There was something not quite right about the window. You could see through it well enough, yet couldn't quite perceive what was on the other side. Of course there were shapes and colors, outlines of forms, but the objects were unrecognizable to your brain. Familiar, but never registering as an entity of your world.

Is that... draped fabric? No, it is far too rigid and I don't know of any fabric with that texture. Do I know of anything with that texture? It is like wool, but hard and perhaps wet? No, maybe it's just smooth. But how could it look like wool and glisten like polished stone?

What you should be debating is where the light is coming from that casted onto... whatever that is. True, it is a window, but it did not lead outside. There was no horizon or skyline, no sun or moon shining from the sky. The space you peered into was enclosed and oddly bright. Bright like a night illuminated by a glaring super moon, allowing you to traverse the "dark" without a care. Not quite sun bright, but light nonetheless.

None of it is familiar. Well, it is. I just cannot put my finger on it. Is that a microwave? No, perhaps a small television. Perhaps not, those filaments are too thick to be any sort of antennae. Maybe it's a handle, like on a sort of briefcase! Oh but whose hand could fit in such a position? Regardless, it seems much too heavy to carry with one hand and it would be too uncomfortable to get a good grip on... What was I doing?

Who could blame you for losing track of time? It is important to inspect every area of a candidate for your new home. The previous owner said to take your time, no harm done. Although you tend to be a very thorough, detail-oriented person, perhaps five months is a bit unnecessary. If you could just figure out what you're looking at...

We gotta get out of this place

If it's the last thing we ever do__The Animals

1

The lights cast their yuletide illumination over the living room. Woven gracefully around the faux needles of the artificial Christmas tree were those bulbs of deep blue,rich purple, & the reds and greens that make you want to bask in its glow.

On the floor in a semicircle sat Hunter Riley and his family, Momma, Dad, and his kid cousin, Becky, they was raising cuz her folks were crackheads doing time in the pokey( that's down south slang meaning jail for the uninitiated.) The group was surrounded by the remnants of wrapping paper strone about and overturned gift bags now emptied of their contents.

Hunter Riley was decked out in the Christmas pj's he'd opened last night, for it had long been tradition for the Riley family, at least this particular branch of ’em, to open one present the night before the Big Day. Christmas Morning no gifts were open until the story of Christ’s birth was either watched or read from the good book & of course later that night they'd sit in front of the T.V. and watch the Peanuts special. All-in-all it was an old fashioned down home Christmas. He was glad to have this time with his family before he returned to College. It was always bittersweet but he'd be back here soon enough. Everyone always came back here.

The days passed as they would, some stressful others not. When not cramming for exams or slogging through homework Hunter Riley could be found either hunkered down in his dorm room shutting out the world while he watched T.V. or read books–mostly though he just caught up on sleep–or hanging out with his friends. Eventually the moment came. He had to choose where to spend his internship that would take up his spring semester. He was at a crossroads. One path led to uncertainty, the other to the familiar warmth of home. Home won out in the end. Momma and Dad came up to Oklahoma to help him pack his stuff(far too much stuff for those years of college.) Becky had stayed in Louisiana with a friend of the family that Hunter himself had grown up with as well. His last night there he sat in the empty husk that he'd called home. He watched videos on YouTube about various paranormal topics because that was what intrigued him. On the desk beside his laptop was a collection of comic books given to him by a fellow buff, a man in his late fifties perhaps his sixties who worked the night shift at the front desk at the dorms.

He, that is Hunter Riley had spent two years at this here technical college because that's how long it takes for an associates degree you understand. For a man that had homeschooling all the way through Highway through high-school and was introverted as a turtle surrounded by dogs it was a bold, new experience. The initial adjustment period was tough, especially getting lost the first couple of days which wouldn't happen again until a few semesters later but that was a mix up in classrooms.

Eventually he'd adjust and throw himself into his studies. Math has always been his kryptonite and one day after three all-nighters in front of his computer screen that made him want to gouge his eyes out he decided to take a break. He journeyed forth from his dorm and walked the distance to the IT building where the tech support and programmers of tomorrow were being trained up and nurtured with bad pizza and energy drinks.

The gamer nerds held a Lan party once a month and he'd seen the poster for it tacked up on the billboards around school as well as the wall near the elevator. He intended to only go for an hour at most just to clear his head but he ended up staying the full time and didn't make it back to his dorm until after midnight. For those not well versed in nerd culture the simple explanation of what a Lan party is is that a bunch of people get together and play video games. It's named after the cord that connects a console or computer to the internet. It was at this venue he'd made his first two friends.

There was the summer burnout when he had to withdraw from a class only to retake it during another semester. There were the late night gaming sessions, the gaggle of friends he'd made who in the years that followed would become not only family but also lifelines. Yes that initial adjustment had been wild but now Riley practically bled his school colors!

As he sat there at the desk he reflected upon all the memories mentioned and many that were not. And he began to silently weep. Why should he though? He'd stay in touch with his friends and the stress of college was behind him. He was heading home. Should he not feel happier than he did?

Rutherford Louisiana was a town so small & backwater that it was glanced over by Rand McNally. During the Reagan era the most exciting thing to its name was a gas station three miles down the road from the church. It had grown since then and now included a strip mall and even a dollar store. That was about it. For the past three terms Rutherford had the same mayor who even the good Reverend Horace Daniels called a stubborn jackass and he'd come up with some real crappy excuses to fight the growth of his town beyond the church, strip mall, and that there gas station. It goes without saying he wasn't that well liked and the only reason he'd served as mayor as long as he had was because he was old blood and greased a few palms.

