[TW: Violence]
She was among a group of theorists who confined their thoughts to a screen.
We’re currently picking our way through the oldest, salvaged computer belonging to her friend and posting these Entries as we uncover them. We believe there are 8; we have not tampered with them in any way.
We will let their words speak for themselves.
Please help us find her.
Please come home, Autumn.
We are ready to forgive you.
--
Entry 0 - First Words:
[Hello to whoever this winds up in front of. Sorry for the impending rant, but I feel this context will be important moving forward]
My Uncle’s bunker has proven itself as an impressive mancave and beyond what I thought he was capable of making. It’s quickly become our go-to hangout and the base for our investigation. He was a man of many secrets so I doubt he built it on his own and I doubt we’ve seen all it has to offer.
He was also a paranoid man, a believer of the supernatural, and under the impression that something ‘evil’ was in our town. His obsessions were always subtle, until recently, and never a hindrance to our relationship.
I wish I’d asked him more questions and I wish I knew where he damned was.
As of this morning, he’s vanished, leaving only some coerced, frantic research and a little box I haven’t dared to open.
The words he scribbled on it don’t sit well with me, or the other five people down here sleeping amidst our notes and conspiracy wall.
I’ve been looking at what the others have put to paper and decided that the bunker’s computer, although a dinosaur, will make for a great diary. I hope that, at some point, I can move these Entries to a drive and then post them online once I get access to a computer very far away from town.
We don’t trust the internet here.
I’ve also shown the others how to work it, how to find this all, write their own and how to transfer it to USBs. They can then upload it themselves in the event I don’t.
Or can’t.
I’ve also got an old electronic organiser (if anyone remembers those - think of it as a digital journal) so I can draft some notes on the go before fleshing them out here.
Hopefully, my Uncle’s paranoia has finally been good for something and that this is all secure.
Moving on, I think the best way to log this is to recount the last few days until I’m caught up to where I am now (The 29th). That way we’ll have something to refer back to, check details, edit things if need be etc.
Then tomorrow can reel its ugly head around the corner.
But first, I need to start with a girl; the one who mostly opened our investigation.
Autumn Pines, you are my friend and I love you, and I don’t know when you’re going to read this, but you have thrown us neck deep in some weird shit.
Thanks to you, we all believe that if our compiled scrambled papers have any weight, and our eyes still work, then a Cult has moved into Maple Croak. We don’t know how long they’ve been here. I don’t want to know. And, as far as we’re aware, they don’t suspect that anybody is onto them. Yet.
We also know their name - The Faceless.
Autumn promises she knows where we can learn more and get some concrete answers. I don’t like where her head is at. How she has the enthusiasm for this astounds and scares me.
I’d like to think we’re wrong. That the disturbed things I struggle to unsee can be explained and rationalised. And no offence Autumn, but for once, I want you to be wrong too - wrong the most, in fact. That, like my Uncle, you’re just paranoid and that, in your pursuit of a headline story, you’re chasing a damn fantasy, an obsession, and dragging us all with you.
Yet as bitter as it is to think about, I know you’re not. You’re not crazy and neither was he, or any of us; we can’t be.
The only difference is that, unlike him, we haven’t been caught.
I chalk it up to luck. Pretty soon, it’ll run out.
--
Entry 1, July 27th - Homecoming:
I awoke to the Texan voice of Chuck Brinsky over the radio rattling on, as he did every morning, about how wonderful our not-so-little Oregon town was.
You could describe Maple Croak as the end of the line. The final stop a coach has to divert to after following a narrow cliff-side path, that bleeds into thick woods, to arrive at our pocket of land. An isolated edge looking out at the water; overlooked itself by a backdrop of forest and far distant mountains.
Those woods then almost arc around our town (looks like a backwards ‘r’ shape on a map). If it wasn’t for the port, we’d be surrounded by oaks and thick maple trees.
We could once pride ourselves as a sea-side town, with a thriving fishing industry, and the safety net of some ancient, sealed mines to fall back on for business. Now, our port is closed and almost stripped bare. I can’t remember the last time I saw a boat out in the ol’ blue, or a boat at all, or even saw the lighthouse on. Our town’s questionable Mayor had found another way to make money.
Some shady investors from a big city set their sights here with a dream, cost cuts, and a construction firm. I’m not going to pretend to understand how it works, but I know what greased palms and a fat bag of money look like.
