The Country Silence

By David Atkins

August, 1608, seven ships loaded with two-hundred men, woman, children, and everything else that they would need to start over again in the New World sailed into the Delaware Bay and went ashore at present day Kent.
These people had fled the forest of England and sailed to the new world seeking the same things that the Puritans would, twelve years later in 1620.
Only the Indians were aware of them but they kept their distance from the strange pale people that lived in a part of the forest they long believed was inhabited with the evil spirits of the enemies they killed in the wars among the tribes. They stayed hidden among the giant Eastern Hemlocks and American Beech trees from other Europeans until the Drake Well in Titusville discovered oil in 1859.
That was when the first Europeans---the descendents of those whom they escaped--- ventured into their new home looking to get rich.
And thats when the killing first began.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483677507

David Atkins

David Atkins is the author of the novel Obituary and the novella 3rd Hollow and lives in western Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.

Book preview

THE COUNTRY

Silence

David Atkins

Copyright © 2013 by David Atkins.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 08/06/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

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113761

Contents

PART I

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

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25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

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38

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41

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46

47

48

49

50

51

PART II

52

53

54

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56

57

58

59

60

61

62

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64

65

66

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94

The Aftermath

For Grandpa Joe.

I wish you were here to enjoy this with me and to still argue politics. I miss the fervor of those debates. Some of my most special memories and the best times of my life were spent in your company, and I think about you often.

Also

For Joshua Kovach.

Family gatherings just aren’t as fun now that you’re gone, and you left behind a lot of people who loved you more than you might have ever imagined. I’ve seen the beautiful dedication to your memory since you left us, and I’m still blown away by the deep love for a lost son and brother.

I would like to thank the following people who helped me make this book a reality:

Jennifer Atkins. Thanks for always picking me up when I’m down and pushing me to pursue my dream. I couldn’t do it without you.

Tony Short. You know the violent, disgusting part you played.

Dr. Brian Everhart. Thanks for your help with my medical questions, although I made up some parts about the drugs’ aftereffects. I had to make it suit the story line.

Anthony Zarillo. Thanks for the police info. I’ll be picking your brain a lot more in the future.

Special thanks to Kirah Welsh for the great photo. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best photographer in the business. Sorry we couldn’t agree on the picture to use, but the one you preferred will be used in the future. I promise!

Also a big thank you to Rob Pratte and Paul Miller for putting me on the radio and making me feel like a big star. I started off a little rusty but no longer have any fear of the radio or speaking to large groups of people.

A huge thank you to Cheryl Herrington, Manager, Learning and Library Resources, Community College of Beaver County. What you did for me last October will never be forgotten, and it helped me out in so many ways. You’re the best.

To the biggest horror fans I know, Ashley and Mark from Skull and Bones Entertainment. Thanks for your support and great reviews. I look forward to helping each other out for as long as we all last and as high as we climb in the business. PROLOGUE

August 1608. Seven ships loaded with two hundred men, women, children, and everything else that they would need to start over again in the New World sailed into the Delaware Bay and went ashore at present-day Kent.

These people had fled the forest of England and sailed to the New World seeking the same things that the Puritans would twelve years later, in 1620.

Only the Indians were aware of them, but they kept their distance from the strange pale people who lived in a part of the forest they long believed was inhabited by the evil spirits of the enemies they killed in the wars among the tribes. They stayed hidden among the giant eastern hemlocks and American Beech trees until the Drake Well in Titusville discovered oil in 1859.

That was when the first Europeans—the descendants of those whom they escaped—ventured into their new home looking to get rich.

And that’s when the killings first began.

PART I

WELCOME TO FLAGLER COUNTY

1

Heavy, nonstop rains had gone on for three days and now slid into its third night without any signs of slowing down, let alone stopping. And each night during the storm, it seemed to get darker than the night before, and trying to imagine it getting any blacker than it was now seemed impossible.

On this soaking third night, a husband, a devoted father, a man who loved his family more than anything else on this earth was now leading his youngest daughter to a place where he would commit a terrible but important act. An act he hoped and prayed would make the rest of his family a bit more comfortable. The sacrifice of his youngest child would save the lives of the rest of his loved ones. That’s what they promised him.

Pappa? Sarah Lapp spoke over the pounding rain and distant rumbles of thunder. She cleared the blonde locks from her eyes before speaking again. Are we almost to the cave yet, Pappa?

Before Mose Lapp could answer his daughter, lightning brightened the sky and the thunder that seemed so far away only a few minutes ago shook the soft earth beneath their feet.

