Ruddy Richardson: The Innocence

It had been 15 years since Rita had seen even a glimpse of the sleepy town of Oyster Ridge Bay. But in the early hours of the morning she found herself staring again into the branches of the large maple overlooking the porch of her old childhood home. From Mom’s large stained glass windows to Dad’s home crafted teeter-totter lonely in the yard, it was the same house she remembered from all those years ago. Lost in the memories she felt the reluctance of return mingled with the overwhelming urge to sit down and cry. Everything was going to be alright.

“Mom, you must be kidding, this is like the cutest house ever. Is this really where you grew up?”

Rita turned to see her 12 years old daughter, Judy, hauling her oversized suitcase up the stone path behind her. She ran her hands through her short auburn hair and pasted a smile across her face right as Judy pulled up next to her and parked herself right on top of her cargo.

“I know right? Can you believe this? Good thing I didn’t sell it all those years ago when your father wanted me too.”

With that comment Rita turned away from her daughter to hide the tears threatening to surface. She had survived the premature death of her father, the accidental death of her mother, and the run for survival with her children from her husband; a man who believed three bottles of whisky and a few slaps could solve any argument. Now, as she stared at a handful of keys she couldn’t help but watch as her two lives occupied the same space; sliding back and forth with the imbalance, hitting each other and intermingling. She could almost feel the tangible end of her emotional strength.

She turned to see her son Brian, staring hard at the house from his car seat. At 4 years old he was the most difficult member of their small family to explain the situation to. How do you tell a 4 years old that his father can’t be around anymore after beating his wife half-to death with a crow-bar? No, Brian’s understanding was far different than that; daddy had to go work over in Australia, Brian’s favorite country. This only made the situation more difficult as Brian now refused to cooperate in all matters of existence short of anything that would reunite him with his father and the jumping kangaroos of the Australian outback. Gesturing for him to come join them on the eve of the front stairs, Rita felt no surprise as Brian’s small face went from open wonder to a set look of defiance as he crossed his arms across his small chest and sunk into his car seat. With a sigh she glanced back to Judy, now too engrossed in her cell phone to notice her mother’s hesitation. Control yourself and pretend everything is fine, then break down later, she told herself. “Let’s go kid,” she said to the top of her daughter’s curly blonde head, nudging the suitcase with toe of her shoe. “It’s now or never.”

“What about Brian?”

“The car’s not going anywhere.”

Rita bent down to pick up the latest edition of the Oyster Bay Express from the peeling porch echoing of her childhood. The headline was the tragic result of the man hunt for a lost child. Disturbing news but missing people was nothing new for the tourist town. With the amount of carefree and incautious travelers each year, it was no big surprise when a few got lost in the caves or waylaid on the white sand shoreline. But to hear of a death of a child was always a stab for any mother to witness. Rita grimaced, tucked the paper under the arm and slid the key into the bolt. How ironically poignant, Rita thought, that our lives are just beginning while a child’s has just ended. Feeling the hint of collapse, Rita steeled her nerves, opened the door and stepped over the threshold.

And so began the next chapter in the Broman family’s existence.

The Oyster Ridge Express November 1 st 2003

All Hallows Eve Tragedy By: Daniel Hutchins

With the festivities of Halloween looming still in our minds it is with a heavy heart that I write yet another missing persons announcement. Last night Nicholas Perrins went out trick-or-treating with older brother Mathew Perrins and Mathew’s girlfriend Melissa Marks. At some point in the evening, between Maple and Rich Ave, Nicholas was lost. Mathew reported that when his brother failed to reappear with the other children perusing the street looking for houses offering treats, Mathew began searching for Nicholas, but found only his brother’s pillowcase, used for carrying the night’s bounty, propped against the large maple in Miss Franwalski’s yard. After this discovery Mathew called the Sheriff’s office straight away. Nicholas was dressed as a caped super-hero carrying a white pillow case for his treasures. Nicholas is the third child in the last month alone to be reported missing. This is distressing news for our little community and threatens to turn us from tourist destination to “avoided” destination. If anyone has any information please contact the Sherriff’s Office.

Oyster Ridge Express November 4 ^ th 2003 By: Daniel Hutchins

Heart Wrenching Discovery in Rock Caverns

Yesterday was a day of mourning for our seaside community when the bodies of Nicholas Perrins (age 9, missing Oct. 31 ^ st), David Coller (age 6, missing Oct 12 ^ th), and Patricia Willson (age 8, missing Oct 22 ^ nd) were found together in Rock Caverns. Lawerence Hill, our local guide and mineral expert, was going in for his monthly geological testing of the caverns’ famous stalagmite formations when he spied a girl’s shoe that seemed to have fallen to the side near one of the shallow calcium pools in the cavern. When he walked over to retrieve the lost item he saw the small pale feet of Patricia Willson. “I couldn’t believe what I was looking at,” Lawerence later told this reporter. “I must have stared for a good thirty seconds before it occurred to me to do something.” When asked to describe the scene Lawerence turned a deathly shade of pale and his hands began to quiver. “I can’t. I don’t want to think of it for the rest of my life.” Police later released that the children were indeed all murdered. “This could not have been any kind of accident” Police Chief Merrels mentioned. They were all killed, executed. I don’t know how else to say it. But it looks like someone made them a part of something.” What that something is and other details of the crime are as yet unreleased. Condolences can be paid tomorrow at All Souls Catholic Church on Moor St. throughout the morning as the families have decided on a triple burial ceremony.

When Rita walked through the doors of the public library on the morning of November 3 ^ rd she had the chilling feeling of walking straight in on a burial service. Kelly, her childhood friend now reacquainted over the last two years, was buried in a stack of archives that partially obscured the large extent of her frizzy, short black hair. Besides her there wasn’t another soul to be seen. Since the library was one of three hangout locations in the town for people under the age of 18, Rita was surprised to see the empty seat and shelving units.

“What is going on today? Is there a parade I don’t know about?” Rita asked as she slammed into one of the two librarian chairs.

Kelly turned a tear-stained face towards her; chin quivering as she told Rita the morning news. “You didn’t hear? They found the missing kids.”

From the look on Kelly’s face Rita’s heart filled with the dread that she had been holding at bay for the last month. With the prolonged disappearance of each child came the knowledge that it was no mistake or error behind the happenings. The local talk around town circled around daredevils and midnight swims, a return of the local shark that once attacked a fishing boat back in ‘62, tales of drifters abducting children and so on and so forth.