It was suffocating. The only way in and out of town now was a bridge, over a long and wide ravine of weak flowing water, that shuddered as trucks and diggers steamrolled over it. They went far north, carving a path through the woods and got to work on building an eyesore.
Chuck always explained it best.
“Despite some unexpected rain, construction on Maple Croak’s very own shopping mall develops nicely.“ Chuck said over some static as I slithered out of bed and into the bathroom. The man is a broken record. “I can speak for myself, and a few of y’all, at how exciting it was to see a News Crew on our clean streets a week back. Not too long now until our fair, honest commune gets a whole lot livelier. Just remember to be kind to strangers when they come on through.”
He leaned closer to his microphone.
“Especially if they try snaking our jobs.” He then chuckled to himself, and I’m sure a dozen listeners joined him. He waffled on a little longer before playing a song I couldn’t hear over the shower.
Afterwards, I looked myself up and down in my mirror, spraying all manner of deodorant. I grabbed my relic of a Sharp Wizard, a hoodie, and my keys, then opened the blinds to get flash-banged by a ray of sun.
We lived in the westward area, where the trees and brush start to fuse with concrete, in the poor part of town. A word our beloved radio host and Mayor felt was about to be made redundant.
Besides paint peeling off some bricks, a few rotting fences, and one too many black trash bags, this street was home. As it has been for 18 years.
Some kids played on their bikes, racing up and down the paths, enjoying the remaining freedom of Summer break. Folks walked their dogs, laid deckchairs out, and watered plants. Not a worry in the world.
It’s as cookie-cutter and ignorant as a neighbourhood can be.
My phone then buzzed.
Autumn: 30 mins away, taxi boy <3
Despite the week-long conversations we’d had prior, I felt joy seeing those words. I replied to her text quickly and then navigated the cramped upstairs hallways, hopped down the stairs, and brushed through the rest of our house to reach the kitchen.
Portraits and photos still watch me from the walls and tabletops. My Uncle had long since removed any image of my dad from the house, leaving only the smiles of me and my mother.
Then I heard that very same Uncle muttering his usual gibberish in his study. I was curious and intrigued at what cryptid he’d be studying now, or what conspiracy video rotted his brain.
To my surprise, I saw him using an old-fashioned radio system from within his personalised workroom, at the end of a hallway. The thing was a relic, an antique, and supposed to be broken, yet there he was having a conversation with it. A one-sided chat I felt I was intruding on.
He leaned over his desk amidst a few invoices and other files, one hand cupping a headphone over his ear while the other rested in his developing grey hair.
He was distressed.
“You still there, White Diamond?” It took a few agonising moments before he got a response. “Yeah, I know that-” He then began softly. Whoever he was talking to interrupted him.
I made sure to keep quiet as I approached and leaned in his doorway. Inaudible orders barked from the headphones. I’d seen odd, hobbyist behaviour from my Uncle before, made evident by the posters, collectables, drawings and other weird stuff that meticulously decorated his study, but this felt different; more private.
“I’ve given you enough, I think. The risk would be-”
The orders continued, interrupting him again. I could see him rub his temples before he scribbled some notes down.
“You could always do it yourself… yeah, fuck you too, kid. What’re you gonna do when she comes knocking on your door because she-” The line cut off.
My Uncle sagged in his chair with a defeated sigh. It was clearly not his first argument with his radio stranger. I wondered how many other early morning chats I’d missed between them.
He then saw a shape in the reflection of a smudged whiskey glass, nearly jumped out of his skin, and then swivelled round to face it with a frightened look. He relaxed when he saw it was only his nephew and put a hand on his chest.
“Fucking hell, Lucas…” His face slowly turned into a relieved smile. “You enjoy scaring the shit out of me?”
I smiled too, only a little.
“How long have you had that fixed?” I asked, gesturing to his radio setup.
He composed himself quickly and calmly.
Ready to lie to my face.
“Ah, about a week now.”
“And who’s White Diamond?”
“Some bitch of a client who refuses to use a phone. More paranoid than me.” He slowly stood up, reminding me how tall and broad and worn he was. “Never become a carpenter, ya’ hear.”
I nodded as he hobbled his way to reach his cane, his wooden hip and false leg squeaking slightly. He then curiously checked his watch.
“You’re up early. Bonnie called you in for a shift?”
