Gravestone (33 page)

“I know. It’s not that. It’s nothing.”

I swallow. I’m wondering what I did this time. “Look—this is—this was great. Thanks. I really—I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing. Okay?”

And that’s that.

It’s fine and it’s nothing.

But, then again, nothing’s ever just fine or just nothing.

I’m not really sure how long I should stick around or how long I’m supposed to stick around, but before I leave, Jack brings me into his office to show me something.

“Interested in history, Chris?”

“Yeah, sure.”

About as much as anything else I have to study, which isn’t much.

“Look at this map. It shows the area we live in. See the X? That’s our house.”

The map covers half a wall in his office. Not far away from the green X is a large oval marked in red.

“That’s Solitary, the official town limits as best I could designate them. I’m not a mapmaker or anything. But here—this is what I wanted you to see. You can see the town here, the train tracks going through. See this blue circle?”

I nod. At the top of the red oval is a slightly overlapping blue circle about the size of my fist.

“Here—this road leads out of the town. Right around here is the road leading to New Beginnings Church. Heartland Trail. Have you been there?”

I nod and wonder if that’s where they go to church.

“We go to a Baptist church ourselves, a little one a good ways away. Good church and good people. Not as big and fancy as New Beginnings, but whatever. If you’ve been there, then you know where this is.”

The blue circle begins right near the point where he said the church was located. A little further down Heartland Trail, right near the point where it dead-ends.

I think of that piece of paper someone put in my locker with the Robert Frost line on it.

“This is where the old town of Solitary used to be before it burned down.”

“Is anything left there?”

“No. I remember—years ago when I was a kid, back when there was no church and not even a road to get out there—my older brother and I found remnants of the old town. The creepiest thing I’d ever seen. Mostly half-burnt buildings overgrown with trees and bushes. Like the forest had devoured it. We were there at dusk and got all spooked. Ever since, I’ve wanted to find it again. I’ve narrowed down the location from maps and other sources, but I’ve never been able to find it. Every time I go searching, I end up getting lost in the forest. It gets really dense, more like a jungle than a forest.”

“Why’d they move the town?”

“I don’t know. I used to think to be closer to the tracks, but the train wasn’t used much by the time they moved it. Maybe the damage was irreparable.”

I study the map, trying to memorize it. But it’s easy to see where the blue circle is located. I know exactly where it is.

Maybe someone else was trying to tell you about that too.

“I just thought you’d get a kick out of seeing that.”

“Thanks.”

Mr. Page tells me good-bye as we go back into the living room. I thank the family for lunch and then end up following Kelsey outside.

“Thanks for coming.”

I nod. “I’m not doing anybody any favors being here.”

She looks at me as if she doesn’t understand.

“I meant it back at school when I said those things about my life. About stuff going on in it. I mean—you’ve got a great family, Kelsey. You really do.”

“Is that bad?”

“No. Not at all. Except you don’t want—you don’t need people like me coming along and messing things up.”

“Who said you’re messing anything up?”

“I might if I stayed around you for too long.”

“Maybe it would be good for me to have things messy.”

I shake my head.

You have no idea what kind of mess I’m talking about.

“Thanks for today,” I tell her again. “I’ll see you—tomorrow, right?”

“Unless you plan on skipping school. Or just skipping art.”

“What are you talking about? That’s my favorite part of the day.”

I guess this is a good comment to leave her with. And it’s the truth.

I get in my car and smile at her as she stands there and watches me drive off.

I leave her not quite sure what all just happened. But, like many things in my life, it’s probably best to not think about it too much.

75. Déjà Boo

I’m eating Sunday dinner, except this time I’m the father watching his wife and kids. We’re sitting around a big table eating turkey when the sound of glass breaking and someone screaming comes from the other room. My wife and children keep eating and then I realize
wait a minute, I’m not actually here.

I jerk out of bed and probably smush Midnight as I land on the floor.

The scream comes again.

I get downstairs in a couple of seconds and whip around the corner and see Mom holding a bat. As I approach, she swings it at me.

“Get away, get out of here, go on, go.”

She curses, and I know that she’s totally out of it. She swings the bat hard, and it thuds against the drywall.

I look to see where the sound of glass came from and see that she busted out one of her windows.

“Mom, it’s Chris. Mom!”

She finally seems to get it, to wake up, to see that her only son is standing in front of her. She drops the bat and then rushes past me to the kitchen.

For a second, I’m going to follow, then I think of something. I pick up the bat and I go into the bathroom. I turn on the light, then open the doors to the cabinet and look at the back. The piece of paneling is not attached.

Someone came in here. Someone was in here and did a lousy job of covering up his tracks.

I listen but can’t hear anything.

This is crazy. I’ve got to call someone.

I stay there for a moment, kneeling and watching, waiting. The bat next to me.

I stare into the darkness.

Waiting.

A slight chill coming over me.

Waiting.

This is the moment the bloody head pops out of the darkness and bites you.

Waiting.

