The Crooked Man of Moss Woods

“Grab that blanket, Chloe.”

“No way, everyone will know what we’re doing.”

“You think they’re not going to figure it out?” Brian shouldered his black backpack and trotted off toward the field.

I laughed, snatched the plaid blanket off the back seat of Brian’s Toyota, and jogged to catch up. Behind us, the annual fall festival was in full swing under a glorious November sky. Carousel music competed with the guitars of a local band. The chaotic disharmony was punctuated with the roar of carnival rides and childish squeals of fear and joy.

My insides churned with fear and joy, too, as we strolled toward the woods. Though I’d known Brian since third grade, we’d been a couple for less than a month. Senior year, jobs, and family obligations made it tough to get together. We were both more than ready to commit, take our relationship to the next level, but private time was hard to wedge into our overloaded lives.

Brian draped an arm over my shoulders and slowed his pace as we crossed the dirt road between the fairgrounds and the field. Between us and the woods beyond were a half dozen covered pavilions used by picnickers in the summer.

“So, where are we going?” I asked.

Brian kissed the top of my head. “There’s a break in the trees not far from the lake. There’s no path, but I think I can find it.”

“You’re sure we’ll be alone? There won’t be guys fishing or anything?

“It’s pretty secluded, but we’ll be careful.”

We’d nearly reached the shade of the trees bordering the field when Mitch Hinton’s head of unruly wavy brown hair popped out of the woods.

Brian released me and raised his hands, palms out toward his older brother. “Mitch, what are you doing out here, dude?”

“Taking a break from the action. I don’t like using the porta-johns at these things.”

I huffed. “It’s worse for girls. We have to sit on those nasty seats.”

Mitch shifted his eyes toward the trees, then back to me. “You headed in there for a bathroom break?”

“No!” I was appalled that he was thinking about me peeing. My embarrassment increased when he spotted the blanket under my arm.

Mitch rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I get it. You two are headed off for a little quiet time.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the festival to hide my blush. The sun floated behind a cloud, and the garish lights of the rides and booths glowed in the sudden gloom. When the flush left my face, I turned my attention back to the Hinton brothers and managed a smile. Five years older than his little brother, Mitch had always teased Brian’s friends, especially the girls, but he was a good guy.

Brian gave a smug snort. “Get lost, Mitch.”

“On my way.” Mitch grinned and stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Seriously, though, I would suggest you two take your canoodling elsewhere.” He bobbed his head toward the woods. “It’s not safe in there, dude. Take her to your car or spring for a hotel room.”

“Hey, this is none of your business…”

“What’s wrong with the woods?” I interrupted. My hands wrapped themselves around Brian’s arm.

Mitch ambled to one of the pavilions and leaned his narrow hips against a concrete picnic table. He motioned us over with a wave of his hand. “Sit down, have a listen.”

Brian ran a hand through his hair. “Mitch, Chloe and I are eighteen. I don’t need a safe sex talk from my big brother.”

“Sit down and shut up. This is important.”

Beyond embarrassed and edging toward annoyance, I released Brian’s arm. “Look, if you two need to talk, I’ll go back to the fair and blow my money on the prize wheel or bingo.”

Mitch shook his head. “You need to hear this, Chloe. I don’t want you and Don Juan here wandering around in those woods.”

“Are you going to tell us some dumb-ass ghost story?” Brian plopped on the seat of the picnic bench. I slid in next to him.

“Ghosts? I wish.” Mitch hoisted his butt onto the table, folded his arms over his chest, and narrowed his gold-brown eyes at us. “Ghosts can’t kill you.”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Mitch.” I squished closer to Brian and snuggled up to his sweater against the chilly breeze blowing through the pavilion.

“Are you telling me you’ve never heard about the Crooked Man of Moss Woods?” Mitch asked, incredulously. “Mom and Dad never told you?”

“The crooked…” Brian huffed a fake laugh. “Mitch, you’re so full of shit.”

“You wouldn’t remember it. I think you were like two or three when this all went down.”

