you?” Denver asked.

  “It feels weird; we are in the same street… right?” The truck’s headlights shone a faint white across the windows of a laundromat.

  “That’s it !” Denver said.

  “What!?”

  “The lights!”

  “Yeah, and…”

  “There ain’t any lights, all we got are the truck’s light,” Denver exclaimed. Lara couldn’t imagine the town feeling any more dead, yet here they were in a street so dead that now you couldn’t even see the concrete carcasses. “Is it too late for friend?”

  Lara turned around and pointed out the back window. “Hang on, I’m pretty sure that trucker left some tracks.” Lara drove towards a faint set of tire marks and the breadcrumb trail of plastic, wood, and metal shrapnel.

  A short spittle of glowing embers sparkled above. The semi splintered a power line. One half stood like a totem pole in front of a repair shop. The other half was strewn in front of someone’s front yard along East Broadway, throwing up a spew of splinters across the lawn as if it were hungover.

  The torn wire spewed sparks passed overhead. Dirt was thrown all about where the metallic camber of the semi had drifted. Tire marks stretched across both lanes of East Broadway and the semi was nowhere to be seen.

  “Shit. He sure did a number on this street.” Denver tried to be light-hearted; however, the fear in his voice muffled any hint of calmness.

  “Ya think it’s safe to head out?”

  “I… I hope so.” Lara turned back down East Broadway.

  Lara and Denver didn’t speak as they rushed to the Beaumont Lodge.

  Side C Track 6

  Scarlet

  “Look do ya see how much this town is tied up in? Hell, I'm more of a plumber than a mayor, with the way I'm always bringin’ shit up and, and Jesus… you’re a outsider, a criminal.”

  “No, no you got it all wrong, I'm-”

  “I know who you-”

  Joselean Springs Times

  VOL.XI, NO.VII Tuesday September 6th, 1977

  Last night, at 11:32pm, four 20-year-olds delivered the body of Debbie Dean to Hathway Medical Center. The following morning the group was interrogated by the chief of police, Davidson Calavicci, and were found innocent. The coroner is considering her death as a murder as no weapon was found near her body. He asked to speak with Beverly Dean, the mother of Debbie, but she has yet to respond on the matter. The group says they were worried about her and found her dead in the Beaumont Lodge.

  An investigation at the lodge failed, as records of the residents were torn off for that month. The only clues leading the police to a possible suspect were half a shoe print on the door to room 215, a bottle of pills, and a blood trail that led from one of the front windows to the front door. Police are unsure of the trail as the group who found Debbie had no connection to it, and in fact saw the same trail as they walked out. Debbie presumably passed away in the upstairs shower, making the second trail more of a mystery.

  The four residents staying at the lodge said they heard a gunshot, but not a single one got up to check. A resident said she saw four electricians in black jackets make their way towards room 215. The police will give a reward to anyone who has any clues to these electricians.

  Track Mixdown 6

  Shakedown Street

  September 4th, 1977 9:23pm

  The forest surrounded Harvey and Debbie; it was as if they were strolling inside the ribcage of a colossus. To their surprise, the rain dwindled down the closer they were to the park.

  Harvey pointed to a tree, “You see that one there?”

  “The lanky one, what about it?”

  “That one’s called white ash. I was into trees for a bit,” Harvey said, grinning.

  “How borin’ of a life can ya have if you have to find enjoyment by looking at trees?”

  “Well, I... eh, I don’t, hey! I’ll have you know-”

  “Hey cool it, Columbo. I’m jokin’.” Debbie patted the sleeve of Harveys red button-up shirt. Her palms sent invisible shivers down his spine. His mind flashbulbed the way the tip of her pinky and ring finger grazed his skin, her blue rain coat tied around her waist, the parchment white dress fluttering like a flag in the wind, the cold magnetic lift as she pulled away.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Harvey said. “Guess I can’t take a joke.” They trekked through Brookside Garden just enjoying the simple act of being there. They breathed with the branch-churned whispers overhead as wind began to lull. The parking lot light shone bar-like cuts between the packed trees. They exited the maze of forest and flora.

