Black Balloon

Chapter 21

My boring but pleasant life in Shiloh, over a year in the making, came to a sudden and dramatic halt on February 28th, 1957. A few days earlier, I'd taken a stroll into the woods behind my house, located the gnarled fir tree, and dug up the mason jar, which to my relief was still there and still contained over $1200. I had barely touched the money since getting a job at the General Store. I had no need. My meagerly pittance of a salary was more than enough to buy groceries and I had no bills. But I'd been spending more than I should have on beer, and was running low on cash. I needed to borrow from the reserves. I pulled out four twenties, laid the jar gently back into the hole, and covered it over with dirt and leaves, careful to tousle the groundcover in such a way to make it look natural, undisturbed. Several times I had considered abandoning the silly idea of hiding my money and instead keeping it in the house like a normal person. I'm sure glad that I didn't.

I went for a run that morning, showered, and walked into town to visit Emily and exchange my books. It was Thursday and I did not have to work, but I was bored so I dropped by the store anyway to pick up supplies. Afterwards, I had lunch at Frank's and then headed home. It was a perfectly normal day with no indication that anything was amiss. It was preternaturally warm for late February and the birds were already reclaiming the territory they had months ago abandoned in search of warmer prospects. The warm weather and bright sunshine had me itching for Spring, for the return of the Lumnah's to Lake Carmi, for Carmen. I held out hope that Carmen would come back and all would be as it had been. I'd relive that previous summer, the warm nights and bedroom bliss. The winter of 56/57 was a dark one for me, and not just because of the abbreviated daylight. I'd spent those long months hibernating in my little shack and rarely having contact with anyone outside of work or the occasional poker night at Carl's. But with the first teasing taste of Spring, my mood brightened. I started making regular trips into civilization again. Every time I passed the Lumnah's cabin, I thought of Carmen and was struck with a bitter nostalgia for the good times we'd shared last Summer...the Summer that felt like it'd never end until end it did. Her absence had left a painful hole in my chest.

I was in a light mood that morning as I walked home along the shoulder of 321. But when I was nearly to the junction of Lake Road, my mood came to a screeching halt as a mysterious feeling suddenly struck me. I cannot explain it. A tingle ran up and down my legs turning my skin into goose flesh. I was like a dog whose hackles suddenly shot up at some unheard noise, he himself not yet realizing what caused the alarm but his body's physiological response already on high alert. It's the same feeling of dread I'd get every time I thought of July 5th, 1958.

I stopped dead in my tracks with grocery bags dangling from each hand, one full of food, the other full of books. I looked left and then right, forward and aft, expecting to see some approaching threat, but there was none. You're being paranoid, Miles. It's nothing. The only sound was the rumble of oncoming traffic along the highway, a perfectly normal occurrence. And yet, despite there being no obvious outward signs of peril, all my lizard brain instincts, the fight or flight primal intuition of a prey animal, had come roaring to life. This is how a chipmunk feels just before the hawk clutches him in his talons and carries him away. Peacefully nibbling on an acorn one minute and then...whoosh.

As I stood there, the rumble of the vehicle grew closer. It was rounding the long turn around the lake's southern end and heading my direction. In a completely illogical move, I scrambled up the small embankment leading into the forest and hid behind a tree. The task was made difficult with my hands full of groceries and books. Just as I dipped out of sight, a dark-colored Chevy sedan went zooming past.

I was a quarter mile from Lake Road. I dropped both bags and began tip-toeing through the woods on a diagonal path between the highway and my home. Peeking between the branches, I watched the black car turn down my road. Its tires crunched as it rolled across the gravel and disappeared behind the trees. I crept along through the forest, moving parallel to the road, but a hundred yards from it. I could barely see the cabins through the thick pine branches. The black sedan had stopped four cabins down from mine at the Valeska's. Its driver remained seated. When I was directly in front of my shack, I hunkered down and tried to see what was going on. My blue Caddy was parked where I'd left her. The windows were dark. Everything appeared to be as I'd left it, but something felt off. My skin bristled. Your Spidey sense is tingling, Vandergriff. I dropped my groceries and crept a few feet closer to get a better view. Something was amiss...but what? What wasn't I seeing here. Trust your instincts.