I shook my head.
“It’s Friday,” I said with a grin.
“Friday?” He pondered the word, slinging it back and forth in his head until the realisation hit him. “Oh shit!” He shuffled his way out of the room and darted into the kitchen at a pace I thought impossible for him. “That’s on me, I’m sorry. God, I didn’t pack you kids lunch or anything.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive, Unc.” I half-joked.
I watched him scour cabinets and cupboards until he found a four-pack of dry beers.
“Well, at least take these. Been saving them for a rainy day.”
His smile was genuine and sweet. I didn’t have the strength to tell him I’d need much more.
“Thanks, Unc,” I said, taking his gift.
“And you tell that little miss she’s welcome here anytime.”
“You sure her Mom’s gonna be okay with that?”
He scoffed.
“You can sweet talk her. I’m sure.”
I then hugged him goodbye. He’s a very awkward man to embrace.
“And don’t forget the curfew!” He said, a little too concerned, as I slipped away and made my way to the door. “Police are hounding everyone out late.”
“I won’t.”
“And stay out of the woods. They’re hounding that too.”
“Yes sir.”
“And-“
“Don’t talk to skinwalkers? Pack a tinfoil hat?”
“Oh, you’re very funny today, huh?”
We smiled at each other as I opened the door.
“I’ll see you later, Unc. Love ya’.”
“…Ew.”
I laughed and stepped out of the house where I was hit by a wave of energising, warm air.
I waved to a couple of neighbours, and exchanged some late-morning greetings, before dumping the pack of beer in the back seat of my car and then setting off for the drive ahead.
The neighbourhood became a blur, then a woodland road, and quickly turned into the peaceful streets of town. I knew every corner of this local-owned town, every face, yet as I stopped at a red light near our town’s square, and my eyes gazed out to the distant empty sea, I saw something rare amidst our clean, prided community.
A public argument.
It was far, but I could distinctly make out the two figures bickering on the steps of the Town Hall - the Mayor’s Office. One was Mayor Crimley himself, a bulbous egg-shaped man snug in a tailored suit too small to contain him. He gestured aggressively with his hands, pointing off into the distant woods.
The other man was Bentley, our town’s Reporter. His red jacket stood out like a sore thumb. His material on our blog and newspaper had grown incredibly tame as of late; almost entirely dedicated to the development of the Mall. He too gestured wildly, clearing angry or upset about something.
A small crowd festered around the two, including a policeman on standby, and before my curiosity could go any further the light turned green.
The sight quickly faded from my mind as it disappeared from the rearview mirror.
I drove through the rest of town, for about 15 minutes, until I passed the last building and was greeted by a long stretch of wild road. I could see our town’s welcoming sign at the top of a small hill, guarded by a patrol car whose driver gave me a nod as I passed him, that read: Sorry to see you go. But we know you’ll come back
Complimented by a cartoonish, winking maple leaf character.
I exaggerated earlier in my descriptions. Maple Croak has no coach stop. At least, not in the town itself. Instead, it’s just beyond the borders - at the start of a long bridge that stretches over an alarmingly longer ravine created by some old flood. After another 5 minutes of driving through a glow of amber sunlight, broken up by an encompassing army of trees, I reached and crossed that bridge.
Our only passageway to the outside world.
I pulled over on a dirt path, with the coach stop to my right, and watched the leaves ebb and flow. Some of the trees here are large and thick maple trees. Their leaves have slowly started to turn red early this year, almost casting red hues over chunks of forest and parts of the road.
It’s beautiful. Yet sometimes, later in the Fall and if the light is right, it looks like the damn sky has gone crimson.
I then waited.
Until a coach emerged from around a rocky corner and dropped off a single passenger.
I’ll admit, my heart had begun to race a little in anticipation.
Almost a year had gone by since I’d seen the girl I’d grown up with. The naive, goodie two-shoes, rulebook following dickhead. I’d expected a semester of college would’ve maintained the girl I knew; moulding her into a sophisticated, young woman that would’ve outgrown me and become wiser to my pestering. I was expecting a backpack-towing bookworm, dressed like an old librarian.
I was almost right.
A cotton sweater, a pair of chinos, a satchel and some sunglasses sat nicely on her freckled face. Her long auburn, almost ginger hair draped past her shoulders.
The only difference was her frame. She’d gotten taller and puberty had suddenly hit her like a fucking train.
