ACT THREE

The movie theater was crowded, but very few people were there to watch the movie. Greensboro kids were no different than the kids in any other small town, and they sought amusement and trouble anywhere they could turn them up. Most were content to "drag the Strip", and the theater's parking lot was one of two turnaround points, much to the dislike of Mr. Miller, the owner. At least two police cars—one parked, the other circulating—kept tabs on the goings-on at the parking lot. Cars lined the pavement, crowding out the genuine patrons, as teenagers hung around their vehicles, playing music, crowing, roughhousing, and just generally making a scene.

Jeff Weldon leaned against his black 1992 Grand Prix SE, showing off the new ground effects he'd gotten slapped on, as Korn screamed from his sound system. A couple of blonde bombshells were "oohing" and "aahing" over the new additions to his ride, but he continued to puff nonchalantly on his cigarette, as if their words of praise meant nothing to him. By his side, scruffy and shabbily dressed, Jeff's best buddy Kyle Rogers watched the girls with growing interest as they bent over to check out the effects.

Kyle nudged Jeff and pointed at the girls' revealed effects, wiggling his eyebrows. Jeff rolled his eyes and shook his head without a word.

One of the girls, Jennifer, bounced up to Jeff. "This is a nice car."

Jeff nodded, taking a hit on his cigarette as Kyle nearly palpitated at his side.

"We're meeting over at my friend's place in an hour," she informed him, her eyes lustful and enticing, "Wanna come?"

Jeff shrugged. "We'll see. Me and Kyle got to go see a guy tonight."

Kyle spun to Jeff, silently outraged. Jennifer looked the right blend of disappointment and intrigue. "Well, if you change your mind, we're going to Julie Beckins' house. You know where that's at? It's right past McKinley."

"Yeah," Jeff replied casually. "I think I could find it."

"Cool. Hope to see you later."

Then Jennifer and her equally blonde friend scampered across the parking lot to another group of collected teens, and Kyle immediately whirled and slapped Jeff full force across the arm.

"Dude!"

Jeff reacted in pain, his smoke clenched in his teeth. "What?!"

"What 'guy'? There's no guy. We're the guy. They want to be with us because we're the guy."

"Of course there's no guy," Jeff drawled. "It's just the way the game's played."

"So, we're going, right?" Kyle asked desperately.

"Shyeah, we're going," Jeff laughed. "Did you see Jennifer tonight? I'd be nuts not to go."

"That's what I'm trying to say. Jeez, man, don't scare me like that. What's wrong with you?"

Jeff chuckled as his friend breathed a sigh of relief. Then, without warning, Kyle nearly jumped over the top of the car, banging his hands on the top and whistling.

"Woohee, Isabella Evans!" Kyle called across the parking lot as the early show moviegoers exited the theater. Isabella Evans was a quiet beauty, her simmering Latin features an instant appeal to the white bread farm boys of Greensboro. But, unlike Jennifer, she carried herself with regal dignity, her shapely body hidden beneath respectable clothes.

Much to the disapproval of boys like Kyle Rogers.

"Looking hot tonight!" he howled like a hungry wolf, despite the fact that Isabella's polo-shirt-wearing boyfriend Scott Townsend had his arm around her. The girl turned to Kyle, at first shocked that someone was calling her name, then grimaced in anger when she realized who had taken notice.

"Kyle Rogers! Don't make me come over there and black your eye!" she hollered. Her carefully manicured boyfriend looked completely at a loss for words.

Kyle whistled some more, hooted and hollered, and banged on the top of the car again before Jeff grabbed him by the scruff of his tattered Army jacket and spun him around. "Knock it off," he groaned.

Kyle chuckled wildly, while Isabella's boyfriend, red-faced and impotent, helped the young lady into his car several yards away.

"Hey, doesn't she go to church with you?" Kyle asked Jeff.

"Yeah, so?"

"Think you could hook me up?"

"Forget it. She's waaay out of your league."

Kyle moped.

"Besides," Jeff added, "she's in Band. Those chicks are boring."

Kyle sighed wistfully, defeated again by the opposite sex. "I guess I'll have to set my sights lower." He grinned, rubbing his hands together. "Like Julie Beckins."

"There you go. Now you're playing in the right field."

But Kyle's beaming smile dulled as he glanced across the parking lot. "Oh, great."

Jeff looked out over the mass of traffic and crowds of loitering teenagers. "What?"

"It's your brother."

Jeff sighed, frustrated. "That skeeve."

Sure enough, Dras rode in furiously on his bicycle, bringing it to a skidding fishtail halt inches in front of his brother. "Jeff!"

"What do you want?"

