Taper Town - Rough Draft Finished

[MalReynolds]

Marion Smith sat with unreadable eyes in the pastel blue booth of the café, as if expecting someone at any second to take the seat across from her. She stared into space, her coffee mug sitting perfectly still on the table directly beneath her chin. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the smell of the bitter drink barely registering in her brain.

Her eyes went dead the day they took her child away from her.

Susanna, the small, sweet child, had only been five when they came with their folders, their judgments, and removed her from Marion’s care. Marion tried to hold on to her, tried to fight as they pulled both of them from the house. There was no hiding anymore.

“Marion Smith, you are found by the court to be an unfit parent to Susanna Smith due to restricted mental capacity and chemical imbalance.”

She had taken Susanna on the run, told her they were going for ice-cream, and they left the state, moved from half-way house to half-way house, eventually going the whole-way over ten times before a worker identified Marion.

Marion was charged with kidnapping a ward of the state, and sentenced to ten years. When the bars slammed, her life ebbed away. Every night, when the metal clanged shut, she felt another piece of her slowly drifting off. Her dreams would be of only one thing – Susanna, the small child with the golden hair, her red and white dress with a bow tied neatly behind her back, her sparkling blue eyes, her seemingly ever missing front tooth.

Ten years, Marion sat and dreamed about Susanna, her daughter, the child that she loved, loved enough to risk it all. There was no reward for the endeavor she undertook. Only punishment.

Marion was released, and underwent mandatory psyche evaluations as an order of her parole. It had been eight years after she had seen Susanna, and was told that she was not allowed to go near the child – it would be in direct violation of her parole, and she would be charged with endangering the life of a child.

Her parole officer helped her find a desk job, something that wouldn’t tax her already fragile mind, and she worked hard for three long years in a cubicle, shut off from the world. Her desk face opposite the entrance to her workspace, every footfall behind her making her jump. It was just men, women, in suits and skirts, walking back and forth to the copier, the machine that was separated from Marion by a thin piece of wood covered with fabric.

It clanged to life every few minutes, the interior pieces slamming harshly against the plastic, causing the entire contraption to shake violently before spewing out a single piece of paper. Then the process, the long process, would repeat. Marion was the only person that had to listen to it. Everyone would drop off documents to print, and wander off, to the kitchen, to the cooler, to make conversation, while Marion worked hard. The job was the only thing she had left. Sorting documents. Making small corrections to official statements.

But the copier was enough to drive any person mad. The beast would howl and howl for what seemed like hours at a time, unwilling to stop, unwilling to die. In the event of a copier error, the machine would shake in an even more aggressive manner, like an oversized Yahtzee cup filled with metal die.

Marion kept to herself. She learned to deal with it, to try and shut out the noise. She was attuned to hearing the squeak of the mail trolley behind her, the one loose wheel, attuned to hearing the noise and then the slightly more intrusive sound of the cart passing. No one wrote.

Until May 5th.

She was surprised to hear the cart stop behind her. The copier still chugged along, an angry monster, but the squeaking wheel stopped.

“Marion Smith?”

Marion turned, her chair swiveling. She was not a bad looking person by any means – her fallow eyes betrayed her beauty. She too had blonde, curling hair. Her skin was fair, and she always dressed in a smart fashion.

“Yes?”

“Letter for you.”

“Oh. I haven’t gotten one of these here. I mean, I’ve gotten letters before, just not at work.”

The mail clerk smiled. “Yeah. I walk past your desk every day. I don’t know how you can work next to the copier. They said we were going to get a new one, a more quite one... but you know how they are.”

“How long ago did ‘they’ say that?”

“About a year.”

Marion faked a smile. “But a letter? Really? Didn’t know anyone cared to write to me.”

“Well, someone does. Someone in... Taper Town, New Hampshire. Never heard of it.”

Her blonde curls bounced as she shook her head. “Neither have I. Probably just junk mail. You can toss it.”

The clerk looked at the letter. “Looks like it was hand written. Maybe you should take a look at it after all.”

She reached out and took the letter from his hand. He stood for a second, as if waiting for her to open it. She stared at him – his bald head doing a very good job reflecting the overhead lights, his too-big glasses and too-small shirt – before he finally got the idea that she did not want company.

She turned back to her desk and pulled a pen from one drawer, sliding it under the right most corner of the envelope, making a straight line down the side. She pulled the letter out, and looked at the envelope.

“15156, Lake Crest Drive, Taper Town, New Hampshire,” was written in a very dry, very straight forward script. Her address, “45931 L. Craft Industries, El Paso, Texas” was written the same way.

She picked up the letter, and turned it over in her hands. It had been folded neatly into three sections. It unfolded easily in her hand. The color drained from her face when she read the first word, which was written unlike the address on the front of the envelope. The first word, the innocent but loving first word, was written in a small, stilted script, from the hands of a child.

“Mommy.”

Marion’s breath caught in her throat. She felt as if she had been punched hard in the stomach, the hard lines of her desk blurring. The world stopped – the copier muted, the quiet conversation behind her stilted. The color was pulled from her typically monochrome world, and she turned back to the letter, which looked to have been written in red crayon.

“Mommy,

“I miss you very much. The people that took me told me I wasn’t allowed to write you letters, but I decided that they weren’t my mommy, and that I could do whatever I wanted to.

“They said I shouldn’t write to you because you’d try to take me away again and what if that’s what I want I asked them and they said that I was too young to decide anything for myself, but I’m not young I’m 6 and thats pretty grown up.

“You can come take me away and I wont tell any person, I promise. Speschully not new mommy or new daddy. They always look at me funny cus I dont like talking to them or there frends.

“Please come get me mommy. Real mommy. MOMMY I LOVE.”

The letter was written on snow white paper. Beneath the final message was a stick figure drawing of a little girl with long hair holding the stick figure hand of a grown woman.

Marion read the letter, again and again, each time savoring all the details, the heartache in the letter as her child railed against her new guardians. In the back of her mind, something was not settling right about the letter in the least – it had arrested her lucid train of thought, however, and with each consecutive read, the letter turned into a cry for help.

As she folded the letter, she sat back. The paper hadn’t aged more than the three days it would have taken to get there, the waxy smell from the crayon still fresh on the paper.

It finally occurred to her what had been so off putting about the letter as she was packing her bag for the night. She picked it up, and ran her finger over the fine textures that the crayon had left behind.

“... I’m not young I’m 6 and thats pretty grown up.”

Susanna being six would have been more than twelve years ago, Marion thought to herself. But the letter looks like it was written yesterday. It was written yesterday. I don’t understand.

She left work that night puzzled, yet hopeful. Susanna hadn’t forgotten about her – and now she knew where to find her again. Taper Town, New Hampshire.

-

The pastel blue booth of the café matched Marion’s mood as she sat, barley acknowledging the coffee. She was staring out the window, past the vacant seat, through the parking lot, to a green highway sign that sat just off the exit.

“Now Ent. New Hampshire.”

She listlessly dropped a few dollars onto the table, grabbing her purse, and stepping onto the floor. The letter she had carried with her from Texas fell to the ground, to the feet of a stranger, who stooped down and picked it up.

“You dropped this, ma’am,” he said, in a slow drawl. She briefly glanced up at the man – who was wearing a too small shirt and whose bald head reflected the overhead light, the too big glasses sliding down his nose.

“Do I know you?” She asked, blinking.

“Don’t believe you do. But you did drop this,” he shook the letter. Marion glanced down, and looked back up. The face of the man had changed completely. He was now younger, with a head full of red hair, and freckles to match. He was chewing on a tooth pick, and once again shook the letter. “But I don’t have all day, miss.”

“I’m – I’m very sorry. I thought you were someone else,” she said.

The ginger man smiled. “I am someone else,” he said back.

“Pardon?”

“It’s a bad joke. You thought I was someone else, I am someone else... Sorry about that. I’d give you my name, but I have to be going. It’s nothing against you, I do love to flirt, but if I don’t leave soon, the storm is going to cut me off and I can’t drive worth a hoot in the rain. So if you’ll excuse me...”

She stared blankly at him as he tried to weasel his way around her. She kept closing her eyes and shaking her head, trying to conjure up the image of the bald man, but couldn’t quite bring him back. Every time she would open her eyes, the red headed man looked more and more impatient.

“Right,” she said, sighing. “I’m sorry. I’m just having an off day. I’m – “

“Don’t want you name, miss. I just want to get out of here.”

“Right. I’m very sorry,” she stepped out of the way.

