the past and the pending "there is a light that never goes out"
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This place is freezing.
I wrap myself up in Negan's jacket, the keys colliding noisily in the pocket against my thigh. The whole thing is big and warm and heavy. Smells like tobacco and peppermint. A smoker who tried to cover it up. The little things you learn about humans when you're paying attention.
I sit myself beside Carl in front of the mantle. I understand now why he wants to be so close to it.
I feed the fire a few more scraps of paper and a couple scraggly branches. The wood supply is dwindling, but there's always furniture I could begin dismantling in case we get desperate.
For now, we wait the storm out.
After a while, Carl gets up and circles the room again. He stops at the book shelf and runs his fingers over the bridges, his thumb thunking along the back of each one.
"Do you have any comics?"
Maybe a year or two ago, I had found a purple backpack in an unfortunate SUV that ended up here, it had a coloring book and assorted pencils and a super hero comic in it. While I never encountered the child it belonged to-and I'm not sure what I would have done had I did-anything paper ended up in the scrap pile. I turn to look back at the fire, watching the glossy paper of that same singular comic curl black at the edges and burn.
Awkward.
Wish he had asked earlier.
"No."
He turns back to what he was doing. I realize he is bored.
"Do you like scary stories?" I ask.
He shrugs. "We're pretty much living in one, don't you think?" But he comes and sits back down with me anyways. "What's the story?"
I straighten up a bit. "You know about Roanoke?"
"I know of it. I've heard the name."
"It's cursed. The town. This mountain. These woods... These woods, especially. They're all haunted."
"Haunted by what?" He sounds amused, slightly. Unfazed.
"The monster. No one really knows what it is. It doesn't even know what it is. It used to be normal, like you and me-" I feel a little strange, pretending to be like him. "-But then something bad happened to it. Like, really bad. And now it prowls through the woods. Tormented, deformed, bound to the cursed land."
"Spooky." Carl offers a sarcastic remark.
I roll my eyes, which I'm glad he can't see. "They say anything that goes into these woods, never comes out. The beast claims them. Rips them into pieces. Like, I'm talking arms and legs flying everywhere. Sinks it's claws in, rips out their still-beating hearts with razor sharp teeth just to see the moment they die. It roams through the trees, looking for its next victim. It's faster and stronger than any other creature. Unkillable. Inescapable. Once it's after you, that's game-over. You're dead the minute you step into the woods." It's a bit much, very theatrical, even if it's not exactly authentic. It is a hollow reminder of the tales I grew up with, the ones that I know now were only half true.
