I wipe the fog off the mirror with my left hand, leaving streets of water droplets along the glass. I keep staring into my own piercing blue eyes as my hands go through the motions on their own. I brush my teeth, comb my hair out of my eyes and lather up the stubble on my chin. Twenty-three years on this earth, the motions are almost automatic by this point. It's not until I start to draw the razor over my chin that my eyes drop.
Have to make sure I don't slit my own throat. That would be a stupid way to die. It's my great grandfather's straight razor. The only thing I have left from my mother's dad. I still remember when he taught me to use it; his hands shook so much he had to explain with words.
Don't think on that. You're just going to make yourself sad again. With much death these last few years, it's hard to deal with sometimes. I finish shaving, then wipe the razor clean on my towel that's still wet from the shower.
"Bud, you ready to visit Kris and Ethel?" The loud bark from the living room tells me he is. I step into the living room of the single wide trailer I've been renting these last three years. I can't stop the wince that crosses my face as the floor creaks. I've told the landlord repeatedly about the floor, but he never fixes shit. Hell, when the windstorm blew through last spring, I ended up fixing the front door myself after two weeks of waiting on him.
Bud tries to lick my face as I sit down on the rundown couch to pull my boots on. I push him off gently, slapping his hip as he spins around. He loves visiting Kris, but he doesn't get to stay very often. The only time he gets to is when I'm headed out of town, or working crazy hours.
Not much chance of that since I got laid off. Downsizing is what they called it. Everyone else called it bullshit. The new owners decided cutting half the workers at the lumber yard was better for profits. Who cares if people lose homes and families because they didn't have a job anymore? It's all about that bottom line, right?
"Fuck'em!" I grab the saddle bags and canvas messenger bag from beside the couch. "Come on, Bud. Time to go!" Bud circles around the door, yapping happily. He's a big brute, mostly australian shepherd, with some coon hound mixed in. The result is a long haired mutt with giant floppy ears.
"Alright I'm coming, Bud." I chuckle at his excitement as I open the back door. Like a shot, he is down the rickety stairs and across the yard. I take a deep breath as I step outside, wrinkling up my nose at the foul smell from the river.
Something dead is stuck in the bend. I shake my head as I follow Bud around the end of the trailer over to the neighbors front porch.
Dad always called this part of town, shantyville. Low income renters all trying to just barely keep what they have. I never thought I'd end up living here. Hell, I never thought I'd leave the family farm. With the loss of my job and no help, I couldn't hold the land. Hell, it was a slow battle the whole way for three years before the bank took it away.
Fucking ball washing bastards! Always taking from people. Just a 'so sorry, now pack your shit'. I shake my head to clear the dark thoughts, tossing the saddlebags on my bike. Another holdover from a better time, one of the few things I managed to hide from the bank.
Two weeks before the bank took everything else, I "sold" it to my buddy. After the dust settled he gave it back to me, saying he was sorry he couldn't do more. It's just an old 87' Honda, but dad and I picked it up at a police auction. It took us almost a week to get it running. It was one of the last things we did together, before the cancer got too bad. The matt black paint is bubbling around the bottom of the gas tank. I should take care of that.
No time now. Need to make sure Bud isn't causing problems. When I reach the neighbor's front porch, Bud is sitting between Kris and Ethel on the porch. His stump of a tail is wagging wildly back and forth as Kris pets him roughly.
"You guys sure you don't mind watching him for a while?" Kris and Ethel have been living here for the last ten years, according to him. He used to tell me about how they met in high-school in the sixties. They got married in '76. He was eighteen and she was seventeen. Forty-four years of marriage, and you can tell they still love each other.
They told me once that they moved here because they gave the house to their oldest when he got married. Shantyville was the only place they could afford. It let them stay together, and keep out of a home for a few more years. The last few years have been getting harder for them though. Now Ethel is stuck in a chair, and the lazy good for nothing landlord couldn't be bothered to put up a ramp.
Not that it was too much of a big deal when I heard about it. A few buddies and I got together for the weekend. We used scrap lumber from work along with a few purchased planks and we fixed their problem. It's not a professional job. It's not close to that. However, it works for now and it's as steady as anything professionally made.
"Ahh, it's no problem. You know we don't mind watching him. Plus, our boy is coming around tomorrow. You know the grandkids love Bud." Kris smiles at me as he holds out a hand toward me. I take it with a gentle shake, feeling the bones through his thin skin.
