Evergreen: Some Things Are Best Alone

By Clifford Beck

Evergreen is a small logging town in northern Maine, out of the way from the flow of tourists with the townspeople numbering only a few thousand. But Evergreen holds a dark secret, one that has isolated it from the rest of the world. Now, as Bobby and Katie begin investigating what has lay dormant in the town for decades, it falls to Christine, the town's sheriff, to keep them out of trouble.

In the meantime, Katie's widowed father, Tom, has begun a passionate romance with Christine, one that seems to hold a promising future. But as winter closes in, the teens decide that their curiosity can only be satisfied by entering an old house in the woods, the source of Evergreen's dark secret. By the time they discover the evil that has, for so many years, lived within its walls, it is too late, and the town has once again, become a victim of something brought to life by dark means.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clifford Beck
• Release date: Sep 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463881354

Book preview

Evergreen

Clifford Beck

Cover Design Clifford Beck

Copyright©2014

The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.

Joseph Conrad

Under Western Eyes, 1911

For My Wife, Sara

Published through Smashwords

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 1

May the Lord bless and keep you. May the Lord make his face to shine down upon you and be gracious to you. May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.

Father Thomas Roberts was the priest at St. Mark’s Church in Evergreen. As a man of the cloth, he took his job very seriously, leading a lifetime career free of controversy he had been serving the Evergreen parish since some of its residents were children. Having baptized many of them. He had been there long enough to have an intimate knowledge of many of the townspeople’s darkest secrets. It seems that the confessional can reveal things that even God may not want to hear.

Fall had arrived early that year. The sky was turning a deeper blue; the wind turning cold and crisp. The wooded landscape howling with the far-off sounds of wolves mixed into a haunting symphony with the random harmonies of the wind. Summers were always short in Evergreen. Not much changed from one day to the next. Saturdays were reserved for family, but the local bars still filled up at night with people looking to blow off steam, as well as to sit in search of something that could not be found at the bottom of a bottle -- the cure for loneliness. Sundays, however, were solemn occasions with nearly the entire town attending services provided by Evergreen’s only church and it was on one particular Sunday that a different chill wandered its way through, one that reminded everyone of another presence that had taken root in their town, one that had been there for generations and would not leave. But, the day was still young, and the leaves began to turn early, leaving the congregation’s children leaning towards the windows, itching to get out into the cool palette of early autumn.

The service ended as all other services had. The benediction was spoken in the congregation filed out onto the street. Many in the town went to church. Most were faithful to their God, but a few looked towards the sanctified ground as a source of protection from something that God was either unable or unwilling to destroy. Perhaps the evil that lurks just outside of town had been willfully overlooked by the creator, perhaps out of fear. As the congregation let out, one of the faithful was Christine Thomaston. As the town’s sheriff, she wore the badge with honor and serving the town of Evergreen for several years saw the importance of earning the respect and trust of the community, always keeping an eye on the news from across the country, she saw the behavior of other officers who abused people while hiding behind the badge. This, she saw as loathsome and cowardly. Certainly, she was not someone affected by ego or craved the authoritygasm being commonly seen among law enforcement. In fact, for as long as she had worn the badge, Christine’s sidearm had never so much as broken the letter of its holster and although she considered herself married to her job, Christine was the object of every man’s eye. A woman in her late thirties, she still appeared quite youthful. Her spectacular red hair and Romanesque physique could turn the head of a dying man. But perhaps it was her strength that kept Evergreen largely free of serious crime. One certainly couldn’t consider committing a felony while carrying the image of the town’s sheriff in their mind, and she was always in uniform, always on the job.

Not far behind was Joan. A recent transplant from Portland, Joan managed a small market in town. To many, she seemed profoundly unhappy, even angry. But like anyone else, the state of her life could be easily explained by her history. One year ago, she had been released from the state prison in Bangor after a ten-year sentence for what the court referred to as involuntary manslaughter after killing her abusive husband and with no other family, the state of Maine took custody of her son. Eventually, he was thrown into the adoption system and disappeared into the state’s bureaucratic catacombs. However, upon her release, Joan’s attorney broke a legal cardinal rule by tipping her off as to where her son was living. Joan didn’t question how the attorney came by the information and although he may no longer recognize her, she knew he had been adopted by a family in Evergreen and desperately wanted to get to know him, without disrupting his life.

Tom went to services only occasionally. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in God. He had simply lost his faith. Raised in Evergreen, Tom worked tirelessly in the town’s lumber mill. His wife had met an untimely end when her car slid off the only road into town during one of Maine’s many famous Nor’easter’s. Her car was found at the bottom of a steep embankment. Autopsy results showed her cause of death to have been a deep skull fracture but that was only the beginning. His wife’s demise left Tom alone to raise nine-year-old Katie, and he was completely clueless as to how to be both a mother and a father. But, after ten years of constant work and loneliness, Tom had begun to come out of his shell and although he spitefully questioned God about the state of his life, Tom would go to church to be around people but primarily, to see Christine, to admire her from afar.

Evergreen was a small town about thirty miles northeast of Baxter State Park. The park drew many campers and hikers and had been considered and many to be the jewel of New England. Evergreen credited its existence to the lumber industry with the entire town supporting the modestly sized mill as well as the crews, who risked their lives on a daily basis bringing timber to the mill. But the town had somehow been overlooked as a tourist hotspot. With only one road serving as access and exit, Evergreen seemed to have dropped off the edge of the world, never being noticed except as a small dot on a map.