Not much farther, Sarah, Mose said as he pointed the way through the dark forest with his long, callused finger. Did you remember to tell your mother that you loved her before we left?

Of course, Pappa. I never go away without saying that. She smiled and showed off the few baby teeth she still had in her mouth. Mamma says you never know when the Lord will decide to take you from the ones you love. Right, Pappa? That’s why I always tell Mamma and my sisters I love them when I leave. Don’t you always, Pappa?

Mose Lapp stopped walking, kneeled down, and put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders and managed to smile through his tears. He pulled her in and gave her a tight hug. Yes, yes, I always do too, Sarah. Always.

Sarah just thought that her father’s face was wet from the rain and suspected nothing was wrong with him. She couldn’t hear the strain in his voice or ever imagine that her father was crying. That was something she had never seen before. And not just her father but any man. Even little boys crying was something that was frowned upon from where she came from.

Always remember, my sweet little child, good children always go to heaven.

Sarah smiled and giggled. I know, Pappa, but I wanna be a grown up one day. Just like you an’ Mamma.

Those words bounced around his mind for a few seconds before ripping through his heart and threatening to turn him back without finishing what he came all the way out here in this dark storm to do. To do what they said they needed him to do.

But Mose Lapp’s mind was swimming with a presence that had slowly taken over his thoughts, and it made sure that he finished what he had already begun.

More thunder rumbled just overhead while lightning flashed and lit up the forest with stunning clarity.

Grab your lantern, little girl, and let’s keep moving. We should be at the cave in no time.

Yes, Pappa. Sarah grabbed her lantern and began moving swiftly in all her excitement to see the cave. It had been a while since her father brought her out to the forest to explore the dark hole in the mountain. It was her favorite place to go with her father. Usually he brought her sisters, but this time he said it was just a special trip for them, and nobody even needed to know where they were going. She made sure not to tell, even though keeping the secret almost drove her crazy until they had left together. Just the two of them.

Because of Sarah’s excitement, the hour-long hike only took forty-five minutes. She took large, rapid steps that were far longer than the ones her six-year-old legs usually took, and Mose was proud of her and her excellent ability to hike in the woods. She was born to live near this forest, and he knew that if she’d been allowed to live a full life she would’ve been happy living here in Flagler County.

This precious child—his favorite—was the last one in his family he would’ve chosen to bring out here, but because she was the youngest, the smallest, and by far the least suspicious, she went for the walk.

What would’ve made him happy would’ve been to bring his wife out here and sacrifice her for the good of the family. He wouldn’t have thought twice about taking her wretched life. He suspected that she wouldn’t have minded dying either. Taking her from her misery would be a deed done in pure mercy rather than spite and wouldn’t have been near as hard to stomach as robbing his sweet little Sarah of a promising life.

But Mose was weak, his physical strength and sanity taken from him because of months of not having enough to eat and drink. Winter was still far off in days, but it was never very distant in the mind. The way things looked now was that things would probably get worse before getting even slightly better. Trying to drag his wife up to the cave to kill her might kill him in the process, and one of the parents needed to survive to take care of the other girls and what was left of the farm. He was also far from sure that he could wrestle one of his older, stronger daughters into the hole he planned on dropping them into, and he also wasn’t quite sure they’d even fit. He was afraid he’d have to kill them with his hatchet and then cut them up into smaller pieces before shoving their bloody parts through the hole, and that was a process that he knew he could never carry out. Only because of pure circumstance, his favorite little girl would have to die first. If others were to follow though, his wife would be next to take the walk to the cave. He’d figure some way to get her up there.

Look, Pappa, there it is. We made it, we made it, Sarah said, jumping up and down. Are you as excited as me, huh, Pappa? Are you, huh, are you? she said with glee.

Mose managed a chuckle and smiled at his daughter. Not quite as excited as you, Sarah, but excited also, he lied the best he could. When he saw that she believed him, it made him feel even worse than he already did.

He began to believe that he couldn’t do it. No way could he do such a thing. He loved his little girl and just couldn’t rob her of her life. Maybe he’d just take her home after they dried off in the cave and made some wishes down the well, and when everyone else was asleep he would hang himself in the barn. That would be one less burden taking up his family’s meager ration of food and drinkable water. But if he did that, his whole family would most surely die without him, and Sarah would be no exception. At least her death could be painless and quick instead of withdrawn and agonizing.

Did you bring any pennies to drop down the well in the cave, Pappa? All Sarah wanted to do was drop some pennies down the well and make some wishes. She’d probably wish for her sisters to be happy and safe and the same thing for him and her mother. Then she’d wish that things would get better for everyone in their small but tight community. Sarah would also believe that her wishes would come true if she just wished hard enough, and if they didn’t, she’d blame herself and then beg her father to bring her back up to the cave to try to make the wishes again.