She reached me in a heartbeat. She was giddy with a controlled excitement as I rolled down the window. I could see the enthusiasm and joy of the person I remembered, buried under early adulthood.
“Oh hey there, taxi boy,” Autumn said sweetly with a smile, leaning on the window frame.
“Oh hey there, supermodel.”
I looked her up and down and she laughed, snaking her way around the car, swinging the door open, and firmly planting herself in the seat. I had no time to react as I was wrapped in a bone-crunching bear hug and then watched in disbelief as she plopped her feet on the dashboard while pulling out her phone.
“So I was texting Barn. He’s at the cafe, but could you stop by my folks first-“
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She paused, looking at her shoes.
“Resting my feet on your dash?”
This was new. Subtle, yet strikingly uncharacteristic.
“I can see that.”
“Great, your eyes work! Can we go?”
“Yes, boss.” I chuckled and, without another word, turned the car around.
The drive back felt longer. I asked her about her course, teased her about crushes, while she interrogated me on how Maple Croak fared in her absence.
I can’t articulate into words how much I’d missed her. And yet, it’d never felt like she’d left.
She threw a few various questions my way. How’s your Uncle? The Mall’s not done, seriously? The port’s closed. Like, forever?
I answered them as best I could.
Only our last conversation was worth noting.
“Oh, and there’s a curfew now too. Everyone off the streets by eleven and a whole lotta woods are taped off.” I said.
“The fuck? Why?”
“Gas leak caused the apartments to go under.“
“The ones up the north road? What about the people living there?” There was a spark in her eyes as her interest peaked. She always loved a story.
Her question was answered as we rounded a bend and were confronted by a dishevelled homeless man trudging along the road, clad in draping black clothes, pushing a shopping cart full of firewood. I slammed my foot on the brakes and cursed under my breath. The man didn’t even flinch, let alone react.
“They mostly turned into that.” I gritted.
“Christ.” She leaned her head out the window. “Are you okay, sir?!”
The man gave her no response, muttering some phrase that we couldn’t hear, as he pushed his trolley to the treeline and disappeared into the fold - likely to join his fellow, drugged-up woodland inhabitants.
“Clean and honest streets, my ass,” Autumn said to herself. “What’re you doing, Crimley?” She pulled a little black journal out of her satchel, as I continued our drive, and jotted some notes down with an attached pen.
“You still have that thing?”
“Yeah, of course. Sorry, I’m not modern like you yet.”
I felt for my Sharp Wizard in my hoodie pocket. I then eyed her journal again as it returned to her satchel.
“You heard from him?” I asked slowly as we passed the wholesome welcoming sign of Maple Croak.
Autumn looked out the window, deep in thought.
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked.“
“It’s fine.”
We carried on in a brief, awkward silence through the streets until she spoke again.
“I haven’t… but thank you.”
I smiled as more mundane questions came my way. We eventually turned the radio on and our car ride returned to normalcy as we reached the southern neighbourhood where Autumn’s home quickly came into view.
We could see the port more clearly here as we drove in - a distant, rundown skeleton housing several warehouses and empty construction vehicles, overlooked by a far, towering dead lighthouse.
It was the furthest thing from Autumn’s focus. Her eyes were fixated on her parents who stood in their open drive with a simple Welcome Home sign.
She didn’t even wait for me to park properly before she bound out of the car and sprung into her mother’s open arms, kicking her feet.
Katherine Pines looked as impeccable as always - we would expect nothing less from the Mayor’s pristine secretary. The only flaw in her perfect complexion and attire was an ugly grey cast clamped around her right arm, decorated with signatures and doodles.
Michael Pines, however, was the polar opposite to his wife. Still dressed in a morning gown and slippers, his glazed eyes slowly met his daughter as she approached him. For lack of a better word, the man looked dopey. Instead of clamping him in a hug, Autumn instead rested one hand on his shoulder and the other over his chest as she greeted him in a hush, loving tone. He smiled and nodded down at her.
I don’t think he was entirely sure who she was.
Katherine eyed me as I approached. Not a look of scorn, but not one of appreciation either.
“Driving under the speed limit I hope, young man.” She exclaimed as she tucked the Welcome Home sign away before crossing her arms (as best she could) over her chest.
“How’s your arm, Kat?” I asked, ignoring her comment.
