The Narrows(115)
He fled back out into the night.
The final time, he appeared with another figure whom Brandy guessed was Billy Leary. Both boys trod through the corn and crept into the yard, just as Matthew had done the previous time by himself. By this time, however, the power had been restored to Stillwater, and the boys’ movements caused the motion sensor light above the garage to wink on. Bright-white light spilled out across the yard, spotlighting the two frail little figures who quickly retreated into the darkness where they disappeared almost as silently as they had come.
The following morning, just as daylight seeped up into the sky over the eastern mountains, Brandy took the pickup truck out to Route 40 and then down to the turnabout where the stone footbridge crossed over the Narrows. She parked the car and zippered up her jacket then got out. The air was stingingly cold. With her grandmother’s crucifix in her jacket pocket and a flashlight leading the way, she crossed the footbridge and ascended the hillside on the opposite side of the Narrows. Toward the plastics factory.
The shrubbery was denuded, making it easier for her to locate the double doors at the rear of the old building. In fact, one of the doors had been left open a few inches, revealing a vertical sliver of darkness. She shone the flashlight into the sliver while she eased the door open with one sneaker. Its hinges squealed.
Inside, only the vaguest shafts of early morning light permeated the milky windows at the far end of the building. Industrial machinery loomed like prehistoric creatures frozen in time. The air smelled unused and musty, coating the back of her throat like dust. The flashlight’s beam washed back and forth. Muddy footprints stamped trails about the concrete floor.
She found them in a back room, asleep on a mound of sawdust and dead leaves. Matthew lay curled on his side, his thumb propped in his mouth just as he used to do when he was a toddler. Even in the limited light of the flashlight, Brandy could see his hair had started to grow back. His flesh had taken on some color, and his face even looked rosy. Beyond Matthew, Billy Leary lay on his back, asleep. There was sawdust and dead leaves in his hair.
“Matthew,” she whispered.
He sat up, blinking into the light. Dirt streaked his face. His eyes focused on her and warmed instantly.
“Brandy,” he said, already beginning to tremble…already beginning to cry. Behind him, Billy Leary stirred and woke, too. “Brandy.”
She turned off the light. “Time to go home,” she said.
2
But he had lied to her. He wasn’t careful. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Shirley had been right—the battery on the GPS lasted for nearly seventy-two hours. When the signal finally died, it had already stopped moving for several hours, coming to rest in the green hills of the Shenandoah Valley.
Ben arrived in the Valley around dusk of some afternoon. He guided the Packard into a parking space in front of a small mom-and-pop diner. Outside, the air tasted crisp. Someone was cooking pork in a smoker out back. It would be a harsh winter here in the mountains.
In the diner, Ben sat at the counter and ordered only a cup of coffee. The few other people in the place ate in solitary silence, crowded protectively over their plates like prisoners in a prison cafeteria.
“Anything besides coffee?” a middle-aged waitress asked him after he’d finished half the cup. “Charlie makes one hell of an omelet.”
“An omelet for dinner?”
“Sure,” the waitress said. “Why not?”
Why not, indeed. “Okay,” he said. “Sounds good.”
She looked him over. “You new in town?”
“Just got in now.”
“Looking for work?”
“Maybe.” He finished his coffee and the waitress refilled his cup. “You folks been having problems with bats lately?” he asked.
“You some kind of exterminator?”
“Something like that,” he said.
She shrugged then looked instantly miserable. After a moment, she said, “I’ll go tell Charlie to put on an omelet for you.”
“Thanks.”
She hurried away, as if his question about bats had troubled her. He brought his coffee to his lips, sipped it. It was hot, strong, and good.
A few stools away, a burly man with a gray beard and a hunting vest cleared his throat and said, “You say something about bats, buddy?”
Outside, the sun began to set.
About the Author
Ronald Malfi is the award-winning author of the novels The Ascent, Snow, Shamrock Alley, Passenger, and several others. His ghost story/mystery Floating Staircase was nominated for a Bram Stoker Award for Best Novel in 2011. Most recognized for his haunting, literary style and memorable characters, Malfi's dark fiction has gained acceptance among readers of all genres. He currently lives along the Chesapeake Bay where he is at work on his next book.
Look for these titles by Ronald Malfi
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Borealis
Evil can look so innocent.
Borealis
? 2009 Ronald Malfi
On a routine crabbing expedition in the Bering Sea, Charlie Mears and the rest of the men aboard the trawler Borealis discover something unbelievable: a young woman running naked along the ridge of a passing iceberg. The men rescue her and bring her aboard the boat. But they will soon learn her horrible secret. By the time they find out why she was alone on the ice—and what she truly is—the nightmare will have begun, as one by one she infects them with an evil that brings about unimaginable terrors.