"I should only be gone a few days. If you run out of food, there is a full bag in the kitchen of my trailer. Back door is unlocked, so just let yourself in." Ethel shakes her head at my words, causing me to chuckle. I use the pause in conversation to drop the messenger bag beside Bud on the porch. Inside is about a week's worth of food, as well as his food and water dishes. Not to mention his duck. The stupid squeaker toy duck he can't sleep without. I swear, sometimes he's like an overgrown child in a dog's body.
"This day and age, you shouldn't leave your doors unlocked." I smile as I lean against the railing of the porch.
"That's why I have you with your two eagle eyes for. To watch over my place while I'm not around." My smile makes Ethel curse under her breath, shaking her head.
"You still planning on taking that bike on your trip?" When I nod my head, she shakes her head again. "You should be more careful. The roads are too dangerous for that." Beneath her nagging, I can hear her concern. Between Kris and Ethel, I don't know which of them worries more about me. Ethel is convinced I'm going to kill myself on my bike, while Kris is always warning me about working too much.
"I kinda don't have a choice. The truck threw a rod through the block yesterday. So til I can trade for a new motor, I'm down to just the bike." Kris shakes his head, his eyes glancing to the street where my old truck is parked.
"Going to get another Taylor Island scrap yard special?" I chuckle as Kris's face screws up in a scowl.
"Not like I have a lot of choice." Kris shakes his head, leaning back in the patio chair.
"Why don't you just order a new crate motor for it, or get a new truck?" I picture my nearly empty bank account.
"You need money for that, and I'm tapped out for the next three months." More than tapped out. I have twenty bucks to my name and I'm going to need that for gas. I push myself off the railing with a grunt, stomping my right boot to get it to settle.
"Well, I need to get going if I'm going to make it. Y'all be careful." I wave at the two as I start down the ramp. I start to laugh as they yell at me that I'm the one who needs to be careful.
When I reach my bike, I pick up the helmet off the back. I give it a second look, before hooking it on the back. It's a nice day. I might as well enjoy the wind in my hair. I pull on the threadbare denim jacket laying on the tail of the bike before I kick start the motor.
I laugh and wave at Kris as he yells at me to put my helmet on. The bike barely comes to a stop at the sign before I open it up. The roar of the engine drowns out the noise of the world. I let the sound wash over me as I guide the bike through town, heading towards the post office. As I pull up to the outside drop off box, one of the workers is just starting to empty it.
"Morning Clint!" He smiles as he throws his hand up in a wave as I stop the bike. The curse of a small town, everyone knows everyone.
"Morning, Mark. Workin' hard or hardly working?" Mark laughs as he closes the box, clipping his keys back onto his belt loop.
"You know how it is; same old shit, different day." He pauses as I reach inside my denim jacket. "You have something to post?" I nod as I pull the envelope from the inside pocket.
"Yeah, but I don't have a stamp." Mark waves me off as I start to dig into my jeans pocket. He takes the letter and drops it in the basket at his feet.
"Don't worry about it. I have a few extras."
"You sure?" He nods his head as he gives me a smile. I nod to him as I kick the bike alive again.
"You heading out now?" I nod my head as I lean over the handlebars.
"Yeah, thought I'd stop off and see Mary before I do." Mark winces. Of course he would remember. He's been one of the three postmen in this town since before I was born.
"Be careful. Short Branch was just graveled yesterday, lots of loose stone." I nod to him as I squeeze the clutch and drop the bike into gear.
"Thanks for the heads up!" Once again I open up the throttle, letting the wind blow through my unkempt hair. When I glance down, I have to bite back a curse.
The tank would be almost empty right now. I'm in and out of the gas station in less than ten minutes. Ten bucks worth of gas, a pack of red with a lighter, and a single rose. Not a real one, of course. One of those cheap nylon jobs that are supposed to look like silk.
Shouldn't have bought the reds. Mary always hated them. Cancer killed dad too, not like I don't understand how bad they are.. I shake my head as I turn on Short Branch. I need to focus with all this loose stone on the road. As I start down the backroad, I keep remembering dad's last words to me.
"You have to find something to love, or something to hate if you're going to make it in this world. Don't just exist. That will eat you away. I know I'm supposed to tell you to try and be happy. You're too much like me, you can't just exist. Hold onto her, son. You know she will keep you steady. If you can't, then find something to hate. It's the only way you'll keep going."
