Two and Twenty Dark Tales (29 page)

“Well, Jake,” Benton says. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

I try to look stunned; they can’t know I was anywhere near that field. I have to think fast. “I don’t know, officer. I haven’t seen her since our date the other night.”

“When was that, son?” Shepard asks nicely.

“Monday last. I picked her up after dinner and we went out. I drove her home before her curfew at midnight,” I say.

“You haven’t been to school since then,” Benton says, glaring at me.

“No, I had a stomach bug. My mom came home from work and pronounced me too ill to go to school. You know how moms are,” I say, smiling brightly. “What’s this all about?”

Benton stands and slams his hands down on the table. “Are you going to keep playing coy with me?”

“Now, Benton,” Shepard says. “What he means is, do you know what happened to Rose?”

“No, I haven’t been answering my calls or texts. I’ve… I’ve been too sick.”

“You really don’t know?” Benton asks. I see pity in his expression. Good, that means he’s buying it. I shake my head at him.

“We found Rose in a field, son,” Shepard says. “She’s dead.”

I shudder and push myself back from the table. The image of Rose lying in that field, pale and white except for the angry gash at her throat, threatens to do me in. I run to the back of the room and heave into the trashcan. I don’t usually have a weak stomach, but guilt, nerves, and unidentifiable emotions are warring with each other and causing me to be sick. When I finish, Shepard hands me a glass of water. I return to the table and sit down.

“She’s gone?” I ask. I already know this, but I still feel the need to have it confirmed.

“Yes,” Benton says. His angry sails seem to have lost wind and he is being nicer to me. “You were the last person seen with her.”

“I can’t…” I start. I have to play this right; I need to find out what happened to Ro, so I need the cops not to suspect me. “I don’t know what happened after I left her at home. We were going to watch a movie, but decided to hang out up near Pregnant Hill instead. We didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. Rose wasn’t like that. I took her home and she kissed me goodnight and went inside.” I look up at the detectives. They seem to buy my story. “That’s the last time I saw her.”

“Here’s my card,” Shepard says, handing me a white slip of cardstock with a number on it. “Call us if you hear anything. You can go back to class. There’s a number for a grief counselor on the back.”

I nod and stand up. I look at both of them one last time, then grab my history book from the table and leave. When I get to class, the teacher doesn’t ask any questions. He must have been informed I would be late.

At lunch, I go through the motions. I grab a slice of pizza and sit at my normal seat. There’s no way I am going to be able to eat. Especially here, with Rose’s empty seat beside me. I see Elijah and Addie coming toward me. They look sad. I’m not sure I am ready for this conversation of loss between friends. They sat with Ro and me every day, we had all four been friends forever. It’s kind of funny how we had evolved into couples.

When they get to the table, Elijah looks more pissed than sad. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What?” I ask.

“You heard him,” Addie says. Her face scrunches up in disgust.

“What’s going on, guys?” I am at a loss.

“Are you seriously looking me in my face and pretending you didn’t do anything wrong?” Elijah asks. “You killed our best friend, and right now I am feeling pretty murderous myself. You better find somewhere else to sit.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” I say. I’m not sure I sound too convincing. I’m not convinced of my innocence, either.

“Just. Get. Out.” Addie says.

So I do. I stand, leave my tray, and walk out of the cafeteria. Everyone stares at me. One kid even throws potatoes at me and misses. Walking through the hall isn’t any better. People outright stare at me. They all think I am a murderer. Maybe I am. Something inside of me tells me otherwise. I would never hurt Ro. I loved her. I have to find out what really happened that night.

No one says anything as I leave. No faculty tries to stop me as I leave the school through the main entrance and head to my car. When I get home, I closet myself in my room and lie down on my bed. Sleep seems to be the only thing I can handle right now.

***

When I wake, it is dark. I fumble around for my phone to get the time. Five a.m. I have slept another day away. I wonder if I will ever be able to stay awake for more than four hours. I can’t go back to school today. I have to remember. I have to go back to where Rose died.