Marion watched as he walked outside, making his way to a blue pickup truck. In between the partitions in the window, he would briefly change back and forth from the bald man to the red haired man. Her breath came in short gasps as he slid into the driver seat, casting a glance behind himself and grinning right at her, his teeth sharpened into points.

This happened to you before, little girl, and that’s why the court decided you were an UNFIT MOTHER and now you want to go see your –

“Not WANT. WILL see my little girl.”

- she’s not supposed to be your little girl anymore, Marion, she’s supposed to be all grown up and why don’t you just accept that?

-

The rain had already started to fall when she took exit 64B to Taper Town. The exit wound itself around a hill covered with thick trees, gradually sloping upward until she reached the crest. She idled her car as she stared over into the valley. The small town blanketed the floor, lights turning on one by one. She gauged the other hills surrounding the town, but couldn’t find another set of headlights going into or out of Taper Town. She put the car in gear, and inched her way down the hill, slowly, keeping her eyes peeled for any animals.

She might not recognize you. It’s been a long time. Unless you really believe she still is six. She might not even want to see you.

“No, no, she wrote the letter. She wrote the letter. She wants me to come get her. She really does.”

And what if you don’t recognize her, my friend? What then? It’s been a long, long time. Do you still even have a picture?

In her mind, but it was all that mattered. She could never forget Susanna’s face, her smile, her laugh, her smell.

The road led down into the valley, until it cut deep into the hill, bedrock and shale on both sides of her car. The rain began to pound down harder, cutting visibility to almost nothing, and she slowed to a crawl. No accidents now, not when she was so close.

The road led to a tunnel, and at the front of the tunnel was a small house, set off to the side. There was a booth with a crossing guard, and a man standing in front of it. Marion pulled up and rolled her window down. The man approached, his black poncho slick with the northern downpour.

“Miss, the tunnel closes during the rain. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to turn around.”

She stared up at him. “It’s important.”

“No, ma’am, you’ll drown if you go through. Turn back around, try again later.”

“My daughter,” she pleaded, “My daughter has been kidnapped, and she’s on the other side of this tunnel. Please, please, you have to let me through.”

“Maybe you should try calling the police.”

“They’ll kill her. But if you’re worried about my safety, I can turn around.”

“No... Just... leave your car by the side here and use the maintenance walkway on the side, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. She put her car in gear and pulled next to the booth. She hefted her purse over one shoulder, and pulled her white coat tight around herself, before stepping into the tunnel.

“Wait,” he called after her. “You need a light. Don’t want to go tumbling over the railing, do you?”

“No,” she said. She grabbed it from his hand. It was heavier than it looked, and even after turning it on, she had to hit it a few times against the wall before it finally sprang to life. She turned the beam back to the man, and was relieved to find that he was not bald, and was dressed rather appropriately for the weather.

“Just watch out for the oldins in the there.”

“The what’s?”

“All manner of thing in the tunnel. Rain can wash em’ out of their hiding places. My kid and I, we call em’ the oldins. Like, ‘Youngins’, but the opposite.”

“Oh. What about grues?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she muttered under her breath, turning back to the gaping mouth of the tunnel. Her light revealed the path she would be taking, down into the belly of the hill. It was concrete, but shining wet. To her left was a metal railing, broken in the same place every few feet by the same blunt force. She stepped inside and was immediately captured by the sound.

The water roaring down the road was deafening, and only grew louder the further she descended. There were grates every ten feet or so that were dripping wet, a manner of plant life extending forward from between the metal teeth, almost seeming to grip after her as she would walk path. At any moment an unspeakable pale terror could come crawling from any of the vents, pulling her into the ceiling, her screams masked by the sound of the rushing water.

Or what about the water? The creature that could live within? The scale skinned organism, nothing but a loose collection of teeth and tentacles that would wrap itself around her leg and pull her through one of the deliberate openings in the metal railing – because sure that is how they were all made, the scale men pulling wary travelers into the screaming deluge.

She reached the bottom – where the walkway began to rise – and the water no longer sounded like water rushing. It was a terrifying and angry yell, darkness cursing the light, low, and guttural before ascending to high and whining. It seemed unending. Marion stood and watched the water, her light held steadfast in her hands, as it came rushing down the road from either end of the tunnel, meeting in the middle like violent lovers embracing, sending up cold wave after cold wave.

The drainage sure is impressive to be able to handle this much water without the tunnel completely flooding. But what about what lives under the tunnel, Marion? What about that? Maybe there’s something under the tunnel drinking up all the water, Marion. Something with no teeth, but a million things that live inside its infinite belly waiting to tear you apart, piece by piece until there’s nothing left? Don’t fall, Marion. No one can here you scream down here.

She imagined the creature that lived beneath the tunnel, thick skinned, dripping with viscous moisture that would run off the creases in its skin in thick rivulets, attached to nothing and everything with countless arms and tentacles, hanging from the ceiling of space and time, waiting for her. Excited for her.

Marion shook her head, the rain falling from her hair, and she began to trek upwards, the angry cry dissipating behind her as she made her way. It was soon that she saw the exit of the tunnel – dark, but lighter than where she was. The rain fell in a waterfall over the exit, obscuring her view of the town, the water now dark instead of clear.

She stepped under the waterfall and let it wash over her, rinsing off her apprehension, carrying it backwards, down into the vertex of the road. She closed her eyes and felt it cleanse her. She stepped forward, her flashlight flickering, cutting glimpses of the town in front of her before dying completely.

She stared down at her light, but it was covered in shadow. As was her hands. She closed her eyes and shook her head again, trying to remove the darkness that was coating her, but to no avail. She turned and looked at the waterfall she had been standing under – it was pure black. Her coat was covered with the dark water, and she reached out her hand, a small part unaffected by the crashing cascade, and held it to the rain.

Thick, fat drops splashed against her hand like ink, painting her in darkness.

“Oh, God, what is this?”

She began to run, watching her step carefully, moving under an awning of the closest building. She looked at herself in the window’s reflection, splotches of darkness covering her body. She reached up and touched her face, smearing some of the liquid, but it would not come off. She moved to touch her reflection, but it was no longer moving in tandem with her. The Marion in the window was acting as a mime, playing out a sad scene. She recalled the moment – when they decided to take her daughter from her.

Marion shook her head, but the picture did not restore itself. She was still looking at someone that resembled Marion, but now she was being pulled by an invisible rope, upwards, until only her feet were kicking still in the window.

A flash of lightning struck the hill behind her, and she was returned, staring back at her reflection again, this time, the reflection staring right back at her. She was no longer covered in the dark water – rather, now, she only looked wet, miserable, and confused.

This same thing happened right before YOU KNOW WHAT, MARION. It’s happening AGAIN, isn’t it.

“No.”

It IS. You just won’t admit it. Admit it, Marion. Maybe you should turn to leave. Maybe THEY were right about you.

“No.”

If they were right, what kind of danger would you be putting Susanna in, Marion? Trying to protect her from invisible monsters, from spooks that go bump in the night? From nothing?

“No, I swear it.”

I wish I could believe you, Marion, I do.

“I’ll make you believe. We’ll see.”

It was with these words that the lights inside the house turned on. Marion jumped, and stared at the old man looking at her from inside.

“Good lord, come in, girl. You’ll catch the death out there”

Marion nodded, stepping inside.

The old man closed the door behind her, and the noise of the rainfall immediately stopped, as if he had shut off the elements entirely.

“I’m sorry to intrude, sir, I just came through the tunnel and – “

“It’s hell in there. I’m surprised you made it. Did you walk?”

“Yes, and –“

“That damn fool Johnny on the other side. Always letting people through. It’s dangerous in there. Dangerous out here when the rain falls.”

“I know, and –“

“Mind likely to play tricks on you out here, hundred miles away from anything. Some people like the solitude. I like the solitude. The name’s Darren.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said. “My daughter wrote me a letter. I’m just looking for her – maybe for a place to stay before I go and pick her up. I want to surprise her, and... And it would just be great if I could just pick her up as soon as I saw her without having to worry about the rain, or the tunnel.”

“Well, sure. You can stay here, I suppose. We have an extra room. What did you say your name was?”

“Marion. Smith. Kind of dangerous inviting strangers in, don’t you think?”

“If you kill me, where would you go? The hills out there would eat you alive. Tunnel won’t be open for another day. So consider this as a piece of advice. Don’t go killin’ nobody while it’s raining out here. You’ll only be stuck.”

“Thanks,” she said, forcing a smile, suddenly uneasy.

