GRYDER'S COVE TALES: HOWLERS

it all began in Gryder's Cove...

This is a work of fiction. Total, utter fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or places would be really weird as well as completely coincidental. Any real people or places have been used only to further the story.

The night air was cool, even for October, especially way up on Cranton Ridge's highest point, known locally as Gryder's Cove. It was an unnatural, biting chill that seemed to slither out of the wet mist and over the skin. The date was October 30th, Devil's Night, and it was dark, the kind of dark one only sees in a place like this, surrounded by seemingly endless pine forest, miles away from street lights and traffic. A thick incense comprised of pine needles, fallen leaves and decaying timber seeped into the dampness, intensifying as it rode a stirring breeze. The moon hung in a gray haze behind a bank of ominous clouds that threatened to burst forth a storm at any given moment by growling low with mild thunder. It seemed gigantic, too close to the earth, but stayed blanketed in the storm clouds, refusing its light to the occupants of the woods. Disconcerting as all this was, two young boys stood in this clearing staring at a dilapidated little house....and it stared right back.

The black-haired boy by the name of Jude Gunter pulled a pint of bourbon out of his back pocket and slowly unscrewed the cap, never taking his eyes off the house as he took a gulp then nudged the kid to his right, a young tough-guy type named Dillon Harper, with the bottle.

"SHIT!" Dillon spat, startled back to reality from the trance the house's gaze had put him under. "Dude, seriously, what the....God....gimme that."

He snatched the bottle and took a pull from it, grimacing as the liquor burned once it hit bottom.

"Ugh! Next time we spring for the good shit."

He capped the bottle and handed it back to Jude.

"You sure this is the place?"

"Yeah, this is it. Ain't another house for miles around here. There's the blackberry thicket Harold Rymer told us about and most of the trees we saw on the way up were pines, and alla these up here around the house are dead for a few hundred yards, just like folks've always said, not to mention the whiplash I got on the way up here 'cuz o' that shitty excuse for a road. Gotta be it. Shit, dude, no wonder nobody ever comes up here. I told ya Delia shoulda asked for her daddy's big ol' jacked-up truck."

"Where'd Billy and the girls go?"

"Lacy had to take a piss. All the beer she's sucked down tonight, I'm surprised she held it this long. Billy's makin' sure nothin' eats her head or whatever."

Just then three more teenagers joined the two boys in the overgrown yard. One was a slouchy runt of a boy named Billy Randall, meandering along with his aimless gait, hands in his pockets, as always. The other two were the Bell sisters, Lacy and Delia, looking as though they were having some difficulty maintaining a steady stride as they carried several flashlights up to the place where the boys stood. Delia and Jude had been dating since their sophomore year in high school. Dillon had taken interest in Lacy recently, and had asked her to come out with the group tonight 'to see something scary'. So far, Dillon figured, promise fulfilled.

"What the fuck are we doing out here in the sticks at 1:30 in the morning, Jude?" asked an intensely intoxicated Delia in a drunken slur, "I thought we were gonna see something scaaarrryyyy! Hahaha!" She made claws with her hands and waved them around as she laughed, almost tripping on her own feet. She caught herself on Jude's arm and laughed even harder.

The friends looked at each other in turn, the alcohol slowly wearing off as fear seeped in and hearts began to beat harder. Delia slipped under Jude's arm and looked up at him, but his attention was still on the house. Billy looked to the still-clouding sky, then to the house, then back to his friends.