“Still there. How’s your Uncle?”
“I think he’s ready to talk if you are.” I leaned on their fence.
Katherine scowled, but before she could open her mouth her daughter appeared at her side.
“Can we talk inside?” She then turned to me. “I’ll be ten minutes-”
“Ten minutes?!” Katherine said. “That’s all we get?!”
“Is that a minute for each month?” Michael’s weary voice asked as he already reached the porch steps of their home. Autumn laughed as her mother rolled her eyes with a sigh.
“I’ll be home later; you can bore me then. I just wanna-“ Autumn gestured to me “-y’know.”
“We get fifteen.” She then looked at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Yes ma’am.”
And with that, I watched the Pines family step into their household and then observed Katherine’s demanded 15 minutes slip away through a large living room window. They hugged some more, raved about life, and laughed; I think Autumn cried too at one point.
Part of me felt solemn at the sight. A harsh reminder of what a normal, loving family is supposed to look like inside their home.
Autumn then returned to me, having discarded her satchel but keeping her journal in one pocket, as her mother watched from the doorway.
“I want her home before eleven!”
I saluted her and the two of us returned to my car.
“Sorry, she’s a bitch.”
“Eh, she’s hot. I’ll forgive her.”
I felt the wrath of a hundred men as Autumn punched the ever-loving shit out of my shoulder, with a smile and another laugh.
“Dick.”
With that, we headed back into town. We barely made it down one busier street before Autumn requested that we stop and, seeing the clear blue sky, walk the rest of the way.
“What’d you talk about? Your folks?” I asked as she adjusted her sunglasses in a shop window.
“Just boring parent stuff. The usual.”
“They haven’t heard from him either, have they?”
“No…No, they haven’t.”
“Did you wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.” She sighed.
“Well, if you do-“
“I know-”
Passing by the hustling and bustling townsfolk, one soul recognised her with an acclaimed squeal so loud it stung our ears.
A little blonde girl skipped over, with her alarmed father not too far behind, whose big brown eyes beamed up at a startled Autumn.
“I thought that was you! How long have you been back?!” The girl said, disregarding me like I didn’t exist.
“Tina?” Autumn asked, recognising the young lass from a favourable babysitting job.
“In the flesh!”
Almost like Autumn’s father, her eyes seemed slightly distant and distracted. It didn’t stop her from wrapping Autumn in a hug.
“You can walk?!” Autumn stammered.
Tina nodded proudly as her father reached us and pressed a hand on her shoulder.
“Doctors fixed me right up!” She then turned to her father. “Dad! Look who it is!”
Tina’s father gave us a wave, and a brief apology for allowing his child to run up on us like some paparazzi, before the two of them left to continue their day with heartfelt goodbyes and a promise to see us again.
“I thought she was in a wheelchair?” Autumn asked me once they were out of earshot.
All I could give her was a disinterested shrug. And, as quickly as the curveball had been thrown at us, it became just an odd memory in our day.
But it would not be the last.
Soon, the cafe came into view. A sizable pink and white, glamorously decorated building at the end of one street.
‘Hearties’
I think ‘Cavities’ would be a better name.
A familiar figure then caught my eye as we trekked towards it: Bentley, standing outside his somewhat rundown one-storey office across the road.
A couple of pristine newspaper stands were embedded against one wall - a striking contrast when compared to the building they were attached to.
He was talking to someone I’d never seen before. A young woman, with short red hair, who noted down almost every word he said in a little green book. She was an outsider and, judging from her attitude and composure, gave off city vibes.
The woman then produced a handheld recorder from her jeans and subtly nodded towards the door, gesturing him to step inside his office. But Autumn reached them before then, her eyes were wide with curiosity and intrigue as she produced her own journal - the attached pen dangled from a chain.
Bentley spotted her immediately and a massive, but pained smile beamed across his face.
I positioned myself beside the newspaper stands, taking a glance at their front pages.
Shopping Mall this; Shopping Mall that, with almost no variety. There was a one-off mention of Mr & Mrs Winters (we’ll get to them) and their latest high-class, money-fueled activity. And an even smaller mention of our Librarian who, up until seeing that paper, I had no idea had been missing for 2 days.
“You’ve gotten taller!” Bentley said. He looked exhausted, with thick dark circles under his eyes.
“And you look like shit, Ben. How’s-” Autumn began to ask him hopefully.
