Nothing, Everything

I remember the feeling of the cold November breeze biting at my tender, young face. The smell of burning leaves carried through the passing wind, stinging the noses of anyone brave enough to stay outside in the weather. It was near nightfall but you wouldn’t have known it by the amber lights projecting on the night sky. The forest was on fire.

Pennington, OR. 1976. The year of the Bicentennial. The year my dad was let go from his job at the lumber mill and I started sprouting pimples on my forehead like they were in season. The start of school that year had come with a hush, for many were still apprehensive to send their children out into the world. Especially after what had happened that summer.

The town of Pennington wasn’t an especially booming area. The population hadn’t cracked over a thousand in nearly three decades. The town had been found by some poor bastards who had spilled out from the California gold rush after finding nothing more than some rotted clay and gangrene. Those men begot sons and daughters of the new century and they begot the greatest generation and so on and so forth. Now, the town was stuck in a purgatory of mediocrity and boredom. That was, until the summer of 1976.

In a small town, news spreads like (mind the woefully unfunny pun) wildfire. Whenever someone was pregnant, the baby shower was planned within three days. When someone fell ill, Anderson Funeral Home began making premature arrangements. So, when three teens went missing on the Fourth of July in 1976, it was safe to assume the entire town would know about it before the week was over.

Sandra Hughes, Jackson Pollard, and Wesley Kinter were the names of the missing teens. Their names were plastered all over the town. You couldn’t walk as far as two blocks without seeing one of their faces in a shop window or on a telephone pole. No matter how many times you saw their faces, it never ceased to turn a knot in the pit of your stomach. Where were they?

Police began to search for the three “runaways” but came up empty after a few days. It wasn’t until Milton Greene, a town drunk and amateur sportsman, spotted their remains in the forest that they were no longer considered runaways. They had been murdered.

Sheriff MacDonald had assured the town folks of their safety, but no one felt safe. It felt like they were living in the town that dreaded sundown and that at any moment, a monster with a potato sack mask would lunge at them from the shadows and make them their next victim. The streets of Pennington were eerily quiet up until after Labor Day, when the new school year began.

Every student in school was pulled into the principal's office for questioning. I was pulled in during third period English and was asked if I was close to any of the victims. Of course, I said no. But, that wasn’t necessarily true. I knew them. And they knew me. In fact, I was with them that night. The night they died.

The Fourth of July was usually a day spent amongst Ballpark hotdogs and baseball on the radio. The scorching sun would beat the hell out of you during the day, but at night, the firework show would remind you just how amazing the day truly was. However, Sandra, Jackson, Wesley, and I had other plans as to what to do with our evening.

We walked down High Street together when suddenly, Wesley started in on an idea.

“You know that wooded area right there over by the Whitaker House?”

The sudden mention of the woods caught my attention quickly.

“Yeah, why? You wanna go watch the fireworks from there?”

“No, you dope. I’m not watching some wimpy firework show. I want a real show.”

“ What do you mean?”

He turned his head quickly over his shoulder, and when he saw no one behind them, he turned back to the three of us.

“Have you guys ever used a Ouijia board before?”

Before I knew it, we were in the forest, trampling over fallen branches and sliding past leaning trees that looked as though they had been there since the beginning of time. The sun was setting and soon the only light we would have would be the burning glow of fireworks coming from the park. I had no earthly idea where Wesley was taking us, but I continued on behind him anyways. I wish to God I had stayed home.

Wesley came to a halt once he reached a clearing big enough for the four of us to sit down in. We had walked nearly a mile into the forest, and now we were surrounded only by the leaves of the trees and whatever horrors our imaginations could conjure up. It was nearing sundown, and the shade from the canopy made it feel like midnight. That, and the eerily quiet tone of the forest. I couldn’t wait for this show to hit the road.

Wesley had been carrying a bag with him and he dropped it off his shoulders and onto the ground. He reached inside, and like a bad slow motion scene in an action film, he pulled out the long, mahogany board and placed it on the ground in the middle of the four of us. I studied the board for a moment. I had never seen one before and I wasn’t quite sure what it was for. I would soon find out exactly what it was for.

“Alright, wussies. Who’s ready to talk with the devil?”

This was most certainly not in my plans for the night.

Sandra looked both yet concerned at his question. Could she really be so naive to think you could actually talk to the devil himself?

“You go right ahead freakboy. I’ll watch.”

“It works better with more people. The more the better. Come on, place your hands on this.”

He pulled out a triangular shaped wooden board with a carved out hole in the middle. There was a round, magnified piece of glass placed perfectly in the hole and there were inscriptions around the front and sides. I was suddenly flushed with an uneasy feeling.

He placed the plank on the board and placed three fingers on the edge of it. We each slowly followed, mostly out of fear of what he might do if we didn’t. We stared at one another, not knowing that these would be one of our last moments together.

“Spirits. Can you hear me? I speak to you from the mortal world. I speak to you in peace.”

“Wesley, you’ll probably be possessed just for being so corny.”

“Spirits, if you are seeking a fresh young body to harvest, Sandra the slut over here is your’s for the taking.”

She grabbed a hand full of dirt from beside her feet and chucked it at him, but it did not hinder his concentration.

“Spirits. Are you with us tonight?”

The plank moved. I swear to God the plank moved.

It moved the corner of the board that read “Yes.”

“Ha ha, real funny asshole. You moved the damn thing yourself.” shouted a not-so-amused Jackson.

“Man, I swear I didn’t move it. I’m barely even touching it.”