Not this time, I’m afraid. We need all the pennies we can get and can’t afford to drop them down into a hole in the ground. It killed him to be so poor, that those words were true.

Oh well, Pappa, that’s okay. Maybe we could just use some nice shiny rocks that we find in the cave. You think them’ll work, Pappa?

Mose smiled and told her he thought they’d work just fine, that God wouldn’t mind as long as she wished hard enough and told not another soul what she wished for. She agreed with her familiar giggle and continued on toward the cave with a skip in her step while the dim light of her lantern danced through the darkness.

Mose trailed his daughter by twenty yards while the dark intentions of his soul yearned for their chance to commit an act they so greatly anticipated. These dark intentions that grew a little stronger each day were not really his at all. They might inhabit him, but they weren’t his, not in the same way that your hair is black or your eyes blue; but nevertheless, they were still there. His. For better or worse, they were his, and he was finding that he no longer controlled himself, that they had taken over for him and they were why he was out here tonight. Killing for them. Giving them what they wanted, and there wasn’t anything that he could do about it.

Mose took his eyes off his daughter and her dancing lantern to scan the forest around him. Everything looked as it should, but nothing felt right. He had roamed these hills and valleys since he was about eight years old and knew the forest the same way a woman knows the calluses on her husband’s hands or how a man knows, by the look in his wife’s eyes, when something is bothering her.

Something’s wrong with the forest.

And they can fix it.

In time and with great suffering and sacrifice from the Amish of Basom, they always fix it.

And they will fix my farm too. But I must give them what they want.

I beat you, Father. I made it first! Sarah yelled through the darkness and noisy drizzle of the rain. The air between them was redolent with the joy that came from her voice. Sarah Lapp loves her Pappa! she screamed into the hole that sat just inside the cave opening and listened for her voice to echo back. When it did, she smiled and asked her father if he had heard it.

From his knees and through his tears, he answered yes. No way he could do it.

Never.

I can’t see you, Pappa. Where are you?

The light from her father’s lantern was now gone. She had gotten quite a bit in front of him, but they always knew where each other were by the soft glow of their lanterns. She had been taught to never turn it off when they were separated, and she knew that her father would never break that rule himself.

It must have been broken. That was the only explanation she could think of.

Sarah’s eyes furiously scanned the forest for the glow of her father’s lantern but saw nothing except darkness. She began to scream again and again for him but received no reply. Tears began to spill out of her eyes while her heart raced and her throat knotted up until she felt she could no longer swallow. She had never been afraid of the forest until now, alone and in the mouth of this dark cave. She knew she had to settle it, but her imagination took over.

The sound of rain pounding off of the rocks, hitting the leaves atop the forest canopy, and then falling into the already soaked soil sounded as if it might crush her eardrums and leave her deaf on top of already being blind from the night.

Paranoia began to latch onto Sarah Lapp’s mind.

She knew when darkness fell upon the forest that the eyes of the animals who hunted during the night glowed like stars in a black sky. Looking down from her perch in the cave, the forest looked more like a celestial event than it did a dark corridor of the Allegheny Forest. Shining eyes everywhere, the animals were eager to feed on the flesh of Earth’s most prolific killer.

Sarah knew this; she saw all the creatures in her mind, and they became her constant companions. This paranoia now sunk deeper into the child’s mind, and she began to take shallow breaths that were mixed with sobs and body trembles. It seemed to her that the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since she lost sight of her father’s light, and she knew she was running low on fuel for her lantern.

Now the creatures, the night stalkers, began moving uphill toward her. Their glowing eyes looked like shooting stars making their way toward the planet she was now inhabiting, promising death and destruction.

She quickly made a wish into the well with one of the four shiny rocks she had found on the cave floor and never heard or felt the presence that snuck up behind her, took the rocks from her hand, and pushed her into the well. A shrill scream of terror would be the last sound she would make on this earth.

2

If this rain doesn’t quit soon, we’ll have to start doing our patrols in those damn canoes hiding behind the storage shed, said Christopher Phelps. He wasn’t talking to anyone in particular, just speaking his thoughts out loud. This giant, this man of men, was in charge of dishing out the law in all of Flagler County.

How high’s the water, Mamma? sang Skeeter Miller, pursing his lips while he was drumming on his desk with a pencil and the palm of his hand.

Two feet high and rising, sang back the other lawman on duty, who went by the name of John Harding.