"I can't get a hold of Rosalyn," Dras reported, his eyes wide with dread, his face flushed with exertion.

"Try her tomorrow," Jeff replied, tapping Kyle on the arm and pointing at the car. The two boys made ready to get inside and head off to their romantic rendezvous. "Good-bye."

Dras dismounted his bike, let it crash to the pavement, and hurried to his brother, pulling on his long coat. "Jeff! I've got a bad feeling."

Jeff huffed and flashed his best teenage put-upon look. Dras knew he had to explain fast before his big brother's patience completely ran out.

"She really misses her dad," Dras began.

Jeff nodded. "It's natural."

"But I can tell something's wrong. She's giving a lot of thought to what Old Woman McDowell told her about the North Woods."

Kyle snickered from the other side of the car. "The North Woods? You looking for the Bogeyman, little man?"

Dras glared through his brow at Kyle, hating him enough already without him butting his acned face into family business. Despite Kyle's good humor, Jeff grew serious.

"You think she went out there?" the older boy asked.

Dras replied, "I'm sure of it. Jeff…she's really messed up, man."

Jeff remained stone-faced, his eyes flickering with thought. At last he said, "The North Woods aren't safe."

"Aw, man," Kyle sneered. "Don't tell me you believe in monsters, now, too."

Jeff fixed Kyle with the same through-the-brow look his brother had used. "Of course not. But it's nighttime. She won't be able to see anything. She could fall. Get hurt."

"We need to hurry," Dras said, rushing to his bike.

Jeff reached into his car and pushed a button to pop the trunk. "Put your bike in the back. You're riding with me."

Kyle watched the brothers work, his heart sinking. "Jeff, dude? What about Julie Beckins? Jennifer? Being the guy?"

"Find another ride, Kyle," Jeff answered, taking one last drag off his cigarette before flicking it into the wind.

"But nobody else tolerates me," he whined. "You know that."

Jeff grinned. "Then try not being a jerk for a second."

Kyle scratched his head. "You think that'd work?"

"Later, Kyle."

Dras pushed past the greasy boy, taking his place at his brother's side, and closed the car door. Jeff started up the engine, revved it a few times for effect, and sped off.

Kyle continued to mull over his new life direction, but stopped short when he saw  Jennifer and her friend cruise by, preparing to head to the party. He licked his hand, slicked back his unruly hair, and put on his best smile.

"Hey, Jennifer! Looks like my schedule just cleared up and I can go to Julie's house, after all! Wanna give me a lift?"

Jennifer snarled before pulling away. "Drop dead, creep."

Kyle slumped and muttered. "Thanks a lot, Jeff, ole buddy. Thank yew, very much."

 *      *      *

"Wallace?" Peggy called into the still and dark woods, shining her lantern across the trees and foliage. "Wall…ace…"

Rosalyn held back, almost pressed to the back of the old woman, her fearful eyes darting expectantly all around. The stars were snuffed out this deep into the North Woods and the air was surprisingly cold. Older kids were notorious for stealing off to the North Woods and on to the Old Greenesboro ruins, mysterious charred brick foundations that served as evidence of the town's first settlers. The place was a perfect spot for teenagers looking for a secluded hideaway where they could indulge in their baser instincts far from the prying eyes of their parents. Rosalyn was always curious to see what the older kids did and wondered what was so fun about drinking and necking. She and Dras had ventured into the woods a couple of times in the past, for much more innocent pursuits, but always during the day. Always when they could find their way back.

Now, in the all-encompassing darkness, Rosalyn had no clue where she was going or which path would lead her home. She could only rely on the guiding light of Old Woman McDowell's lantern and the bereaved lady's memory to lead the way.

Rosalyn knew why she was following the woman into the woods: to find her father. The idea had seemed the only rational thing to do in a life that was ripped apart. But…now that she was here, nearly clinging to the flowered nightgown of Peggy McDowell as she cried out her husband's name in tear-streaked hysteria, she didn't quite feel the same. Once Rosalyn half-heartedly called out, "Dad?" but the act felt stupid and vain and she kept quiet afterward, while Peggy wailed again and again "Wallace! Wall…ace!"

Soon thoughts of little Annie filled Rosalyn's mind. She worried who would be there to take care of her sister if she wasn't. Their mother was helpless to care for herself or her new child these days. Horrible images filled Roslayn's mind. Mom falling asleep or passing out with the stove on. A fire catching. Annie crying, trapped in the house.

Rosalyn shuddered and stopped in her tracks.

"I think we should go back," she meekly stated.

"Wallace!" Old Woman McDowell hollered, then turned back to the young girl. "What, dear?"

"We should go back. I want to go home."