It was to this town that Hunter was returning. It seemed like a good idea at the time. His internship would be carried out at the clinic in Shreveport Louisiana which was a two hour drive from Rutherford. He would get a break before he had to start, which was certainly welcome.

2

The months of internship went by. Hunter was already wondering if he'd made the right call in moving back to his old home in Louisiana; something was different. To be quite frank he was finding it nerve racking. For one thing Becky was seven years old and he was in his mid twenties that age gap could cause her to grate his nerves though he cared for her & would have loved to have put both her parents under the prison instead of in it. That wasn't a Christian way of thinking but it's how Hunter felt. He had many flaws but he also had a strong sense of justice & having injustice that close to home really ticked him off.

Then there was Momma & Dad. They seemed to argue a lot these days. They'd always sorta done it but the frequency seemed to have increased. No that wasn't it at all. He realized it had always been that way but it took him leaving home, becoming mostly independent and returning to see the crap show for what it was. He'd glanced at it on his breaks but ignored it for the prospect of free room and board during an unpaid internship.

At least he had his room to retreat too. In the refuge of four walls that two decades ago had been painted his favorite shade of blue he played video games and watched YouTube and also escaped into the world of comics and prose books as well. Fortunately he had his internship to keep him occupied and out of the house. He crashed out at about 10:00 PM which was early for him.

Some weekends were spent on day trips to Arkansas. These started out fun but like so much else they became monotonous. Hunter Riley reckoned at least he had graduation to look forward to. After that he'd get his driver's license, his own house, and then he'd be on his own yet again. Of course he'd have to get certified in his field. These thoughts helped him rest at night.

Internship was up. The family loaded in the car and drove eagerly to Oklahoma. Hunter spent a day with all his buddies, his brothers he'd built steadfast friendships with. The excitement was positively electric. The following morning was the big day. Hunter waited for his name to be called. He was but one in a sea of gowns and mortarboards with tassels jiggling as the owners fidgeted nervously, impatiently, excitedly, or a potent cocktail of all of them. The actual act of walking up the aisle and shaking the school president's as he was presented with his sheepskin was a blur.

Afterwards the family gathered for pictures. His friends were there of course as well as one of his aunts & two of his favorite cousins. There was much banter exchanged and python-esque hugs meted out. On his way out the door he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder accompanied by a familiar voice that said, “Hey, young man!”

Hunter Riley spun around his tassel dancing in space as he did. There stood the bespectacled, bald form of his Bible study pastor. He embraced him greatly, never expecting him to be here. One or two others were as well not counting the members of his graduating class he'd attended the Bible study with.

This. This is what life was supposed to be like He thought as he sent his graduation cap spiraling into the air. As it soared up and made its downward plummet he saw his future flashing in the blur of motion. Perhaps he should have focused on the plummet…..

Five in the afternoon, quitting time & Hunter departed the comic book shop where he worked. Life had thrown him a curveball with all the skill of an MLB pitcher. He'd not passed his certification test and decided to take a break from that academic pursuit. Just as he was gearing up to try again the world, which was already insane, went nuts and everything shut down!

Quarantine from the pandemic proved almost too much for Hunter & would have been if he had not had his beloved car, a 1985 Toyota Camery. He at least had his license that hadn't come easy but it at least had come. The care was used and occasionally needed some TLC but it was a hearty little thing and got him where he needed to go and if gas wasn't so darn expensive he'd have been gone more often.

One night he'd run an errand mostly as an excuse to get away from the toxicity and tension building up in the home he'd once held so dear. He was in no rush to get back so he deviated from his course and cruised down a country back road he knew from when he was learning to drive. Finding a spot to pull over he shut off the engine and got out of his ride, closing the door behind him. It was quiet,save for nocturnal insects and the pop of the engine cooling. He looked up at the stars and began to plan. “Hunter, Old Boy you gotta get out of here soon. I don't know, maybe go back to Oklahoma. This doesn't feel like home anymore.”

It was true; the place he'd once called home had come to feel like a cage. It had not felt that way since before Hunter left for college & only now did he remember it ever doing so. That night even as he went to bed he was planning to leave. He'd get a job, save his money & skip town. This was all before the lock down and he'd started work just as it hit. That brick and mortar shop almost went under, joining others that had done everything but it held fast. Hunter Riley was just happy to have a job he enjoyed. He had dreamed of one day starting his own comic book company, a dream that was buried somewhere in the past of his junior high days.

He'd gone to see the latest superhero movie in theaters and it unlocked a geekiness that had always been there in hindsight & he'd spent much time trying to draw and there were many sketch pads sitting in drawers filled with aliens, superheros, supervillains, and warrior babes. They'd be part of a massive interconnected universe and he had planned out starting and stopping points, and spin offs for several of his brainchildren.

Right now he faced reality and that reality included covid-19, two parents who could go off at each other at any moment, and the pros and cons of being a car owner. Hunter had been brooding and helping customers with a sort of mechanical efficiency no doubt with a smile as genuine as a political promise on his face so he'd barely noticed it was time to break for lunch. “Hey, Hunter, let's go get something to eat.”

That had been the voice of his friend and coworker,Ryan cutting into his thoughts.

“Ok, sure.”

“Yeah I loved that part where he flew up and hurled that thing into the sun where it couldn't regenerate.”

“Yeah that was cool. I haven't finished part two yet!”

The duo sat at a local cafe & discussed the storyline of comic book series they were invested in. Hunter was also preoccupied with watching the patrons come and go. They were folks who lived in Rutherford for decades. They lived here, spawned offspring here, and most stayed right here until they died. Those who left eventually came back as though drawn by some unheard siren song.