Chief—that’s what Christopher went by since he took the job of chief of police in Flagler County, and he expected everyone but his wife and two boys to call him that—just looked at his deputies like they were the two dumbest cracker-ass good ole boys to ever wear a badge and holster a gun.

Johnny Cash, Chief, Skeeter said with raised eyebrows. You know, the Man in Black? He now looked disgusted and offended all at once while he shook his bald melon from side to side very slowly. Never heard of him, have you?

A course I heard of him, just not real into his music is all, Chief said as he stood up. That cat started singing way before my time, Skeeter. I dig on other shit I’m sure you never even heard of.

Hey, just tryin’ to lighten the mood is all, Skeeter said, shrugging his broad shoulders and looking up at Chief from his chair. Besides, that cat you speak of is timeless. The good Lord put him here to sing those songs to everyone. Swear to God he did. Even for colored fellows like yourself.

Chief didn’t say a word back because he figured it would be another worthless conversation that would amount to minutes of his life wasted, which he would never get back. He hated when that oversized fat pink puppet called him colored, but he didn’t know any better, and Chief knew that teaching that old dog any new tricks would probably be impossible. And really, the only reason Chief let it go was because he knew Skeeter believed that by calling him colored, he was only being polite. In Skeeter’s mind it sure was a whole mess more polite than calling him nigger or boy.

It had been seven years since Chief came to Flagler County looking for a little peace and quiet for his family, and although he did find all the quiet his ears could stand, he wasn’t sure that he found any damn peace. Listen, you two, I got me a young cat by the name of Joseph Shields coming in today. He been a cop down in the burgh for a few years and says he looking for a change. If I like him, he’ll become one of the boys, and I want you two to make him feel welcome. Chief gave both his deputies a hard look. Got that, gentlemen?

Awe, Christ almighty, Chief, another damn city slicker? You know as well I do he ain’t gonna be able to cut it out here. They never do. And hey, nothin’ personal against any city people an’ all, but this place ain’t got nothin’ they want outta life, John Harding said. They just don’t relate to us people up here in Flagler and the way we like to do things is all.

He’s right, Chief, I ain’t seein’ it workin’ out for the best. Swear to God I don’t, Skeeter said with a wide grin and dumb little chuckle. Takes a special kinda person to carve out a meaningful and happy life out here among all these hills, hollers, and trees. You ought to know that from your own experience, Hoss. That, and what, six, seven, eight other city boys you brought up here to work that lasted no more ‘an a week.

Chief’s back was to his deputies, and he was looking out the window at the rain. The streets looked like black raging rivers through the cascading blur the rain had cast onto the single pane glass he looked through. Well, don’t you worry ’bout that. This one here’s different, and I think he’ll do just fine up here. Call it a hunch, I guess. Besides, he’s one of you boys. He turned around and smiled with his hands facing palms out. White as the palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet. He then left the room and went into his office without waiting for any kind of response.

Chief sat in his office fantasizing about the arrival of Joseph Shields, hoping that they would become friends. It would be nice to have somebody from home to hang out with, to watch Steelers games with, someone who had an idea about what his former life was like and to talk about the city. He’s had Skeeter; his wife, John; and his mother over for a few picnics and a couple Thanksgivings, but they didn’t hang out too much after work and Chief and his wife, Dona, were fine with having them as distant, friendly acquaintances.

Chief’s ringing desk phone broke up the fantasy of beer, football, and friendship. Yo, Chief here.

It was the dispatcher Susan Jones. She told Chief that one of the men from the city who was checking out land to buy had been traveling through Basom and saw two girls sitting on the road in front of their farm, screaming and crying and holding on to each other. The whole time they were screaming Pappa, Pappa over and over again, but the man said he couldn’t get anything more out of the two of them than that.

Chief asked her if the man knew whose farm it was, and she said that she had asked him, but the connection was broke and he hadn’t called back yet. The connection being lost was par for the course, and the fact that the connection was even made and lasted as long as it did was amazing to Chief.

There were thirty Amish farms spread throughout Flagler County, and a good many of them were located in a place on the map that went by the name of Basom. There was only one road that went through Basom, and it was twenty-eight miles of a winding narrow two-lane called Rural Route 606. Remote was too kind a word for this numbered artery that slashed through the forest.

