Laymon Laymon: The Woods Are Dark

“Not tonight.”

“Gee, and I had my heart set on it.”

“You’re sure going to stink up the tent. Maybe we’d better sleep under the stars.”

“What if it rains?” Sherri asked through a mouthful that muffled her words.

“Then we get wet.”

“I wouldn’t like that.”

“Better wet than onion gas in the tent.”

“Yeah?” Sherri pulled off the top slab of rye bread, pinched a matted glob of onions, and dropped it onto Neala’s plate. “You have some, too. Insurance.”

Laughing, Neala piled the onions onto her Terkburger and ate.

Soon, their plates were empty. Neala thought about returning to the car. She didn’t want to.

“How about dessert?” Sherri asked, as if she were in no hurry to leave, either.

“Good idea.”

This was no time to worry about calories. Neala never worried much about them, regardless; she had no trouble keeping her trim figure. Still, gloppy desserts made her feel guilty. Tonight, it would be worth the guilt to postpone returning to the car.

They both ordered hot fudge sundaes. They ate slowly, picking at the mounds of ice cream, the thick warm syrup, the whipped cream sprinkled with chopped nuts.

“This’ll add an inch to my hips,” Sherri said. She was several inches taller than Neala, with broad shoulders, prominent breasts, and big hips. She wasn’t fat, but an additional inch on her hips wouldn’t be that noticeable. Neala decided to keep the observation to herself.

“We’ll work it all off, this week,” she said.

“A great way to spend a vacation, working our asses off.”

“You’ll love it.”

“Sure I will. I’ll love it plenty if Robert Redford wanders over to our campfire and I bowl him over with my wit and charm, and he drags me off with him. My luck, though, he’d fall for you.”

“I’d share.”

When the sundaes were gone, they ordered coffee.

After this, Neala thought, we’ll have to go. Back to the car. Back to the narrow, dark road and the woods.

We can’t stay here all night.

She watched the waitress shut the main, wooden door. Through the window, she saw that dusk had fallen. The gravel of the parking lot was a gray blur. Across the road, the sign of the Sunshine Motor Inn blinked gloomy blue. It showed a vacancy.

Her eyes met Sherri’s.

“No way,” Sherri said.

“I know. I don’t want to stay, either. I don’t want to go and I don’t want to stay.”

“We’ll feel a lot better when we’ve put some miles behind us.”

Neala nodded agreement.

“But before we do another thing, the kid here’s gonna hit the John.”

While she was gone, Neala had another cup of coffee.

She came back, and Neala went. The toilet, at the rear of the diner, was clean and pleasant. Ought to be, Neala thought; the place is run by a bunch of ty—

She returned to the table. Sherri had already put down the tip. They took the bill to the cash register. This meal was Neala’s turn.

She bought two foil-wrapped mints, for the road.

The waitress poured change into her hand. “Don’t be strangers,” she said.

Sherri reached for the knob, and tried to turn it. The knob didn’t move. She tried again. “Hey, Miss?” she called to the waitress.

The heads of everyone at the counter turned toward them.

“Hey Miss, the door’s stuck.”

The customers stared. A couple of the younger ones smiled, but most looked grim.

“Ain’t stuck, honey. It’s locked.”

Neala felt a tight pull of fear in her bowels.

“How about unllocking it?” Sherri asked.

“Afraid I can’t do that.”

“Yeah? Why the fuck not?”

“’Cause you’re here to stay, you two.” With a big grin, the waitress turned to the other customers—the same customers, Neala suddenly realized, who’d been at the counter when they entered, so long ago.

Silently, four of the men climbed off their stools.

Lander Dills cut his high beams as a car appeared around a bend. When it was gone, he pressed them on again, doubling the brightness of the road and forest ahead.

“This is the forest primeval,” he announced. “The murmuring pines and the hemlocks.”

“That’s Dad doing his Evangeline routine,” said Cordelia in the backseat, explaining him to Ben. “He gets poetically inspired at frequent intervals.”

“Fine with me,” Ben said.

Good fellow, Ben. Didn’t know an iamb from a dactyl, and couldn’t care less, but at least he seemed reasonably intelligent and polite. Lander, a high school teacher, had seen enough of the other kind to last him a dozen lifetimes.

His daughter had good taste in boyfriends, thank the gods.

“Longfellow knew his stuff,” Lander said. “The forest primeval. You can feel it in your bones—the silence, the isolation. Out there, nothing has changed for a thousand years. ‘Down by the dank tarn of Auber, in the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.’”

“The Poe routine,” Cordelia said.

“I wouldn’t mind his motel routine, about now,” said Ruth.

“Mom’s horny, too.”

“That’s not what I meant, Cordie, and you know it!”

Cordelia and Ben were laughing. The motel routine. With a pang, Lander pictured his daughter under Ben, naked and moaning. From the way the two acted, he was certain they had gone the whole route. It made him feel sick, as if he’d lost something precious. She was eighteen, though. Old enough to know what she was doing, to make her own choices. He couldn’t stop her. He wouldn’t try. But it hurt him.

“We should be coming into Barlow pretty soon,” Ruth said, shining her flashlight at a roadmap in her lap. “How about stopping there?”

“Don’t you want to try for Mule Ear Lake?” Lander asked.

“We’re hours away, honey. It’ll be midnight, at least, and we told Mr. Elsworth we’d be there by nine. He’ll probably be asleep. Besides, we’ve been on the road all day.”

“If we had been on the road all day, we’d be there by now.”

“Here we go,” Cordelia said. “Dad the general. His idea of a vacation is hitting the road before sunup.”

“Well, I’d be happy to stay in this Barlow, myself,” he said. “I’m just looking out for you people.” He grinned through the darkness at Ruth. “You do realize, I hope, that there won’t be a Hyatt.”

“As long as it has clean sheets…”

“Would you kids rather stop, or go on through to the cabin?”

“Let’s stop,” Cordelia said. “It’ll be fun.”

“Either way’s fine with me, Mr. Dills.”

“Well, we’ll see,” he said.

He wouldn’t argue the point. Not worth the trouble. He was pleased enough to assume the role of leader, but only so long as nobody tampered with his decisions. His decision, from the start, had been to drive on through. Now, he’d been overruled.

With some satisfaction, and telling nobody, he switched his role from leader to chauffeur.

If they want to run the show, let them. He would sit back, relieved of responsibility, and watch. More than likely, they would botch it.

Soon, he came to the town of Barlow. He drove past a closed gas station, a general store, and Biff’s Hardware and Sporting Goods. Just ahead, on the right, was Terk’s Diner. Across the road was the Sunshine Motor Inn. Its flashing blue sign read, vacancy.

“Is this where you want to stop?” he asked, slowing down. It wasn’t a regular motel, at all, but a cluster of cottages behind a shabby office.

“I don’t know,” Ruth said, sounding dubious.

Lander grinned.

“What do you think?” she asked him.

“It’s up to you. Should we give it a try?”