This made Hunter Riley that much more determined to put this one horse town in his rear view mirror and maybe never return. His parents could solve their own lousy problems. If they couldn't get their crap together for themselves maybe they could do it for Becky either way it'd be none of his concern. Ryan continued his side of the conversation & Hunter merely responded briefly in between bites of his food.

Sunday morning was of course church day. As much as Hunter Riley loved Jesus this had been the biggest adjustment since returning from college. His church going during that time consisted of that Bible study group he'd been part of. Hunter Riley was a deep thinking type of man surprisingly so for one his age and he went to thinking that this was how it was in the ancient days when his faith was still in its infancy.

All them apostles and such had gathered in small groups and rooms like this one. They had to stay off Rome's radar. Coming back here and sitting through a typical service felt off.

That was just it. It was typical. It felt ritualistic and shallow like he'd walked into some sort of spiritual brick wall that wasn't present before. But he sat there and played the part that was expected of him all the while wondering how long his folks could keep up their facade that all was well because he knew that what sat beside him in that pew and what sat on the couch at home was very different.

The church itself could have crawled out of a Norman Rockwell painting. It had sturdy wooden walls painted white, a thick brown double door and of course it had a steeple. It had regular windows, not stained glass. It looked tranquil and Hunter loved seeing it at Christmas when the nativity was out front and the lights were strung up.

However if you walked down a well used path out behind the church you'd end up in a little patch of woods and in its center was a dead gnarled tree, its bark black as sin. It had been struck by lightning some time in the mid 20th century though the accounts of when varied. Something about that tree gave Hunter the heebie jeebies. What made it worse was he could never get a straight answer about it. He'd asked the church folk including the preacher and he'd asked every old timer in town.

Oh sure they gave him various local legends and the pious history of how the men gathered around it three times a year, harvest season, hunting season, and New Years to pray & he'd sure enough seen it done but each of these answers seemed like cover ups for something the town wanted buried. He'd earnestly discussed the matter with his family only to have his suspicions brushed off as he watched too many paranormal videos.

Those videos were how he knew a cover up when he saw or heard it and he knew if that patch of woods was as holy as folks ’round here made it out to be it should not in any way feel as dreadful as it did. His web searches also proved fruitless. He knew that the inhabitants of his home town knew the true story of that place behind the church but they kept it shut up tight like a clam trying to safeguard its perl. So he simply avoided that spot as often as possible.

Monday was his day off. The comic book store didn't open until Tuesday as is the nature of such establishments. On this particular Monday he was fishing in his uncle's pond. In Vernon, a small Louisiana town that was all woods and houses and a few farms. It had been one of the few pleasures he'd known since things had started going all cattywampus. His Uncle Henry was quite the paradox. He'd had Jesus in his heart and the words of a sailor in his mouth. Those words as well as the tattoos on his arms were leftovers from the Marine Corps.

Hunter described his uncle as, “A man who will rebuke the devil and cuss him out while he does it!”

His uncle had not had an easy life from an abusive childhood shared by him and Hunter's momma to the love of his life after many many years of marriage getting on drugs and divorcing him while dragging his daughter down the gutter with her. But he'd walked into the fire and God had walked with him, seeing him always to the other side.

They stood on the bank waiting for the perch or the catfish which ever bit first to give that indicative tug on their lines that filled a fisherman with the same feelings as a groom seeing his bride undressed.

“I like coming here and doing this. It's peaceful.” Hunter commented just loud enough to be heard but not enough to scare the fish.

“I know what you mean, Nephew. Don't think I don't see what's going. That sister of mine calls me up and bitches about your daddy. And your daddy bitches about your momma.”

“I'm planning on lighting a shuck when I can. I'm building up my money right now. Then I'm striking out on my own”

Lighting a shuck is Wild West slang for leaving quickly; it referred to the rapidity of burning corn shucks. Hunter had come across the term while reading The Daybreakers by Louis L'amour and had integrated it into his vernacular.

His uncle responded, “That's good you need to. Just make sure you keep yourself right with the Lord. Don't build up a bunch of resentment. You got me, Hunter?”

“Yes, sir, I think I do.”

“Good man. Whatever the hell is going on with your parents is something they're gonna have to work out between them and God.”

Moments of silence passed with only a Summer breeze breaking that self same silence. Until Uncle Henry tugged on his line. The fish on the other end made a get away and snapped his fishing string. “Well shit. Ain't that nice of him.”

He studied the severed filament line for a moment before deciding to “piss on it.”

The duo cleaned what fish they'd caught while Uncle Henry alternated between singing gospel music and ribald Marine tunes and Hunter put the fish in his ice chest. After that he and his uncle parted ways with hugs. It was time for them to both go take a nap.

During the global lockdown everything not only was turned upside down but also eventually fell into a hellish, monotony. New normal those schmos on T.V. declared. Hunter continued about his routine with some modifications made to keep within these blasted new mandates. The masking wasn't an issue. “How can you stand to have something like that on your face all day?” his mother had inquired.

The answer was simple enough. He'd attended a comic book convention the two preceding years so he had already worn a face covering all day. It was everything else that was on the verge of driving him up the wall. At least he had a goal. He went about saving his money. He was not quite sure where he'd go but Louisiana was definitely going to be in the rear view.

The more he pondered it the more he became settled on returning to Oklahoma. That was where he'd spent some of the best days of his life and become a man. He had two aunt's( both his dad's sisters) but he also had plenty of friends who had already offered him a place to rest his head should it ever be needed. It was at this point that his vague plan began to take a more precise form.