As Chief made his way to 606, the rain had stopped for the first time in seventy-two hours, and the sun threatened to show its face at times. It was a twenty-three-mile ride from the police station to Basom, but Chief had gotten used to the travel because nothing around there was a short drive. Flagler County was about as rural of a county you’ll find in Pennsylvania or any other state in the east for that matter, and the only industry you’ll find is farming. Some of the Amish men build furniture in woodshops on their farms, and there’s a few mechanics and junkyards scattered throughout its borders, but most of the people living in Flagler work outside of it. One of Nature’s Last Untouched Gems is how the tourist bureau touts the county, but very few tourists ever come. Although reasons vary, it’s mostly because of the lack of marked roads, campgrounds, or organized recreation facilities. Everything is at least twenty miles down sometimes shoddy, unmarked, and often unpaved roads from even the nearest small town or gas station. Not a single major highway passed through the county’s borders, and none were planned. Not one business accepts anything other than cash, and there are only three places open that offer rooms for the night. Very few people are comfortable traveling within its rural borders, let alone spending the night or vacationing inside its largely remote county lines. And if all that wasn’t enough, there were also those pesky rumors.

But the population in Flagler always increased, starting in spring a few days before the first day of trout and continuing almost up to Halloween. These people who owned property where they kept summer cottages and elaborate vacation homes were known as the outsiders to the locals, and despite the best efforts of some of the people in Flagler, they still arrived year after year.

After passing the bullet-riddled sign announcing that he was indeed in Basom, Chief immediately felt an overwhelming need to stop his car and pull to the side of the road. The feeling came over him in the same way a sharp pain in your gut or neck hits—swift and without warning and not a clue as to where the hell it came from.

Skeeter and John had stopped at a small store that served the best cup of coffee in Flagler—it even had a big sign that proclaimed this—and told Chief that they’d catch up with him. With his two deputies no longer on his tail, he knew there wasn’t another soul except him for miles, but that didn’t stop him from feeling as if he was being watched by thousands of curious glaring eyes. This wasn’t the first time he had this feeling since moving north, but this was the first time it felt so intense.

So real.

The urge overtook him, and he stopped the cruiser and looked out his side window and then the passenger window and then out the back window. He did this five or six times, never blinking once until he was sure that he was alone. Although his eyes told his mind one story, a story that said he was all by his lonesome, that sharp painful feeling he was having in his gut was telling quite another. It told him that he was being studied by something with unclear intentions. Now, not only did he feel the glare of those eyes upon him but he could also feel a sure presence in his midst that made his skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. He began to feel like a scared dog.

While reaching for the door handle, he thought he heard a voice whisper in his ear. Not only did he hear the voice, but he also felt its breath tickle the inside of his ear. After a second or two of rational thinking about what he thought he heard and felt, he just dismissed it with a laugh and told himself out loud that he must be going crazy. It was the only logical explanation.

Pfffff, the silence, Chief whispered to himself while shaking his head and chuckling at his own fear. How old am I? They’s just stories, legends made up by crazy white folks with nothin’ better to do than think up stupid lies. His rationalizations made him feel only slightly more at ease, but he refused to give into his fears.

This time he didn’t just reach for the handle—he grabbed it and pulled forcefully while throwing his shoulder into the door and giving it a good confident push. He climbed out, slamming the door with authority, and then stood there in the open air of Basom like a conqueror of men and a leader of nations.

He never heard the forest so silent before. Not the song of a bird or the chirp of a cricket or chitter of a locust was to be heard. Flagler County might be known for its tranquil serenity, but even this was too quiet. He began to walk across the road, headed just to where the forest began again after being unnaturally carved by man and his need for quick, mostly convenient travel. The sound of his short, tense breaths and the gravel and mud beneath his boots were the only noises to be heard on that lonely stretch of isolated roadway.

He peered into a vast grove of tall mature pines whose canopy shielded most of the sun from the forest below. And what light did penetrate the darkness formed dancing shadows upon the needle-strewn floor. It was a beautiful sight but, at the same time, also very unsettling because of the sheer nothingness it represented to him.

Chief had grown up in the city, and during his life he had become accustomed to rows and rows of houses, sidewalks, stores, paved streets, and the sounds of trains, jets, honking horns, and the rumbling Jake brakes and diesel motors of semitrucks. This was pure nature and nothing else. He counted himself, the beaten road, and his cruiser as the only things around that were man-made. His love and respect for the forest still hadn’t kept him from being afraid of it at times, blown away by the nothingness that it represented.

The feeling of being watched was still with him and something beckoned Chief to enter the forest. The air smelled sweet and clean, and the fragrances made him smile as he walked with measured steps, breaking fallen branches under his feet and pushing aside rain-soaked bushes as he went.