  “Do you want to sit for a bit?” Harvey waved towards a wooden bench facing the parking lot. “I’m not ready to go back.”

  “Why not,” Debbie glanced at the night sky before sitting. “You gonna’ spout off a few names of birds while you’re at it?”

  Harvey felt the flutter of her sleeve as she sat beside him. The space between them felt unbearable. They were just an inch apart, yet it felt like miles in the amplified instant.

  Harvey turned to his left and noticed a utility building. He was unsure why he fixated on the building and then he noticed that the door was open part way. He squinted at it for a second and the door clicked shut, as if a ghost hid behind it. Harvey thought about investigating it, but Debbie kept him glued to the bench.

  The simi-sweet September air wailed fresh gusts of autumn. A few drops of rain set ripples into the puddles in the pavement in front of them. The buzz of the parking lot light accompanied the wind through the trees.

  Debbie broke the silence, “So, how was your day?”

  “Well...” Harvey chuckled to himself. “I’m not sure I can say because I think it just started.” Debbie leaned against his arm. The feeling of her elbow pressing into the side of his muscular wrist ignited something deep within himself. He slithered a hand over to her forearm.

  Debbie turned and looked at her arm and then back up at him. He returned the stare. His gaze evoked a magnetic pull as she found herself leaning in. His hand caressed the side of her face as he drew in and kissed her.

  10:14

  Harvey and Debbie exited the BMW and strolled towards the Beaumont Lodge.

  “Acgch, shit!” Debbie muttered. She stopped walking and felt her cheek.

  “What?”

  “Rain got on me… come on,” she tugged Harvey’s hand and ran for the front door. A fireplace illuminated the lobby with a flickering tangerine glow.

  “You can… come up to my room if you want.” Harvey shrugged. “You don’t have to, I just thought you’d want to wait out the rain before you head home?” Debbie paused, unsure how to respond. ‘Things are going pretty well’ he imagined her thinking. ‘hell, he knows trees, a man who knows trees has to know a little respect.’

  “Sure…” She said, watching the flames in the fireplace flick light her desk. She started her way up the elegant wooden staircase. Harvey prowled behind, watching her back. He opened his door, letting Debbie slide in before him. Room 215, The numbers hung as a bronze death certificate.

  Harvey closed the door.

  10:50

  Michael parked the Gremlin on the corner of the lodge. The star-like glow of the streetlamps flicked off moments ago. He turned his headlights off and was nearly surrounded in pitch black, if not for the bronze glow that lurked through the lodge. Its windows lit as a pair of orange eyes, accenting the log frame of the porch. Two lemon yellow dots beamed from a parked car a few feet ahead, and Michael crept towards it. The vehicle’s lights diminished as its door opened. Michael froze as he watched a person get out of the car.

  “Michael?” Dian called.

  “OH! Thank heavens, it’s you” Michael said. He blindly trudged forward and hugged her. “Is Lara here?”

  “I haven’t seen anyone else ride
on up. She should be here. Her work is just up the road.” Michael and Dian paused as light gleamed on their side. An engine roared as a truck cruised towards them, its headlights reviling the houses hidden in the dark. The truck pivoted out of a neighborhood and parked behind the Gremlin. For a moment, Michael could see Dian shielding her eyes, then the headlights flicked off. Michael stepped forward to greet Lara but dipped back as he heard two people leave the car.

  “Michael?” Lara knew that all to familiar sound of Michael’s jacket.

  The five of them paced down the stone sidewalk that led to the lodge, the features in their faces growing more defined the closer they were to the lodge’s flickering orange glow.

  “Who’s ya new friend?” Dian asked.

  Denver sprung a hand to greet Dian. Rain briefly ignited their fingers as they shook, “Sorry if I’m uninvited. Name’s Denver.”

  “He, um… needed some help with his bike, and now he’s stuck along with me.”

  “Hey what do ya’ll think is going on with these lights?” Michael asked.

  “A Semi rammed a down power line back there, it’s a long story.” She waved her hand as if it were an everyday occurrence then gestured towards Michael “You sure Deb is there?”