3

An unexpected expense here and a car repair there. It seemed to Hunter Riley that the more he planned to leave town the more the town conspired to keep him here. First his engine became fubar. His dad had been inside and outside many cars in his days and even he'd never seen one in need of this sort of repair.

Unfortunately Mr. Riley had a bad habit called procrastination or “get round to it” to use the redneck turn of phrase. That was one of the many sources of friction in the marriage of the elder two Rileys. An entire month went by before the Toyota was up and running again.

A week or so later night fell and without a word Hunter snuck out of the house. He wasn't thinking straight because he was angry and fed up with the deterioration of his family climate. He couldn't even go on a walk with his Momma without her using it as an opportunity to vent about something to do with his dad or the situation with poor Becky; it was usually the same thing said two days before.

Without thought of his job or anything else he stepped into his car and drove toward the unknown. He was stopped by Enos Braddock, a deputy for the sheriff's department before he could even cross the line that would have taken him toward the town of Ruston, the first leg of his journey.

Enos had been a family friend for several years but as Hunter rolled down his window the man seemed to loom outside like a golem from the corners of some forgotten arcana.

“Evening , Hunter, you going somewhere this time of night?”

“Yeah.”

“Where might that be?”

“Oklahoma. I'm sick of this place.”

“So you decided to just disappear into the night did you.”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Your parents know about this?”

“They'll figure it out tomorrow if they stop arguing long enough over stupid stuff.”

“Hunter, I think you better go on home and cool off that head of yours.”

He definitely seemed to take on a sinister aspect. Hunter gritted his teeth and turned around still in the clutches of the small-town that seemed to hold on tightly to its denizens. Perhaps his imagination was running wild–too much Quarantine and paranormal YouTube videos– too much time in his own head. Still the innocence of Rutherford seemed to be a carefully and purposefully crafted facade.

It was through gritted teeth and eyes which produced tears of rage that Hunter Riley made his way back home. He observed distant flashes of lightning. A storm system was moving in, no doubt it was spawned by Laura, the hurricane brewing in the Gulf. 2020 hadn't ceased to be a Charlie Foxtrot yet so yeah why night add a hurricane into the mix.

He quietly rolled into the driveway and carefully made his way inside hoping to high heaven that he wouldn't wake up his dad who– as he did most nights lately– was sleeping on the couch. Worse yet the family dog. That little fuzz ball slept in his momma’s room. That's how he thought of it now. It once had been both his parents’ room but now…. Ah screw it.

If the dog woke up and started growling he'd get a nagging ear full in the morning and that was something he didn't want to deal with. Quietly as possible he walked down the hall to his room. He turned on the light and noticed on his bed the backpack he used in college. Now it was loaded down with clothes and sundries for his exodus.

In his heated rush to blow this popsicle stand he'd left the backpack here and had given it no thought. He shoved the thing off his bed and turned on his lamp and then walked back over to the light switch by his door and flicked it off.

This done, he attempted to sleep. Now normally he'd read before dozing off but he knew that he'd be unable to concentrate on the book so he skipped that part of his nightly routine. Sleep proved as elusive as that white whale Captain Ahab made all that fuss over.

Try as he might Hunter couldn't fall asleep and that only upset him more. When he finally did drift off it was in a maelstrom of horrible, angry thoughts about God, his family and even himself. Outside the rain began to trickle.

He woke up once to be lulled back to sleep by the sound of heavy rain. When he opened his eyes he crawled out of bed and stepped into the hallway. It was well lit but where was everyone? He heard a rapping on the door that led inside. He opened it and found two of his favorite actresses standing there. Both beautiful blonde women with ample bosoms and wide hips. “What are you doing here?”

“We dropped by to spend the day with you!”

First they ate lunch. He was unsure about where it came from and he didn't give much thought. His hormones were very active and already he felt blood flowing to his crotch causing his manhood to stiffen.

Then they were in his room and already he'd removed his shirt and was pulling up the shirt of one of the actresses. She wore a black lace bra underneath and he began sliding down the shoulder straps. The other actress was already naked and began to kiss him! The other dropped her panties and pressed her nude form against him. He kissed her then she bit him and her companion began biting and clawing!

The humanity slipped away from the women and they morphed into something akin to dryads except they were not nubile forest nymphs; they had bodies of rough bark and arms and legs like the cartoon caricatures of sentient trees.

They tore at Hunter Riley until with a jolt he woke up to thunder and lightning. His body was damp with a cold sweat born of a nightmare. Any sexual stimulation the dream had first provided his body was no more. He sat up for a few minutes, hesitant to go back to sleep. He saw in his mind the dead black tree behind the church and that image made the plant women much more sinister.

Complaining about the interruption of his phantom love making he closed his eyes and was asleep yet again. Outside the storm raged and was building to a crescendo.

Civil War cannons sounded outside his window and the rain pounded his window so hard it sounded like grasshoppers ramming into it. He tossed and turned. He was glad that he was not scheduled to work that following morning. At last he got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen for some water.

Hunter saw his dad standing in the living room. The light was on and so was the boobtube as the meteorologist in Monroe was standing in front of a nasty looking weather map. Hunter stood near his dad who had his jaw set. “This might be a rough one. He said.

“How bad is it?”

His dad pointed to a spot on the map “Calhoun is already getting tornados.”

“Yikes.”

The weather man circled a spot on the radar. “Those of you along Highway 80 and the I-20 corridor you should be heading for your storm shelters. Stay away from windows. Again this storm has already spun twisters in parts of Calhoun and – “

it went on like that for a few more seconds until outside among the cannon shots of thunder was the distant sound of a train. That caused Hunter some anxiety tornadoes were near. “Those of you in Choudrant, Ruston and Rutherford you are probably going lose power in a–”

Yep. Sure enough the lights and television died in an instant. Now in the ominous silence the tempest outside could be heard in its full fury. Once the morning came the extent of the damage could be seen.