“You’ll be up here,” he said, moving the staircase. “First door on the left.”

You’ll be stuck here, Mary my girl. Why don’t you turn around.

“It’s too late,” she muttered.

“What was that?” Darren called from behind her.

“Have a good night,” she called.

[OMG its HIM]

long story i read 1/2 im hungry

[dood gone krazee]

Originally Posted by OMG its HIM

long story i read 1/2 im hungry

Please have better posts, don't just post for the sake of posting.

Loved the story once again Mal. Seemed like you tried to go with some of Stephen King's style of writing. Great story so far.

There were some parts there where you could probably change some punctiuation, but one thing that really stuck out at me is when you said, "It was just men, women, in suits and skirts, walking back and forth to the copier, the machine that was separated from Marion by a thin piece of wood covered with fabric."
When you say "men, women, in suits and skirts," it doesn't seem to flow well. Try saying it like, "Men and women in suits and skirts." Too manny comma's in that sentence.

Good job nontheless! Keep writing!

[MalReynolds]

I'm hideous when it comes to comma usage. If I think there might be a pause there, comma. If, at one point, I was going to make a list, comma.

Really, really rough draft. Although I did do something that actually benefits the story in a way. When I was typing out the letter that Susanna sends, I wrote the first part as an adult, and then changed to a child's voice. Which will come into play, but it was really an author error.

I'm trying to mix some King (although not "IT" surprisingly - the tunnel scene was more HP Lovecraft), Lovecraft, and some standard mythos about towns and such.

[jono2007]

The Tunnel scene just messed me up, to this day I still don't understand why the kids had to fu-nevermind.

You have a writing style that is complex yet stays together well. Your comma usage isn't really that bad, though do not overflow on them. Try to mix other punctuation in there.

Very good story by the way.

[GamerShadow]

This is an excellent rough draft, Mal.

Originally Posted by Mal

...a more quite one (copying machine)...

Do you mean quiet? I'm just trying to help you proofread so that your story can become even greater than what it was before.

[MalReynolds]

In her dreams, her eyes were held open by smooth, damp hands. They pried at her eyebrows, forcing her lids apart, while she was helpless. Staring upward, she saw the shadow move in front of the only source of illumination – a single light that hung from a thin wire, dangling like a prisoner at the end of a hangman’s rope.

The shadow stood over her, the sex and shape unremarkable, almost amorphous. It reached out, slow and snake like, touching her arm, running its darkness over her skin, up to her shoulder. She sensed a genuine sympathy from the shape.

“Help me,” she was able to call out. It echoed through the room, coming back to her ears louder with each bounce from each wall. She tried to grimace, but her face was held fast.

The sympathy coming from the shape turned to ferocity as its grip on her arm tightened, digging in to her pale skin. Small drops of blood ebbed out as the shape applied more pressure. Marion wanted to cry out – the pain was unbearable, as if a dozen pins were being forced in to each pore - but a gag clamped over her mouth, preventing any air from leaving.

The shape began to violently shake her back and forth -

come on, now, this is no time for SLEEP

- her head supported by what felt like straw, her neck cracking to one side. The gag was removed and she cried out, shouting into the darkness.

“Hold on, you crazy thing! Stop screaming!”

Her eyes flew open. Darren was gently rocking her back and forth, hand on either shoulder.

“Are you awake yet? Thought you were awake a second ago, and then you started crying out all over the place! Made such a racket. Almost woke my wife up, and she’s deaf!”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I was having a dream.”

“This ain’t the place for dreams,” the old man said, stepping away from the bed. “When you get to be my age, at least. Dreaming... That’s a young person’s game.”

“How sentimental,” Marion said, brushing the hair from her face. She had broken into a cold sweat at some point in the night and her skin was cool to touch. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally have nightmares.”

“Sounded like quite a doozy,” Darren moved to the door. “In any case, it’s almost morning. Rain hasn’t quite stopped yet. It’s just kind of... misty out there, now. Sometimes it gets like that.”

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her eyes. When he stepped out of the room, she exhaled and brought her arms up in across her chest. She rubbed her arms, holding herself, trying to steady what seemed like the only nerve she had left.

Not quite a dream, was it? You can feel it on your shoulder, where that THING forced itself in, can’t you?

She could.

Maybe a night terror. Who knows. Maybe you’re FALLING again, only this time, who is gonna catch YOU?

She knew the answer. There was no one. If she retreated – if she were to fall into her old way of thinking, her old mindset – there would be no one to help her. As a child, her parents and teachers hailed Marion as brilliant, ingenious, on the cusp of being extraordinary. But as she grew, her imagination never developed past the most infantile of stages, making every shadow into a monster, every noise into a killer, every playtime outside a realm of fantasy that she could not escape.

Eventually, she was placed on medications that sedated her mind heavily. The very pills she carried in her purse with her – one with breakfast, plenty of fluid, and please don’t operate heavy machinery for at least two hours – that sat on the floor next to the bed. She opened the small orange prescription bottle and dry swallowed a dose before lying back in the bed and staring up.

Darren’s house looked like it had been carved from a large tree, she decided. The ceiling was one large plank with marks made from a carving tool criss-crossing in complete disorder. There was no seam between the ceiling and wall, and set in the center was a window.

She rose from the bed and moved over to the portal, staring out at the town, drinking in the view. Taper Town did not look as happy as the name let on, she decided. Darren’s house sat a few streets over from a lake, which had a heavy mist covering it like skin on top of pudding. The streets were blanketed in a thin fog, with small drops of rain splashing against the ground, into the curbs, which all led downhill back to the tunnel. The further uptown she looked, the higher in elevation it raised, before stopping at the base of a large hill. On the opposite shore of the lake, she could make out a cosmetic lighthouse, something that, at one time, would draw in tourists.

But who wants to come to Taper Town but the people looking to find something? Maybe people looking to lose something, too. But you’ve already lost it all, girl, haven’t you? So what are you doing here? Entertaining morbid fantasies of an ageless daughter?

“No.”

That’s EXACTLY what you’re doing. If you could only see yourself now.

“Stop.”

She turned to her bag, pulling it onto the bed, and removed a blue blouse and khaki pants. She quickly changed, and grabbed her coat, which she had thrown onto a chair in the corner the night before in a haste. It had almost seemed like it landed on someone before it had sank down to the cushion, but it had been too dark to see.

The den of the house was much different in natural lighting than it had been in the dark of the previous night. It was one large room with a table set in the middle. In a corner far too the left, was a single stove, counter top and ice chest. In another corner sat a television, plug hanging impotent at its side. There were no power outlets that she could discern in any of the walls. Darren sat on a couch, facing the television, staring into space when she stepped off the last stair.

“Hey,” she called out. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back later, Darren.”

“Take your time,” he said, turning. “Ain’t much to see out there, though. Except maybe the Bragg lighthouse, although I doubt they’re open. Wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to stay cooped up in this house all day. Not everyone does. Some days, I don’t like it, either, but I have to take care of my wife. If she were to fall and I wasn’t here, I don’t know what I’d do. What I suggest, though, young miss – is that as soon as your done with your business here, you get out of Taper Town.”

“Why?”

“This place isn’t for everyone, I hope you understand – there are some –“ before he could finish, there was a loud thud that came from upstairs. “Oh, my. It would appear we have awoken Charolette with our mindless chatter. We shouldn’t have done that.”

“I thought you said she was deaf...”

“Oh, I did. That doesn’t mean she can’t hear, though, does it? I don’t think she likes you here very much, but I can tolerate whatever she’s going to put me through for the time being. Why don’t you just walk about town? I have a headache coming on and I’m afraid I get most irritable when I have a headache.” Darren grimaced, worry lines crossing his face. He most notably had creases from frowning, but no wrinkles from smiling.

“Yes. I’ll be back later, probably to just pick up my stuff. I’ll check in at a hotel.”

“No hotels, miss. No one ever seems to want to stay. The door here is always open, though.”

“Thank you, I suppose.” She turned to the front door, collecting herself, before opening it and stepping outside, under the same awning she sought shelter under the night before.

It looks like you wandered straight into one of your delusional episodes. How surreal it must feel, to know that you’re not hallucinating, but to meet an old man like Darren. Unless you are hallucinating. I’ll bet you’re back at your desk right now, staring down at the envelope, unopened, just imagining what’s inside, because did you take your pill that morning?

“Yes.”

Accurate historian all of a sudden.

“Shut up.”

