Chapter 2 – Chap 2

I jerked awake in my bed amid sweat-soaked sheets, wild-eyed as my racing heart slowly settled into a more calm rhythm, the terrors of my unconscious mind still somewhat fresh. The night after my interview had passed fitfully, with nightmares of blistered crawling rashes and blind eyes floating through my mind on a cacophony of horrifying screams. They say one can never remember one’s dreams, that even the most terrifying images fade after only a few minutes in waking light. I call bullshit.

I snorted, pushed my fingers through my tangled sweaty hair and swung my legs out of bed, scratching absently at my elbow as I made my way to the bathroom to get ready for the day. I peeked at myself in the mirror and frowned. My eyes were bloodshot, my hair stood up around my head in a tangled knotty mess and my skin was covered in a light oily sheen of sweat. My elbow itched again, and I glanced down to see a small red bump right on the bony protuberance. I made a mental note to make sure all my window screens were in one piece; the mosquitos in my area were terrible over the summer and I was prone to being bitten. Maybe my blood was just that sweet. Sighing, I cranked on the shower water to near-scalding, then shed my pajamas and stepped under the blistering spray.

As I stood there revelling in the feel of the hot water sliding down my back and shoulders, I was suddenly struck by a wayward vision so strong that it hit me like a pillowcase full of bricks, and I staggered back with a small cry, grasping at the slick wall for purchase. My bathroom disappeared into darkness, and Benny appeared in front of me from out of the shadows, a much-too-wide smile under empty bleeding eyesockets, his huge hands stretched out towards me; whether in pleading or in malice I wasn’t sure. As I gasped and scrambled to get away, he advanced on me, and even though his widely smiling mouth didn’t move, I heard his eerie whispers anyway. “Have you seen the Wanderer yet?” he hissed. I couldn’t answer, frozen in fear. From behind him, a shadow far darker than all the others appeared and seemed to surround him, the only visible thing a pair of electric green eyes that bored into my very being. My soul seemed to shrivel in on itself as I realized that this menacing shadow had to be the Wanderer himself. Benny glanced behind him and his face twisted in terror. The shadow fell upon him,  shrouded him in black, and he screamed, one long bone-piercing howl, as he was dragged back into the darkness.

All at once, he disappeared along with the shadows and I was left shivering on the floor of my bathtub once again, the hot water doing nothing to soothe the chill of fear that had grasped my heart with icy fingers. Shuddering, I twisted the handle off and stepped onto the cool tiles to dry off. I was in the midst of vigorously towelling my hair when I happened to lift my eyes to my mirror and instantly froze. There, written by an unseen finger in the steam that had coated the mirror, were three words that struck me with blind terror: HE’S SEEN YOU. Unwilling to stay in my bathroom for even one second longer, I dashed out into the sunlit safety of my bedroom, my sanctuary.

Twenty minutes later, now freshly dressed, with the terror I had just experienced mostly sapped by the welcoming taste of fresh coffee, I turned to my old trusty laptop to see if I could find any information on Whispering Hills. My Google search turned up only one newspaper article from 1939 with the headline blaring in huge bold letters: MASSIVE FIRE SWEEPS THROUGH DELIVERANCE FALLS. Frowning, I skimmed the article. My great grandmother had told me about a huge fire from back in her day that had decimated the western end of town, but there was no mention of Whispering Hills, the Crossroads, or Benny. Unsatisfied, I closed my laptop and made the snap decision to pay a visit to the local historian, Bridgette Van Ruber. She was older than dirt and more likely than not remembered the huge fire. Maybe she could tell me about Whispering Hills. Maybe she could even tell me who the Wanderer was and why everyone seemed so scared of him.

As I pulled my car up in front of the historian’s home, I paused. Did I really want to explore this further? I’d harbored an unrelenting terror ever since I’d arrived at Whispering Hills yesterday; was this something I ought to be chasing? Shaking it off, I ground myself in resolution and made my way onto the rickety paint-peeled porch. I raised my hand to knock on the weathered time-warped door, but it creaked open before I could, and an ancient wispy voice called from somewhere within the bowels of the house. “Come in, Maryann. I’ve been expecting you.”

A musty smell, one steeped in age and brewed in time, struck my nostrils as soon as I stepped into the time capsule that was the home of Mrs. Van Ruber. Faded and yellowed newspapers completely filled one entire wall, and her furniture, though sparse, was clearly taken care of. Glancing around, I spotted Bridgette sitting in an equally ancient rocking chair, gazing at me curiously through bright blue eyes not yet withered by age. I extended my hand and started to cross her living room, but her next question stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Have you seen the Wanderer yet?” she asked softly.

I took a deep breath, the only answer springing to mind that of the truth. “Yes, Bridgette. I have seen him.”

She sucked in a sharp hiss through her teeth. “Then I’m afraid you don’t have a lot of time left, my dear. He’s seen you too, you know.”

Unsure of how to respond, I lowered myself gingerly onto her couch. “Bridgette, I need your help. I came here…to ask you about the fire of 1929…and about the Wanderer. I thought that if anybody could help me, it would be you.”

She laughed at this, a bright tinkly sound that, for all its lightness, was heavy with remembrance. “I certainly can tell you about the fire,” she replied bitterly. “After all, I’m the only survivor left.”

