Page 19 of Tenebrous

Benji

“Hi, Miss Mary.” Entering Deadfall's only gas station, I throw on my most charming smile as I lean against the counter.

Mary looks up from her crossword puzzle and eyes me suspiciously. “Thought they locked you up.”

“Can’t tame all this with a psycho sheriff and some iron bars.”

The older woman cackles at that before setting aside her pen. “Well, don't let Earl catch you around after dark. He'll make up something that sticks next time.”

“That's actually why I'm here.” My fingers drum against the counter. “You asked me before if I'd ‘seen it yet.’ Will you tell me what ‘it’ actually is?”

Mary’s expression immediately flattens. “That depends,” she says slowly. “You gonna listen this time?”

“I did listen.”

“Honey, if that were true, you wouldn't have gotten caught with Paula's hands down your pants.”

Exhaling sharply through my nose, I glance toward the windows. Late afternoon light filters through the clouds outside, but the trees beyond are still dark. Like the sun avoids them on purpose.

“I saw it,” I finally admit. “At Earl’s house. Dennis did too, it was all over his journal. My uncle said that's what got him killed.”

Mary studies me for a long, quiet moment. Then she purses her lips and reaches over to flip the little open sign hanging in the window to closed. “Follow me.”

My pulse kicks up when she grabs a walker by the counter and starts to shuffle toward the back of the store. “Uh… are you kidnapping me?”

“You can't kidnap the willing, dear.”

I follow with a smirk on my lips, despite the ever-present feeling of being watched through the glass windows. “Miss Mary, I'm flattered, but I don't think I could handle you.”

She unlocks an ambiguous door with another cackle. “Boy, if these hips were thirty years younger, I'd make you cry.”

“Oh, I don't doubt it.” Stepping into the room after her, a dingy light flips on and I frown at the dust-covered surfaces around me. “What are we doing in here?”

Boxes of supplies line the walls, along with a few racks covered in product. Some of it looks old, and judging by the expiration date I spot on a few of the chip bags scattered around the room, a lot of the food in here is about as old as Mary's hips.

She pauses near the back wall and points to a small wooden crate buried in the corner. “My daddy stuck these here when the old library burned down in ‘56. He told me never to show a soul.”

“Show what?” I lift a few totes off of it, stacking them to form a surface so that I can set the box on top.

“Proof,” she whispers as she peels back the lid.

Inside sits a stack of old newspapers bound together with twine. Most are faded nearly beyond recognition, crumbling from age and moisture damage. My stomach tightens when she carefully pulls one out and slides it toward me. On the front page is the mill.

Or at least… what it used to be.

The image must be a century old, taken when the place still operated. Men stand in front of logging trucks smiling at the camera, suspenders and work boots caked in mud. Above, a headline reads: Opening Day At Aster's Hollow.

“I don't understand,” I murmur, scanning the article. “What am I looking at?”

“Use your eyes, boy.” Mary taps a crooked finger on the edge of the photo, and I lean closer to get a better look.

When I finally see it, every nerve-ending inside me lights up. “What the fuck…”

“You see it now,” she whispers, staring at my face.

Standing there behind the men, watching from the tree line… is something big. Tall and broad, almost entirely shrouded in darkness, the trunks blending against its edges.

I lean closer, heart hammering in my chest. The figure is blurry, but unmistakable. Too large to be human, or bear. Its eyes reflect pale even in the washed-out photograph.