She walked down two wooden steps to the paved road, and set off in the direction of the lake. Each of the houses she passed was of a different build, as if each was made by a different person entirely as opposed to a single construction company. All of the houses were two stories, although they were painted almost clashing colors – red, orange, yellow – which contrasted with the gray that the mist brought in. Each house stood out like a target amidst the haze, like a series of different colored dominos, wavering in the morning light.

She reached the end of the street, and looked out over the lake. The fog wasn’t stationary, nor was it rolling in to the town. It looked as if it were churning like a maelstrom, pulled in vicious circles over the center of the lake. But from the shoreline, the water looked serene and calm.

Marion watched as the fog was pulled in a clockwise motion, whipping but a few feet in front of her again and again. She looked over at the light house, a few hundred feet away, to the observation deck. After a few seconds, she decided that it would be interesting to try and get a better look.

What if it’s the infinity monster that lives under the tunnel? The Oldin? What would you do about it? What if it sees you up there, staring down into its open maw, and it sends it eye right after you?

“What if, what if. Get a new trick.”

The door to the light house was ajar, fluttering on its hinges in the cool breeze. She stepped inside.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

She counted to five. After she received no answer, she took another step forward.

“Anyone at all?”

There was nothing but darkness. The sun was coming up behind her, not yet streaming through one of the two windows into the base of the lighthouse. She stood in the light of the doorway trying to make out any shape at all. The beam she was standing in reached all the way to the foot of the stairs, which wound their way up the inside of the stone building. She stepped forward, putting her hand on the railing and put one foot up.

“Careful, careful,” she whispered to herself. As soon as her second foot was on the first step, the door began to close behind her.

“No, no, no,” she whispered quickly, both hands gripping the railing tight. “No, no, no, come on!”

The beam retreated as the door slowly shut.

“You can move. You can move yourself, just get to the door, come on, stop shaking!”

But it was no use. She was paralyzed, rooted in place, helpless as the door completed its journey, clicking shut.

Well now, isn’t this nice? There’s no light at all. None! You can barely make out the stairs in front of you, and you’re going to climb all the way up? There might be a missing stair. There there’d be a missing Marion. People would come looking for you. All your friends...

“No one would look for me.”

The mail clerk.

His bald face flashed in front of her eyes.

He might come looking for you.

“God, I hope not.” She swallowed hard, putting her right foot up another step, making sure it was on solid wood before she put any weight on it. Both hands never left the railing. She gripped it tight enough to give herself a series of splinters as she climbed the first ten steps, stopping on a flat surface – “A landing,” she said, reassuring herself.

She felt out the floor in front of her, shuffling her feet, using the railing to guide herself to the next step, which she promptly sat down on, catching her breath. She had broken into another cold sweat. She reached up, wiping the perspiration from her tired brow, and tried to imagine what the inside of the lighthouse looked like when the sun came through the windows. She imagined a warm throw rug in the base, with a nice armchair, and keeper sitting with a meerschaum pipe going over a book. Perhaps a nice lantern that he would never have to use, because in her mind, the lighthouse was always lit up.

Sighing, she pulled herself up, moving towards the next step, using every muscle in her body to make sure she remained perfectly upright. She climbed again, and again, hands still gripping the railing, which now felt like stone – petrified wood instead of the oak from the first set of stairs. Her breathing became short in her chest as she reached the second landing, seating herself again.

The lighthouse keeper, in her minds eye, was a kindly man. One that the entire town admired. He always entertained children, and gave out the best sweets during Halloween! And here Marion was, in his home away from home, such a good natured place to house such a good man, and yes, she should feel lucky to be inside. She calmed herself, believing that the lighthouse did belong to a wonderful old man -

who abandoned this building, now why would he do that

- *that would be very kind to her if he were to walk in and find her in this situation. They would both laugh about it. “Who climbs stairs in the dark?” he would guffaw, a big, mighty laugh, and she would laugh too, as she timidly raised her hand.

Marion rose to her feet, following the railing to the third – and what she hoped – was the final flight of stairs.

Why are you doing this, Marion? Will this help you find Susanna?

“Yes.”

But how do you know?

“I just... do.”

She climbed the first step, hands firm on the railing, but it no longer felt like oak, or stone. Instead, it felt warm and soft, almost recoiling to her touch. She gripped down hard, alarmed at this new sensation, and felt it squirm under her hands. There was an audible gasp as she let go – and Marion was unaware if she had been the only thing inhaling. She shook her head and placed her hands very slowly back on the railing, which seemed to move up to meet her touch, and pulled her foot, placing it on the next stair. Her foot sank in to the stair, which felt loose, like warm, firm mud around her shoe.

Go ahead, close your eyes. It’s already pitch dark in here.

Squeezing her eyes closed tight, she moved from stair to stair, each foot being held down. Every time she pulled her foot up, she could hear the sucking sound of air rushing in behind her. The railing writhed in her hand, seeming to enjoy her ascent, until she reached the third landing. She did not sit, but moved, hands on the walls, which seemed to be growing a fine hair, feeling her way towards where the door should be.

Her hands moved into an indentation, and she knew she had found it. She felt downwards, to where the handle would be, but instead felt herself gripping something slick and pointed like a spike.

She cried out, realizing that the indentation in the wall wasn’t a doorway, but a mouth – a large mouth, and she had just grabbed hold of the tooth.

“No, no,” she muttered, pushing forward. There was a click as the tooth slid backwards, and the lighthouse erupted in a howl, as if in pain, and she pushed harder. The scream amplified, and she threw her whole body into it.

The door swung open, bathing the entire interior in a harsh, white light. Marion moved her arm to shield her eyes from the sun, which had bleached her entire world. She took a few breaths, gathering herself, thinking about the lighthouse, the railing, the stairs.

Marion turned, and looked inside between fingers that she had brought up to her face like a child, scared of the picture on the screen. The stairs were wooden. The railing, oak. The door was just that – a door.

What horrible tricks you play on yourself, Marion.

“It wasn’t a trick... I felt it. I felt it. I could hear it. It was no trick.”

People feel things in dreams, people hear things in dreams. And when they wake up, they only pine for the before time. What horrible, horrible tricks the darkness plays.

“But it wasn’t. It was real.”

If you can convince yourself of that, does that make you insane? Doubt the reality.

“Shut up.”

She stepped onto the balcony, which overlooked the bay, and gave her a better glimpse at the town. It appeared almost the same as when she was looking from Darren’s window – Taper Town gently sloping upwards to the base of the hill, the multicolored houses. She felt so far away from it, so detached, as if on a throne watching a dead kingdom. There was no hustle and bustle of the streets, only a dead calm.

She turned her attention to the lake, the fog that swirled. From above, it looked even more like a maelstrom, white clouds being pulled violently against their will in a circular motion, a hurricane thirty feet below her. In the center, in the eye of the catastrophe, was a hole that seemed to lead straight down. Water was pouring into the perfectly circular chasm while the puffy clouds danced inches above. Marion watched with curiosity as the water poured straight down, silently. Her eyes grew wide as she saw a single white tongue like tentacle, pure white, poke its way out of the hole. She looked away and looked back to find the fog unmoving, the water stagnant.

She stared out for a few more second, before turning her attention back to the lighthouse. She looked down at the side of the building, the series of windows inundated on the side, and how the sunlight should have been streaming through them as she climbed higher and higher. Instead, she had been treated to a darkness, a room where no sun was allowed except that which was brought in.

Opening the door, she stepped back through, propping it open with a rock she had found in the ledge. The sun was now coming through the windows in full force, and she was amused to find out just how much like she imagined the interior really was. There was a cute throw rug, and a chair. In the corner was an oil lantern. She made her way quickly – and uneventfully – down the stairs. Everything on the ground floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, except for her footprints. She looked down, and was surprised to find a second set that had also climbed, although dust had began to settle in like snow to erase the tracks the other person left behind.

Oh, Susanna, don’t you cry for me.

“She was here.”

Don’t be silly. Those are a grown woman’s footprints.

“Susanna is a grown woman now. I want my baby, but... She’s a grown up. I’ll take her.

If you could have her back as a child or a woman, what would it be? Have you ever asked yourself that?


“I didn’t raise her. She’ll always be my little girl.”

-

Darren was surprised at how quickly Marion returned from her trek to Bragg lighthouse, even more surprised at just how calm she seemed when she came back through the door.

“Back so soon?”

“How long does it take most people to climb an old lighthouse? A day? I wasn’t even gone an hour.”

“You were gone three,” he chuckled. “Just takes most new folks around here some more time. Did you make it all the way up to the deck?”

