Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

“I doubt it,” Janine said, smiling. “But thanks.”

Mary stared at her a beat. “See you Sunday, Roberta.” She opened the door and was gone, leaving an offensive trail of White Diamonds by Elizabeth Taylor in her wake.

Aunt Roberta walked into the kitchen and sat down at the small brown table. She looked tired. “I told you to let me do the talking,” she said.

“I know,” Janine said, sitting down across from her. “I’m sorry.”

Aunt Roberta let out a defeated sigh. “I meant what I said about Jim. These people…I don’t think you understand who you’re dealing with here.”

Janine was suddenly overcome by the magnitude of what her aunt was saying, the sheer awfulness of it. For lack of knowing what else to do, she stood up and walked behind her aunt’s chair, draping her arms around her in an awkward hug.

“I miss my family,” Aunt Roberta said, starting to cry again. “Donna. The old Donna. Jim. I miss them so much.”

“I know. Me too.”

“Not a day goes by that I don’t wish we’d never sent Donna to that school. Not a day.”

Janine wasn’t sure if this was the right moment for a question, but she tried anyway. “Why did you send her?”

Aunt Roberta sniffed a few times. “She…smelled like beer one night. Jim and I got scared.”

Janine couldn’t believe how ridiculous that was, that all of this tragedy had happened because Donna had once smelled like beer. Who knows if she’d even been the one drinking it.

But Janine knew it would do no good to point that out.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Roberta. So sorry for everything you’ve been through.”

“Thank you, honey.”

Her aunt turned to look Janine in the eye. “Now, I’ve got nothin’ else to say about that place. I mean it.”

“I understand.”

“You need to put that camera away and start makin’ plans to get back to New York.”

Janine nodded politely, knowing full well that she wasn’t headed to New York anytime soon. After suffering through a cup of horribly weak coffee and labored small talk, she hugged Aunt Roberta one last time and headed out the door, then walked under the huge oak tree toward the street. As she approached GamGam’s car, parked at the curb in front of the house, she froze.

Scrawled in red paint across the passenger side doors were two words:

Leave Bitch.

13

“SEE? HE’S NOT here,” Leif said in the darkness, his back against a long-abandoned tobacco barn near the Whitewood School property. “He was messing with us the whole time. Let’s go home.”

“What time is it?” Rex asked.

Leif found it annoying that Rex so often made fun of his Casio calculator watch but still regularly asked him for the time (and to do math). “It’s 11:58,” he said, illuminating the digital watch face. “He’s not coming.”

An owl loudly hooted from the nearby trees, as if to emphatically agree with Leif.

“Ben will be here,” Rex insisted.

“It just changed to 11:59 as you said that.”

“Okay, fine, whatever. But let’s give it till at least 12:01.”

“He said midnight.”

“You can’t give it one extra minute?”

“Not really!” Leif was tired of terrifying situations. His life had become a steady drumbeat of fear, worry, manipulation by Rex, and then more fear and worry. When Rex had said he’d meet up with Ben whether Leif came along or not—that Alicia was “depending on them to follow every lead, to help her however they could”—well, of course Leif was going along too. But he wasn’t thrilled about it. He couldn’t shake the feeling this was all going to end very badly.

Leif startled as the owl hooted again. “Welp, it’s midnight,” he said, pointing to his lit Casio. “Let’s go!”

Rex tried to remain composed, but Leif was frustrating when he got like this. And a tiny part of him wondered if maybe Ben was going to stand them up. “Look, we have to wait until at least 12:01, because every second of 12:00 counts as midnight.”

“That’s not true,” Leif said. “Every second after midnight is the next day. He said Friday night at midnight. It’s Saturday!”

Before Rex could continue the argument, the owl hooted again, louder than ever, followed by what sounded like an animal landing in the grass at the tree line. Rex and Leif froze in place as they stared into the inky dark, listening as the thing crept toward them. The creature came closer, the gibbous moon making it obvious—much to Leif’s simultaneous relief and disappointment—that it was human. A chunk of pale hair poked out from under a misshapen fur hat. Ben hooted again once he was next to them.

“The owl in the tree was you?” Leif asked.

“Yes,” Ben said. “I was the owl in the tree.”

Ben looked dirtier than usual. His entire face was caked with mud, as was his jumpsuit. Leaves, pine straw, and twigs were stuck to his torso and limbs in various spots.

“It’s camo,” Ben said, noticing Rex and Leif staring. “I shouldn’t even be this close to the school, so I need to take every precaution.”

“Yeah, but we shouldn’t be this close to the school either,” Leif said. “Whitewood knows who we are. If we’re caught out here, he’ll probably just, like, grab us and take us to the school without even asking our parents.”

“That’s not how it works,” Ben said.

“Yeah,” Rex agreed.

“But…shouldn’t we also have camo?” Leif asked.

“There’s plenty of dirt,” Ben said, sweeping a leafy arm toward the barren patch underneath the buckling barn’s awning. “Help yourself.”

“I’ll pass,” Rex said.

Leif contemplated for a moment, then slowly crouched down and tried to dig his nails into the earth. It was cement-like, compacted by cattle traffic. He moved his hands around, hoping to find a softer spot. His fingers entered what felt like a pile of mud.

“Ah, shit!” Leif whisper-shouted.

“You said it,” affirmed Ben. “I was gonna tell you to watch your step for cow pies out here, but I didn’t think I needed to tell you to watch your, uh, hands.”

Leif stood up, thankful the night was covering his blushing. He took a step into the grass, careful to avoid making his situation worse by stumbling into another bovine deposit, and knelt down, running his soiled hand through the thick blades.

“At least you’ll smell like a cow. That’s a form of camouflage, I guess,” Rex said, snickering as he pulled his backpack over one shoulder.

“Funny,” Leif said.

“So, uh, Ben, what is it you think we’re gonna see here?” Rex had brought his dad’s camcorder, thinking whatever they observed might be worth documenting.

“It’s not here, actually,” Ben said. “We’ve got to go onto the Whitewood School property to see it. And we should get going. It usually happens about quarter after twelve.”

“What? No!” Leif protested. “Go on the school property? Are you nuts?”

“Possibly,” Ben answered. “My uncle once told me I was ‘uniquely challenging,’ which sounds like a nice way of saying nuts.”

Rex took a step toward Leif and adopted his serious voice, which registered about a half octave below his usual speech. “You need to decide right now if you’re going with us.”

Leif knew he was cornered. Rex had purposely said us, a clear indication that Leif would have to stand alone in this creepy cow pasture—or, worse, walk home alone in the middle of the night—if he didn’t tag along.

“Fine,” Leif said. “But what are we supposed to do? Climb that fence?” He pointed toward the ten-foot chain-link fence topped with barbed wire running just behind the barn.