Chapter 2

Crossing the street, Christine returned to the police blazer, opened the door and stood as she surveyed the street. Observation was part of the job and with nearly everyone in town gathered in one place, she found it easy to observe them -- to study their faces. Who was tense? Who stared at the ground? But why was a different matter. Why was the unknown. This was one of the reasons Christine loved her job. It gave her the chance to try to figure people out, to separate the saints from the sinners. After a few minutes of people watching, she received a call from a concerned resident. Touching a button on her cell phone, Christine’s response was both immediate and professional.

Sheriff Thomaston.

Her expression quickly became one of frustration as the voice on the phone reported the disappearance of an elderly man.

Alright, she said. I think I know where he went.

George was something of a fixture in Evergreen. A victim of dementia, he walked the small downtown area, occasionally wandering off into the woods. Only one or two people knew George’s story but chose to remain silent. That night, he slept at the clinic. No matter how busy things got, there was always a gurney set aside for him. During the day, he wandered and although he was homeless, the people of Evergreen provided him with food as well as the occasional jacket or winter coat. Some small towns insist on taking care of their own, but as confused as George was when he wandered into the woods, he always seemed to end up at the same place. This made it easy for the sheriff to find him.

Christine drove about two miles out of town and pulling off to the side of the road, began the short walk into the woods. She held a special fondness for him and knowing that he had no place to go, she tried to keep an eye on him, to keep him out of trouble. She had once tried to take him in, to give him a roof over his head. But in his state of mind, it soon became impossible for her to care for him. He would wander out in the middle of the night and regardless of the weather, he always went to the same place. Considering the rugged terrain, Christine often wondered how he managed to stay alive in the first place. With the area is mountainous as it was, one wrong step in the wrong place and one’s body would become unrecoverable. But for the past few years, George had managed to avoid this fate while being drawn to one particular place, seemingly by some invisible force.

Twenty minutes after walking into the woods, Christine approached George, who stood with a hand on the rail of the front steps of an abandoned house.

George. Again? she asked.

Taking him gently by the arm, she helped George slowly back to the road.

How do you manage to get out here?

He stopped and looking her squarely in the eyes, said, I have to get back.

It was the same thing every time. But, Christine was insistent.

C’mon George. We’ve got to get you back to town.

Occasionally, George would put up a bit of resistance. Usually, nothing more than a bit of pulling.

George, Christine continued. It’s not safe out here for you, okay?

A tear ran down his face as he repeated his strange response. To anyone else, it would have been grossly out of context, the product of a decaying mind. But, Christine understood. The fact was, Christine understood more about George than anyone else. Far more.

Driving into town, she pulled off to the side of the road in front of the market. Beeping the horn brought Joan to the front of the store. George opened the passenger’s door as Joan walked out to the blazer.

George! she said. You go and get lost again?

She helped him out by the arm while looking at the sheriff with concern.

Hey, Sheriff!

Christine reached into her breast pocket and handed Joan a five-dollar bill.

Here, get him something to eat, she said.

Sheriff, Joan began. Forget it, this one’s on me.

She helped George into the market as Christine drove away.

Joan was one of the many people in town who made certain that George didn’t go hungry. Unlike many people, their Christian values would not tolerate otherwise and the last thing they wanted was to find his lifeless body curled up in the woods. Having him in the market was always the highlight of her day. He was someone she could take care of, in spite of the odor that constantly clung to him. Even after ten years in prison, Joan always managed to put her anger aside in order to exercise her maternal instincts. Many times, George wandered in on his own like a lost puppy. He seemed to know enough to understand where he could get a meal and who he could rely on.

Preparing a small meal, Joan served him a burger with all the trimmings and a large glass of milk. She stood watching as George slowly consumed it. Letting out a sigh of concern, she said, George, what are we going to do with you?

Finishing what anyone would call a generous meal, George got up and, without a word, slowly meandered out. As he stepped back out onto the sidewalk, Joan raised a hand as if waving to him.

You’re welcome, George! Come back again!

She walked to the front of the market, letting her eyes follow him down the street. Like everyone else who ran into George, Joan’s compassion masked the fear and hopelessness she felt for him. She was certain that he would someday be found half-buried in the snow, his skin cold and yellow, his limbs stiff and frigid.

Chapter 3

Christine made her rounds of the town. On most weekdays, Evergreen’s activities were focused on the mill as well as the lumber camp several miles to the west. Returning to her office, she sat at her desk, and he immediately noticed a message on her answering machine. But as she was about to listen to it, her office phone rang.

Sheriff’s office.

It was the standard, professional response. Not that she relied on formality. Not in a town the size of Evergreen. Holding the receiver between her ear and shoulder, she began sorting through some paperwork she’d been putting off. The voice on the other end was from the state’s law enforcement agency in Augusta.

What? she asked in disbelief. You know how small this town is? Why the hell would I need a deputy?

She paused as the voice on the other end of the phone continued. She spoke up as a break in the conversation occurred.

Well, can’t you put him someplace else? Send him to Franklin County. I hear there was a woman killed on the highway near Bigelow Mountain a while back. They even had to fly a chopper out there, the voice continued.

Christine quickly realized that she had no choice in the matter and what was worse was that she’d be getting a rookie. In a small town like Evergreen, training a rookie cop would be more of an elaborate babysitting job and Christine was not a patient person. She had been solely responsible for the people of Evergreen for the last five years and knew herself well enough to know that she did not work and play well with others. Hanging up the phone, she brought her hands up to her forehead in frustration. There was no arguing with the bureaucracy. The fates of politics tend to do what they will with the many controlled by the few and although Christine already knew this, every once in a while she would get