“Mitch,” I warned, “you’re scaring me.”

His grin widened. “You know that broken-down farmhouse about a mile from here?”

I nodded. “It’s been abandoned for as long as I can remember.”

“Abandoned but not vacant.”

I pressed closer to Brian.

Mitch waved a flannel-clad arm around us. I was surprised he wasn’t wearing his usual patch-covered denim jacket on that crisp autumn afternoon. “This field running right up to the edge of the fairgrounds, used to be a farm. It belonged to a family named…” He squeezed his eyes shut to think. “Holt. Wayne Holt was the old farmer who owned the abandoned house.”

Brian frowned and nodded. “I remember hearing about the Holts. They had a kid, a son. He went crazy or something.”

“The kid’s name was Elliot, I think. He was sick or had a disability, I don’t know what. The point is, he got bullied in school because of it. When he was twelve, he got a crush on a girl. The middle-school assholes found out and ragged him about it. And they didn’t just torment Elliot. They gave the girl a bunch of shit, too. She got so freaked over this loser liking her, she pitched a fit at Elliot in the lunchroom in front of the whole damn school. She screamed at him, called him names, the usual stuff.”

“That’s awful,” I said.

“That’s middle school,” Mitch continued. “Anyway, Elliot was totally humiliated and bolted, ran right out of the school. He went missing, nobody could find him. But, about a week later, they found the body of one of the bullies on that path over there.”

My hands went to my chest. “The road we just crossed?”

Mitch pointed at the dirt road. “Yep, right about there.”

“What happened to him?” Brian asked.

“Stabbed, with scissors. Two weeks later, another bully went missing. His body was found in the woods near the edge of the lake.”

“Was he stabbed, too?” I asked.

Mitch nodded. The smart-ass grin faded, and his eyes grew soft and quiet, like Brian’s. “There were shoe prints in the mud near the lake. The prints were closer to kid-size than man-size.”

“They suspected it was Elliot,” I said.

“He’d never surfaced, so, yeah, they really wanted to talk to him. Teams searched those woods for weeks. When they finally found Elliot, he was covered in blood from both victims. He’d managed to break his leg while hiding out and had tried to set it himself. He was starving, in pain, and growled like a cornered animal when they caught up with him. There was no trial. He went straight to a rehabilitation facility…”

“Nuthouse,” Brian said.

I shoved his shoulder. “The bullying drove him to it. He needed help.”

“The farmer and his wife were devastated,” Mitch continued, “they couldn’t hold their heads up. They sold the land we’re sitting on to the county and lived like recluses in the farmhouse for twenty-thirty years. They died within months of each other.”

I envisioned the heartbroken old couple living out lonely lives at the edge of a town that hated them. “How sad,” I said.

Brian was less sympathetic. “Are you telling us their ghosts walk the woods?”

“I’m not done. The clincher is that after forty years in the booby-hatch, back when you were about two, Elliot got let out.”

I gasped. “They released him? Why?”

Mitch shrugged. “Who knows. According to the oldsters in town, Elliot showed up looking for his folks. They’d been dead for years, but Elliot had nowhere else to go, so he went home. The place had tax liens on it and was just sitting there, slowly crumbling. People saw Elliot going in and out, lurching around on his bad leg. Nobody cared. Not until the animals started disappearing.”

“Animals,” Brian repeated. There was an edge to his voice that I recognized from our childhood days watching scary movies in his folks’ basement.

“Dogs, pets. All were last seen near the woods. Most people figured a bear or big cat got them, but there were rumors about Elliot. That’s when they started calling him the Crooked Man of Moss Woods.”

Brian nodded to himself. “I could see that; I mean if the guy got hungry enough. Did they check it out?”

“Nah, the cops didn’t take the talk about Elliot seriously. It was a story to keep kids out of the woods, but when a thirteen-year-old girl disappeared, there was a major search. The search took the cops from the woods to the old farmhouse. While they were poking around, someone noticed dried blood on the back porch. Just a spot, but they figured they’d better check it out. The property belonged to the county, so they walked right in.”