Leaves and branches and trash were scattered helter skelter across the yard and a large tree branch had been hurled through the windshield of a certain Toyota Camery. Hunter Riley was immediately sapped of strength. His key to freedom was now a trash heap. That was a repair they couldn't afford which meant he had no more of his own transportation. He was trapped.

The following days passed as they would. The Rileys along with others had no power except for a very noisy generator. To save fuel it was only run at night. Hunter went into work the day after the storm, transported by his dad. Without power there wasn't much to do except clean up. The little shop had taken a beating. This was the year that kept on giving that was for sure.

Eventually power was restored but one day during the outage Hunter retreated to his room, opened up a clear plastic drawer and removed a sketch pad from it. He flipped through it and stared at the characters he'd filled it with. After a few minutes that seemed like hours he put the sketchpad away, shoved the drawer closed & silently grieved for a plan that didn't payout, a dream that like Charlie Brown's love life remained unrequited. He quoted one of the great poets of old, “The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry.”

He was convinced that Rutherford was under the sway of a malevolent force or perhaps more than one that maintained a choke hold on the citizens not letting them and eventually dragging them back if they did. He was an open minded individual and he believed in such things as much as he believed in Jesus. Of course as mentioned earlier, anytime he'd make an inquiry into the town's history after a certain point folks would just clam up. This prevented him from piecing things together. If a dark force did rule the spiritual plane of this Louisiana town it had to have gotten a foothold in it somehow wayback in that past which made folks so uneasy!

There was of course an even more gonzo way to look at this. This particular train of thought would have tickled the fancy of a certain H. P. Lovecrat. What if the town itself was somehow itself the dark force? In the following says Hunter's conviction on the matter would strengthen.

With the world in a state of near isolation due to the pandemic. No one had been to the little old chapel in months. Still Reverend Daniels would give his sermons and broadcast them over the church website & Facebook pages. Following the tornados however the broadcasts were stopped temporarily because like much of the rest of Rutherford the church had been hammered. So Hunter Riley and his dad masked up and drove out the chapel grounds to help Daniels clean up things.

The church only needed minor roof repairs and the good Reverend took that as miraculous because that's what good reverends do of course. Hunter knew he was growing more cynical each day(this had actually been happening for years before any global snafu), but he couldn't help equate miracles to stuff like people rising from the dead or couples unable to have children discovering one day that a bun was in the oven. Maybe the Reverend was right and this was simply a small miracle compared to those others. The bulk of the work was removing trash and tree branches. It was slow going and this was summer time after a storm in Louisiana so the weather was humid and could quickly sap you of energy.

The later part of that day found the three men in the woods behind the church. Yes, those woods. Many a tree had been felled by the fury of the winds and would now be cut up and used as firewood. The old tree still stood though. It still stood in its place like some gnarled, black tumor. It was one of the oldest trees here yet it remained rooted to its place. During a lull in the work Hunter sat down on a newly created log, sipping water so he didn't dehydrate in the summer heat. He felt the pinprick of a mosquito on his upper left arm & he swatted at it. He smiled to himself thinking of how he had dozens of unclaimed children across the State because skeeters use your blood to hatch their eggs.

His jocular respite was broken into by something eerie. He heard a child singing a Sunday school song & that's not the kinda thing a man expects to hear when he's in the woods all his lonesome. He followed the sound to its source. What he saw marked him for the rest of his days. There under the blackened tree was a young girl, a young African-American girl in a style of dress that hadn't been worn for the better part of 100 years. She froliced beneath the tree singing to herself, “The rains came down and floods came up!”

She then stared at Hunter and suddenly her melody was cut off. Her “body” jerked and a strangled gurgling resounded from her then she was gone. The elder men approached and the Riley patriarch saw the look on his son's face. “Hunter, are you alright?”

The young man collected himself. “Reverend, has anyone ever talked of seeing haints around here?”

The Reverend Horace replied in a very stern manner, “Young man I don't know what you saw but let me assure you the only ghost around here is the Holy Ghost!”

Hunter told of what he had seen. The preacher man spoke yet again, Hunter you've obsessed over that tree so long the Devil is using it to mess with your mind. Turn your thoughts back to Heavenly things.”

Hunter nodded. He went back to work frustrated. He'd been frustrated a lot lately and channeled it into lifting the heavy chunks of new born firewood. As the pick up sped toward home Hunter addressed his dad. “I know what I saw!”

“We're not saying you didn't see it. We are saying that Satan made you see it. You know he comes for us cuz we don't follow him.

“You know what the Word says about how he seeks whom he may devour.”

“Fine, I'll pray about it.”

Hunter said nothing else just stared at the passing scenery through his window, a window held in place by mummified newspaper and a wood wedge because the system for rolling it up and down broke years ago.

He didn't speak much of the apparition much after that except to his closest friend who had a balanced view of the paranormal and knowledge of the occult. Hunter wondered how a person could believe in werewolves but not bring himself to believe in God. He was certain that patch of ground had not always been holy. He was up until four on a workday trying to find dope on the town's past. Google searches like all previous inquiries amounted to diddly squat; either he was wrong and there was no secret after all or he was right and it had been swept under the rug very well.

One day a few weeks later Hunter and his dad were talking to an old acquaintance of theirs, Tom Driscoll. They ran into him at the store. Of course they communed behind masks and stayed six feet apart. “Yeah, I'm moving down near Lafayette soon.” He informed them.

