Beneath the Veil (4 page)

“That’s some strange shit,” Jackson said.

“It is,” Barry answered.

They left the cemetery and started up the mountain road. The trees pulsed with life as the world around them changed with the rising sun.

“How much further do you think it is, Barry?”

Barry stopped walking when he heard the drone of an engine in the distance.

“Jackson, someone’s coming.”

He ran to the side of the road and hid behind an oak tree while Jackson climbed behind a stone wall. An old pickup truck appeared around a bend. The truck was a faded green color with its flatbed filled with stones. Two men sat with their legs dangling from the back of the truck. Both men held shotguns. Inside the cab were three more men. The truck rumbled past them, leaving a trail of dust along the dirt road.

“Barry, are they gone?” Jackson whispered.

Suddenly, the truck came to a stop and then reversed.

“Shit,” Barry said. “Jackson, get down!”

Jackson threw himself to the ground. The truck pulled to a stop in front of the cemetery and the men climbed out. Barry chanced a look and saw the men douse the ground with gasoline. They lit the fuel and watched as the strawberry vines burned and black smoke filled the air. The men then got back into the truck and drove away as the cemetery burned.

“Jackson?” Barry called out.

“They gone?” Jackson asked.

“Yes,” Barry answered, then stood and walked back to the road. Jackson met him there, picking smashed apples out of his pockets.

“Who do you think they were?” Jackson asked.

“Not sure,” he answered.

“Do you think they are the ones that took Jen?” Jackson asked.

“Maybe. We can follow their tracks and see where they went,” Barry answered. “And figure out if they have her.”

They walked the rest of the day passing dozens of crumbing farmhouses and barns. They stopped at a few of the houses looking for help, but soon realized they were all abandoned long ago.

C H A P T E R  F I F T E E N

J
en sat, cold and hungry, huddled on the wooden chair. She sensed it was daytime but no light reached the cell. Using her lighter, she systematically examined the room trying to understand the details of her cage. Once, some years ago, she photographed a prison and her black and white pictures captured the unyielding force of the cells. The stone walls of this cell were rough and irregular in size with small holes in the corners of the floor. On the lower half of the walls were scratched messages and pleas for help. She read through the messages, the last words of the hopeless, then leaned back against the wall fighting the terror she felt rising up inside her.

She stood up and calmed herself, refusing to allow the fear to take hold again. She examined the wooden door, its bottom half was covered with dents and scratches made by the condemned. A square opening was cut at eye level and covered by an iron grate and beyond it a stone hallway.

“Hello,” she called through the opening. Her voice echoed down the empty corridor.

“Is anyone there?”

The hallway was silent until she heard a small voice speak.

“Quiet, please be quiet,” someone whispered.

“Who’s out there?”

“Quiet. They will hear you and come back,” the voice answered.

Jen held the lighter up to the opening and a shadow crossed the hallway.

“Come here, please,” Jen called out.

“You have to be quiet,” the voice said, closer this time.

Jen stood on the chair and trained the light through the opening.

“Best be careful,” the voice said. “Old man Hockenberry fell off that chair and hung himself.

Momma said he used to be a pastor, but wasn’t one anymore on account of what he had done.“

“What’d he do?” Jen asked.

“He joined the true religion.”

“Can you open the door and let me out of here?” Jen asked.

“I can’t, not till nighttime comes.”

“Sure you can, Jen said. “It’s easy.”

“Not for me, not anymore.”

“What’s your name?” Jen asked.

“Willow.”

“Willow, my name’s Jen. I am real cold and hungry and need to get out of here.”

“You’re fixin to get the crop,” Willow whispered. She moved closer to the door. “They grow‘em in the graves.”

“Please open the door and let me out of here, my friends are looking for me.”

“I told you, I can’t. Not till nighttime comes.”

Jen shined the lighter through the opening.

“Come closer, I want to see you.”

“I’m right here.”

“I can’t see you.”

“Most can’t till the nighttime comes. I can’t even see myself,” she said sadly. “Less I am near the creek.”

Jen pulled a compact mirror out of her pocket and held it up to the opening. Willow’s ghastly image reflected in the mirror. She appeared to be a child of seven or eight years old, but had pallid skin and dark circles surrounding black eyes. Jen dropped the compact and it shattered on the stone floor.

“How long you have been here, Willow?” Jen asked, voice shaking.

“I came down to this cellar last night. The sun came up and I got stuck. I just wanted to see who they brought down here.”

“How long have you been in this town?” Jen asked.

“A long time, Momma signed the pledge on account of me being real sick.”

“What pledge?” Jen asked.

“The pledge to true faith,” Willow replied. “Momma said it made me better.”

“I know it’s hard, but I need you to open the door.”

“When the night comes I can open it, but that’s when the hunger comes and you shouldn’t be out when the hunger comes.”

C H A P T E R  S I X T E E N

“J
ackson, I see a place up ahead,” Barry said.

They had located a path from the main road that led them to a vine covered cabin. As they approached the building, the last rays of sunlight glimmered through the trees.

“Looks abandoned,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Jackson replied.

They walked through a field of high grass and onto a crumbling porch. Symbols were carved into the wood around the front door.

“These symbols are the same as the ones we saw on the rock face outside of town,” Barry said.

“What do you think they are?” Jackson answered.

“Some type of superstition, maybe protection against evil,” Barry answered.

He examined the carvings in the dying light of the sun. The channels cut into the wood timbers were smooth and even. Jackson cleared vines away from the front door and gave it a push. The door opened inward revealing a stone fireplace and rough handmade furnishings. The ceiling was high with beams running across the width of the room. Dim light filtered through the distorted glass of a single window.

