Small Town Dead End

Copyright (c) 2019 Stephen J. Semones All rights reserved. Unauthorized copying or duplication of this work is strictly prohibited. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, copying, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission from the publisher (Millenia Press) or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. www.stephenjsemones.com ******************************************************************************************************************************************* The blog was going good. Well, good was an understatement. Eric Myers had monetized his blog and was finally reaping the benefits. It was his article Small-Town Monsters that really pushed things over the edge. The biting look at corruption within the City Council of New Bound, Virginia exploded within the local news outlets. Within days a police investigation was conducted and three council members had resigned. s*x, drugs, and politics were the theme of the story, something he actually overheard while visiting a local restaurant. He found it humorous a burger and fries, as well as a booth near the corner exit, helped break the story of his career. He didn't remember if the burger was any good, but he recounted his detailed eye-witness account of a methamphetamine-fueled Councilman Beatty and his mistress was definitely worth the cost of the meal. Eric had been writing his blog about small-town events in New Bound for nearly five years. He wrote about events, local eateries, roads not being fixed, and whether or not the small auditorium should have monthly concerts. It wasn't anything one would call investigative reporting, however, he got the occasional spike in readership when the local television station picked up his story and credited him. It wasn't a living until the Small-Town Monsters article broke national headlines, giving him an excuse to leave his job at the failing furniture plant he had worked at for nearly a decade. During the day Eric would wake at 5am, be at work by seven, and be home by five to write on his blog. He lived in an old apartment above a clothing store on the main street of the downtown district of New Bound, a one-room studio that he could barely afford. The blog had been a way to gain extra money, putting his journalism degree to some kind of use. Since no local newspaper would hire him, and he wanted to stay in the area because of his mother and her erratic health issues, Eric felt stuck. Well, until Small-Town Monsters became the article that helped break his career. It had been nearly six months since that article became a national headline, and now his blog readership had grown over one-thousand percent. Whenever he wrote about the newest ice-cream shop hitting town, he got hundreds of messages from people thanking him for his recommendation. Now, he had businesses all over giving him free food, tickets, clothing, or whatever they offered just to write about them. He had boxes of freebies he hadn't even used yet. He didn't miss the splinters from sanding chairs and tables, and now had the ability to really dig into stories. He didn't want to just cover business openings, but instead wanted to really get his hands dirty and get the best stories. He had received a few offers from news outlets, a few papers and a television station, but wanted to remain independent now. His success had given him the ability to sell his stories to the highest bidder, which was something he never dreamed he could do. His mother's health tied him to New Bound, but his ability to travel for short periods of time was now an option. Outside of the fame, Eric Myers lived a fairly normal life. It was quiet and he liked it that way. He was approaching forty, had no wife, children, or significant other, and was just now feeling like his career was going good. He kept to himself, would sleep most of the morning and spend most of the day reading the local papers and watching news to get ideas. He would publish a new blog entry every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday unless it was a special edition. So, most of his entries were written a day or two in advance and set to automatically publish at specific times. If he found he had nothing interesting to write about, he would dip into one of his banked stories, which were articles he had written about New Bound, the state of Virginia, or some other bland topic and just publish it. Eric looked at his watch and saw he had about fifteen minutes to make his meeting. It wasn't far from his apartment, but the late night appointment made him curious. He had received a cryptic email earlier in the day that only said: Murders are happening. Tonight, meet me at 12:30. Bay Street Park- by the three statues. Come alone. Eric had heard of a few disappearances lately, but didn't really think too much of them. In fact, since the world was so connected with social media, he figured this isn't as uncommon as it once was. Before, we just weren't a connected society, so now it just felt commonplace. The only thing that did concern him was there had been a body found about two weeks prior- a homeless man who had been ripped apart. The police chalked it up to some sort of wild animal, possibly a bobcat, and closed the case. Now, he wondered if there could be more to it. Then again, this could be another boy-who-cried-wolf situation he had encountered since his blog became widely read. The amount of people sending him topics to write about was astronomical, so he had to just delete them and move on. This email was different. In fact, it had come to him encrypted with the return email as none@none.com. Someone knew how to cover their digital footprints and it made Eric more curious than usual. After leaving his apartment, he checked the time on his phone as he walked toward the park. It was about six blocks to Bay Street, a walk he had made numerous times over the years. This walk, however, was different. Eric was nervous and he didn't know why. He felt those nervous butterflies flitting around in his stomach. He felt uneasy, as if the anticipation of his random meeting could be more than some wild goose chase. Sure, it could be nothing and some kid could have pranked him and when he shows up, he gets shot with paintballs or something, but he didn't feel it was that. He felt like, no, he wanted there to be more to it. He didn't want people to die, but if they were, he wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to stop it. He wanted... the readers. Eric didn't normally carry a weapon with him, but tonight was different. With the unsettling email sending his mind to numerous places, some good and some bad, he felt it was best to take precautions. So, in addition to his digital recorder, his phone, and notepad, he tucked a small 9 millimeter in his pants. He had purchased it years prior