Authors: David Bernstein
“Witch Island,” Paul said, “Ooooohhhhh wwwaaaaaa!” He made claw-hands and grabbed Shay, pretending to attack her.
A chill ran down Jim’s spine. His pulse quickened. He was so damn close to the island. He hadn’t been looking ahead, but down, as he rowed, not wanting to see the place.
Almost there, he couldn’t avoid seeing it, and looked up. Jim shivered for a moment, as if a cold blast of wind swept over him. His breath caught in his chest. Then he looked at the ring and drew his kid-like power from it. He forced himself to study the island, glancing at all the trees, then realized it looked like any other woodland area, save the water surrounding it.
What did you think you’d see? A place covered in blood? Devils and monsters patrolling the shores, looking to snatch up passersby?
Jim took a deep breath and almost laughed with relief.
“Looks like we found a great place to dock the boats,” Darren said. “A natural beach.” He and Steve rowed in until the canoe hit land. Steve hopped out, held the boat steady as the others departed, then Darren pulled the canoe onto land.
Jim couldn’t believe how easy it was to come ashore. Most of the island’s perimeter was crammed with trees that hung over the water. Vines, like starved anacondas, draped from the branches. At least the police wouldn’t be anywhere near here, nor be able to spot their campfire. The forest looked like it swallowed whatever entered it.
Jim and Gwen paddled to the shore. Darren pulled the boat halfway out of the water.
A small grassy area extended about twenty feet to the sides and fifty feet back. Jim sat still, gripping the oar with sweat-slicked palms. He watched as everyone exited the canoe, taking bags of groceries and other supplies with them. Jim wasn’t sure he would be able to leave. Now that he was at the island, the reality of where he was going hit him full on. He held his breath waiting for something to happen.
You’ve got to do this,
he told himself.
Stand up and step out. Don’t be a pussy. You’re here and you’re not backing out now.
“Jim,” Paul said, “you coming or what?”
“Yeah.”
Jim couldn’t wimp out. He’d ruin the night for everyone. Even if they all stayed, Gwen wouldn’t. Sure, they would understand, but… He’d had the opportunity to change the party’s location, and didn’t. Again, he glanced at the antique ring on his finger.
Screw it
, he thought, then stood. He walked to the front of the boat and stepped out.
Chapter Twelve
Billy Montgomery sat on a worn computer chair in Damien Reynolds’ room, rolling a fat joint.
“Damn,” Damien said, “I wish I had your skills.”
“It comes naturally. Now quit hanging over me.”
“Sorry, man. Are we smoking that now?”
“It’s for later,” Billy said. “Stop pestering me about smoking it, you fiend.”
Billy finished the roll, picked up the joint and ran it along the tip of his tongue, wetting the rolling paper and sealing the deal. He admired his work, like he always did, then tucked the green, leafy smoke behind his ear.
He turned around in the chair and stared at the items on the bed—two flashlights, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s No. 7, a hammer and a battery operated drill that Damien had borrowed from his dad, of course, without his dad knowing.
“Looks like we have everything we need for tonight,” Billy said, then rose from his chair, picked up the drill and pulled the trigger. The device roared.
“I told you I charged it,” Damien said. “Man, don’t you trust me?”
“Get the bag.”
Damien went to his overflowing closet, pushed aside old jackets and flannel shirts and pulled the black backpack from its hanger. He tossed it to Billy.
The items on the bed were loaded into the bag. Billy took a long swig from the bottle of Jack before placing it into a separate compartment to keep it from clanging against the drill and possibly breaking. His face scrunched up as the whiskey made its way down his gullet. “Good shit.”
“Let me get some,” Damien said, holding out his hand.
“We’re taking your car, remember? Mine’s too noticeable. And unlike myself, you can’t drive worth a shit when you’ve had a few. Besides, if we get pulled over, we don’t need any bullshit.”
“Man, Billy,” Damien whined. “That ain’t fair. I want to get fucked up.”