“I sure did. Funny paint scheme you guys have going on around here.”

“We decided a while ago that there would be no neighborhood association. Everyone here would just... do what they wanted with their houses, and that’d be that.”

“Quaint.” She walked over to the stairs. “Is your wife okay?”

“She calmed down. Doesn’t take much to calm her. Of course, it doesn’t take much to rile her up.”

“I guess being deaf can do that to you.”

“It’s what gets taken away that’s the hardest. She wasn’t always deaf.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She began to walk up the stairs when Darren called after her.

“Nothing strange happen at Bragg?”

Marion choked back a gasp. “No. Why? People... They say strange stuff happens over there?”

“Some people. Mostly out of towners. It’s good. Everyone says something else about Bragg, I’ve never seen it myself. Always just been an old, empty lighthouse to me.”

“Same to me. Just old, empty. Dusty. Really dusty. Although the view from the observation deck was... whimsical. Especially over the lake.”

“Always covered in fog,” Darren muttered, frustrated. “Don’t even know what it’s good for, if it’s always covered in fog. Can’t even take a boat out there.”

“Or you could row right into the center,” she said under her breath.

“What was that?”

“You could hit a rock. Lots of rocks.”

“Or you could row right into the center,” he said.

“What?”

“Got some bad suction problems out there. Freak drainage, happens... every once in a while. Causes the fog to go all crazy, get pulled in. Happens mostly when it rains. Lake never overflows.”

“We’re going to have a talk, you and I, a little later, Darren. I don’t think you’re being straight with me.”

There was a moan and a thud from the upstairs.

“Now look what you’ve done. You’ve gone and woken Charolette up. I had just gotten her calmed down, too. And I have a headache coming, now, dammit, child, why would you go and say a think like that. We’re having a talk right NOW and NOW you’re giving me a headache!” His face grew bright red, his breath in ragged gasps, gulping down air. Marion backed away, arm raised in defense.

His face quickly returned to normal. “Jesus, child, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so, so sorry. It’s the headaches. They get awful bad, and I get them if I don’t tend to Charolette right away. She’s a good wife, but I always have to look after her. Some days... Some days, I think she’d be better off dead. That I’d be better off dead. But then I remember, is that what I really wanted?”

Marion stared at him. “What?”

“Is that what I really want?”

“You said ‘wanted’?”

“Pardon me. Addled mind like mine... Make slip ups all the time. I wouldn’t want to be dead. Especially when there’s someone that needs taking care of, like Charolette. I have to go take care of her. It sounds like she fell again. I’m... sorry I yelled at you. I lose my cool.”

“It happens to all of us.”

“You can stay somewhere else, if you like.”

“I don’t know anyone else. Still not any closer to finding my daughter. Except that... She was the last out of towner you had here, isn’t she.”

“You are her spitting image.”

“She went to the lighthouse, too. To Bragg.”

Darren nodded. “But she never made it all the way up. I knew you looked familiar. You’re... You’re her mother, then?”

Marion nodded. “Where the hell is she?”

Darren shook his head. “I don’t rightly know. But we can talk more, after I help Charolette.”

“Good. Fine. I look forward to it.”

Darren walked upstairs, casting a final glance behind him.

It was the last time Marion would see him alive. The next time she saw him – three hours after waiting patiently in the den – she walked upstairs to check on him. He was not in the master bedroom – the bed was empty, made perfectly, a soul not having graced it for what looked like years. He was strung up by his belt in her bedroom, the chair that housed her coat kicked out from under him, his belt attached almost impossibly to the flat ceiling.

“Jesus.”

[dood gone krazee]

Very interesting story, I love it!

I think this is turning out really really good, maybe in a few parts it could have some more detail, but it was still great.

One thing that kinda bugged me was how you would have thoughts in italicized letters, then have her respond out loud. For some reason it didn't seem to flow well with the story, when she would respond. I think maybe having her respond when the thoughts were extreme, you know? But I think have her respond everytime seemed like too much, and maybe have other punctuation hen just a period. Such as, if she at one point had a thought like "Maybe you want Susanna dead? Maybe you've always wanted her gone forever." Then have her respond in a "Shut up!" rather than a "Shut up."

So far its great though, keep it up! =D

EDIT: Sorry for the bump rofl.

[MalReynolds]

Uh, it's fine to bump. No, no, I hate it when people respond to what I write. Drat on you. DRAT!

By having her respond vocally, I was trying to give the impression that the thoughts are almost an independent speaker, separate from Marion. But since I didn't use quote marks... It's a tricky idea to convey.

[MalReynolds]

Just like your pappy, he went out, didn’t he, old girl?

Marion stared.

Walked in on him the same way, didn’t you? Just opened the bedroom door, and there he was, dangling like a fish on a line. You were such a little girl then.

She had been. Marion had heard the chair overturning in the room directly above her, and her small legs carried her curious mind up the stairs. She flew into her parents room – not even bother to knocking, despite constant requests from her parents that she do so - to see her father dangling from the ceiling, her skipping rope tied securely around his neck, the skin red and swollen. His legs had still been kicking when she walked in. It took her only seconds to register what she was seeing before letting out an inhuman wail –

looks just like

- that attracted the neighbors.

It’s all coming back now, Marion. Whatever you had buried.

Even as a small child, people knew something was wrong with her. Her inability to tell a frog from a monster, or a tree from a giant. In her own mind, she had convinced herself that what she saw was not real, her father was still alive somewhere. It was difficult having to convince herself that she did have an imagination, even harder to tell reality from fiction without someone being there to help guide her. But she grew, and as she reached her older teenage years, she became more adept at finding what was real and what was not.

Darren, hanging impossibly from the ceiling, was most real. There was no doubt in her mind, except that tiny, persistent voice that refused to leave her alone.

It’s just like that Celine Dion song. It was lost long ago, but it’s all coming back to me now.

“Referencing Canadian power ballads now?”

Whatever it takes to get you to remember.

“Why didn’t you just tell me to leave... You’re usually the reasonable one.”

I’m merely an extension of you. I want what you want. You want your daughter.

Marion sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair, which was now slick with sweat. The room had become unbearably hot, lazy lines rising from the floor, a thick haze descending over the room. Darren’s body was obscured by the wavering lines that had drifted up, bending his body back and forth like a mirage.

She grabbed her bag and closed the door quietly behind her.

-

For the next hour, she wandered around the vacant upstairs of the house looking for any sign of his wife.

“Charolette?”

She’s deaf.

“Charolette?” It was futile. There was no response. She checked the master bedroom again for any sign of her, but the bed looked untouched. The bathroom was empty – not even a window for her to have escaped from.

Marion sat on the bed, staring at the floor. She mulled over the voice in her head – the soft, female coo, the voice of reason that spoke to her whenever things seemed to be too unreal.

Don’t think about me too much.

“Why not?”

Because you might remember who I am.

Marion shook her head. The voice had started coming to her a few days after her father had taken his own life. The voice that helped her pick out real from fantasy. It had started out pleasant enough – a soft reminder here, a friendly chiding there, even going so far as to remind her to brush her teeth – but as the years went on, the voice grew more cynical. It was still helpful, but somehow less nurturing.

She stood, and moved down the stairs, not bothering to check Darren again, and stepped outside. The bag felt heavy as she slung it carelessly over her shoulder, moving down to the street. She turned, looking in the direction of the lake, the whirlwind that was pulling the water down...

To feed that things insatiable thirst, no doubt. It must drive it made being able to drink, but how do you sate infinity?

Her attention moved upwards, to the hill and the houses that sat perched like ready owls, watchers in the day. The windows stood, accusing, as she walked slowly up the hill, glancing from side to side. According to her cell phone – an older model that cost less than the activation fee of her plan – it was high noon and she had seen no one else in the entire town. She was hoping someone would come out, anyone, and ask her what she was doing, why she looked so confused.

You know where you have to go, don’t you?

She kept walking up the hill.

You know who you have to ask.

She did not break stride.

But keep ignoring it.

She did.

-

A young man in his early thirties spotted Marion from his window. He opened it and leaned out, staring at her as she walked past. She was a vision of beauty to him, an immaculate being so perfect that he could not help but call after her.

“Excuse me, miss?”

She turned, her smile making his heart beat irregularly.

“Yes?”

“You look lost. Would you like to come in?”

She muttered something that sounded strangely like “Only if you don’t hang yourself,” but the man wrote that off. She moved to his front door, and he greeted her, sweeping her inside.

“It’s not very often I see someone wandering the streets like that. My name is Matheson.”