Mr. Riley and Mr. Driscoll talked for another half after that about various topics, for this is the customary procedure in the South. “Whatever happened to Chris, Joey Summers’ boy?”

This man referred to by the elder Riley was a high school buddy of his that he hadn't seen in years who was also known by Mr. Driscoll.”

“You didn't hear? He died on a dang hog hunt three years ago.”

“Na! I haven't heard anything from that bunch since that potluck back in 94.”

Finally they parted ways. Later in the day Mr. Riley was doing yard work, Momma was hold up in her room with Becky watching movies, Hunter was on his fifth playthrough of a favorite video game.

At his own home Tom Driscoll was cleaning gutters. The summer heat was beating down and he was an older fellow. He began to grow dizzy and he lost his footing and tumbled off the ladder. His spine shattered on impact and death was at least swift. Once news spread as it so quickly does in the small communities in the South and the Rileys attended the funeral the big question was posed.

It was the same question that is always asked after someone passed away: Why? In his mind Hunter Riley knew why. Tom Driscoll was going to leave the town and the town didn't want him too. He was pretty muchly convinced that some dark secret in the town's bygone past had somehow spiritually festered, giving the town itself some malevolent will of its own or else unleashed something hellish that ruled over the town from the shadows. It would still be many months before he was able to piece the mystery together.

4

Was it late 2021 or early 2022 when things returned to “normal”? He was unsure. For Hunter everything ran together now. The days were monotonous & he wasn't sure how many more he wanted to wake up to. He'd changed over the course of the pandemic. The young man was beat down and broken.

Hunter's hope for the future was a fragile, porcelain vase and it had fallen off the shelf it rested on. It hit the hardwood floor and shattered, the pieces were swept away before they could even be glued back together. He was struggling to not be bitter but it felt like a losing battle.

The young man had been caught up in the middle of an endless barrage of horse pucky–of bickering parents, politics and conspiracies!

Momma and Dad butting heads over petty things was wearing thin. When it wasn't that it was China this, conspiracies that, Democrat that, Republicans this. He heard the same crap over again ad nauseam! He could barely stand to be around his family for an extended length of time because an argument would start or something just as pathetic would assail his peace and he had no way to escape from it, for his car still hadn't been fixed.

He would never be able to escape for very long anyway. Rutherford or whatever controlled it would never let him! There were occasions when he sought the ultimate escape. He took walks when he could and every so often the temptation to step into the path of an oncoming semi would overtake him but Hunter was a stubborn cuss & always resisted.

The young man sought out solace where he could. He wrote some, read books, and was always happy when hunting season rolled around. The forest was peaceful and calm. Even when the hunting was poor he considered it time well spent!

Fortunately he had friends who saw he was in a bad way and not friends miles away in another state. These friends were locals. Once the Covid regs became lax enough four of them absconded with Hunter on an overnight excursion. Momma, who had always played the mother hen a little too well, seemed to forget that her “baby boy” was well into his manhood by now. And expressed several concerns she had about this little overnight trip.

She had done this once before when he was about to head to a friend's birthday party in college. He was far less patient this time and his replies were terse and covered in jagged edges. “No, nobody is going to be drinking anything other than soda pop and water! No, no one is bringing girls along and I know how to leave if I have to!”

“So you'll walk out the woods at night by yourself?”

“Dang right I will! I'll have my phone.”

“Yes but what if you get there and there is no reception? See these are the things you have to think ab–”

At last he could not restrain himself any longer. It wasn't right but he snapped, having become a rubber band stretched too far. He told her something that amounted to “Kiss off!” And he marched out of the house and waited for his friends to pick him up.

It was night and the little clearing was illuminated by a small campfire. In folding lawn chairs sat the quintet, Hunter, his four friends, Joseph, Henry, Dan, and Hoss(his parents really liked old westerns.)

Joseph was a history buff and it was at this moment with the fire casting a strange reflection in his glasses that he helped Hunter Riley complete the puzzle of the town. “Now I'm a f&>÷+ing geek when it comes to history. I know you've had some questions about our little corner of paradise.

“I did some digging at the Library in Ruston. As you well know Lincoln Parish has always had something of an underbelly. Our roads suck, there's a bunch of rich old families, and the entire Parish was pretty much snatched out from under the people it used to belong to hundreds of years ago.”

Yes, this he already knew; he had learned about it during a field trip with his homeschooling co-op. Joseph continued,”Well it turns out Rutherford has a pretty checkered past all its own. Our innocent little God fearing town used to have its own chapter of the Ku Klux Klan.”

That brought a gasp from everyone, especially Dan who was black. “There's more y'all. The Grand Wizard of this chapter was a f&>÷+ing hypocrite named Nathaniel Horace. Yeah he's kin to who you think he is. He was Reverend Horace’s grandpa; he held Klan meetings in that wholesome little chapter.

“Well one night in the 20's he and the rest of those white robed shits drug a whole family out behind the church and strung ’em up like Christmas ornaments.”

He produced a photo from his pocket and handed it to Hunter. “I xeroxed that from the history book I was reading. Do you happen to recognize anything?”

Riley's eyes winded, behind the sinister figures of the klansmen stood…”The Tree!”

“Exactly that creepy ass tree was a hanging tree. You'll notice it was healthier lookin’ then. Well the years passed and one day lightning struck the tree. George Horace the Reverend's father didn't share his dad's views on people who weren't white took that as a sign from above.

“That was when the tree was used by the hunters for those little prayer meetings. As the town grew more diverse they erased the town's racist history. You won't find the book I read in our own library.