Dammit, dad. Why did you know me so well? Mary kept me sane through dad's death, kept me alive. Mom passed when I was twelve, deer on the highway she never saw coming. My grandpa passed when I was seventeen. For a while my dad was all the family I had, until the day he wasn't there.
After he passed, it was just me and Mary. No, it was Mary doing her best to keep me alive. She kept me sane, and took care of me through my darkest times. Of course, there are some things you just can't help. As much as I loved her, I hated how she tried to pull me from my darkness. I drove her away, and I've regretted it every day since then.
I pull off the road next to the green pasture gate. The lock is the same as it always has been, cheap and sturdy. The key for it is inside the coffee can nailed to the back of the post. The lighter makes a satisfying click as it lights, igniting the end of the cigarette in my mouth. I give the gate a gentle push to open it, hearing the squeak of rusted hinges.
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No need to close it. This won't take long. I don't bother finishing the cigarette before I flick it away. The bike shakes more as I start up the dirt path. I gun the throttle to make it up the steep hill, cutting the throttle as I reach the top. It seems too quiet as I shut off the bike, even the birds are quiet right now. I take a deep breath as I look back the way I came.
This always was a beautiful view. Mary took me here on our first date to look at the stars. From the top of the hill, it felt like we could see for miles.
"I'd like to build a house here one day. Don't you think it would be a good spot?" I still remember the way she smiled as she said that. The way the moonlight shined on her auburn hair, making her look like an angel to me. I'll never forget the stupid response I gave her. How the driveway would be a bitch in the winter time. I step off the bike, walking slowly to the oak tree a few feet away.
"Hey Mary." She doesn't answer. She never does. I drop to my knee as I brush a branch from the headstone. Six months. It's been six months since I last visited. From the look of the grave, it doesn't look like anyone else has been here either.
"If you could see this site you would flip." I chuckle as I dump out the flower pot beside the stone. "Don't worry. I'll make it right, sweetie." I pull my pocket knife out and get to work. I don't know how long I spent digging out the weeds that's started to grow around the edge of her bed. I work on it and I talk to her, pausing only to wipe the sweat from my brow. When I finish I lean back on my feet, wiping my eyes.
"It's been so hard these past two years. I tried my damndest to do like you said. I tried to move on, but I just can't." My hands shake as I pull out the rose from my inner jacket pocket.
"I know roses are your favorite, but they are out of season right now. So this was the best I could do right now." I set it in the pot beside her stone, wiping my eyes again.
"I just don't know. I don't know what to do. It's just so fucking hard; each day is a fight. I just can't see the light anymore. I haven't seen it since you left." I have to wipe my eyes again as I bite back a sob.
"God dammit! I want to hate you for leaving me. I can't. I could never hate you and that makes it all the harder." I rest a hand on the gravestone, pushing off it to stand.
"Who knows. If I'm right, I'll see you again. If you're right though, well, there's no point worrying about that now." I wipe my eyes again as I pull out my cell phone. It's just a cheap disposable, not like I can afford a contract anymore. I use my thumb to flip it open, pressing the one number that's saved. I put the phone to my ear as it starts to ring.
"Lewis County non emergency line. This is Amber. How can I help you." The voice on the other end is familiar, and it makes me wince.
"My name is Clint Stonewood." Before I can say anything else, Amber cuts me off.
"Clint, how are you doing? Is something wrong?" I steel myself for the next words, almost tripping over them.
"I'm at the Barret Family Cemetery on Short Branch." Amber starts to speak, cutting me off again.
"What are you doing there? Did someone mess with the graves again? I keep telling the Barrets that they need more security. I mean, the key is on the post by the gate."
"No one has bothered it, but you need to send the coroner." Aber starts to speak, but I cut her off before she can. "I'm going to kill myself." I can hear her yelling at me through the phone as I set it on Mary's headstone.
I reach into my left inside pocket, pulling out my father's pistol. The same one his father gave to him. We don't talk about where it's from. I was warned to never run the numbers. Well, what was left of them. Grandpa Stonework ground off most of them before he gave it to my father.
It's just an old .38. The bluing has long since worn away from it. The weight feels heavy in my hand as I lift it up. I remember an old western my father loved. One of the characters said to never put a gun in your mouth to kill yourself. The bullet could ricochet off a tooth and just leave you maimed. He said to press it right against your eye, that was the sure way. With modern ballistics, I don't think it would be a problem, but I don't see the reason to risk it.