“Hello, Matheson, I’m Marion. Marion Smith. Got a last name?”

“Just Matheson. I guess ‘Davies’ would be my last name, but no one needs it around me. First name basis, all the time, even at work.”

“And... Where do you work?”

He furrowed his brow and picked at a small clinging piece of fluff on his red and blue argyle sweater. “Actually, haven’t worked in a while. But make yourself at home, please.”

She moved into the living room and set her bag down on the sofa. Matheson plopped himself down in the recliner across from her.

“What brings you to Taper Town?” He asked.

“My daughter. Susanna Smith. She’s around here somewhere, I’m just...”

“Trying to find her?”

Marion nodded. “Yes. Trying to find her.”

“You’ve come to the right place,” he smiled happily. “Lot of people come to Taper Town looking for something. Most people find it.”

“That’s good to know,” she sighed. “Did you know Darren?”

“Did I? What do you mean? He lives right down the road. Less than a mile!”

“Right, I meant, ah – ‘Do’ you know Darren.”

“Of course. He’s very friendly. Couple of nights I’ve had a row with the wife, he’d let me stay at his place. Has a very nice guest room. My wife – Alice, she objects to having people over so if you’re going to have to spend the night some where, I would suggest his house. It’s really – I know it might be weird knocking on someone’s door, especially someone you don’t know, and asking to stay there, but he’s very nice.”

“I’ve met him... briefly. Very dedicated husband.”

“At least, he was.”

“Come again?”

“His wife passed some years ago.”

But you heard her, you heard her thumping around and moaning and –

“Did she?”

“Oh, yes, yes she did. Darren started losing it after she left. He’s a good man, though. Just has a hard time coming to grips sometime. Can I get you something to drink?”

Although her stomach rumbled at the thought of any kind of calories, she politely declined. Matheson, while nice, seemed almost too accommodating.

“No, but thank you.”

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

Marion blinked twice. “Excuse me?” She thought about her attire – her now dirty blue blouse, her hair damp with sweat, her lack of makeup.

“I just – sometimes, you know, you need to be told that. Not just you, but the beautiful people... You know, in general. There are just so many of them.”

“Maybe I should be going.”

“Please, please, stay a little while longer. I don’t mean any harm. I’m sorry if I’m off putting in any way, I just thought – I had the desire to say.”

“I think I should go. You’re just... You’re a little much, Matheson.”

“You’re right. I did the same thing to this young girl, came wandering through town, and she... She acted almost the exact same way.”

“Susanna?”

“I never got her name. Invited her in, but... But she left. Said she had something to do up at the lake.”

“Jesus, she was here... How long ago?”

“Not more than a day or so.”

Just missed her.

“Just missed her. Damn.”

Marion stood, gripping her bag, when the doorknob to the front entrance turned. The door swung open, and in sauntered a beast of a woman, easily topping four hundred pounds. She supported her massive girth on a walker with thick metal railings, hands gripped tight on rubber stoppers. Her thing gray hair fell around her face, which was beat red and beaming, the thin strands hiding nothing of her wrinkled complexion. Her wife-beater was pulled tight over her body, a second skin, and her pants that would be baggy on any two people of normal size put together, showed more than Marion was comfortable with.

“Who...” she whispered. The gray woman was almost impossibly tall, looking to be around seven and a half feet.

“Hello, dear,” Matheson bounded up, running to the door. “How are you? You look tired... you always look so tired.”

The gray woman gasped for breath, pushing her way into the room, dragging her feet behind her.

“There’s no reason to act like that.”

When she saw Marion, she turned and looked at her husband, muttering a few words that were lost to her the pads around her throat.

“Don’t be like that, please. Don’t say such... such hurtful things.”

The gray woman looked back at Marion, an ear to ear smile. Her teeth dangled like bits of broken guitar hanging from detached strings, almost swirling inside of her near vacant mouth. There was an abscess where her tongue should have been. She bit in Marion’s direction, motioning with her head.

“She wants to you leave,” Matheson, said, his voice a low whisper.

“I have no problem with that,” Marion assured him. “Lovely... wife you have, Matheson.”

“All the beautiful people. She really is stunning, isn’t she? How did I get to be so lucky?”

He stood on his tip toes and planted a ginger, sweet kiss on her oily cheek.

How did he get to be so lucky.

“Don’t be cruel, now... Thank you for your hospitality, Matheson. You’ve been a great help, really.”

“Any time you want to stop by. Alice just doesn’t like it when I have people over when she’s not around. Especially not beautiful people. She gets jealous.”

He paused, smiling. “Good luck with Susanna. She’s around here somewhere, you know.”

“And you said she headed to the lake? The lighthouse, maybe?”

“No. She said she had already been there, already seen what she needed to see. I don’t know how, the lake is always so foggy, but... She said she knew what she needed to do.”

Marion nodded, and exited the house.

-

Marion remembered very little about her childhood except her father’s death. She hardly remembered her mother at all – the only picture in her mind she had was of the picture she had kept on her desk at work. Her mother looked stunningly like her, down to the curls of blonde hair.

But she had left Marion and her father all alone when Marion was so young. Shortly after, her father left as well.

Her memories picked up in foster care. The first family she had lived with had been very kind to her. They were a wonderful Jewish family that treated her truly like she was a valued member of their house. She had grown to be close friends with her adoptive brother, Hershel. They played games outside, Hershel leaving her to create the scenarios and battlegrounds they would play in from her powerful imagination. They would weave together entire afternoons and evenings playing in the back yard, escaping numerous dangers.

Living in the bible belt meant she had to deal with hardships. When the family lost their home to a fire, their finances were tight and she was put back into child protective services. They police and fire captains looked to be brothers and treated the family with such patronizing tones – “It sure was an accident and if you think otherwise, you’re just paranoid.”

Her second family had been less than kind. They did not value her imagination, her skills. Not actively, but passively, they began to squash her creativity. After a few years of living with them, she had all but forgotten Hershel and the times they had together. She was a colorless young woman, the soft spoken child that the cruel children in school would rather taunt than talk to.

She grew with this family until she became of age. Through high school, she had only ever had one boyfriend. He was not kind to her – he treated her with the same intense disdain that her current family had. He merely tolerated her being in his life. Jared was not a brute, but he was not a good person. He had almost a childlike mentality and incredible strength that lended itself easily to hurting her accidentally. If the mood struck, he would pick her up and carry her over his shoulder, not out of malice, but out of curiosity. The most dangerous kind of man, the innocent.

But it was not with Jared that she became pregnant with Susanna. It was not until she was an adult woman living on her own that she conceived.

Do you remember his name?

“No.”

Do you remember his face?

“No.”

The statute of limitations on a crime like that...

“It would be impossible to prove anyway. Quiet.”

You should have listened to me when it happened.

“Leave me alone,” she huffed, clutching her bag by her side, standing once again at the lake. A great distance to her left, the lighthouse loomed. To her right was a small cabin with a dilapidated canoe rack attached haphazardly to the side. She walked over, touching the petrified wood, staring down at the sand. There was a distinct “V” shape cut through, as if a canoe had been dragged towards the water in the last few days.

She walked around to the front of the cabin and knocked on the door, not expecting an answer. But the light inside the window turned on.

The man that opened the front door looked, for lack of a better word, dead. His eyes were closed, seemingly scarred shut, his hands on the doorframe little more than a set of twisted fingers, claimed by arthritis. He wore a black wool cap, folded up, and his head was cocked backwards, as if he were smelling something, or trying to look out of the bottom of his eyelids. He had a patchy gray and white beard that spotted his face, his red and black checkerboard shirt dirty and torn. He was wearing suspenders that led to a black pair of slacks, the shirt half tucked in. There was a nub where his left foot should have been, and his right food was hidden by the pant leg.

“Oh, uh... Hello, I’m Marion Smith, and –“

“Canoe?” His voice was thin, raspy.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to go out on the lake.”

Now you realize.

“No canoe.”

She sighed. “I need one. I could have just as easily stolen one without you knowing.”

“Chains...”

She turned and looked at the canoe rack again. A heavy chain now criss-crossed over each piece of carved wood.

“Okay, I still... I’m looking for my daughter, and she... She came out this way. And I know where she is, I really, I really do, I just need to get out there. I need to get her back.”

The old man rocked his head back and forth for a few seconds, dodging invisible bullets. His entire body rocked and Marion was afraid he might collapse.

“Key.”

He reached behind the door and handed over a tiny silver key.

“To the chains?” she asked.