“Excuse me, who’re you? We were talking.” The young woman spoke up.
“Technically we’d finished, Piper,” Bentley said, looking back at his mildly frustrated interviewer. “And this here is Autumn Pines, daughter of a dear friend.”
Autumn offered a hand to Piper and she slowly shook it.
“And this here’s Piper - curious, fellow Reporter who’s taken an interest in our not-so-little home.” Bentley continued.
“You’re that secretary’s girl. Think you could get me in a room with her?”
“You wanna talk to my Mom?”
“Not so much your Mom; more your Mayor. I have some queries.”
“Such as?”
I leaned further into the wall with a sigh, praying this wouldn’t take long.
“Such as why you have a bunch of homeless people skittering around your woods, and no one seems to want to do anything about it? Or why your town is so hard to find online? Or-“
“You don’t need to bother the girl with that shit, Piper.” Bentley interrupted, despite the fact Autumn was keenly making notes in her journal. Piper almost looked interested. “You just got home, right?” He then asked Autumn. “How’d your little dip into academic journalism treat you?”
“You hiring?” She asked back, earning a chuckle.
Piper checked her watch.
“Bentley, I’m sure you can interrogate your young friend another day. Can we hurry this up?” She pointed at his office door with her thumb as she shook her handheld recorder.
Bentley sighed, taking another look at Autumn and nodded. He exaggeratedly offered her a hand and, when she shook it, he vigorously clasped both his hands around hers.
“Catch you later, kid.” He casually winked and stepped into his office. Piper quickly followed.
“Nice meeting you,” Autumn said, keeping a fist loose by her side.
“You too. I’m sure ‘Ben’ will reach out if I wanna talk.” Then she was gone and Autumn’s attention came back to me.
“Sorry.” She said, pocketing her journal.
“Not a problem. When are you gonna ask him out?”
“Shut up, Lucas.”
I wished I’d paid more attention instead of slumping against the wall. I should’ve noticed the brief spark in your eye and the likely look on your face as Bentley slipped something into your hand. I should’ve caught you subtly pocketing it, alongside your journal, and confronted you then and there.
Hindsight is a hell of a thing.
The bell above the cafe door dinged as the two of us stepped into a bright decor. We were greeted by a few of the staff as we meandered to a booth at the side, close to the service desk, where the next addition to our posse waited.
Barney, a lug of absolute muscle, gave a grand wave as he spotted us approaching. He rose to his feet, a towering wall of a young man, and he and Autumn embraced. To my dismay, he was not alone.
Sat beside him was the small, brown-haired tumour he called a baby sister. Daisy smiled and waved at me, a gesture I returned, before her eyes went back to her phone. I looked at Barney who gave me an apologetic smile as I took a seat opposite him.
Autumn, however, went over to the service desk to disturb a gothic, pierced-face barista. Caitlyn, the final addition to our group, barely even smiled as Autumn made her presence known.
“Oh yay. You’re back.” She said in the most positive way her monotone, near-dead demeanour could allow. I gave her a wave. She blinked.
“Shouldn’t you be in summer class?” I asked Daisy.
“Day off.”
And that was the end of our riveting conversation.
“She coming to the park?” I then asked Barney.
“No, Mom and Dad just wanted her out of the house a bit.” His voice was like refined iron, cool and suave, honed by years of choir practice and sermons.
I mockingly drew a cross over my chest.
“And may the Lord protect her as she ventures back.”
Barney took a deep, long breath.
“Never gonna let me live that down are you?”
“Not in a million years.”
He chuckled.
“Good to see you. Been a min’.” He said.
“Likewise.”
“How’s the Unc?”
“Alive.”
“Hm. That’s good.”
We watched as Autumn chewed Cait’s ear off. Caitlyn didn’t show it much, but we saw the look of appreciation on her face as she was reunited with her favourite chatterbox.
“I saw the paper.” I slowly said to Barney. “I had no idea Damien was missing, I’m sorry.”
Barney nodded, keeping his composure.
“They’ll find him. How hard can it be to lose a one-armed vet? I’m more worried about Bentley. Y’know the two of them were-“
“Yeah. I do.”
Our conversation then shifted into something more casual, with the occasional input from Daisy. The rest of the cafe drowned away as we gossiped for hours.