We should have just ended the game there. Obviously, we didn’t.

“Can you tell us your name?”

The plank moved around slowly at first, trying to find its way around the board. It began to pick up speed as it went along.

“N-o-t-h-i-n-g.”

Wesley seemed to find the answer rather amusing and scoffed at the board’s response.

“Well, Nothing, what do you want from us tonight?”

The plank began to move around sporadically. Our hands jerked with it, and no matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t get them off the damn thing.

“E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.”

The worry began to mount in Sandra’s eyes.

“Okay, this isn’t funny anymore, Wesley. I’m not playing anymore.”

She quickly attempted to rip her hands off the plank when Wesley lept over the board to try and stop her.

“No! Sandra, you can’t leave the game. Not until we all do.”

“Oh, yeah? And why not? Afraid of some voodoo, witchcraft, hocus pocus bullshit?”

“Don’t take your hands off the plank, Sandra. I mean it. Don’t break the circle.”

“Oh, come on Wes. Lighten up, you wuss. Nothing bad’s gonna happen. See.”

Before any of us could stop her, Sandra ripped her hands off the plank. The circle had been broken. But, the game wasn’t over.

“Now, why would you do that? You know what you just did?”

Suddenly, a booming echo blasted through the woods and a bright, red and blue light beamed across the sky. The fireworks show had begun. Sandra looked up in amazement as the illuminating colors had her completely mesmerized.

A thunderous crack whipped through the sky as the next ones went off. They soared to the summit and exploded into, what appeared to be, Uncle Sam. BOOM. The next one went off, this time portraying Lady Liberty.

We all sat there staring up at the sky as each one shot up into the sky and showed off its unique, patriotic scene. It never occurred to us that each of our hands had left the plank.

The night sky was filled with color and clouds of smoke. We could hear the town

cheering from miles away. However, those cheers would be drowned out by what happened next.

The familiar whistling sound of a bottle rocket soaring through the sky at what seemed like a hundred miles a minute whirred through our ears. We waited to hear the undeniable crack of the explosion and to see the beautiful array of color. But, instead there was a deafening screech that came from the blast. The colors were not of Betsy Ross’ design. They were dark. Black even. How black fireworks could be seen in the night sky, I will never know. Nor do I ever want to.

We looked up and it felt like staring into the sun. The creature we saw was nothing any man could imagine or comprehend. It had winds made of sharpened teeth, eyes of complete black, void of any soul or reason of being. The screech continued as the creature began to descend upon us. Its mouth was wide open, showing its several large rows of fangs and its serpent-like tongue flickered in and out of its mouth. Its wings kept beating faster and faster as it rapidly approached us.

It fell upon Wesley and immediately sank its teeth into the side of his neck, piercing the jugular vein and draining him of half his blood in seconds. Wesley was dead.

Sandra, Jackson, and I quickly got up off our asses and made a run for it. I could hear its wings beating against the wind as it began catching up to us. I refused to look back. In my head, if I turned back I was as good as dead. Keep forward. Never look back.

It wasn’t long until I heard a nauseating crunch of bones and Sandra’s heart shattering scream for help. She couldn’t have lived longer than a few seconds after that. At least it was quick.

I knew Jackson was running right behind me, but he might as well be on another planet. I just kept running. I had to keep running. I’d rather die running than be caught by whatever the hell that thing was.

The whirring noise of its wings kept getting closer and closer. I knew Jackson would be next. I thought, if I could just get out of the woods and out into the open I’d be okay. I don’t know how, but I just knew I would be.

Jackson tripped over a fallen tree limb and fell face first to the ground. The wings quit beating and soon Jackson would feel the icy hands of death lay upon his trembling skin. But, I didn’t turn around. I had to keep going.

In the distance, I was able to make out the edge of the forest. I knew I was getting closer to home plate and I couldn’t let up now. It was behind me now and I was the only one left.

As the edge of the forest grew nearer, I felt my calves begin to tighten. The excruciating pain shot through my legs as I felt my muscles contracting and tearing. I couldn’t run anymore. But, I had to. I had to push through. I had to live.

I inherently began to slow down a little, which shortened the distance between us. I could feel it getting closer and closer as the horrid stench of its breath began to creep into my nostrils. The wind from its wings hit my legs and I saw its shadow looming behind me. It was then that I felt its hand graze my back. I thought it was over.

I leaned forward and ran as fast as I could for the last couple hundred feet until I collapsed on the other side of the trees. I finally looked behind me to see nothing but trees and real country darkness. It stayed behind. It didn’t follow me out into the open. I had reached safety and it had chosen not to follow. It stayed in the forest, along with Wesley, Sandra, and Jackson.

***

The fires took several hours to put out. Half the trees had been incinerated along with the wildlife. It was the talk of the town for several days, as you could imagine. Who did it? How did it start? Was it an act of God?

Sheriff MacDonald didn’t seem too interested in finding out how or why. He was just glad it was over with and out of his hands. I overheard him talking to Areta Hankins down at Lacey’s Diner the other day and he seemed relieved.

“Well, them fires were a pain in the--- well, you know. I’m just glad they got put out before it spread into town. Then there we’d be. Half the town up in smoke. Count your blessings, I guess. The truth is, a wildfire is actually not such a bad thing. Forests need them. It’s a part of their growth. Sometimes, you gotta burn a little bit before you can grow. Get rid of the dead weight and what other shi--, I mean stuff you’re holding on to.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself, Sheriff.