I gaped at her. “What do you mean?”

Bridgette sighed and leaned forward a bit in her rocking chair, sparkling eyes locked on mine. “We tried to kill him,” she said quietly. “The Wanderer. He came for us and we tried to kill him. It’s all our fault.”

Not wanting to interrupt, I leaned closer with bated breath. I watched as she closed those bright eyes and one lone tear slid slowly down her wrinkled cheek. She continued on in a voice barely above a whisper.

“We were young and stupid back then,” she said. “My sisters and I. I was the youngest of the three of us, only ten years old. Oh, we always had a nose for adventure, we did. We were always getting into trouble. We weren’t bad kids, just mischievous. We loved the idea of being afraid, always in search of the next new terrifying thing.

“One fine spring evening, we were playing in the woods that surround the Crossroads. We had told our parents that we would be staying overnight at our friend’s house, so they didn’t expect us back that night. As the sun sank and the shadows lengthened, my oldest sister Marcia got the idea to see if the rumors surrounding the Crossroads were true. So we snuck back into our house, grabbed a few blankets and some food and drinks and candles, and returned to the woods. Marcia wanted to stand in the middle of the Crossroads at 3:33AM and see if the devil would come take her away. We begged her not to at first, Laura and I, but eventually Marcia convinced Laura that it was just a silly rumor and that nothing would happen. I wasn’t so easily convinced.”

Hesitant to interrupt and enthralled by her story so far, I asked, “So the Crossroads were there even back in your day?”

“Oh, yes,” Bridgette replied. “The Crossroads have always been there, even before our little town here was built. My grandmother used to tell us such frightful stories…how I wish we would have listened to her. My sisters might still be alive today.”

“So what happened?” I asked.

Bridgette shook her head slowly. “Nothing happened. At least not that night. Marcia stood in the Crossroads just like she’d planned to while Laura and I watched. Ten minutes passed, and finally she shrugged and came back. We spent the rest of the time we were in the woods laughing about the silly rumors and congratulating ourselves on being so brave. When we woke up, Marcia was gone. We searched high and low, but we never saw hide nor hair of her. Our parents were inconsolable, of course. Weeks passed by with no sign of her, and we had all just about given up hope. Then she came back.”

“W-what do you mean, she came back?” I asked breathlessly, perched on the edge of her couch.

Bridgette just shook her head again, the tears rolling freely now. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I just can’t. Knowing it’s my fault…it still hurts too much.” She leaned closer. “Be cautious, Maryann, for your soul. The Wanderer has seen you now, and once he sees you, he – he-” Suddenly she jerked back in her chair, ancient spine snapped taut, head thrown back, eyes rolled back in her head. Her arms and legs jittered as if shot through with electricity, and as I jumped up and backed away in horror, a spray of dark blood burst from her open mouth and the corners of her eyes and flooded the front of her body with crimson red. Hands clasped over my mouth in terror, I backed away, unable to tear my eyes away from the grisly sight as some unseen force destroyed the poor woman right in front of me. Once I reached the porch, I turned tail and fled, and just as I reached my car, a loud moan stung my ears. A voice unlike any I’d heard before, low and gravelly and utterly inhuman, wafted to me across the green of the lawn from the darkness of the open door. “Maaaaaryaaannnnn. Yoooooou’rrrre MIIIIIINNNE.” Shaking with fear, I fumbled for my keys, jumped in my car and sped away.

Back in the safety of my home, I paced back and forth, wrapped up in the disaster I’d just witnessed. Had the Wanderer killed that poor woman just to shut her up, to protect himself? I was left with more questions than I had the answers to and I was both terrified and frustrated. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised to see that it was already almost six in the evening. I hadn’t been at Bridgette’s that long, had I? I remembered what Jeanette had said to me last night. “She said to be there by 10:45. Plenty of time yet,” I mumbled to myself as I set myself busy with making supper. Then I settled myself in front of my laptop once more to pass the time until my first shift at my new job.

By 10:20, I was dressed for work in a pair of hunter green scrubs and my most comfortable sneakers, hair pulled back into a high ponytail. I backed out of my driveway and headed on down the road, filled with both eagerness and consternation over the prospect of my new job. As I approached the Crossroads, I began to feel myself starting to worry a bit, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up sharply. Was I in danger? I checked my watch again and exhaled. 10:40. “It’s okay, it’s right there,” I told myself. “I’m early. No sweat.” Quickly I pulled into the space in front of Whispering Hills and shut my car off. As the lights blacked out and the whirring of the car ceased, I began to hear whispers from behind me, and a cold chill snaked its way up my spine. All at once, I felt like I was being watched, and it was truly a terrifying feeling. Not wanting to turn around and see what horrors might be behind me or reaching out for me with dead gray fingers, I squared my shoulders and marched up the steps to the front door. It swung wide, seeming to beckon me inside, and suddenly I just wanted to go home. I didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to deal with this horror-story bullshit, but…Jeanette had practically pleaded with me to stay, and the pay really was too good to pass up…and besides, I was already here. And really, whatever waited for me inside couldn’t really be any worse than the horrors I’d already witnessed today………could it?