***

There are few cars on the road and I get to the field of flowers in record time. I walk to where her body had been laying when I stumbled upon her Tuesday morning. The flowers lay trampled and broken all over the field; the police had no time to protect Mother Nature as they made their way to Rose. Using my phone as a flashlight, I find where she died. Police tape is still strung in a makeshift barricade the cops had erected when they were investigating her murder. It looks crass in the dim light. I sit at the edge of the ring of flowers and begin to cry. Coming back here has done nothing for my memory. I am no closer to finding the truth than I had been when I woke up with bloody hands and posy in my pocket.

“I told you to forget.” The voice is hard and sinister. It is deep and has the timbre of someone who smoked way too many cigarettes. I turn around, fighting my phone for light.

“Who’s there?” I ask, fear obvious in my voice.

“You don’t remember me?” The man asks, stepping into the vague stream of light.

“No,” I say. “I don’t remember anything.”

“This poses a problem,” he says. “I told you to forget and you should have forgotten everything. The fact that you have been back here at least twice shows me that my coercion didn’t fully work. I’m not hungry. But I could eat.”

“Coercion?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

“You are young,” he says in way of an answer. “And handsome. Perhaps we could come to an agreement. I have been alone for such a very long time.”

“How do you know me?” I ask. “How do you know how many times I’ve been back here?”

“I could smell you, on her body,” he says.

“What?” I ask. Then it hits me. Her throat was torn out. I remember everything.

We had decided to go all the way. I had bought her a fifty-cent ring as a joke at the supermarket. We were going to be married after college; we had both been accepted to UNC. She wanted to go to the field; she thought the flowers made it more romantic. I had to go back to the car; I had forgotten my lone condom there. On the way, I picked flowers and fashioned the posy I left with her.

When I got back, this man was leaning over her. He heard me approach and stood. There was blood all over his mouth and the collar of his old-fashioned shirt. He walked toward me and whispered one word.
Forget.
I remembered nothing else.

“I see you remember me after all,” he says, smiling. “How would you like to live forever?”

I turn and run. I want to get to my car, but in the dark I become lost easily, and I’m sure I’m headed in the wrong direction. I hear him laugh.

“All right then,” he says. “A hunt it is. I hope you are fast. I like a challenge.”

I stumble. Every horror movie I have ever seen flashes through my head. I am making all the wrong decisions. All I need is blonde hair and a huge set of boobs; I am acting like the girl who runs upstairs instead of out the door. I resolve to make a smart decision. I have to think about everything that has happened. My brain doesn’t want to believe what my heart has already seen. Vampires exist and I have about a nanosecond before one is on top of me.

There are no trees in the field, so grabbing wood for a stake is out. I have to wonder if you even need wood. Wouldn’t any sharp, pointy thing through the heart do the job?

He hits me from behind and I fall to the ground. I feel as if I can’t get air, my vision is blurring and my back arches in pain. He stands, looking at me as if he doesn’t know what to do with me. I check my phone. Five-fifty. He must think I am trying to call for help, because he kicks the phone out of my hand. But I don’t require the light anymore. The sky is already turning orange.

He grabs my shoulders and smiles. I watch his teeth shift over, making room for fat, wide fangs that elongate before my eyes. I want to scream, but his eyes challenge me to do so. Like it would make killing me so much better for him if I did. Instead, I feel around on the ground. I almost let out a whoop of joy when I find a heavy rock. He is leaning toward my neck. I bring the rock to his temple. He rolls off of me, groaning, and I stand. Then I run again. This time, I know I’m going in the right direction.

I can see my car. I am almost home free, when something grabs my ankle, pulling me roughly to the ground for the second time. I turn over and kick out with my other leg, but the beast keeps his hold.

“No, no, little human. No more games. But since I like you, I will ask you again. Die or become like me?” he says, smiling victoriously.

“Neither,” I say. I feel brave enough to smile back at him. If I am going to die, I want it to be on my terms.

