"The winter winds howl like a hoard of banshees as they tear through the canyons. It's a most terrifying sound--not unlike that made by the pumas that roam the ridges. And even though I know it's just the elements--it makes the hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end. I think I know what the screams of demons in Hell would sound like, and I know I do not wish to spend eternity listening to them. What a bone-chilling wail carries on the sharp edge of winter... "--excerpt from the private journal of Ephraim Barton
Smoky Hills Part 5
In the Dark
Duo cursed soundly as his hand slipped on the lug wrench and he banged his knuckles on pavement.
"Fuck!" He shook his hand and scowled at the bloody scrapes. "Fuck. Shit. Fuck!" The last "fuck" came out almost as a whine.
It was an inordinately hot day for mid-April, and of course it'd be the time he'd get a flat tire out on the route.
Already loaded with extra mail because it was Monday, Duo had looked forward to making back some of the time he'd lost in the office by being quick on the road. And now the damned flat was going to drag his day out even more.
Sweat trickled into his eyes as he repositioned the wrench and loosened another lug nut. "Goddamned, motherfucking, freakin' nail!" he spat, looking at the head poking out from between two treads.
It could be repaired, he knew. But the tire was only a few months old, and he hated to spend more money on it.
Removing the last nut, he straightened and kicked the tire hard, taking out all of his frustration on it--and then biting his lip as it slipped off the lugs and landed squarely on his other foot.
"I hate my life."
It had been over two weeks since the Barton place was added to Duo's route, and he was more or less used to the extra driving. But since he'd left the office over an hour late, due to the mail volume, and spent a solid half an hour changing the tire--he knew it would be almost dark before he reached that farthest point on the road.
He didn't relish the thought of driving up the unlit back road as the evening shadows fell.
"Get over it, Maxwell," he muttered to himself, hastily shoving the spare into place and fastening it securely.
While he knew all the sane, rational facts--i.e. there was no such thing as ghosts, and therefore the old farm couldn't possibly be haunted--he'd grown up hearing tales of weird things happening out in that neck of the woods.
"Seriously, Duo...there was this chick just walkin' out there in nothin' but a white gown. Like a wedding gown."
Duo rolled his eyes, taking another swig of illicit beer. "Right, Alex. A chick out there in the middle of nowhere--"
"Hey, my old man swears he saw it, an' he don't lie!"
"Yeah, tell him the rest, Alex!" Nikol chimed in.
"So, dad said he turned around to see if she needed a ride--and she'd just vanished into thin air. But he heard what sounded like someone sobbing out in the woods--really loud, like it was comin' from everywhere at once."
"The ghost of Annabelle Barton--that's who it was," Nikol intoned gravely.
"I am totally not drunk enough to believe this ghost story shit!" Duo insisted, but he glanced away from the campfire, into the shadows surrounding them.
Solo walked over then, leaning down and ruffling the top of Duo's hair. "You tell 'em, little bro'. Ain't nothin' but bullshit they're slinging."
"Yeah, bullshit," Duo echoed, his courage bolstered by Solo's calm confidence.
As he got back into the Jeep and fired it up, Duo couldn't quite banish the memory of some of the wild tales the local kids had told. Bullshit or not, they still teased at the edges of his awareness as he headed for the remote road to the Barton farm.
Sure enough, by the time he got there, it was past dusk and quickly heading towards dark, and Duo gave a frustrated huff as he pulled up to the shiny new mailbox.
"Friggin' middle of nowhere--" he muttered sulkily, yanking open the box and starting to shove in the thick bundle of mail, only to realize there were outgoing letters he'd have to grab first.
He growled a curse under his breath and snatched the offending letters out, then crammed the mail into the small receptacle. But as he did so, the thickening twilight was split by an ear-piercing scream, and Duo jerked his hand back, sending letters flying in all directions.
"Jesus Christ!" he blurted, looking around to see what had made such a blood-curdling sound.
But the dirt driveway was empty, as were the bushes on either side.
Once his heart settled back into a more normal rhythm, and his hands stopped shaking, Duo put the vehicle in park and shut it off, so he could hop out and gather the scattered envelopes.
It didn't help that he kept anxiously looking around for something to leap from the forest, while he hastily retrieved the mail and stuffed it into the box.
He dove back into the Jeep, quickly buckling his seatbelt and starting it up again--just as another loud shriek split the air.
In an instant, he'd thrown the shifter into drive and stepped on the gas, hurtling down the narrow back road as fast as he dared, hoping to put whatever had made the noise far behind him.
His hands didn't stop shaking this time, until he was halfway back to the post office, and had gulped down half a Mountain Dew to wet his too-dry throat.
"Fuckin' bullshit!" he muttered under his breath. "No such thing as ghosts."
But then, what had screamed back there in the forest? It sounded human, to Duo's ears--human and filled with terror and pain.