Autumn joined and quickly started to catch up with Big Barn. Their conversations were more intellectual than I could handle. So I resorted to taking the piss out of them when appropriate.
Daisy soon left. Barney escorted her to the door, laid out some safety rules, and watched the kiddo disappear down a street.
Then Caitlyn, finally, slithered out of her work uniform and our four-way entourage of young adult chatting bloomed.
I relish the way my heart warms when the four of us are together.
More hours flew by and before we knew it, our bellies were full and we were politely asked by Mr James Heartie himself to scram.
We took to the streets. We wouldn’t stop talking; we couldn’t, as there was too much to say. It felt like a blur, but a fond one, until I scooped the four-pack of beers from my car and we headed to the west park - just on the edge of some thick woodlands.
“You’re gonna need more than that, Lucas,” Caitlyn said over my shoulder, profoundly unimpressed with my alcohol offering. “Luckily I have a stash.” She gave my shoulder a playful nudge.
And she wasn’t kidding.
Hidden behind a skating ramp, and under a mountain of leaves, was a crate of mixed spirits, some cola and a bottle of vodka.
“And why’d you have this?” Autumn asked her, taking a seat on a bench.
“It’s your homecoming, babe.”
“Vodka. Really?” I asked and she shrugged.
“You got cups?” Barney asked.
“Barney? Drinking? What would the divine beings above think?”
Barney paused, unsure whether to giggle or shout.
“Shut the fuck up, Lucas.”
We laughed and then, as if on cue, Caitlyn unveiled a pack of red drinking cups from her bag. The sun slowly turned a blood orange, as our late afternoon of quiet bench-sat drinking began until the moon ushered its way above. I let the others do all the talking as I started to document the day on my Sharp Wizard. I saw Autumn sometimes do the same in her journal whenever a thought struck her.
It was around 9:30 pm when one of our phones buzzed. I can’t remember what we were talking about, but I remember three heads spinning to Autumn - the least intoxicated.
“Who is it?” Caitlyn asked, lying relaxed on the concrete floor, relatively smashed.
“Shit. It’s my Mom.”
“You swore. That’s a sin.” Barney said, sitting beside her on a bench as he curiously eyed her phone.
“She wants me to call her, I’ll be right back.” She heaved her way up to her feet and took several quick, quiet steps towards the treeline before disappearing behind an oak. I listened as her footsteps trailed off followed by an unnerving silence.
“Wow,” Caitlyn said, looking at me. “She is a terrible liar.”
I reluctantly looked at Barney whose drunk eyes begrudgingly met mine.
“What’d her phone say, Barn?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. She could’ve changed her Mom’s contact to ‘Lead One’, I suppose.”
I leaned back, staring at the stars, and let out a long, slightly intoxicated sigh.
“Fucks sake, Autumn.”
I sprang to my feet, sobering up quickly, and made my way to follow her.
“Go get her, tiger.” Caitlyn cheered as Barney kicked her foot.
Navigating through towering trees of varying colours, with only moonlight to guide me, I eventually saw a distant head of auburn hair venturing deeper into the fold. The right questions didn’t come to me in those moments. Maybe it was the alcohol, or something else, but I only viewed her actions as a strange annoyance - an excuse to sneak away for selfish reasons.
Then I saw the first sign, one of dozens that our town’s law enforcement had hammered into several trees this deep.
‘Police Search & Evidence Area. Turn Back’
Autumn did not, nor did she acknowledge the stretch of fresh police tape that dragged across the trees like a gate. She dipped right under it, her eyes on her phone, and only then did the severity of the situation truly hit me.
I thought of getting the others, but the thought of leaving her alone, and at the mercy of whatever was out here, stopped me.
She stepped onto an overgrown woodland trail and I, without thinking, followed. I caught up quickly. I was seconds away from calling out when a figure emerged from around a tree to greet her.
Bentley.
The path had opened up into what looked like an old road. There was too much space; not enough time to hide. He saw me, after he saw her, and pointed.
Autumn turned to face me, as calm as a ghost, not scared or disappointed or even surprised. She gestured for me to come over.
I hesitated, almost not recognising the stone-faced woman before me, but I did as she wanted.
“You can turn back.” She said as I got near. “You’re not a part of this.”
“But his Uncle is,” Bentley said, clearly annoyed by my presence.
A lightbulb came over my head as I remembered the start of my day.
“White Diamond?” I asked him.