“I know, that’s the problem. You can’t control yourself. You’re either stone-cold sober, or on your way to total Annihilationville.” Billy gently slapped his friend’s cheek. “Tonight’s too important. We can’t risk getting pulled over. On a normal night, I’d say screw it, let’s get wasted, and we will, but we need to be clear-headed until the task is complete.”
“I guess you’re right.” Damien’s shoulders slumped.
Billy rolled his eyes and sighed. “All right.” He pulled out the bottle of Jack and handed it to Damien. “Fuck it, we’ll walk to the lake. It’s only twenty minutes. But don’t drink too much. We need to get this done, and I want some of this shit to celebrate with.”
“Walking is a better idea,” Damien said enthusiastically. “This way there’s no proof we were anywhere near those assholes.”
“Exactly my way of thinking.”
Damien removed the cap, then lifted the bottle to his chapped lips. Billy watched the air bubbles rise through the golden liquid as Damien’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. After a few gulps, he swiped the bottle back.
“Hey,” Damien protested, his chin glistening.
“Give me the cap.”
Damien handed it over, and the bottle was sealed and placed into the bag. “We’ll party hard later. You should get a nice buzz from what you just swallowed.”
“Bah, maybe. Truthfully, I think I do my best work when I’m fucked up.”
Billy laughed.
They left the house as twilight was settling in, the neighborhood dwindling under the low light, houses and yards fading away. They reached Lake Road and headed down it, hiding off to the side whenever a car came along to avoid being spotted in the area.
They came upon the vehicles parked alongside the road. A grin spread across Billy’s. He looked at Damien.
“We shouldn’t,” Damien said. “Fucking with their vehicles will involve the police, insurance companies too. If we get caught doing what we’re about to do out on the island, they’ll tie it to us.”
“No one’s around,” Billy said. “No one saw us here. We hear a car coming, we hide, like we’ve been doing.”
“All right.”
Billy approached the first vehicle, a Toyota. It was Gwen’s car. It was old, not worth doing anything to. He moved to the next vehicle, a beautiful, shiny red pickup, the huge tires making the truck look like a miniature-sized monster truck. Normally, trying to slash such thick tires would be difficult, take time, but they had the drill.
Billy knelt by the rear tire, unzipped the backpack and removed the drill. “Keep an eye out for cars.” It was dark enough that drivers should be using their headlights, but it was best to be wary in the event a car came along without them on.
“Dude,” Damien said, giggling, “this is so fucked up, but so awesome too.”
Billy pressed the bit against the side of the tire and pulled the drill’s trigger. The machine was loud, seeming thunderous in the quiet evening. It ate hungrily, churning out slivers of rubber as it sank deeper and deeper into the tire. Billy pushed and pulled, easing the bit in. The rubber proved tougher than he imagined. Sweat built along his skin.
Darren really hadn’t done anything bad to him over the years. It was the others, Jim and Paul and Shay and Melinda, giving him the stink eye, calling him a dirt-bag behind his back, then finally, it escalated to a fight when Paul caught Damien staring at Shay. Then one night at a party in the woods, a fight broke out between Paul and Billy, the two eyeing each other all night. On purpose, Billy had stared at Shay all night, even bumped into her and copped a feel. Well, that had been it. Paul flipped and tackled Billy. The two went at it, but then Darren broke it up when Billy grabbed a log and went to whack Paul in the head. He would’ve won the fight, really messed the kid up.
From that night, those jocks had been out for him, always talking behind his back, gluing his locker shut and even slashing his tires. He had no proof it was them, but he knew. The way they looked at him, the way Jim, the golden boy, smirked at him behind Darren’s back. Payback was a bitch.
“Fuck Darren,” Billy grumbled, as he continued to drill the kid’s tire. He might not have done anything directly to him, but he was part of that jock group. “Fuck them all.” And when he was done with this tire, he was doing the others too.
“You say something?” Damien asked.
“No, just working.”