“They wouldn't want folks like Dan over here to feel unwelcome. There's a legend that the ghost of the little girl can sometimes be seen near that tree, that no one ever permanently leaves here–outside of a coffin that is–because that family wasn't allowed to leave. That part is hogwash.”

“No it's not!” Hunter exclaimed.

“What are you on about, Bro?” asked a now concerned Henry.

“I've seen the girl. She sang for a little while and then her body jolted before she vanished. It makes sense now. It was the motion of her being lynched. None of us can ever escape!”

The five friends left later that night. Joseph and the rest were deeply concerned now for their friend. They said nothing. What was meant to be a simple history lesson and campfire yarn had convinced Hunter that he had been right all along that the town would forever hold him in its grip.

Riley was now a caged and wonder animal. He longed to escape but now knew he never would. God was on his side sure but he had no Earthly allies. Most of his friends were heathens( though he held out hope for their salvation) and his family didn't believe him they were to divide amongst themselves anyway. Whatever forces were at play here were too powerful and dug in for him to battle alone. He'd be like the armored warrior from his favorite Dungeons and Dragons art: a lone paladin against the combined might of the Abyss.

His life crept by at this petty pace from day to day as was written by the great playwright, William Shakespeare. When not working he continued read comics, played video games or spent hours on end turning out stories of his own that he figured nobody else would ever see. His favorite of these was a lengthy alternate history crime thriller starring fictional versions of himself & his college pals.

Hunter did his best to focus on the positives, like family game nights and fishing with his uncle. But something would always eventually sour the happiness, turning it from a sweet yoohoo in a cold glass bottle into curdled milk left in the sun. Eventually there came a day when this poor, beat down thing that had been Hunter Riley shut himself in his room and almost took the ultimate exit out of the haunted town. He didn't even pick up the hunting rifle which had been a Christmas present many years prior and had at least twice put meat on the table.

Hunter had a tendency to overthink things. What was normally a curse turned into a blessing. He loved his superhero and sci-fi posters. His favorites were the color publicity photos of an actress from the 60's that played a lady crimefighter he'd had a crush on since roughly 2014. Even though he'd be “on the other side” and it wouldn't matter much, he didn't want to mess up his posters or the photos of that beautiful lady in full costume. Plus his friends would miss him.

So in a twist of Providence over thinking, the very thing that led to that moment also caused the moment to pass without a crimson stained incident. However the very fact that Hunter had gotten to that place at all would forever haunt him more than any vengeful spirits this one horse could muster.

5

In time the town did what it always did; it found a way to draw back someone who had left.

This time it was Hunter's aunt on his dad's side. She had lived for years in the Sierra Nevadas in California. She had her eccentricities but she was good as gold. Now she returned to help take care of Grandpa whose health had declined.

One day the two of them took a walk through the cow pasture across the road from the house. Alone with her he told her of all he learned of his town and also his situation. Most of it she guessed already from hanging around her brother and sister-in-law.

“What I don't understand is how you escaped as long as you did.” He said.

“I came back here to take care of Dad not because something shadowy compelled me too. You know why most people spend their whole lives here? It's because of a mindset. Perhaps they're content here, maybe others are like you and have no hope of being anywhere else.

“Besides if Rutherford did have some sort of dark power do you really think it's greater than Jesus? That's fear speaking.

“You've got to get rid of that fear of the unknown and spread your wings and fly. Don't worry about Becky. God’ll watch over her like he does you and me. As for your parents, they're gonna have to sort that crap out for themselves. You can't stay caught in the middle!”

The words were true and a kick in the pants. From that day forward Hunter laid out a very careful plan. Once he had enough money saved up he put in his two weeks notice and began packing what he could. Finally, with the car fixed and loaded up, he drove off into the late afternoon, Oklahoma bound. The deputy stopped him again. “You leaving us again, Hunter?”

“This time Riley stood his ground. “Yes. In fact I am.”

He punched the gas and sped away making sure to keep within the limit. His final act before leaving was his Christian Duty to shine light on the darkness the township had concealed for far too many decades. He found the information expansion tool on the town's official website and related all hechad learned from his friends around the campfire.

The was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky with beautiful pinks and oranges. Hunter looked at that sunset and for the first time in too dang long he felt hopeful.

Mr. and Mrs. Fert lived in a small, mostly quiet, and jocund village with their newborn child. They enjoyed fishing, as well as camping in the nearby village forest. One day, a stranger came into town. The stranger wore a giant dark cloak, always took a slight bow when greeting folks, and carried a small backpack with them. Mr. and Mrs. Fert were polite, and offered their spare free upper level room to the new person in the village. Their guest stood by the front door to their house, and said with a gentle smile: ‘‘Won’t you welcome me in…please..’’ Mr. and Mrs. Fert smiled, and both said: ‘‘Of course. Come on in. You’re welcome here.’’ It was said among most of the village the folks that that was the last day that anyone had seen Mr. and Mrs. Fert alive. Some had concluded that they had been tossed into their giant kiln, and the strange had consumed the whole small family. Other folks had claimed that they believed that the stranger had turned them into teeny tiny little bugs, and then squished them with the heels of his black boots. But oh dear reader just stay tuned and let me tell you what had actually happened on that eventful day!