He nodded, and without another word, closed the door.

You knew you would end up out there the second you set foot in this town, even before you knew it had a lake, you knew you would end up in the water. Ever since the tunnel, Marion. Ever since you caught a glimpse of the impossible creature, the Oldin.

“It’s not real.”

When have I ever stood against you, Marion? I’m here to help.

“Then why aren’t you stopping me,” she asked as she unlocked the chain, dragging the bottom most canoe into the sand.

I’m here to help you get what you want. Maybe in the before time, I would have tried to save you. But you disagree with me like any... like any reasonable person would.

“I would go onto the lake without you.”

I know.

“You’re just along for the ride, then.”

I can’t be anywhere else, can I?

-

Marion, throughout her single year at community college, had been known as the strikingly beautiful girl who had the strangest of habits – she would constantly talk to herself, responding a voice that never existed. Most people would claim this was their main deterrent from even trying to get to know her, but it was not true.

It was the air about her. The air of uncertainty. Her eyes said that the world was flat, and when around her, they believed. Her intensity was unmatched.

But the whispers, the whispers that fell from her mouth when she thought no one could hear, the witty comebacks that only made sense to her, the out-right denial of nothing in particular.

Her beauty could only get her so far.

-

The canoe cut across the lake water, now still, and she moved forward into the fog. Matheson watched from his house, staring out the top story window as she was swallowed hole into the mist.

Darren’s eyes still open, still blinking, watched as the green boat moved against the sickly water. His hand moved to pry the belt from around his neck. He collapsed to the ground as she disappeared from view, hands tracing the tender shape, the series of matching scars from each attempt. He looked to his wrists, the lateral cut marks moving down the distribution of his major veins, and to the back of his feet, where similar scarring resided.

The deep voice cried from his bedroom, and he rolled his eyes. He hadn’t expected this punishment. If he had known, he never would have gone through with it, never in a thousand years.

“I’m coming, dear.”

He used the bed to pull himself up and looked over the lake for any sign of Marion, but she was gone.

[Emo_Saur_]

I enjoy all of your writing malDon.

[MalReynolds]

Writer's Note:

I went back and edited the first 3 chapters, but since doing HTML tags is a huge pain, I didn't post them. That should take care of any inconsistancies - ie, the changing of how I spelled "Oldin" to "Old'ghn".

Most of the edits have to do with foreshadowing and story flow, so it's nothing too major.

Let me know that you've read it! Post when you finish, tell me what you liked, didn't like - there's always room for improvement. Lemme have it. Without furhter ado, the conclusion to Taper Town.

-

Marion did not know what to expect, at first. She pulled herself forward, moving across the water, for what seemed like hours. The lake, she had seen, ended at the far end of the hills, no more than two hundred yards, but her arms ached as if she had been pulling forever.

Her thoughts moved back to Susanna, the small child, the white dress and red bow.

What might she look like now?

“She’s still my baby. I’ll be able to find her."

But where?

“The Old’ghn has her. I know that. You know that. And the only way to the Old’ghn is –“

Her boat began to rock back and forth, like a see-saw, gently. The waves gently splashed up beside her, some water falling carelessly into the canoe, soaking her feet.

“The only way is down.”

The boat began to move more violently, the shaking more intense. The mist that surrounded her, obscuring her vision, began to move in a haunting clockwise motion, the same motion she had witnessed from the light house. She knew for certain that she was now in the center of the lake, her transit taking hours but only moving her a few feet.

The water began to pull in a motion similar to the fog, and her boat stopped rocking. It began to slowly spin with the water, a bug caught in a drain. She gripped the sides of the canoe, her breath coming in sharp gasps. She closed her eyes as the spinning hastened, trying to keep her balance.

Her boat struck something hard, jostling her to the floor. She stared up, purse at her side, as the tentacles rose from the water, stories high, and laid themselves out overtop of the boat, sealing her in a foot at a time. She reached up, pushing against the tentacles, but they would not give. They were to slick to find any purchase, and warm, despite the frigid water.

Like a coffin, she was sealed in, although she could still make out the sun through the translucent veiny appendages. They bathed the canoe in a yellow light as thick fluid moved through each one. The stench was incredible – worse than the breath of the creature watching her in the light house, but the liquid that dripped on to her was far worse. It was hot to the touch, moving down to cover her entire body, encompassing her.

This is what you wanted.

“I have to get her back.”

She felt the canoe being pulled, forcefully, under the water. The sun disappeared from behind the snake-like tentacles, replaced with pure darkness as she was pulled further and further down. Marion never once feared the water breaching the canoe – there was an odd sense of safety.

When the boat hit the bottom, the tentacles pulled back one at a time, leaving her to ponder her setting. She sat up as they slithered away, crossing the floor, into several holes in the walls, as if being called back. She rose to her feet, wiping her face, and stepped uneasily out of the canoe. She was in what appeared to be a small cave, although there was no visible sign of entrance. The rock ceiling was uneven, only a foot above her head, and the loose dirt on the ground reminded her of a baseball stadium. There was only on path, which led to a larger hole in the wall. Thin beams of light seemed to dance from where the tentacles retreated.

Only one place to go now.

She moved to the hole, and stepped through.

The room in front of her was unbearably dark, but she could feel it moving all around her. She knew her retreated was now blocked, and this was confirmed when she backed up into a series of slick appendages covering her exit.

She pressed forward in the darkness, the ground shifting beneath her feet, unable to see a single thing.

It’s in front of you now. You know it is.

Marion nodded.

“Hello?” she called.

A voice intruded in her head – unlike the kind voice, this voice was harsh, hostile, grating. It was a deep bass, a voice sounding like it had been plagued by cancer, low and guttural.

Hello.

“I’m Marion Smith. I’m looking for my... for my daughter.”

I know who you are. I know who you are looking for.

“You have her, don’t you.”

No.

No.

“Where is she? She... She came here, didn’t she? She wants me to come get her.”

You do not understand. Things work differently around here.

“In Taper Town?”

Taper Town. Talk to me, Marion Smith. What is it that you desire?

“I want my little girl back. More than anything – I came all the way out here to find her. Please, help me.”

You have proven your desire more than once. When you took her from the court. When you scaled Bragg. You burning to find her has only been matched by a handful of others.

“What are you talking about?”

There was a loud exhalation. Briefly, Marion caught a glimpse of the creature.

It was incredibly large, filling almost the entire room in front of her. She stood at the edge of a cliff, over the edge of which she could see the body of the Old’ghn. It had tentacles extending from its back far away into the darkness above it, and she could not see where they lead – but there were hundreds of thousands of them.

She stood directly in front of one of the creatures faces. Down the body, she saw several others, although they resembled nothing she had seen before. The face in front of her was bumpy, and covered in a thick slime. She could see through its skin, through the fair hair that sprinkled itself in patches over it’s body, to the small things living within. Each looked to be the size of Marion – some smaller, some slightly larger – swimming in the layers behind it’s skin. It’s face was not symmetrical – one eye was set several dozen feet lower than the other. It had no mouth. It peeled over her with its eye, before the cave went dark.

She could see no end or beginning to the creature, the darkness stealing the bottom of the Old’ghn’s body, and the top.

“Jesus. What are you?”

Nothing. And everything. You don’t know who I am.

“You’re... Johnny called you the Old’ghn.”

Trivial.

“Then no, I don’t know what you are.”

I have no name. But it’s what I can do that draws people to me.

“You can give people... You can give people what they want.”

Yessss.

It was hissing at her.

“I told you what I want. I want my daughter back.”

It’s not that simple. There has to be payment, Marion. I do not work for free.

“What will it cost?”

Let me tell you a few stories, for your greater benefit.

Once, there was a very old man. He feared more than anything the threat of there being nothing in the afterlife. His desire burned so great that I eventually found him and drew him to me. He had taken care of his sickly wife in the months before he killed her, and realized that there was nothing when his existence ended. He wanted to extend his life indefinitely. And so I granted it.

“Darren...”

But at what cost? I brought his wife back, only visible to him, to constantly care for her. If not, his life would be meaningless – he would be plagued with a pain so terrible, it would drive him insane. That was the price.

“Matheson? Did you rope him in, too?”

Yes. The shallow man could find no one to meet his definition of beauty. I gave him an unobjective eye.

“But you didn’t tell him. You told him you would make everyone else beautiful.”

On their better days, they are happy. They do not realize. There are a few more stories –

No. I’ll tell this one.