He smiled, impressed.
“No. No, not me, kid. That’s someone else.”
Now Autumn looked confused. Her eyes went back and forth between us, alarmed that I knew something about whatever ‘this’ was. But I didn’t.
“What is this?” I asked them.
Autumn, curiously watching me as if suspicious, produced a metal bauble from her pocket - the same object Bentley had given her only hours ago.
It was an iron ring bearing a crest, a symbol - a circle with a line down the middle; half of it painted black, like the start of an eclipse.
“How much do you know?” Bentley asked Autumn.
“Only the scraps he left me.” She tapped her journal which sat snugly in her pocket.
Bentley took a deep breath, then looked at me and then back at her.
“It’s a deep rabbit hole. One neither of you will like.”
“We can handle it.”
“You speak for me now? The fuck is this, Autumn?!”
Bentley opened his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by the distant rumbling of an engine.
“Fuck. Run! Both of you, now!”
Autumn didn’t hesitate as she darted back the way I’d come, grabbing my arm and taking me with her. I took a moment to gain my footing before I sprinted in a confused stride.
My mind raced with a thousand questions; ones she would absolutely be answering.
Bentley trailed not too far behind as a featureless white van burst from around a corner and blazed down the road towards us. Me and Autumn returned to the narrower path and scampered to get down low, behind a hill in the earth, where branches and foliage obscured us.
But Bentley had tripped.
It happened too fast. We watched in absolute horror as the bleached white death machine charged towards him as he attempted to stand. The impact was deafening; his body flew several feet before crashing back down into the dirt as a crumpled, twitching mess.
Autumn jerked back, gasping and heaving as I ducked my head down in unfathomable shock and disbelief.
But then Autumn gathered herself and kept watching.
So I did too.
His body was mangled and twisted beyond recognition, jagged bones protruded from his flesh as blood cascaded out of him and trailed down a verge.
Yet he was still alive.
He was looking at us with wide, pleading eyes.
A single, muscular man stepped out of the van after killing its lights. He was clad in a fine suit, and black gloves and wore a featureless, white mask over his face. Bentley’s eyes snapped towards him as a fowl gust of wind wrenched its way through the woods. It clawed its way across the bark of the maple trees, finding cracks in their timber, to unleash mortifying croaks into the air as if trapped souls were writhing in the confines.
The masked man seemed at peace with the noises.
“The Maples; His trees. They croak our song. Do you hear them?”
Bentley used every ounce of his strength to speak.
“Where… is he?” He gasped out, tears streaming down his face. “What… did you do to him?”
“He swam. He swam like all the others. As you could’ve.” The masked man reached a hand into his pocket and when it returned, it was clad in a brass knuckle. “What a waste.”
Bentley tried to speak again, but the man was swift.
I thought I knew pain. I thought I knew the extent of suffering and damage one human being could inflict upon another. I saw it every time Dad raised his hand against Mom; or a fist against me.
I was wrong.
The first strike collided with Bentley’s skull with a shattering crunch, spraying blood up the man’s arm.
I grabbed Autumn, hard, and dragged her away from the scene as quietly as I could. She was distraught, speechless, silently weeping, yet she kept an impossible look of determination on her face as we snuck away back to the park.
The strikes echoed behind us, becoming wetter, until we could no longer hear them. We reached the police tape and then our eagerly awaiting, chipper friends.
But one look at us caused their faces to drop.
“Fuck me, are you okay?” Barney said, rising to his feet.
Caitlyn did the same.
“Call the police,” I muttered. “Quickly.”
“Wha-I-and tell them what?” Despite his question, he was already dialling the number.
“Someone got kill-“
I couldn’t finish the sentence as I turned, reeled over and vomited.
I then looked at Autumn who had splayed her journal out on the floor. She was on her knees, violently flicking through the pages until she found a drawing of a bat.
“Autumn?” I asked her weakly.
She twisted one end of her pen to create a blacklight that she panned over the page to reveal a secret, second drawing.
The same symbol as the one on the ring.
There were two words written underneath in handwriting that was not her own.
The Faceless
“He… he had a… a tattoo, that man… On his wrist.” She explained, struggling to speak through heavy gasps. Her face was putrid with tears and destroyed makeup. “He was… he was one of them… my brother-he knew… he-”
She curled up and began to uncontrollably sob as sirens blared in the distance.