So, Mr. and Mrs, Fert had invited the stranger into their home. He had carried with him a collection of odd books in his backpack. There was one particular one that looked like it was made out of human flesh. Mr. and Mrs. Fert were no strangers to having strange guests over, or getting to take a sneak peek at what peculiar things they brought with them on their journey. But this book by far was the strangest thing they had ever come across. As soon as that odd looking book had been placed on the dining table, the light from the outside begin to fade. Mr. and Mrs. Fert also started to feel their place becoming much hotter. The stranger began to slowly slip out of his cloak revealing a pair of wings, plus a multitude of human faces -which all seemed to be now screaming- that were placed across the stranger’s back. Mr. and Mrs. Fert were quite shocked to fear. The only thing that they wanted to do at that moment was try to protect their child. Mr. Fert rushed to his kid’s room, and slammed the door behind him. But the stranger just ended up phasing right through it, as if he was some kind of apparition. Mr. and Mrs. Fert were no match for their guest. It pushed Mr. Fert to the side, and waltzed over to the baby’s crib. It’s eyes bulged in disbelief. ‘‘Where is the child?’’ It asked Mr. Fert. The young father burst out laughing, and replied, ‘‘You’ll never find our precious little one. By now my wife should be almost out of this village, and on the way to somewhere safe.’’ The stranger roared in anger, and then slammed Mr. Fert’s body into the walls of the room. His spine snapped from the impact, and his skull had been split, too. The last thing that he saw was the stranger bringing out a giant sword toward Mr. Fert’s face.

https://youtu.be/MA0aCUxItYA?si=dS3EF1PhK-S3A-Nc

#CORVUS 18th February, 2025.

11:58 p.m.

The screen flickers. Grainy resolution, pixels struggling to hold form in the amber glow. A park bench sits crooked in the frame, its iron legs half-sunken into damp soil. Shadows stretch long and jagged, spilling into the empty spaces between paths.

It’s almost beautiful. Almost.

He leans closer, the webcam feed bathing his face in cold blue light. His breath fogs the air in front of him, short and shallow, and the desk beneath his elbows creaks with his weight.

The cursor hovers.

Click.

The camera pans left, motorized and deliberate. Slow enough to tease, to make every inch of revealed darkness feel like a strip being peeled away.

He knows this spot. Walked it a hundred times, mapping the rhythms of its silence. The park lives in his head like a second home—each bench, every lamp, all the exits carved into his memory like a map of inevitabilities.

11:59 p.m.

Movement.

It’s small, insignificant, like a moth flickering in the corner of the frame, but his pulse quickens anyway. He drags the camera back, snapping it into focus.

There.

A figure.

They’re pacing beneath the lamppost, their shadow stretching ahead of them like an obedient dog. A woman, maybe mid-30s, bundled against the cold in a coat too thin for December. Her hands are stuffed into her pockets, head down, her steps uneven and restless.

He smiles.

The screen renders her in shades of gray, her features smudged and soft, but there’s something in the way she moves. Like she doesn’t belong here, her body out of sync with the park’s rhythm.

He knows the type.

They always come here for the same reason.

She stops. Looks up. Her face catches the light—brief, blurred, barely enough to form an image—but his breath hitches anyway.

Her lips move. A small puff of breath escapes, visible even in the low-quality feed, and he tilts his head, imagining the sound of her voice. Soft, maybe. A little hoarse.

12:01 a.m.

She sits.

Sinks onto the bench, her silhouette slumping forward as her elbows rest on her knees. She pulls something from her pocket—a phone, its screen glowing brighter than the surrounding lamps—and the reflection paints her face with fleeting clarity.

He leans closer. The chair beneath him squeals, a sound swallowed by the static hiss of the webcam feed.

Her eyes flick toward the camera.

He freezes.

The moment passes. She’s looking through it, not at it, her attention somewhere beyond the lens. Her fingers swipe across the phone screen, her face painted in shifting shadows.

She doesn’t know he’s there.

He exhales.

12:03 a.m.

The camera pans wider, its mechanical hum grinding against the quiet. He scans the empty paths, the motionless trees, the parked cars beyond the gates.

No one else.

The smile returns.

Click.

He locks the camera back on her. It’s a game now, the kind where the rules don’t exist. The kind where the winner gets to write the ending.

She stands again. Her body language is taut, uncertain, like she’s waiting for something that won’t come. Her phone dangles from one hand, her head swiveling as if she’s searching for a sign.

His fingers tighten on the mouse.

12:05 a.m.

The feed crackles, pixels distorting her shape, stretching her into something unnatural for the briefest moment. He slams the desk, and the screen steadies again.

She’s walking now. Back the way she came, her pace quickening, her shadow chasing her down the path.

The camera doesn’t follow her. It can’t. Its reach stops at the edge of the frame, the park gates cutting her off like a severed limb.

He stares at the empty screen.

The lamppost flickers, once, twice, and then the image stabilizes again.

He shifts back in his chair, his knuckles cracking as his hands flex and relax. His breathing is steady now, a low tide rolling in under the surface of his chest.

12:07 a.m.

He closes the tab. The screen goes black, reflecting his face in sharp angles and dull eyes.

His mind fills in the rest. The park’s rhythm, her unsteady gait, the precise distance between her last known position and where he waits.

She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s already his.

12:10 a.m.

He grabs his coat.

The knife waits on the counter by the door, gleaming faintly under the eager light. He pockets it with practiced ease, the weight of it a reassurance.

The park is only five minutes away.

Enough time to let the silence stretch.

I had to lay low

the police were close

i tightened the floorboards

and held tightly to my hopes

but after a few months

nothing.

no interrogation

no questions

so the gig is back on

think I should mention

there's no bias

no hatred

do i relish it? yes

but people love my films

and some have done a lot more for a lot less

no children are involved

just the greedy and the stupid

but i'm the only one who sees

that only i could do it

others couldn't be Robin Hood

others would get lazy

others would get sloppy

others are crazy

but i'm doing it right

i'm making art

and now that i'm safe

i can finally start

again