With each step forward, the feeling of those peering eyes upon him grew, and the once-cool air of the morning now felt sweltering hot as it drew the sweat from his body. After about twenty minutes of walking, he began feeling light-headed and weak, and although he knew he had to sit down and rest, he couldn’t stop moving his feet. He felt like they were no longer his to control, and he was sure he would pass out any second, either from exhaustion or fear.

The eyes that he knew were watching him from their secret locations felt like they could see right through him and see what was under his clothes and what was even under his skin. He felt violated by those eyes, like they knew more about him than he even knew about himself. He imagined those wicked eyes (that’s how he regarded them) maybe seeing the beginning of cancer forming inside of him, and he felt them reading his most private thoughts and knowing, in full detail, the dreams he once had, that he himself had long ago forgotten.

He came to a clearing in the dense forest that swam with tall grass swaying in a light but noiseless breeze. Flowers danced on the same breeze while bees and birds could be seen flying above the field but not heard making a sound. It was an eerie feeling to see the life but not hear it, and Chief wanted to turn around and run back to his cruiser. But as he turned around to leave the area he heard the unmistakable sound of rope squeaking on a branch in the trees on the other side of the field.

Eek, eek, eek . . .

The only sound for miles.

He moved slowly through the open field at first, but the sound he heard had him so curious that he quickly picked up speed and was at his quickest stride halfway through the field. He only ran about fifty yards into the trees when he saw what brought him to that place.

*

Skeeter was at the wheel, speeding recklessly down the rural road. He was steering with all the confidence of a Southern moonshiner who’d never been caught while, as was customary, John Harding rode shotgun, cheering on his buddy while they kicked up a rooster tail of mud and water, hoping to catch Chief before he found the crying Amish girls.

It was all good fun for a couple of country boys. This was just one reason why they truly loved living in Flagler County—the freedom of isolation and the natural beauty that surrounded a lonely road or a dark and desolate small town gone to sleep hours before the rest of the world.

Where in the hell’s that boy at? Skeeter said, pulling up behind Chief’s empty cruiser. Ain’t like him to off and wander away by his lonesome self.

‘Specially in the woods, John said, scanning the terrain and squinting his eyes while his right hand rested just above his brow and beneath his rapidly receding hairline.

Yeah, I always took him for someone who didn’t much like the woods, but then again I don’t know much about the guy, Skeeter said while he massaged his forehead with his right hand and jostled his nuts with the other.

Whadaya say we just leave him to find his own way home and we go check out what those inbred fucks lying in the road are crying about.

Skeeter turned to John and gave him a stern look. Now lemme get this straight, John. You’re suggesting to me, your superior officer, the man who saved your mamma’s life, that we up and leave another officer, who is both our superior, out here in the woods? Skeeter shook his head at John in disgust. Big-ass moon cricket or not, it just ain’t right and you know it. We sat at this man’s dinner table for Christ’s sake, John. Ate his food for god’s sake.

John looked like a small boy who had been scolded soundly by his father. He sunk deep and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe this was worse for John than being yelled at by his father. His hero, Skeeter Miller, just told him in not so many words that he was disappointed in him for suggesting such a thing.

Guess you’re right, Skeet. Sorry. His voice was barely above a whisper, and hints of tears floated just below the surface of his speech. So sad it was to watch.

Damn straight I’m right, John. Now we’re both going in there to find Chief’s big jaboonie ass. Understand me, son?

John shook his head and laughed a little as he pushed the button to put his window up. Skeeter could talk about black people and call them thirty different ethnic slurs before you heard the same one twice. John always told him that he should write a dictionary of ethnic slurs because it just wasn’t blacks that were his victims. He had names for every type of ethnicity on the earth. Nobody was safe. You wanna take the shotgun?

Nah, don’t think we need to lug it out there. We got our sidearms.

Five minutes later the two men began walking into the forest, Skeeter a few steps in front of John. They both had drawn their weapons and looked like hunters filled with bloodlust instead of two cops concerned for one of their own.

You don’t think he saw some of them, some of them uh… well, you know what I’m talking about… walking in the woods and he decided to follow them, do you?

Boy, what the hell are you moving your damn lips about?

You know what I’m talkin’ about, Skeet. Those… you know those damn people—don’t make me say it. I hate talkin’ about those people when I’m in the woods. I don’t wanna even to think about it.

You mean the people that live in the old growth?

John nodded his head but kept it on a swivel.

You gotta stop thinking about that kinda shit, boy. Hell, I don’t know how you get to sleep at night with all the little worries you got rattling round in that empty skull a yours.