This is where the bony hand slivers out of the black and grabs you with a cold grip of death.

Waiting.

But there’s nothing. I eventually go into the kitchen to find Mom. She’s drinking something in a cup. I don’t want to know if it’s spiked or not.

There’s nothing to say, because we’ve been here before. I just sit down with her at the table, and she grips my hand. Her touch is icy.

I force a smile, but it’s as bleak as the dark night outside.

Tomorrow I’m going to tell someone. Even if that means I’m going to be in more trouble.

76. Proof

I really totally and completely don’t care anymore. Not a bit.

I’ve just gotten off the phone with Sheriff Wells, and here’s the thing. Not only do I have to go through this, all of
this,
this black pit of mess, but then I have to be treated like a liar and a loser.

If they’re bugging my phone oh well.

If they’re watching me now oh well.

If the sheriff is working for them …

Oh.

Well.

Mom’s not home, and that’s good, because I don’t want to tell her about the hole in the bathroom wall that goes to whatever-that-is. I need to tell somebody, because I’m beginning to think that the hole is going to my brain, and it’s sucking every legitimate and decent thing left up there.

“Am I crazy?”

The flat little furry face doesn’t answer.

“I’m not crazy, am I?”

Midnight just looks at me, but I don’t like that look. She knows. She knows too much. She knows I’m loony tunes.

“Look, just—just don’t tell the sheriff that I’m a little … you know. Okay?”

Midnight puts her head back on the couch and seems content to keep our secret.

The sheriff looks skeptical until he opens the doors to the bathroom cabinet and pulls off the piece of paneling. I see him look up at me with a speechless, dazed glance.

“Here,” I say, handing him the flashlight.

He shines it, but I know there’s nothing really to see. Then he forces himself into the opening and shines the light down.

I can’t imagine what he’s thinking. If, and this is a very big if, Sheriff Wells had no idea about the tunnels, then this has got to be pretty eye-opening.

He slips back out and dusts himself off as he stands. The face looking at me is grim and pale. “Your mom know about this?”

I shake my head.

“Anybody else?”

“No.”

For a second he rubs the bridge between his eyes as he looks around the bathroom. Then he walks out into my mom’s bedroom and into the main room. I follow in silence.

“Look, Chris,” he says in a very slow and deliberate manner, “you need to keep doing what I told you to do.”

The strange thing as the sheriff talks is that he’s not looking at me.

“Do you understand?”

Still not looking at me.

“Yes, sir,” I say.

“That’s good. You keep quiet and mind your manners and stay out of trouble. Got it?”

Again I say that I do.

Again he’s not even trying to look at me.

He’s more interested in finding something. At the kitchen counter, he sees a notebook of mine from school, then finds a pen.

“Nobody needs to know what the owner of this cabin did to it before you guys got here. Probably your uncle, right? Probably someone just trying to have some fun.”

As he says this, he’s writing something down. He shuts the notebook and then walks up to me. “You leave this alone, and leave me and Ross to watch over Solitary. Do you understand?”

I shake my head and am about to ask him what he just wrote down when

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He leaves me, and for a moment I just stand there hating the guy. Then I open the notebook and find the page he wrote on.

Meet me at Jocelyn’s cabin at eleven tonight. Be careful. Make sure nobody knows you’re coming. Be quiet.

I hold the notebook in my hand and can tell it’s starting to shake.

I don’t know which scares me more. Going to meet with the sheriff late at night. Or going back to Jocelyn’s abandoned house.

77. A Way Out

I can see his car under the shadows of trees along the driveway leading up to Jocelyn’s still dark and vacant house. Just as I did many thousand nights ago, I rode my bike here and slipped through the trees to wait and watch. The unmarked car drives up right before eleven. I wait for a moment, then see the sheriff roll down his window and light a cigarette.

“Sheriff?” I say a short ways from the car.

Making sure. Just in case I have to turn around and bolt. If the driver happens to be someone like Wade, Jocelyn’s sicko quasi-step-uncle.

“Get in.”

I recognize the voice and do what I’m told. He finishes his cigarette as we sit in silence.

“I saw you when I drove up,” Sheriff Wells says. “You get an F for your covert skills.”

I just sit there, uncomfortable in this old car, the smoke tickling my nose.

“Nobody’s around here, not anymore,” he tells me.

I wait, wondering where this is going.

“You said on the phone you went down into one of those tunnels.”

I nod.

“What did you find?” He reaches over and grabs my wrist and forces me to look at him. “Chris, look. I’m not—I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but this is far worse than I ever—what did you see down there?”

“The passageways go for miles, it seems.”

“But where did you end up?”

“I don’t know.”

“You saw nothing?”

“No. I—I don’t know what I saw. Some creepy old man.”

He lets go of my arm and looks out the front window. He rubs the back of his head and then his goatee, then lights another cigarette.

“Look, Chris. I don’t know how, but every single thing you do and say and probably even think, they know. They just know.”

“Who?”