  “Yes, Long story as to how I know, but I’m sure she’s there. I’ll explain it when I can.” They reached the front door and peeped through the front windows. The fireplace send sharp, teetering shadows across the walls.

  Lara spoke, snapping their tension. “That looks creepy as shit.”

  “Are we goin’ to go through the front door or sneak around back?” Denver asked.

  “Well, I guess we could-” Michael’s whisper was cut short as the sound of engines thundered down the street behind them. Dian bounded for the front door and cracked it open. With one hand, she gave a harsh beckoning wave. The group slipped into the lodge as the roar of engines grew.

  10:40

  The black and white tube TV murmured the soap opera Blues in Folsom.

  “I caint’ Johnny, it’s too late!” a brunette woman called. The camera spun to a man dressed in black.

  “Late… Late was never our kinda thing for love.” The man said as he grasped her arm.

  Debbie and Harvey lay in bed.

  “This is what you like to watch?” Harvey scoffed.

  “Well, it’s one of the only shows that play this late.” Debbie accidentally pressed her body against his as she reached for the remote. She shimmied over some and worried if he would take it the wrong way. He did. Harvey longed for her touch, the touch of anyone, a touch to understand what love felt like. To know that mythical emotion before he died. It’s what we all want, He tried to reason with himself. Just one peep before we close our eyes. Just one last-

  Harvey held her forearm and sent it into the pillow behind her, knocking a linen shade lamp off the nightstand.

  The salt-white light glared off his face as he urged her back. Harvey locked his knees into hers and pressed leach-like lips against her neck. She rocked her head in a desperate attempt to smack him off with her chin.

  The TV murmured an innocent orchestral tune. Her fingers dug into the white bedsheets. She almost let out a cry for help but was silenced as he covered her mouth with his lips.

  He left a snail trail of kisses across the broad of her neck and the underside of her chin. His tongue dropped into Debbie’s mouth as if it were a fishing line cast into water.

  She bit the bait.

  Debbie drove her teeth into Harvey’s slithering worm of a tongue. Harvey shot off a muffled shout. He pulled his tongue back. Debbie still clung. He slung an arm around, choked her.

  A string of crimson tinted spit slipped as Debbie released his tongue.

  Harvey hung onto her for support as he used his other arm to feel his mouth. Everything grew dim and unreadable. With every bit of movement she had, she cocked her knee into his groin. He clung tighter to her neck for a second, then lost grip and limped halfway on the bed.

  Debbie shoved his hefty body and stumbled to the ground. She collided on the carpet, nearly missing the lamp’s. Debbie crawled to her feet beside the bed, grasping the dresser as she heaved herself up. The TV antenna rattled and lost connection for a fraction of a second as the dresser shook.

  The black-and-white image fizzled in and out of signal. When it caught back into focus, the camera rose on a picturesque cliff-side. The muffled music reached its climax as the words ‘the end’ faded in.

  10:52

  Harvey cradled himself onto the bed, letting out heaving gasps as he tangled the bedsheets. He saw Debbie stumble towards the front door. He wobbled towards her. Debbie tripped on his bag, kicking its contents across the carpet and onto the tiled bathroom floor. She fumbled with the front door’s lock, Harvey’s dragging footsteps closed in. She yanked it open only to find it latched from the top. She turned behind to see his swaying body, his chest collapsing in and out in his repeated exhales.

  Harvey outreached one hand towards her, “Debbie,” he gasped, almost gargling. “Deb... Debbie, wait.”

  She crawled back and opened the bathroom door, kicking more assorted items from his bag in her retreat. As Harvey lunged another step, she slamed the bathroom door with a thunderous crash, and locked it.

  “DEB…” Harvey spat a little blood on the door. His hand struck like a gavel on the dense wood. “Debbie, please, I’m… I’m sorry! I don’t know what came over me… I don’t know… I don't know what I am!” He collapsed into the carpet, his hand smearing a drop of blood as he slid downward. Pressing his head against the door, he could hear muffled cries. “Debbie can’t you-”

  “Stop!… I’ve heard it all before. Don’t you dare come at me with that shit… I’m tired of it all… so, so damn tired.” Harvey could hear her moving through the contents that spilled into the bathroom. “You remember that thing you went on talking about? How don’t we change?”