after some kids broke into his apartment and trashed the place. It made him feel safe. After a few weeks, the gun ended up in a drawer and he only remembered it when he went looking for something in the same cabinet and stumbled across it. Now, though, he felt like it couldn't hurt to be cautious. After bringing down the City Council ring of s*x and drug abuse, he did receive threats. Mainly they were from family members who were just placing their anger on the wrong person, but they stopped soon after the nationwide outlets began reporting the story. The park was quiet except for the cicada. They croaked a song of primal nature, one which Eric would never understand. He strolled along the concrete pathway toward the area with the statues. The park wasn't very large, but parts of it were secluded. The main entrance had a large archway where teenagers would occasionally hang out and smoke pot. The backside of the archway was tagged with various spray paints and chalks, letting the world know who had been there and who was in love with whom. The rest of the park had picnic areas, namely a few tables spread out across the area, and a small creek running through a portion. Past the creek, and across the small, wooden footbridge, were three statues. The bronze figures stood nearly fifteen feet in the air and oversaw the entire park. They were a monument to the three men who founded New Bound in 1902. They were brothers, all sharing the last name Bound, who came to the area with their families. Soon, more people joined them and Bound, Virginia turned into New Bound about three decades later. Now, very few know the history of the city and even less care about it. Eric saw the statues grow in size as he got closer to the rendezvous point. He was right on time, checking his phone, as he approached the statues. He felt the handgun, easing some of his worry. He looked around and, other than the streetlights from a hundred yards away, and the moon overhead, he was in one of the darker areas of the park. He leaned up against the center statue and scoped the area. He heard the cicadas still singing their song and the mellow babble of the creek, but nothing else. Had he been stood up? Where were the teenagers with paintball guns? After ten minutes, Eric felt his blood start to boil. This had been a complete waste of time. He turned to walk the way he came and heard someone clear their throat. He stopped suddenly, the hair on his neck standing straight up. Something unnerved him to his core. It was the way they cleared their throat, as if they were commanding him to stop and return. He turned back to the statues and saw a figure standing in the shadows beside the tall, bronze brothers. "Who's there?" Eric called out, placing his hand near where he had the handgun tucked away. No one answered. They stood, watching him. “What do you want?” Eric said, unmoving. Again, no one spoke. The shadowy figure did not move. It stared directly at him. He could see the small reflection of their eyes, as if a small sliver of light struck them perfectly so he could see them looking back at him. He drew the gun and held it at his side. “I'm armed,” Eric called out, unsure of why he would announce such a thing. “I'll shoot.” The figure moved, ever so slowly, toward Eric. He saw the shadowy figure raise its arms to show it meant no harm. He felt spooked, as if someone was playing a morbid and dangerous game with him. He didn't like it, but his curiosity wouldn't let him leave. He had to know what all of this was about. He watched as the shadow stepped into the light. It was an older man. He saw the man was wearing a hat, some type of fancy fedora with wisps of white hair hanging out at random places. He looked somewhat frightened, yet calm. He was dressed fairly nice, his wool pea coat covering what he assumed was a button-up shirt and tie. He wore nice trousers and his expensive shoes were slightly dirty. Eric gave the man a second glance and then realized he knew who the man was. “I know who you are,” Eric said. He gripped the gun tightly, unsure of why the mayor of New Bound would be standing directly in front of him. Had he sent the email? What was going on? Eric's mind fired off a thousand questions before settling on one. “What do you want?” The man lowered his arms. He gave a half-hearted smile. “What I'm about to tell you is going to change everything you know about this town. I called out to you because of your article. I feel like after the conspiracy you unearthed, you'll want to dig deeper. There's more going on than you realize. What you saw was on the surface. There's more. Much more.” “Why are you telling me this?” “Because I don't trust anyone. As soon as I tell you what I'm about to tell you, something is going to happen.” “Mayor Williams, I don't understand,” Eric said. “People are dying-” “People die every day. What's this have to do with me?” Eric interrupted. “They're going to take over the town. I'm the last one who isn't one of them?” “Who?” “Them...” The mayor suddenly looked terrified, as if he was scared for his life. The man looked around, as if he were being watched. Eric looked around and saw nothing. “Who?” Eric repeated. “There's an evil in this town, an ancient evil...” Eric wanted to laugh. This had to be some kind of joke. “I think I've heard enough,” Eric said. “Have a good night, Mayor. Try to lay off the bottle, okay?” Eric turned to leave and saw something move from the corner of his eye. It slithered across the ground toward the mayor. He followed its origin it and saw it disappeared into the darkness. The end of it darted toward Mayor Williams. It was some sort of tentacle, about the size of a garden hose. “Look out,” Eric said, but it was too late. The tentacle whipped into the air and wrapped around the mayor's throat. The man tried to scream but nothing escaped. The horrified look of death filled his eyes as he stared directly at Eric. He grabbed at the tentacle, the rope-like appendage of some unseen entity, but it was no use. It had its grip and wasn't letting go. Eric raised his gun and fired at the direction of where the tentacle came from but nothing happened. The brownish green rope jerked and thrashed the mayor back and forth violently. Eric fired again, but saw nothing to shoot at. He stopped and turned back just in time to see the mayor quickly hit the ground and slide into the shadows. Seconds later, he was alone. The park was quiet once again. Eric stared at the darkness where the mayor had disappeared and saw nothing. He waited, feeling his heartbeat in his face as tried to see anything at all. Nothing. The distant sirens became closer and Eric realized he had to leave. He just fired numerous bullets in a public park in the middle of the night. He possibly saw the mayor die. He didn't want to be around when the police arrived. Eric turned and ran.