The sheriff doesn’t answer my question. “They’re not watching me, not like you. They don’t have my car bugged, and they’re not monitoring my every move. But they are yours. And that’s why—that’s why we’re here.”

“For what?”

He looks at me and curses, then shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

I don’t expect these words to come from the sheriff’s mouth.

“I’m sorry and I don’t—I can’t—look, I’m frightened and you don’t—you can’t believe what that can do to a man like me. I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m supposed to guard and protect guys like you. And I just—I don’t know what I’m to protect you from. But I know that it’s ugly and that it’s everywhere and it has threatened my family.”

I think of the pastor’s words to me at the restaurant.

Fear. It will drive a person to do anything.

The sheriff sighs and takes a drag of his cigarette.

“I knew something was up, but when the whole thing about Jocelyn happened—when you told me what happened—I chose to believe the lie. Everything in me said not to. But they came around—men came to my house and talked to my wife and greeted my children as if they were warning me. They
were
warning me. And that warning is still there.”

“So you believe me?” I ask.

“I’ve heard—I’ve
seen
some crazy things. And that tunnel. It confirms that there’s evil here and it’s real and it can’t be stopped.”

“We have to tell others.”

“No. Listen to me. I mean this. We can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know how much you love your mother, but I love my family very much. Nothing’s going to happen to them.”

“But you can—you can take them and leave.”

“It’s not that easy, Chris.”

“Sure it is.”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m not willing to sacrifice one of my own in order to try … I can’t.”

“What’s happening here?”

I can hear the crickets and the cicadas in the night as the sheriff waits to answer.

“Who’s doing all of this?” I ask again. “Is it—does it have to do with Mr. Staunch? Or Pastor Marsh?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must know something.”

“I know that the best thing I can do is do my job.”

“And your job is to let people like Jocelyn die?”

The sheriff curses, and for a second I wonder if he’s going to punch me in the face.

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“But you knew?”

He shifts in his seat. “No. Everything I’m telling you is truth. I was told specifically to watch you—to watch Chris Buckley carefully—but to also give you some slack. But I knew nothing about Jocelyn. And I still don’t—I still can’t believe everything that’s going on.”

“I gave you some proof. Today. There are tunnels in our house. And I swear someone’s coming in at night and terrorizing my mom.”

“But why this strange interest in you? What are you to this town?”

“You think I know?”

“What did Jocelyn say?”

“The same thing everybody says. Very little. Not enough. ‘There are evil people here, but oops, I can’t say anything more.’”

“I’m telling you everything I can.” The words coming out of his mouth sound like defeat. “I believe you, Chris, that’s one thing you have to know. And I know now. It’s just—I’ve seen people try to leave this place, and they can’t. They don’t. Some leave, but they come back in coffins. I don’t want to be one of them.”

“Can’t we go to the FBI or out of state somewhere?”

“You think that Solitary is the only place where evil exists?”

“But I … but if …” I can’t finish my thought.

“Chris, listen. Yesterday I still refused—I still chose to believe that Jocelyn moved away with her aunt. That the rumors I have a whole file on were just that—silly rumors. I chose to ignore them. Including the rumors about the tunnels.”

“Others have reported them?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard talk at school or with other kids. You haven’t told anybody about the tunnels?”

“No.” I leave out Poe’s name. For now.

“When I got here, the stories about the underground tunnels were among the first of a whole bunch of supposed urban legends I heard.”

“And what? What’d they say?”

“That underneath the town of Solitary there are secret passageways that allow vampires to come prowling in the night and slip into people’s homes and drink their blood.”

I wait to see if the sheriff is joking.

“That’s the legend. So of course I laughed it off. I knew there were some old mines around here, but tunnels for vampires? Next thing I knew there was going to be a cave that led to that school Harry Potter went to.”

“But there really
are
underground tunnels.”

“I know. And that’s what I’m saying. When I saw that today—I can’t just ignore it anymore. I tried to. This spring—” He lets go a really nice curse word that Mom would ground me for. “It’s not a good thing, living in regret. You wake up with it, Chris. You go to sleep with it. But it just picks away. Day after day.”

He’s lighting his third cigarette since he got here.

“What do we do?” I ask.

I watch the smoke swirling from his mouth toward the outside window. I wish I could escape from Solitary like that. Just fade away into the night.

“I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry that I—that I was scared. That I
am
scared. But you can trust me.”

“Others have told me that too.”

“Yeah. And you have every right not to trust me. But you gotta give me some time.”

“How much time?”

“That I don’t know. I just—I don’t know.”

For a long time we sit in the front seat in silence. I can’t help looking at the shell of a house in the distance and thinking of the light that used to live there.

“I can do better,” Sheriff Wells says. “I’m better than this. This sneaking around and apologizing and being scared of the dark. I’m better than that. And I didn’t become a cop to hide. That’s not what I’m about. If there’s one thing you understand, then understand that. Okay, Chris?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a way out. Out of here. I just gotta find it. Give me time to find it.”