I was about 16 when it happened. It was in my friend Josh’s basement, after a night trawling the streets in our small town, and spending some time in the old settlers cemetery over by the railway. It was a path we’d walked many times. We’d been best mates since primary school, and both of us lived in the same houses we always had, about a block apart. Multiple times a week, you’d hear one of our mums calling the other one on the landline saying “I’ve got the boys for dinner tonight”.
The whole town is like that, really.
Josh and I were both only children. It’s probably why we were so close. I’d once found a box in the same basement where the terrible thing happened. It had in it some pictures of Josh’s parents and a very small baby. Dust and a pink blanket cradled an impossibly small urn engraved with the name Lily. That’s how I found out he had once had a little sister.
But now he was alone like me.
We walked alone, together. Down the same track we had so many times before. Past the old church and up to the cemetery. By 16, we were over lightsaber fights with fallen oak branches and pretending rocks were human remains. Usually, it was the ideal time and place to light up a joint and talk about whatever video game we were into or how he wanted to be a footballer when he grew up. But this night, there were no joints to be had, on account of our regular supplier being recently apprehended by the police.
This night, we just walked around and eventually sat outside the old Bourke mausoleum. It was balmy, in the intersection between autumn and summer. It stayed light for a long time, and the late twilight gave us a sense of security while we sat under the weight of the large concrete stoop.
“Do you ever want to leave this place?” Josh asked me.
“Not until I have a reason to.” I replied.
We jabbered on and hung around for too long, until it came to be about 9 o’clock at night, and we figured we’d better show our faces back home before the mums went looking.
Just as we were about to leave, the most rotten, repugnant smell wafted over us.
“Did you drop your guts, you fuckin feral?” I choked out, laughing at Josh as he covered his mouth and nose with his old, t-shirt.
“I wish that was me, that’s gotta be a world record.” He chuckled back, as we hurriedly stood up to abandon the cloud of vile odour.
As I took my first step off the mausoleum concrete, I felt what could only be described as burning spiderwebs pass through my body. It winded and confused me, as I looked around for something to explain the pain I was in. I heard someone breathe out. I couldn’t tell if it was me or Josh, and as I looked to my right, where he had been a fraction of a second ago, all I saw was the suddenly darkened background of trees and headstones.
I was enveloped by an overwhelming sense of dread. As if I’d just been told that everyone I loved was gone.
“Josh!” I tried to yell, but it came out so quietly, it was as if the words were stolen from just in front of my lips. There was no reply.
I paced around the perimeter of the small mausoleum, the dread and confusion making space for fear. He was nowhere. Then, against the purple glow of the almost summer night, I saw a silhouette, getting smaller as the shadows grew.
Josh was impossibly far from where I had last seen him, two feet to my right. No more than ten seconds had passed since the cobwebs shredded my nerves, and yet he was hundreds of meters ahead of me, on the railroad path to home. He was running. I lept after him, motivated by both my will to reach him and my fear of being alone among the graves. I called after him again, louder this time. But either he didn’t hear, or he didn’t care.
What usually would have been a ten minute walk, was a three minute run. I spent the whole time tasting blood, and trying to explain to myself how Josh had gotten so far ahead of me. As he turned the corner onto his street, I lost sight of him. I had the thought that should just go home, but I was concerned. Whatever happened to me, I thought, something worse had probably happened to him. Besides, my school bag that I needed for the following day was waiting for me in his basement, where the old TV was hooked up to his PlayStation.
As I approached his house, I went straight around back to the basement door thinking I’d go through and grab my bag, then head into the house where I assumed I’d find Josh in his bedroom, or in the living area. As I gasped for breath against the humid air of the night, my hand grasped the knob of the basement door. It was unusually warm, thinking back now. But at the time, it barely registered. I pulled it open and went to step inside when there it was again. The stench of sulfur and decay emanated from the open door of the basement. Suddenly, Josh was in front of me, his pupils dilated in the dark. His face wore an unhinged look, but oddly, he didn’t look like he’d just run a couple of miles.
“Woah, what was that, hey.” He blurted out. “So weird. You took a while to get back!”
I wanted to say a million things. “Why did you run? What happened? And mostly, can you not smell that?” But something held my tongue.
“I need to get my bag.” I said to him, gesturing in the general direction.
“Oh yeah, sure.” He walked backwards. He didn’t turn and walk, or stand to the side. He walked backwards like he knew what was behind him without seeing. As I entered the room, the spiderwebs inside began to burn again. The nearer Josh was, the more the feeling and smell intensified. I picked up my bag and walked towards the door.
“Hey, it’s pretty dangerous out there. Why don’t you just stay here the night.”
There was nothing unusual about the way he spoke. But I sensed a menace in his words that terrified me. Something was wrong. Something was awfully wrong with how it felt. He was off, as if his aura had spoiled.
I stepped out of the basement, never taking my eyes off him. I don’t know how to explain it other than, the essence of who was felt corrupted.
“Where is Josh?” I said in a whisper. Someone standing in the basement where Josh had been could not have possibly heard.
Then, in the most haunting noise. I struggle to say it was a voice because it sounded like thousands of pained screams with the volume turned down and distorted into the formation of words. It was pestilent, like it infected my body instead of being heard.
“It doesn’t need to know.”
I left that town.