The old lady slowly metamorphosed before her eyes, changing from the sweet, misunderstood old woman she befriended a week earlier, into the demented hag from the stories told about her. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, dear. We can't go back. I know my Wallace is out here. I've heard him. I won't be going back."

"But…what about me?"

"Your father is out here, too," the woman said, crunching through dry leaves as she overshadowed Rosalyn, her lamp casting twisted shadows across her craggy face. Her eyes were mad with grief and desperation. "I'm just sure of it. You have to trust the voices, Rosalyn. The dead are out here. This is where we belong."

Rosalyn shook her head. "I…I don't belong here. I want to go back."

The crone stepped forward, as if prepared to make Rosalyn follow, then stopped short. Her face turned cold. "Fine. Turn back. I'll go on without you."

"But how will I see? I need your lantern."

As if the girl had threatened to take it, Peggy McDowell clutched the lamp close to her abundant bosom. "No! I need it! Wallace will be guided by its light. It's how he'll find me!" No longer paying Rosalyn any attention, the crone turned back to the woods, holding out her lantern and shouting, "Wall…ace… Wall…ace…"

Rosalyn watched the woman leave to chase a ghost and something inside her died. She came out to the North Woods with hope—with faith—but reason bested her instead. Her father was dead. He was never coming back. He wasn't out here, waiting for her in some beautiful afterlife. The world was now exposed as the cold, empty place it truly was and Rosalyn felt utterly betrayed by the glamour of youth. She thought of Dras, of his goofy optimism, his ability to find joy in the simplest of pleasures, like watching Midnight Matinee, and worried he'd never see the world the way she could now.

What worried her most was the thought of losing him because he didn't understand.

Sobbing and alone in the darkness, Rosalyn stumbled through the brush, working her way backward. She was certain that Old Woman McDowell had led her through twists and turns, but she hoped that if she just kept moving back, she'd find some familiar location to lead her home.

She just wanted out of these blasted woods.

"Staaayyy with meee…"

She froze, her hackles rising.

"Who—?"

"…commmeee baaaacckkk…"

Hissing in the trees. A voice in the darkness. Far away. It was a man's voice. Loving and kind.

Her heart stopped. She whimpered, "Daddy?"

A tremendous snapping, like a huge tree, startled the quiet. Birds flapped away in fright, and a large black shape rustled overhead. Rosalyn cringed, hating Old Woman McDowell for leaving her alone with no light.

When the terrible noise subsided, the distant whispering resumed.

"…staaaayyyy…"

Now the voice sounded closer. Nearly on top of her. Still quiet, hardly recognizable, but decidedly male.

"Daddy?" she braved the question louder.

Drip.

A snapping branch behind her, on the shadowed horizon. Rosalyn spun around, tearing up. "Who's there? Where are you?"

Drip. Drip.

She peered into the darkness beyond and nearly shrieked when she saw two glowing orbs floating towards her.

"Rosalyn?!"

A voice called her name, but it wasn't the same voice as before. This one she knew and trusted.

"Dras!" she yelled. "I'm over here!"

Dras and Jeff hurried into view, holding flashlights, waving them in Rosalyn's direction. Rosalyn relaxed for a moment before glancing back up into the black leaves above her. She saw nothing in the shadows, but heard a weak dripping, like water droplets in a puddle.

Dras rushed in her direction until he almost fell on top of her. "You're okay!"

Rosalyn huffed, forcing her voice not to quake. "Well, yeah, I'm okay, goof. What did you think?"

"We've been calling you," Jeff said, his breathing heavy. "Trying to get you to come back."

"That was you?" she asked, suddenly feeling very childish for thinking anything else.

"Yeah," Jeff bent over, supporting his hands on his knees, catching his breath. "Come on. Our folks are going to be mad enough as it is."

Without waiting for protest or agreement, Jeff the fearless leader headed back the way they came. Dras stood still for a moment, his flashlight illuminating Rosalyn.

"You alright?" he asked.

Rosalyn warmed. The world was indeed a scary place, and that knowledge felt like a burden that only she carried. But with Dras around, maybe things weren't so bad.

"Yeah," she asserted finally, meaning it for the first time since her father died. "Let's go back home. There's nothing out here for me, anyway."

Dras beamed and led the way home, Rosalyn at his side.

Behind them, high in the lush branches of the trees, cat-like eyes glowed in the darkness. Caught in spider-like clutches, the lifeless body of Peggy McDowell twitched in death throes, her throat ripped open and her blood dribbling to the soft earth below.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Meanwhile her killer looked on, watching the girl escaping his grasp.

"Staaayyy with meeee…"

The End?

Copyright © 2008 Greg Mitchell, All Rights Reserved