  “Yeah?” Harvey called back. He rested the side of his head on the cold wooden bathroom door. “Do you think I’m happy about what I am… What do you think I’ve been running away from my entire life… this, this part of me, please...” His head sunk down the door’s cold grain.

  “Shut up. Shut the fuck up! What do you think I’ve been running’ from in my life… men like you. You sick things have done nothing’ but break people apart. I… I just want it to stop… I want all of this just to stop… Your kind never changes. You’re born a slimy dog, and you know what, you’ll be a dog til the day ya die… if I… no…no, no, no…” Debbie fell silent. Harvey could hear the rustle of her clothes as she shook. She clanked something on the ground and broke into an uncontrollable sob.

  “Debbie?” Harvey cried, “are you… what are you-” All he could hear from the other end were repeated words between her every exhale.

  “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

  “DEBB-” A bright flash of yellow jutted from the slit below the door, followed by a thunderclap.

  A nauseating ringing swung around his head. He stood and heaved his foot into the door. Only the top and bottom rattled. He hurled the heel of his shoe into the door, cracking it on the bathroom’s ceramic tile wall.

  Debbie lay in the back of the bathroom, her head knocked into the shower. The white, plastic shower curtain shrouded her face. Harvey’s revolver lay by the door. Blood sprayed across the top of the curtain, dyeing it with stripes of crimson.

  Harvey froze, the sight blurred past his consciousness as if he has opened the door to nothing. There was no mess sprawled out before him; no glass Timber Line Cologne bottle near a once lively kneecap; no ink pen pressed against a forearm; no sprawl of medicine from an orange pill bottle shattered on her back; no cherry-red dribble on a beautiful white dress; no blurred face speaking unimaginable horrors to him as crimson crawled to the metal drain, and no limp body. Everything was nothing until the slow sound of a drip calling from the back of the bathroom unraveled it all—piece by piece.

  H
e staggered back and held his sickness-lined stomach. He wanted to gag, wanted to react, but the only thing he could think of was to just stumble back and sit.

  Tears lurked through the gaps between his fingers. He hated crying. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he felt something he had almost forgotten. He grabbed the bulky phone and dialed Lucy’s number.

  “Hello?” a digitally masked voice called from the other end.

  “Hey…” Harvey caught his breath “It’s Harvey, can I speak to Lucy?” the suitcase rocked in his lap.

  “Oh shit, man, that’s all you had to say,” Lucy said, the digital tampering cutting off as she spoke. “What’s happenin’ I had a feelin’ you’d call over here pretty soon.”

  “Uh… Yeah.” He tried to focus on the bathroom doorway, but his mind blurred it. “I have a mess that needs your help… you all handle bodies?”

  “Oh!” Lucy chuckled, “Oh, do we! Where you at?”

  “I’m over at the Beaumont Lodge, room 215.”

  “Got it! Give us bout’ five minutes we will get you all cleaned up. Trust me on this, we can make this whole problem wash away!”

  “Sure… thanks,” Harvey hung up the phone. He was alone—almost alone, if not for the spirit that rested in the embers of Debbie’s body.

  Harvey was unsure if he was imagining the iron rod smell of blood blending into the room. He heard a dim thud outside, followed by a flick of the TV as the power went out. His fingers dug into the leather armrest. There was nothing to do but stand as a deer in the high beams of life.

  As seconds turned to minutes, his senses grew. The darkness was on the verge of pitch-black, but if he concentrated hard enough, he could make out the edges of the bed frame and beyond that a static of black.

  It was a kind of darkness where your mind formed anything it wanted in the stillness. His mind posed her in the doorway, her clothes still stained, and her face sunk into the darkness. If he walked over, the illusion would fizzle with his steps. His mind found her being there comforting, so he stayed still and almost alone.