DYING MOURNINGS, original

twenty-seven : Eric Conner

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𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 : 𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑

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I hadn't anticipated the wind to be just as fierce as the cold, bringing in such a dangerous chill that my hands couldn't stop shaking, not even when I had to stuff them inside my pockets, knife and all.

The earth was hard, not nearly as muddy as it had been and I was grateful for the sturdy footing. It was nice knowing that if I needed to take off running, I wouldn't be slipping and sliding. However, the soft patter of misting rain certainly didn't help as its droplets coated my face and matted down my once clean hair.

I kept the light of my flashlight pretty dimmed, not wanting to alert Conner that I was headed his way. With the light so low, it made it difficult to see much of anything around me, the dark trees blending in the night so perfectly it was hard to tell what was right in front of you without the lights. The heavy clouds and lack of moon and stars didn't help, either.

I raised my arm, fingers so cold they felt tight as they gripped my phone. The light shined over trees and stumps and the ground, searching for anything that told me I was in the right place, that this was the spot.

Where are you, my secret, little spot? Did you move with your spirit again?

The trailer I had originally visited for Wrath had been a mile back the way I came and it was set in a small clearing that led right to the creek that must've saved my life somehow. The boys I had met there had warned me and I didn't know that maybe, just maybe, what had spooked them so badly was Conner all along.

At least I liked to believe it was just him and nothing else. Nothing far worse.

I reached a small clearing, wondering if I had been here already but everything looked the same. Just as lost in the dark as everything else was.

On the edge, across the clearing and nearly completely concealed by the trees, was the trailer. I kept myself within the tree line, careful not to keep my flashlight on for too long incase Conner was lurking somewhere inside. As I grew closer, wondering how long it would take for John and Ace to turn and head back to the cars and then come after me, I realized that the trailer was different.

It hadn't aged well. The metal was rusted and discolored, splotchy and worn from the weather. The words were torn and stripped, leaving only fragments of the once colorful writing. The window was boarded up and the wheels were gone, like someone had come in and ripped them free.

Stolen parts, missing pieces, we're all the same.

There was a car, however, parked near the trailer and I had almost not seen it. It was an old, beat up Ford, sleek black so it blended it well with the dark. I crept towards it, shining my light inside the drivers side window and seeing a suitcase in the backseat. It seemed, wherever Conner was going, he wasn't coming back.

I moved back and away from the car, heading for the trailer and pausing. The door was open and once I got my feet moving again, I noticed that there was no door at all. Just an open doorway, the hinges broken and hanging on by crooked nails.

I took the large step up and into the dark trailer, flash up in one hand and my knife in my other, raised and ready. It smelled awful, the trailer wafting out a strong smell of decay and death. The inside was trashed, the beaded curtain was half intact, the rest of the beads covering the ground. I was careful of where I stepped, running my light over the ground and then over the completely gutter couch and splintering table and chairs.