“Jackson, I noticed a fig tree out back when we walked up. Could you pick us some to eat?”

“Sure, I’m starving,” he answered.

“I’ll get a fire going,” Barry said. “I think we’re far enough off the road to be noticed.”

Barry walked outside to gather wood for the fireplace. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the forest where green trees and golden sunlight had been replaced by a canvas of gray shadows. Once he collected an armload of wood, he carried it back in and placed it on the floor. He stood up and realized he felt good for the first time in months. Jackson returned through the front door with his arms full of fruit.

“Got some good ones,” he said.

He handed two figs to Barry and then started munching on his own. Once they finished their meager meal, they sat and watched the dancing flames of the fire.

“Man, I am tired,” Jackson said, rubbing his lower back.

“Go get some sleep,” Barry answered. “I’ll be up a while longer.”

In the glow of the firelight, the cabin appeared almost homey. The dust covering the room was no longer visible and the tired walls were somehow renewed. Barry walked around the room. A photograph hung on the wall and a Winchester rifle was mounted above the fireplace.

“Jackson,” Barry said.

Jackson was slumped back in a chair already asleep. Barry walked into the kitchen and found an iron skillet next to a stack of plates. A shattered mirror hung on the wall.

“None of this was here before,” he said.

“Jackson,” Barry called out again.

He walked over and shook Jackson’s shoulder, waking him.

“What’s up?” Jackson said.

“Someone’s been here,” he answered.

Jackson looked around at the change in the cabin then stood up quickly knocking the chair backwards onto the floor.

“Who is there?” a voice asked from the bedroom.

Barry pulled the rifle down and backed towards the front door with Jackson beside him. A man and a woman emerged from a darkened bedroom doorway. An ember popped in the fireplace, causing Jackson to stumble backwards into the wall. Barry raised the rifle and pointed it at the couple.

“What do you want from us?” he asked.

“From us?” the man asked. “You are in my house.”

“We made a mistake, we don’t want any trouble,” Jackson responded.

“Son, it ain’t about what you want,” he answered.

The man stepped forward into the light of the fire, his eyes where white and ringed with red. pallid skin hung loosely from his boney frame. He smiled revealing a jagged line of broken yellow teeth, then sniffed the air and licked his lips. Barry pulled the trigger as the man stepped towards them, but the rifle wouldn’t fire. He tried again, then threw it at him. Jackson flung open the front door then ran out and tumbled down the steps. Barry followed him out and pulled him to his feet. The man and woman were out the door and almost on them. Barry and Jackson ran as fast as they could, stopping only when they reached the main road.

“Are they gone?” Jackson asked, gasping for air.

“I think so,” Barry answered.

“What were those things?” Jackson asked.

“Not sure,” Barry said. “But we need to find Jen and get the hell out of here.”

Barry tapped Jackson’s shoulder and pointed to a cemetery where a group of men dug into the ground with picks and shovels. He stepped back into the shadows and motioned for Jackson to follow.

“Looks like they’re planting something,” Barry said.

“We better get off this road. We might be spotted,” Jackson said.

C H A P T E R  S E V E N T E E N

J
en sat against the wall with her knees pulled up to her chest and her head down. She hadn’t slept since getting captured. A door opened somewhere above, followed by the sound of footsteps and muffled voices. The steps came closer and she heard Willow’s voice.

“Please, leave her,” the girl pleaded.

Jen pressed her back against the corner of the cell and listened then something hit the outside of the door with tremendous force.

“Jen, he’s coming for you!” Willow shouted.

Willow stood with her arms outstretched blocking the door. She was visible now having taken a physical form. A man dressed in rags walked towards her with his twisted mouth, exposing small jagged teeth. Nearly out of her mind with fear, Jen grabbed the chair and wedged it against the door. She heard chains drop to the floor and felt the door press inward. A sick gurgling sound came from the other side and then something impacted the door. Tears poured down her face as she held the chair in place with shaking hands. She heard rapid footsteps and then the door slammed inward, knocking her to the floor. She crawled to the corner of the room and tried to remain silent in the darkness. The gurgling sound stopped and the cell was quiet. She lit her lighter and found the man relishing the sight of her trapped in the corner.

Willow burst in and leaped on the man, beating him with thin white arms until he grabbed her hair and slammed her against the wall. She recovered quickly and was back on him. Jen took her opportunity and ran past them into the hallway, feeling the wall for guidance in the dark. Behind her, the sounds of the fighting stopped. She lit her lighter and found the man just feet behind her, frozen in place. Willow moved in front of him.

“It’s safe,” Willow said. “He can’t hurt you now.”

The walls of the hallway were visible through their skin, as they had both changed into something more human, but strangely translucent.

“You should go now,” Willow said with her voice reduced to a faint whisper.

Jen found a set of stairs and bounded up the uneven stone steps. She pushed open a metal door and walked into a once grandiose room where a chandelier had fallen onto a stained marble floor. A vine covered grand piano lay collapsed with water dripping on it from a hole in the plaster ceiling. She ran to the front door and pulled it open, then stepped outside into the warm embrace of the rising sun.

C H A P T E R  E I G H T E E N

B
arry and Jackson walked the mountain road until they found a trail leading into the woods. Barry kneeled to examine a set of tire tracks in the mud. He stood and faced Jackson.

“I think we should check it out.”

“Is it the Rover?” Jackson asked.

“No, but these could have been made by the truck we saw last night, the one driven by the men in that graveyard.”

Jackson nodded in agreement and followed Barry down the trail. Two miles in, a rusty gate was chained shut and blocked the way. A sharp metallic sound broke the silence as Barry walked around the gate. An animal trap, hidden in the grass, snapped the end off his walking stick.