Finally, the bit was all the way into the tire. Billy clicked the reverse lever and guided the bit out. Rubber-smelling air whistled rapidly from the tire.
“Car,” Damien warned.
Billy stuffed the drill into the backpack, then ran to the last car and dove into the weeds where Damien was already waiting. Headlights lit up the road, then vanished as the vehicle passed by.
“You finish?” Damien asked.
“Yeah. Harder than I thought though.” Billy wiped sweat from his forehead. “Fuck the rest of the tires. It’ll take too long. Let’s head down to the boat.”
They left the weeds and walked quickly alongside the vehicles. Billy heard a scraping noise and turned around. Damien was keying the cars as he walked by them.
Damien stopped. “What?”
“Nothing. That’s just brilliant. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”
Billy took out his house key and joined Damien in keying the cars as they walked by them. The two had a good laugh when they were finished, admiring their work, before heading down to the boats.
Damien unlocked his parents’ rowboat. He and Billy pushed the boat into the water, then climbed in and began rowing to Witch Island.
Chapter Thirteen
Jim and the others hiked into the woods, using flashlights to guide the way. He thought it would be great if they camped out on the grassy beach area, near the shore. The canoes were right there in case they were needed. Jim knew he was being silly, but being near the boats made him feel better. He brought up the idea, but Paul quickly brought up a great point.
“Cops will be able to see the campfire from here,” Paul said. “We need to go farther in. If they think it’s a genuine fire, the fire department will be called in. It’ll become a real mess. We don’t want that.”
So it was off to the dreaded heart of the island. No one wanted to be bothered, not even by a curious night fisherman.
Oddly enough, they were heading along a narrow trail. Ordinarily, Jim would’ve assumed it was a deer trail, but there were no deer on such a small island, at least he didn’t think so. And as far as he knew, no one came to the island. It was just a small piece of wooded land. He was sure the occasional passerby might’ve stopped to check things out, see the legend for itself before realizing it was just an island. Then why was there a trail?
Maybe there were rabbits and squirrels, raccoons even, but those types of animals didn’t leave trails like the one he was walking down.
The farther in they went, the more the brush thickened, the trees seeming to crowd in on them. Mosquitoes started biting, everyone swatting and scratching their exposed parts.
Darren was in the lead, using the machete he had brought from his house to chop down any vegetation in the group’s path.
Steve and Paul were carrying the cooler.
“Damn weeds,” Shay protested. “I keep getting scratched. Cut them back more, big guy.”
“You’ll be fine,” Darren said.
“The mosquitoes will thank you for making it easier to get to your blood,” Paul said, laughing.
“Just don’t trip over anything with the cooler,” Gwen said. “We don’t need exploding cans of beer.”
“Oh, the cooler isn’t going anywhere but to the spot we place it,” Paul said.
Jim was quiet. Talking probably would’ve been the best thing for him, keep his mind occupied, but he didn’t want to ramble about nothing and appear scared.
He couldn’t believe he was doing it. Not only was he on Witch Island, but he was heading to its heart. His mouth was parched, throat tight. He needed a beer and fast. Something to calm him down a bit. With all this thick forest, he wondered where they were going. What if there was no place to set up camp? He suddenly felt better, hoping that was the case. Maybe his friends would grow tired of hiking, and want to turn around and leave.
“What the hell?” Darren said from up ahead.
Jim heard the surprise in Darren’s voice, followed by a “holy shit” from Paul, and a “wow” from Julie. He hurried forward, shoving aside Steve to get a look, and saw that the forest had disappeared.
“What is this place?” Shay asked.
A large, barren area took up the space in front of him, as if the forest had been blown out. Flashlight beams shone around, but the bright moonlight was enough to see by.
“Looks like a desert,” Darren said.
“Yeah, like the rain hasn’t touched this place in years,” Gwen said.
Jim could’ve sworn he was looking at a section of a desiccated, midwestern plane, as if a small chunk of it had been airlifted and dropped in the middle of Witch Island.