Mitch lowered his face toward us and continued. “Inside, they could see someone had been cooking in the fireplace. One of the cops got curious and pushed the ashes around with a stick.”

I leaned away from his whispered words. Only Brian’s arm kept me from falling backward.

“There were bones in the ashes,” Mitch hissed, “dog, cat, human. They never found the girl or Elliot, but people still see him limping around at the edge of the woods.”

I released the breath I’d been holding and inhaled a lungful of fresh autumn air.

“Bullshit,” Brian scoffed. “He’d be an old man by now. You’re telling me he’s been hiding in the woods, living off the land, avoiding the cops all this time.”

Mitch sat up straight and slapped his palms on his thighs.

“Okay, maybe it’s bullshit, maybe it’s not. Don’t be a cheap bastard. Take your girl to a nice, clean hotel room.” Mitch stood, pulled out his wallet, and flipped some twenties at Brian. “I’m outta’ here.”

Mitch loped off in the direction of the fairgrounds. The sun returned from behind the clouds, and the field glowed gold around him.

I laughed, ashamed at how easily I’d been sucked in. “What a character. I’ve always thought your brother was funny, but I never realized what a wild imagination he had. Is any of what he told us true?”

Brian snorted. “Who the hell knows. I’ve heard of the Holts. Never heard about that other stuff, though.” He turned to me and tapped the tip of my nose with his forefinger. “Did he scare you?”

“A little. I think he enjoyed it.”

“I think you’re right. Look, we don’t have to…if you want to go back to the fair…”

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I pulled myself up and kissed Brian. His arms slipped to my waist, and he pulled me tight to his chest. When we came up for air, he hoisted his backpack, I grabbed the blanket, and we strode off, arm-in-arm into the woods.

***

The break in the trees was where Brian remembered. Dappled sunlight did little to warm the ground, but the grass was dry and provided a fragrant cushion for our blanket.

Afterward, we held hands and walked to the edge of the lake. The water reflected the impossibly blue sky and billowing white clouds. I rested my head on Brian’s shoulder.

“This is magical.”

He nuzzled my neck. “What’s magical?”

“The sky, the water, you, us, all of it. It’s magical.”

“I’ve been in love with you since fourth grade,” Brian murmured solemnly.

“You sure took your time getting around to telling me.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to love me back.” He tilted his head and frowned. “I guess you’re right. It must be magic.”

We walked along the shore for a bit then turned back toward the distant sounds of the fair. Not far from the edge of the woods, about fifty yards from where we’d entered, a flash of red caught my attention.

“What’s that?” I squinted at a group of trees clumped in a low spot.

Holding hands, we took a few steps toward the bright red fabric barely visible among the brown and gold carpet covering the forest floor.

Our feet rooted themselves to the ground as we both made out the shape of a body, face-down in the leaves. A red scarf was knotted around the neck of a shapely, blonde woman.

“Oh, my God.” I gasped and ran down the incline to the woman lying at the base of the tree.

Brian fumbled with his phone. “I’ve got no service.” He frantically waved his cell over his head.

As I scuttled down the embankment, I stumbled on a blue bundle. I froze and studied the band logo embroidered on a pocket, wondering where I’d seen it before. Brian lowered his phone and started toward me as I realized why it was familiar.

“Stop!” I held up a palm.

Brian stopped. “What is it?”

“Don’t come any closer.”

“Do you know her?”

“I’m coming up.” I forced calm into my voice. “We’ll call the cops when we get to your car. You’ll have cell service at the fairgrounds.”

When I showed him what I’d found, Brian went so pale, I thought he would faint or throw up. Our eyes met, and we held each other’s gaze until he got it together. After a deep breath, he fumbled for my hand and pulled me to the edge of the woods.

As we crossed the field, the sun slipped behind another cloud. Though I’d draped Mitch’s patch-covered denim jacket over my shoulders, I shivered.