The farther they walked into the forest, the darker it became beneath the canopy, and the trees began to move and sway in a breeze that was felt by both men but not heard.

Skeet, you hear that? John asked, sounding nervous, as if he might piss all over himself like a frightened puppy.

Hear what? I don’t hear a thing, boy.

That’s just it, Skeet. It’s too damn quiet. John stopped walking and holstered his pistol. I’m going back, Skeeter. It ain’t right out here and you know it.

Skeeter knew that John was right, but he was trying to fight away some of his own thoughts that he’d been having since he had that visitor a few nights ago and didn’t need John to keep reminding him about it.

Instead of listening to John talk about it any longer, he grabbed him by the shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make him cry out in pain. You ain’t going nowhere, son, and you’re going to quit talking about that country silence nonsense before I have to smack you around a little.

John pushed Skeeter’s hands off of his shoulders and began to straighten out his shirt. I’m getting out of the forest, Skeet. It ain’t safe right now and you know it. Whether you want to admit it or not, you know what’s going on around here right now. John paused for a moment and rubbed his throbbing shoulder. Been a lot a boys from out of town around here lately, looking to carve up Flagler County for the sake of making themselves millions. And you know as well as anyone what starts to happen when those godless sons a bitches come here to butt fuck the land. He turned around and began walking away again. You can stay if you want, but I ain’t sticking around for another slaughter, I’ll tell you that much. If I was you I’d come with me and stay the hell out of and away from the forest. Them boys have already laid waste to all them acres they bought from some of them Amish fools in Basom the last few months. You’d think something real nasty’s bound to come from that whole deal.

C’mon, John, nothing’s gonna happen. It’s not the right time. What’s happening now doesn’t mean shit.

Listen, Skeet, it’s too damn quiet out here, and if you keep on going and get close enough to the old growth, chances are you might never be the same, if an’ when you come out of this forest. John smiled, and it was a smile of knowing, and the smile also came with a warning to Skeeter that was easy to read. If it wants, the silence will possess you, use you, and if you live, Skeet, you’ll never be the same. It’s destroyed better men than you, Skeeter. So just stay out of the forest. We ought to all just get the fuck out of Flagler before it’s too late and we can’t leave. Just take a little vacation, ’cause when this shit starts, we’ll be expected to do our parts, and I ain’t up for any of that, Skeet. Hell no, no way. Not anymore.

3

The rooster crowed and scared Mose Lapp out of his rocking chair and onto the hard wooden floor of his covered front porch. The fall sideways onto his head and the noise of the rooster quickly cleared the cobwebs that formed during sleep. The rain was still coming down in buckets, and Mose began wondering why he had slept on the front porch.

Then he thought of Sarah and was sure that last night was only a bad dream. He stood up and ran into the house and straight up the steps to the room Sarah shared with two of her sisters. The house was still quiet except for the sound of his footsteps and the steady rain falling onto the roof.

He pressed his forehead against the closed door of the girls’ bedroom and caught his breath while saying a quick prayer that his sweet little girl was snug under her blankets between her two older sisters.

Mose Lapp hadn’t been mentally feeling himself now for weeks. Every day he became a little worse, until yesterday, when the mania that was growing inside of him exploded and convinced him to take his youngest daughter to the cave and end her life for the good of the rest of the family.

It was about three weeks ago while walking around his ruined crops when he was approached by a man who said he was from a large development company based in Pittsburgh and wanted to purchase two hundred hundred of his acres for more than its true value. With check in hand, he offered him a sum of money that made his knees weak and his words stammer. The money would solve all of his problems.

Many of his neighbors had sold their land in recent years due to the tough times in Flagler County and moved to more prosperous communities west of Flagler and into Ohio or north to New York. Initially Mose said no to the deal and the fat check but promised the man to give it some more thought. Basom was his home, and he didn’t feel like he could ever leave.

The man was visibly upset and let Mose know that he was holding back a project that might turn all the useless cow pastures and dense forest into prosperity for the good people of Flagler County. He stormed away in a black Lincoln and promised to be back.

Although Mose was sure the man in the fancy black automobile figured he was just playing with him and never intended to give the offer a single moment of thought, he did seriously mean to give it some real consideration.

And soon after that day was when the voices and other strange things began to plague him day and night, when he heard all those strange people moving through the woods behind his house at night.

After finishing his prayer, Mose’s core temperature seemed to rise a hundred degrees, and a wicked sweat broke out all over his body while his hand rattled the doorknob as he began to turn it. The door clicked when it was turned all the way and it cracked open, letting some light into the darkened hallway.

