The Purging of Bridges Valley

Chapter 8

Calvin squatted on the broken, unused railroad tracks sorting through a pile of rocks. He ran his hand over the pile until he picked out a nice, flat stone. Appraising it and judging it suitable for skipping across the surface of a pond, he added it to his increasingly sagging jean pockets.

The train depot cast a shadow over him, but the day was still sweltering and breezeless . He wiped the sweat from his lip as he continued to work and glanced at the dilapidated building, the sides marred by graffiti and repainted in spots in a vain attempt to cover the vandalism. It always amused him to see the fight between the artist and the authority, one trying to destroy in order to create and the other trying to destroy creation. Calvin thought the graffiti was interesting. He liked looking at the skillfully done works, even if they were just billboard advertisements for local gangs. Luckily in Bridges Valley, there weren't many serious gangs running about. The only prominent presence were the Valley Boys, but they were just skinny dropouts who acted tough but couldn't back up their talk. The extent of their debauchery included loitering at Whitfield's Food Store while harassing patrons and smoking dope in a field at the outskirt of town.

The depot was almost always deserted except for the odd homeless person here and there, but even that was becoming scarce. The tracks ran through and out of Bridges Valley and this particular depot was next to another relic of the past-- an old building which used to be a Dockerson's market but was now just another empty shell. Years ago the trains would come through and unload their cargo at the depot, supply the Dockerson's, and ship out lumber. The rail yard wasn't much further away. Back in its heyday, the area was booming, but now it was quiet and dead.

Calvin, deeming his pockets heavy enough, stood and carefully stepped over the broken boards and rusted steel of the tracks. He would follow them nearly home and stop at the small duck pond for a while to toss the stones. Maybe he'd fish, if the day decided to cool down at all.

He was fifteen, and tall for his age. His dark brown skin glistened with sweat as he passed one of the many murals painted on the train depot's walls-- an outline of a man carrying an outline of a cross. It was crude and creepy and he didn't like looking at it.

The tracks ran along dusty Weetwood road, choked by woods. This was a ritual he'd always performed during the summer as he tended to spend most of his time alone. Skipping rocks at the pond was the only  thing he could think to do alone on such a hot day.

His father, Earl Stilley, was a longtime tree nursery farmer. Sometimes Calvin would help his father tend to the various trees and shrubs he farmed, but he did not enjoy doing so. It was hard and intense work.

The actual nursery was farther out past his house and more in town proper. Not a lot of Valley folks visited the nursery. The Stilleys mostly shipped their plants out to the larger cities out north and westward, but they always were guaranteed business come Christmas time. Stilley's Christmas trees were some of the most beautiful, fullest trees available in the state. It was something his father had always been proud of. Calvin was just sick of it.

He'd been walking along the tracks for some time, lost in deep thought-- thoughts as deep as a fifteen year old could be expected to have. The only sound came from the nearby chirping of a dozen or more cicadas and other insects, but otherwise the breezeless day was silent and lonesome.

Calvin came upon the edge of the Morse farm and stopped, looking past some overgrown trees choked by creepvines, catching a glimpse of the old dilapidated barn. His father warned him never to play near the Morse farm because Mr. Morse liked to keep his shotgun ready and Mr. Morse didn't take kindly to colored people. Calvin had never met the man himself but he'd heard enough to steer clear of the place. Now, as he gazed at the barn, eyes bouncing from a No Trespassing sign to a Beware of Dog sign, he became exceedingly curious. Rumors circulated at school, which he'd overheard from the other kids in the halls, that stated Mr. Morse abducted stray dogs and killed them. Calvin used to have a little sheltie named Rusty when he was nine who went missing mysteriously one day, and he'd always had that thought in the back of his mind every time he passed by. Now he studied the old rundown farm and felt a chilling tingle creep up his spine.

Venturing closer, Calvin crept along the edge of the farm and kept an eye on it. Nothing really popped out to him, nothing all that strange really. It was your average old house, barn, and dying field, a sight that was becoming more and more common these days in the Valley. Yet the longer he lingered, the worse he began to feel, as if someone were watching him. He stood now at the other side facing the barn and looked up at the one window at the very top. It was open and empty, the darkness inside threatening to spill out. It gave him the creeps.

