Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

“These people are really into beige,” Janine said to herself. The man appeared to be standing guard outside one of the entrances. Who do they think is going to try to break in? she wondered, before realizing the concern was more likely about who they thought might try to get out.

She zoomed in, exhausting the capabilities of her camera, framing the man from the mid-thigh up. Cowboy shot, her film school word bank reminded her.

He turned and looked straight into the lens.

Janine ducked, but there wasn’t anything to duck behind. She turned off her camcorder and crouch-walked to the car, quivering as she got back into the driver’s seat and frantically peeled away.

—

JANINE PULLED OPEN the swinging glass door of the Bleak Creek Public Library, a place she had never had a reason to visit during her childhood summer trips. After her stop by the Whitewood School, she’d wanted to go straight home and wash away the image of that creepy dude with some of her GamGam’s sweet tea, but she knew that gathering written resources was an essential part of any respectable documentary (if for no other reason than to have those cool shots of newspaper headlines she’d seen in Ken Burns’s films).

As she approached the front desk, where a short, gray-haired woman sat reading a creased paperback of Agatha Christie’s Postern of Fate, she felt the faint academic anxiety that always accompanied the musky fragrance of books. The woman didn’t look up.

“Hello,” Janine eventually said in her quietest, most library-ish voice.

“Oh!” the woman semi-screamed, “I didn’t see you there. You’re a sneaky one!”

“I’m sorry,” Janine said.

“Don’t worry about it. I could use some excitement around here!” She had not yet lowered her voice. “How can I help you!”

“I’m hoping to look at old newspapers,” Janine said. “Like, local newspapers.”

“Well, the only one we got is Bleak Creek Gazette, ” the woman said.

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Follow me.”

Janine trailed the tiny woman through the library. As they entered the nonfiction section, a middle-aged man in suspenders over a white V-neck T-shirt looked up with sunken eyes from his XYZ volume of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Janine gave him a fake smile, the kind reserved for strangers you’d like to remain that way. The man stared back, trailing her with his eyes just like the old lady on the porch. Wishing she could walk faster, she continued to follow closely behind the librarian, stepping down a set of stairs to the even mustier-smelling basement.

“So, here’s the microfilm reader,” the librarian said when they arrived at a table on the far side of the dimly lit room, her powerful voice booming throughout the basement as she pointed to a machine with a large blank screen. “What years do you want, dear?”

“Uh,” Janine said, “do you know what year the Whitewood School was founded?”

The short woman paused before answering, her silence filled by the steady buzz from the lights. “Why?” she asked in a suddenly quieter, almost appropriate library voice.

Janine didn’t think she should tell her the real reason. “Uh, I’ve been told that there were some great recipes in the lifestyle section of the paper that year,” she said, contorting her face into an innocent smile, hoping to convince the woman of her ridiculous excuse—that she was just a good Bleak Creek girl who wanted to cook for her man.

“Hmm,” the woman said, staring deeply into Janine’s eyes as if trying to unlock an Agatha Christie clue. “Recipes, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Janine said, really turning on the charm.

The woman paused another second, then turned abruptly and walked away. Was she leaving to tell someone that there was a Yankee girl sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, or just ignoring her request? Right as Janine was starting to wonder if maybe she should leave before drawing any more unnecessary attention, the woman reappeared. “Forgot the key,” she said, walking over to a nearby cabinet and unlocking it. “I know the school opened sometime in the late seventies, so you could start in the 1975 to ’79 section.” She still hadn’t returned to nearly shouting, which Janine took as her not completely buying her story. “I hope you find some good recipes.” She went back upstairs, leaving the cabinet open.

Janine started with the 1977 microfilm rolls, scanning headline after headline for a mention of the Whitewood School, extremely grateful that the Bleak Creek Gazette was only a weekly publication. She let out a small yelp when she finally found what she was looking for in the August 27, 1979, issue:

THE WHITEWOOD SCHOOL OPENS, WITH MISSION TO REFORM TROUBLED YOUTHS

The long-abandoned Bleak Family Resort, which served those wishing to soak in the mineral waters of Bleak Creek Spring from 1927 to 1961, will see new life as a reform school when it opens its doors to students in September. The Whitewood School is the work of Mr. Wayne Whitewood, a town newcomer, who will serve as headmaster. “It is easier than ever for young people to be lured off the straight and narrow by any number of worldly temptations. But once they go astray, we can’t give up on them. The Whitewood School knows no lost causes,” explained Mr. Whitewood, who has also become quite popular for his enthusiastic organ playing at Bleak Creek Second Baptist Church, having replaced Donald Jeffries after his tragic lawnmower accident last year.

Locals are excited about the prospect of a reform school. “Our children are being bombarded by rock music, drugs, alcohol, and, worst of all, sex,” said Second Baptist Church secretary, Mary Hattaway. “Many parents have nowhere to turn. It will be nice to have a place to send young folks who are not responding to discipline at home.”

The Whitewood School will be accepting students from Bleak Creek as well as surrounding areas. Mr. Whitewood promises that if he is able to get unruly young ones in his program before they become full-fledged troublemakers, there is hope that they will grow up to be responsible, normal adults. “Bleak Creek is such a wonderful place,” said Mr. Whitewood. “I would hate to see it ruined by a few headstrong kids.”

There were several articles that followed in the next month, mainly repeating the same information and celebrating the school. After doing some quick math, Janine realized Donna was probably one of the school’s first students.

When she made it to the end of 1979, Janine was nursing a headache from the stagnant basement air, but she knew she had to keep looking. If someone told the loud librarian the truth about Janine’s documentary, she might not give her access to the microfilm archives so easily. She had to dig further now .

She dumped more rolls on the table and began flying through the headlines. The school wasn’t mentioned at all in 1980 or 1981. When she was nearing the end of 1982, she was convinced that the Whitewood School had become so inconsequential to the people of Bleak Creek that it didn’t even warrant a mention in the homespun newspaper.

But then she saw it.

An article entitled “Teen Dies in Freak Accident at Whitewood School,” dated December 18, 1982. Richard Stanley, a fourteen-year-old boy, had died after locking himself in the school’s industrial oven during an unauthorized game of hide-and-seek.

Janine felt queasy.

The article wasn’t clear as to how the oven had then been accidentally turned on, leaving the boy to be found by staff the next morning. Wayne Whitewood was quoted as saying, “The entire staff is devastated. We are deeply saddened that we lost this troubled young man. He was showing so much progress, but still had a wild streak. We honestly don’t know what else we could have done.”