I can't get the nerve to look in the barrel though. I'm too much of a coward to watch the end coming at me. Instead, I raise it to my temple, the cool metal pressed against my skin. Frontal lobe, at least then it's guaranteed. No chance of living through it. I take one last look at the gravestone beside me.
I need to turn. Mary wouldn't like it if I get splatter on her stone. The fact that I'm still thinking of her almost makes me pause. I pivot on my heel to angle the shot away from her. One last look at the sky
It's such a bright day. I close my eyes as I take a shaking breath.
"I hope I'm right and get to see you again, Mary." When I open my eyes, the sky has gone dark. It's not a cloud moving over the sun. It's like the sun has gone out completely.
Did I pull the trigger already? My hand drops to my side as I look around. A bright light causes me to blink as I throw my hands up to shield my eyes.
"What the fuck!?" When I open my eyes, it's dark again. Not the unnatural darkness from before, but the darkness of nighttime. Above me I can see the moon, closer than I've ever seen it. Its full figure is causing a dim light to drift down around me. I tilt my head as I notice something weird.
Why are there three moons? The sound of a branch breaking causes me to turn to my left.
"Who are you?" Someone in a black robe is standing about fifteen feet away from me. When I turn my head, I see four more people standing the same distance away, surrounding me. There is a glowing ring at their feet, completely encircling me.
"Dammit, bind him! We need him for the next step!" When one of the people yells out, the other four start to move towards me. One of them is carrying a length of rope. The other three pull out long curved daggers.
"Stay back! What the fuck is going on here!?" I take a step back to avoid the men, bumping into something behind me.
"Dammit, you fucking idiots! Do I have to do everything myself!?" The one who spoke before raises a hand at me and I feel my muscles seize. "I've bound him. Now get him on the altar!" As the other four get closer, I strain against the invisible force holding me.
The man who spoke before lets out a choking sound as I do. With a grunt, he falls to his knees just as the first man gets within an arm's reach of me.
"Fucking hurry. I can't hold him much longer!" The man grabs my left wrist as I feel whatever is holding me snap. I press the barrel of the .38 into his chest and squeeze the trigger twice. He lets out a grunt as he falls away. Before I can recover, the other three are on me. A punch to my face causes my head to jerk as I lash out with the pistol.
A cry of pain is followed by the sound of the pistol going off again. One of the figures pins my left arm, so I bury the pistol in his side and pull the trigger. As he falls, I feel a burning sensation in my side. I kick out, knocking the last of the four to the ground. The last round in the pistol takes off the top of his head. I turn the empty gun to the now kneeling fifth man, grunting as I pull the blade from my side.
"Who the fuck are you people!? What the fuck is going on!?" He ignores me, pushing himself to his feet.
"You think this matters? I don't need these fools to complete the ritual." He starts to raise his hand again. I feel the same tightness as before, but somehow, less than it was. "With this, Varesh will fall and we will have our revenge!" He starts to walk towards me and I feel my knees going weak.
Fuck, losing to much blood. I feel like I'm about to black out. My vision is getting narrower until all I can see is the robed man walking toward me. The pistol falls from my numb fingers, but I keep a grip on the dagger I pulled from my side.
"You think you accomplished anything!? I'll show them. I'll show them all what the power of a summoner is!" His words don't make sense, nothing about this makes sense. When he reaches me, his hand wraps around my collar. With a grunt, he drags me to my feet and slams me anto the stone behind me.
When did I fall? The stone feels cold on my back, as if it's sucking the heat from my body in one fell swoop. The tightness around me seems to lessen as the man stands upright.
"I'll show them all!" He pulls a dagger from his robe, raising it above his head as he starts to chant. I don't understand the words, but his tone is building. I start to struggle against the feeling around me again. The man's words reach a fevered peak as the world seems to glow around us. As his arm starts to come down, I feel whatever is holding me snap.
"Fuck you!" I scream at the top of my lungs as I roll into him on the stone. The dagger in my left hand slams into his chest with a thump. The man's eyes go wide under his hood, the glowing light giving me my first look at him. He is old, bald headed, and his face covered in tattoos.
"No." His voice is barely a whisper as he collapses on top of me, pinning me to the stone. The light fades as his lips move silently, throwing the world into darkness again. From somewhere I can't see, I hear men yelling. Dogs are barking loudly, reminding me of hounds on the trail of a coon.