I wait for him to bend down. When he does, I stick both of my thumbs in his eyes. I feel some squishy resistance but then something gives and the vampire is screaming, but it doesn’t sound human at all. It sounds more like a banshee wail. He grabs my wrists and I pull my fingers out of his sockets and roll him over easily. He is too distracted by the pain to fight me. I’m right beside my car when I see the tree. I race to it and break a good sized branch off at an angle. This monster will hurt no one else.

When I get back to where I’d left him, he isn’t there anymore. I look around and see him standing a few feet in front of me, still holding his hands over his eyes. The vulnerability in his stance makes me reconsider my murderous plans for a moment. Then I remember that he is a murderer of many with no remorse. My resolve hardens. I walk toward him.

“Don’t come any closer human, I can still kill you,” he says, but his voice shows that he isn’t sure that he can still win.

I say nothing. When I am two feet in front of him, I kick out, connecting with his knee. He falls to the ground, landing on his knees and he pulls his hands away from his face. The sight of his eyes and what I did to them makes me want to run away, but I have to end this.

Pulling my arm back, I aim for the middle of his chest and bring the stick down, hard.

His ashes fly all around me in the morning wind.

I turn and head back to my car. No one will believe me. I wouldn’t believe me, either. The one good thing is now I know I can weather anything. I know for sure.

I didn’t kill Rose.

– The End –

The Well

K.M. Walton

Jack and Jill

Went up the hill

To fetch a pail of water.

Jack fell down

And broke his crown

And Jill came tumbling after.

Up Jack got

And home did trot

As fast as he could caper.

Went to bed

And plastered his head

With vinegar and brown paper.

– Mother Goose

I
do not like my brother Jack. With crossed arms, I stand over him, watching him sleep. I study the rise and fall of his chest. He sleeps soundly, always has. Jealousy and worry don’t stick to Jack. How could they when they’ve fastened themselves around my waist, poised and ready to pull me under at any given moment.

Jack readjusts underneath the blanket and his black curls fall into his eyes. The amount of female attention he used to get—the constant visits, filled with giggling and hair tossing and touching—did nothing but get in the way of keeping things running around here. And further build my resentment.

The sound he makes when he licks his lips reminds me of a sloppy yard dog. He grunts in his sleep. I clench my teeth and leave my brother snoring on the sofa. There is work to be done. Like always.

I grab a fresh candle from the box and check our reserves. “Damn it,” I grumble. We’ll have to figure something else out. Before lighting the candle and unlocking our front door, I peek through our front window. I count the flies on the glass. Eleven today. Three less than yesterday.

This was my grandmother’s routine, what she taught me to do. It has been a few months since she died peacefully in her sleep, but a dark morning hasn’t come that I haven’t looked through the window first, before stepping foot outside. When she was alive, we usually checked for strangers or sick people. Now, I check for flies.

The more flies, the more death.

My Nan and Jack and I watched a lot of death last year. The nightly news ran story after story of entire towns dying in a week. Thousands of people. Gone. Birds fell dead from the sky. Major cities placed under martial law. The human death toll was in the hundreds of millions before modern living stopped.

My Nan took her last breath by candlelight, tucked underneath her treasured quilt. There was no blood, no gasping for air. Nan had just closed her eyes, and that was that. A plain old, regular death.

All of our town had died. My brother and I had no idea why the virus hadn’t affected us. But it hadn’t.

The Shiver Rash swept across continents in just under a year. The government named the fast-moving virus after William Shiver, the first known victim. But sickness and death took a long time to reach Porcupine Creek, and for a few months we Alaskans thought we’d been spared. A benefit of living the clean life up here. We thought nature would protect us.

When my trig teacher was found dead in her driveway, face down in a pool of her own blood and pus and covered in black flies, Alaska lost its mind.

Everything kicked into hyper-speed. People ping-ponged around—clearing out stores, emptying gas stations, crying their eyes out. It only took Porcupine Creek forty-eight hours to go into lockdown. Families holed up in their houses, their windows covered in thick plastic tarp. Fireplaces sealed.