A sound tore Calvin's gaze from the window to a lone figure standing a little further away. He recognized the man immediately as the landowner Morse. He was crouched over and gripped a shovel in his hands, digging a great big hole out in the middle of the yard. His posture was oddly bent, his legs bowed out and his movements jerky and spasmodic. Behind him, partially obscured by his body, sat a wheelbarrow. Calvin could not see what was in it.

The creeps continued to spread through him as he silently watched, subconsciously holding his breath. That strange feeling-- what was it exactly?-- was becoming stronger. The hairs on Calvin's arm were standing up and he shivered despite the heatwave. He took a step to the side to see better what was in the wheelbarrow, and as he did his foot came down on a dry tree branch. The ensuing snap abruptly broke the silence of the day, echoing loudly through the field. He had just enough time to drop behind a tangle of bushes as Morse turned toward him and froze, scanning the brush for the source of the noise. He held the shovel aloft, and Calvin, peeking through the branches of the bush, saw a maniacal look on the man's face. His face was beet red, sweat pouring down his temples, eyes wide and mouth hanging slack. He was covered in dust and dirt, his hair a wild tangle atop his head. He stood stark still and Calvin did the same, hoping the man hadn't seen him. The look in the man's eyes gave Calvin the same chill he'd experienced as he had approached. The feeling was emanating from him. Something was wrong with Morse, he knew. He could tell just by the eyes.

Morse took a step forward and swivelled his head right to left and back again, almost robotically slow. He stood a minute or two longer as a small forgiving breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. Then, deeming it safe, Morse returned to his labor.

Calvin caught a glimpse of the contents of the wheelbarrow just then as he bent over-- something was sticking up out of the barrel and glinted red in the sunlight. He had to keep himself from gasping out loud as Morse continued slinging dirt. An image of Rusty popped into Calvin's mind, and he wondered if there was a dead dog in that wheelbarrow and if Morse was burying it. The rumors might be true, but he needed keep himself from panicking. Anything could be in that wheelbarrow, it was a farm after all.

And then Calvin thought he saw something that was impossible. Something that shouldn't be, or couldn't be. Rising from the pit Morse was digging was a dark, formless cloud. It swirled slowly up out of the hole and spread out along the ground at Morse's feet. Calvin could barely make out voices. Multiple, low voices issued from the direction of the hole-- it could have only been coming from that hole. He couldn't understand it even if he knew what was happening.

The smoke stopped spreading once it reached the man, and licked up at his legs as he continued to dig. Morse stopped, stared down into the hole a moment, and then took a step forward and jumped into it.

The hole could not have been that deep as the upper half of his body was still visible, but he was quickly engulfed by the dark cloud and obscured by it. The cloud swirled like smoke about him, twisting in a cylindrical funnel like a miniature tornado. Calvin watched as it seeped into Morse's body through his orifices-- his nose, eyes, ears and mouth were filling with the substance until at long last it disappeared within him. He immediately climbed back out of the hole and resumed digging as if nothing happened.

Calvin had enough and could not watch any longer as his stomach was threatening to lose its contents. He was so afraid that Morse would see him, though, that he could not will his body to remove itself. His legs locked up and he wanted to cry. His bladder felt like it would explode and his skin was slick with sweat. He was unsure what he'd just witnessed, but it was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen. He couldn't comprehend it.  After taking a moment to breathe deeply, he finally started crawling away, and, when he was sure he was out of the line of sight of the Morse farm, he stood and fled in an all-out sprint. He did not stop running until he bounded up the steps of his front porch and collapsed on the old glider that rested there. His father and mother were out in town and he was all alone, so after catching his breath for a moment he quickly went inside and locked all of the doors and windows. He stayed in his room the rest of the day until Earl and Lynnette Stilley returned, but he dared not tell them what he saw. The next day when the news aired, Calvin finally knew exactly what-- or who-- had been in that wheelbarrow.