He flipped on the headlights and locked his door for good measure, telling himself it was just about keeping the mail secure--really. He had a responsibility to safeguard those outgoing letters, after all...
When he finally pulled into the post office and parked the vehicle, he breathed a sigh of relief. Safe at last!
He didn't know what had made that unearthly noise at the old Barton place, but the cheery little spotlight that illuminated the parking lot made him feel a whole lot better.
He unloaded his trays and carted them inside, to find Quatre just finishing up the dispatch for the evening truck.
"Wow, you ran late today," Quatre commented, watching him haul in the empties and stow away the gear. "I was about to send out a search party."
"I got a flat tire up on South Road and hadda change it," Duo told him, mentally calculating how soon he could afford to have it repaired. "I'd have been back a lot earlier if I didn't have to go all the way out to the Barton farm."
And damned if that hadn't added insult to injury!
"I know," Quatre sighed. "It's way off the beaten path. But we're the nearest post office, and since Howard used to deliver there--" He let his voice trail off and shrugged helplessly.
"I think you should make 'em get a p.o. box," Duo told him. "I have to cover five extra miles on the worst roads in town just to deliver to them. And--" He hesitated, knowing that if he tried to tell Quatre about the strange noise he'd heard, his friend would probably laugh in his face.
"And--?"
Duo ducked his head, and shrugged. "Just--it's a pain in the ass."
Quatre gave him a knowing look. "This has nothing to do with the time you thought you saw a mountain lion out there, does it?"
"No!" Duo snapped, glaring at him. "And I did see a mountain lion--no matter how much everyone tries to deny it. It freakin' stalked me halfway back to town."
Now that he thought about it, Duo wondered if the scream he heard might have been cat-like. But, no. After his brush with the puma, he'd researched the sounds they made on-line, and it was nothing like what he heard at the Barton place. The scream had sounded human--and anguished. He shivered slightly.
"Duo, you know the DEP says there aren't any--"
"Yeah, and half a dozen people I know have seen 'em," Duo reminded him, happy for the distraction from the memory of that shriek. It was much easier to argue with Quatre than dwell on the frightening sound. "Old man Rudzik swore he saw one--"
"Old man Rudzik drinks. Heavily."
"And Miz Callahan--the school teacher?"
Quatre gave a noncommittal grunt. "Despite the rumors, there's never been any proof."
"That has nothing to do with what happened tonight!" Duo blurted.
"What do you mean?" Quatre asked, suddenly suspicious. "What happened tonight?"
Ah, crap. "You mean, aside from the flat tire?" Duo asked, stalling for time.
"That was nowhere near the Barton place. You said South Road."
"Yeah, but it slowed me down so I ended up at the Barton farm in the dark," Duo told him.
"And--?"
Duo hesitated--replaying the disturbing scream in his mind and trying to determine if it could have been a trick of his imagination, or if there could be a reasonable explanation for it.
"F'get it, Quat," he sighed, throwing the outgoing mail into the bucket the postmaster had put in the hamper in the back foyer. "You'll just tell me I've had too much caffeine," he grumbled, retrieving his empty soda can and tossing it into the recycling bin.
Quatre eyed him curiously, sensing that there was something more, but unable to fathom what it could be. He knew Duo had more than his share of bad memories--most of them associated with Smoky Hills and the surrounding area. But the braided man seemed genuinely--spooked.
"I'm goin' home," Duo announced, tossing the last of his stuff into its designated location. "Might stop by the garage on the way there to drop off that tire--see how much it's gonna cost to fix it."
"If you need to borrow a few bucks until payday--"
Duo scowled fiercely. "I don't need charity, Quat! I can pay my own way."
"I know, but--"
"But nothing. I'll talk to Mr. Gunderson and see if he'll hang onto it until next week."
"If not, would you let me help you out just this once?" Quatre asked quietly. "Not as your boss--but as your friend. And it wouldn't be charity, Duo--just a short-term loan."
Duo sighed, and the tension slipped away almost as quickly as it had come. "Yeah," he conceded. "Look, Quat, I'm sorry I'm so wound up. It's just been a wicked long day." He ruefully examined his skinned knuckles. "Changing the tire was a bitch, and I'm really, really beat to hell." He mustered a wan smile for his roommate. "See ya at home later?"
"I'll be just a few minutes behind you," Quatre assured him. "Just have to do my closeout reports and certifications, and I can blow this pop stand." He patted Duo's shoulder as he walked by. "Since it's my turn to cook, how 'bout if I bring home Chinese?"
"Sounds great." Duo walked out the back door, hesitating as he faced the dark parking lot and the small circle of brightness cast by the overhead spotlight. For a split-second, it felt like the blackness was pressing in on him--like there was something out there.
And then he shook off the feeling, reminding himself that in the light of day, it would seem like nothing more than a dream. As real as that scream had sounded--there was no logical explanation for it.
Maybe he had been imagining it--
TBC...
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