"Help." I try to yell, but my voice comes out as a croak. The body on me feels like it weighs a ton. I can't breathe. The sound of voices and dogs are getting closer by the second. I feel myself getting hopeful that I'm about to be rescued, when the corpse on me twitches.
"Are you still alive?" I struggle to push him off again as he twitches again. "The fuck!" The man spasms, his neck flinging itself backwards. His jaw unhinged as a black arm explodes out from his mouth, spraying me with blood and teeth.
"Fuck!" I try and push him off me as the arm recedes into the mouth again. A loud ripping sound fills my ears as the man jerks again. This time two clawed hands explode from his back with a shower of blood.
"Helppppppp!" Somehow I scream, which causes the body to go still for a second. The voices are closer now, a dim glow reaches me. Before I can scream again, an unholy screech echoes through the night.
"Demon, kill it before it spawns all the way!" The sound of horse hooves pounding into the ground reaches my ears. The demon, because that's all it can be, burst from the man's back. It's black skin is covered in blood and gore, pale glowing eyes look down at me from above a mouth full of sharpened teeth.
"Fuck! Help me!" I try to pull the dagger free from the man's chest, but my arms don't have any strength. The demon screeches again as it starts to reach for me. Its clawed hands are inches from my face when something bursts from the demon's chest.
Thank God! The demon leans back as the length of wood raises it off the ground. The man's body that was pinning me down lifts with the demon. It is pulled out of my line of vision as it screams in pain. The sounds that reach my ears are a of painful screeching and yelling, mixed with the sounds of blades tearing flesh.
Someone steps into my vision, staring down at me with angry eyes. His head is covered with a half helm, the kind you see in a Renaissance fair. I try to lean forward, but he pushes me back down on the slab.
"Who are you working for? What kingdom are you from?" I try to speak, but my mouth doesn't want to work. I try to tell him I'm injured, but he merely scowls when no words come out.
Kingdom? What the fuck is he talking about? When I try to lean forward again, he slams me back down on the stone. A yelp escapes my lips with the last of the air from my lungs.
"Seamus, we need a healer if he is going to make it! We need him alive for questioning!" The man above me barks out to someone behind him. There is a brief scuffle as another man enters my field of vision. This time the man is thin with long dark hair. A metal collar encircles his neck it's nearly hidden behind the collar of his blue robe.
"This is bad, James. I'll need to use a mid level healing spell." His hands press into my side, causing a new wave of pain to run through me.
"Just keep him alive. I'll deal with the consequences later!" Seamus nods his head and turns back to me. He starts to chant in a language I don't understand. A glow spreads from his hands and spreads over my body. After a few seconds, the pain in my body starts to fade away.
"Thank you." My voice comes out as a gasp when I try to speak. Seamus shakes his head as someone's hands pull me off the stone.
"Don't thank me. All I did was delay your death." The hands pull me off the stone, dragging me to the dead men on the ground.
"Who are your friends? What were you planning here!?" The man shakes me, shoving my face into the bloody mess. "Answer me, dammit!" My stomach heaves at the scent of blood and shit filling my nose.
"I don't know. I never saw them before today!" I try to speak as he pushes me back into the pile of corpses.
"Don't fucking lie to me again! Now who are you with!? What kingdom do you serve!?" I feel my stomach heave again as bile rushes up my throat. Before I can stop myself, I vomit on the pile of dead men below me.
"You fucking think that's going to help you? Who are you working for!?" He tosses me to the ground, his boot slamming into my ribs.
"I don't know. I don't even know how I got here!" The man, James, glares down at me as another man comes running up.
"Sir, we've found evidence of multiple summoning rituals being preformed. We need to search the woods for more demons now! We can't let any escape and attack the kingdom!" James curses, turning to the man.
"Then fucking find them. I'll handle this shit!" He turns back to me, an evil look in his eyes. "I gave you a chance to admit your crimes and die easy. Or do you really expect me to believe you don't know anything about the pile of dead behind the altar?" When I try to speak, he drives his boot into my ribs again.
"Shut up! You'll talk in the dungeon! You'll talk or you'll die!" He raises his boot, slamming it down on my face. I feel my nose shatter and several of my teeth break. I try to scream, but his boot coming down again cuts it off. As the blackness overwhelms me, I can't stop wondering.
Where the fuck am I?