Marion, a long time ago, there was a man and a woman. They loved each other very much. One day, the woman became pregnant. Sadly, she miscarried. It sent her spiraling into a depression – her husband could not even pull her out of it.

They were drawn to this place – a small, unnamed town in New Hampshire, and were told that they could have their baby back.

They were given a second chance, unaware of the price. At first, it seemed as if they had gotten away clean, but it wasn’t so. After their child was born, they began to notice peculiarities with their little girl. She was beautiful and smart, but could not tell reality from imagination.

“Oh, God...”

And it tormented them. They tried therapy, special schools, but nothing would work.

So one day, her mother left without a word. She traveled back to the unnamed town in New Hampshire – now named Taper Town by some state committee – to talk to the being that brokered the deal.

She yelled and cursed at it, but could not reason. Instead, she offered up something else.

She would help her daughter tell the real from the imaginary. She would forever be with her child...

“As a voice.”

The cost was terrible. She was pulled up by her neck, into the ceiling, and wrought limb from limb. Her husband knew what she had done – he had listened to their daughter speak to the voice, and quickly took his own life, afraid of what the cost her mother’s help might have had on him.

He was a kind man, bald, with glasses, beady eyes, white teeth, always smiling.

Just like the mail clerk. I recognized him, if you didn’t.

“He works for you, doesn’t he. To bring people in...”

Yes. Her life and his life. The cost of giving a young girl her sanity.

“And my daughter... She’s... She never really sent a letter. You just fed off my desire. Knowing who my parents were... Knowing that I would be drawn here.”

No. Someone else came. They were looking to reclaim a lost childhood. Taken in to foster care and abused as a child, wrought from their mother. Blaming their mother for the travesties she faced at the hands of her caretakers.

Her connection to this place was far more profound than she would realize. Thought it happenstance to find me. It was not. I could feel her from across the universe, had she been that far away.

“Susanna! She can’t blame me. I didn’t do anything!”

You let her go.

Marion closed her eyes, breathing in sharply, knowing that when she opened them, she would no longer be in the cave with the Old’ghn, the impossible creature that extended into infinity.

You could go mad staring at the creature.

She opened her eyes. There was a single light hanging from the ceiling. A cold hand held her eyes open, but now she could clearly see the shape in front of her.

A bedraggled young woman with greasy, thick, blonde hair. Her eyes sunk far into her skull, beady, watching Marion. Her lips were dry and cracked, her nose broken in two places.

“They never set the bones right. Quit staring.”

“Oh, God, don’t you know who I am?”

The woman shook her head. “You’re the price. You’re what I have to pay that freak if I want to have – if I want to have what they took away from me. Yes, what they took away from me.”

“I’m not a stranger – I’m not –“ Marion cried out softly as she saw the scalpel in the woman’s hand.

“You don’t recognize me?” She pleaded.

“Mm, no.”

“It wouldn’t ask for a stranger. It wouldn't ask for a stranger!”

The woman shook her head. “It would. It would absolutely.”

Marion took a deep breath as the woman raised the scalpel above the skin on Marion’s left shoulder.

“Please don’t. I’m your mother, Susanna. I’m your mother.”

The woman stopped, her hand frozen. She stared down at Marion.

“No.”

Marion nodded. “I am. I am your mother. Please don’t do this. I came here to find you. To find you and take you back with me.”

The woman’s grip loosened on Marion’s forehead, and she quickly sat up.

“No. You’re not my mother.”

“I am.” Marion stared at her, but the woman refused to meet her gaze.

“You let this happen to me. You let them take me, touch me. Why would you do that.”

“I didn’t – I was... I didn’t want it to happen. Why would I want that to happen?”

“Because you hate me, yes, you hate me, mm.”

Marion’s eyes began to well with tears. “What happened to you?”

“Mm. Yes.”

She’s gone. Completely lost it.

“I’m so sorry,” Marion said. “Believe me.”

Susanna dropped the blade and fell to her knees.

“Look at me. Look at the freak. Aren’t I a pretty freak?”

Marion reached out, touching her shoulder. Susanna was dressed in a filthy nurse’s uniform, cap included, yellow with age.

“You’re not a freak. You’re my daughter.”

But she’s not your little girl anymore.

“Mm. Everyone, point and laugh. Come on, like you used to. Come on, let’s go home again. Daddy can’t wait to see you. Mm.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Susanna looked up at Marion with small, pleading eyes. Marion nodded.

In one swift motion, she brought the scalpel across her daughter’s neck, sending a thin arterial spray into the room. Blood dripped down onto the uniform as she gagged, her body convulsing. She fell over backwards, shaking, as the life slowly ebbed from her. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she bit down hard enough to splinter her teeth.

Marion stared, unblinking, as she rocked on the floor. When her body stopped moving, Marion stepped over, bringing her hand down and closing her daughter’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

She closed her own eyes as well.

When she opened them, she was standing on the beach, overlooking the lake, her canoe at her side. She reached down into the canoe, removing her purse, and pulling the letter sent to her days ago. She opened it.

The page was blank.

She stared out over the water, now fog-less, to the far side of the hill. She spied a human shape, drifting face down in the water. It moved slowly to the shore – very slowly – until Marion could make out the form of a small child in a white dress with a red ribbon tied in the back.

She pulled the canoe into the water, grabbing a paddle and setting out as fast as she could. When she reached the child, she leaned over. The canoe tipped, dangerously close to cap-sizing. Marion pulled her in.

The small child, slicked back blonde hair, stared up at the sky. Her eyes were moving back and forth as if trying to drink in what she was seeing.

“How are you... How are you breathing?”

The child stared at her for a few seconds, taking air in very lightly.

“Mommy?”

“Susanna?”

The child blinked. “I thought they said I wasn’t allowed to see you anymore.”

She cradled her child in her arms. “They lied, baby. They lied. You can come home with me, now.”

“How long was I away?”

Marion smiled. “It feels like forever.”

-

Marion returned to Texas with Susanna. She was lucky enough not to have made friends, no one to pry into her life, save her parole officer. She was able to easily hide Susanna way, home schooling her, carefully watching her at the park. If anyone asked, she said she was looking after someone else’s child.

Her eyes were no longer filled with sadness. Marion was radiant.

-

On her way home from the park, Susanna stopped, and pointed at a dead rat in the street.

“It’s nothing, baby, it’s just a dead rat.”

“Mommy, it’s a big ugly red toad.”

Marion froze. “What?”

“A big ugly red toad. That’s not a rat.”

“No, baby, it’s a dead rat. It’s just a dead rat. Come on, let’s go home.”

“But mommy!”

“No ‘buts’ about it, missy. Let’s just get going.”

You did get her back, little girl, didn’t you.

Marion began to cry.

But she’s just like you.

You got her back, but at what cost.

THE END.

[andy-o24]

WOW!

That is the only one word that can describe that story if you ask me. As much as I try to be nice about peoples writing and never flame them for it I'm not faking my regard for your authoritive prowess. I LOVE this story, Mal.

I really just wanted to finish this story so I didn't read over the story again with the edits and foreshadowing but I'm sure it would help me to do. Though, even without the foreshadowing, the reader can get the same effect of that ending. And, if I might add, that ending really made the story.

(highlight for more) That scene in the hospital room was epic! I thought that Susanna was going to torture Marion for sure. That was a crazy twist in the story. Then, when she opened her eyes again and found her daughter, I thought she was going to be dead. The begining, not to skip that, was the foreshadowing you needed to explain the old'ghn. That really helped for the ending.

You never cease to amaze me, Mal. This story had beautiful foreshadowing and U-Turn plot changes. It was the story I wanted to see from you Mal, and you never seem to dissapoint. It's kinda' creepy to say I love you, but I do. Keep writing Mal, keep writing.

-o24

[MalReynolds]

It felt really good writing this. I've had a horror story kicking around in my skull for a little while - that used to be the only thing I would write - but I never had one that I wanted to fully sit down and churn out. I read a line in a Stephen King story about a young woman walking under an overpass and how scared she got, and decided to run with that concept, which turned into the tunnel from part 1. I probably drove my family up the wall with writing this, as I would go back and forth throwing out plot points and they had no idea what in the hell I was jabbering out. But these things happen.

I can't honestly remember at what point I realized just where it was going. I always had a quasi-conclusion in mind - the reuiniting with the daughter, but having it be ominous - until Krazee pointed out that the italics actually read more like dialouge than interior thoughts. Once I attributed a character to them, the story really came together.

Anyways, thank you for reading, etc, etcetcetc.

I fell nauseas, so I'm going to go lie down.