He paused before pushing any further, and the sequences of the previous night flashed through his mind. He again heard the sound of his daughter screaming as she fell down the hole and it tore through his ears the same way gunfire does in a small empty room. This made him wince with a look of terror and pain as he pulled the door closed and put his back against the wall. Fat beads of sweat swam down his face, and he knocked the back of his head a few times off the door.

With the horrible screams replaying over and over again in his mind now came the realization that there was something even worse than the sounds of her screams, and that was never hearing her fall end. He listened for what seemed to be hours, and although her screams faded away as the seconds ticked off the clock in his head, the sound of his daughter hitting a bottom of some kind never came.

This last thought made him laugh. That was impossible. No hole was that deep. Just proof that last night was only a nightmare. He was now convinced, so he turned and swung open the door wearing a smile and yelling good morning to his three girls.

Except, there were only two girls to say good morning to—Annie and Ruth Lapp but no sweet little Sarah Lapp.

Where’s your little sister, Annie? Up early this morning? Mose asked his daughters.

Annie looked strangely at her father. She could tell he was trying to act normal, trying to act happy, but she could also tell that’s all he was doing—acting. There was despair in his eyes and horrible guilt all over his face. Sarah never came to bed last night, Pappa. When we turned in for the night, you and Sarah were still gone.

Awful strange night to go out for a walk, don’t you think, Pappa? I’m glad you didn’t ask Annie and I to go, Ruth said, wearing a smile that was almost as pretty as her now-dead sister’s.

Mose’s face went blank and turned ashen white, and both his daughters thought he might drop to the floor. But as fast as his face lost its color he was gone from the room, and they heard him go down the steps three or four at a time and then out the front door. The two girls looked at each other confused and then jumped out of bed and ran to the window to see if they could spot where he was headed to in such a hurry.

4

After being spooked by the Amish girls crying in the middle of the road, he veered left instead of right and was getting farther away from where it was he was heading. He still didn’t have a clue though; everything looked the same to him. Trees, hills, bends, and more trees—it was all the same.

The road he now traveled was almost never used and led to the most remote parts of the county. Only the forest rangers, hunters, poachers, occasionally some folks from the DCNR, and teenagers up to no good traveled the road; and even they were few and far between.

Sometimes days would go by without rubber ever touching a single mile of this long-forgotten route of travel. It once had a purpose, but due to circumstances similar to what was starting to take place again in Flagler, it never realized its potential. Not even close.

The man driving too fast for the road conditions was a Mr. Marc Crawford, age twenty-eight, single and still looking for that perfect woman to spend his life with—or not. His father figured him for a homo but never led on that he believed it was true. He just wanted his son to keep making him money and buying up Amish farms; his father figured settling down would probably put a crimp on things in a hurry. A wife would want him home more, want him to stop going away on business, and that’s not to mention what would happen when they had children. Soon enough he’d want to work a strict forty-hour shift, and that would be the end of his dream up in Flagler County. He felt no need to meddle in his son’s personal affairs, whether he liked the company of boys or girls, as long as his boy kept working to make the Flagler County dream finally become a reality.

Flagler County had been on their map for some time despite all the negative rumors they had heard about it. It seemed every time something was scheduled to go down, disaster struck. The whole business community regarded it the same way superstitious sailors and pilots regard the Bermuda Triangle—with dread.

But the Crawfords never gave up on the dream to turn Flagler County into a vacation spot for city people who wanted to spend a few day in the woods and an enclave for smug, liberal types.

Marc had just managed to buy over seven hundred acres from two Amish farmers for far less than he should have paid and for more than they could believe. It was a win-win for everyone involved. The ink was drying on the deal, and Marc was smoking on a bowl that he packed in anticipation of striking the deal. His father would really bitch at him if he knew about his little marijuana habit, but he didn’t really care all too much because he’d spent his life watching the old man throw back Jack and Cokes like water, and Marc was smart enough to know which was the worst of the two evils.

His plan was to develop the newly acquired acres into a green community—not because he believed in it but because he was sure that it would make a lot of money—with windmills and eco-friendly houses that used very little power. It would be the world’s first green subdivision. Every garage would have a charging station for electric cars, and there would be a place for their association to meet where the residents could boss each other around.

Marc took a long hit on his bowl and blew out the smoke with a smile. He had bought some high-grade THC before arriving here for the week, and he’d enjoyed the freedom that these rural roads provided when he wanted to get high in his car. Because he was high now and he had become used to the fact that nothing was a short drive in Flagler, he’d gone almost ten miles before he started wondering if he had made a wrong turn. He quickly dismissed this thought and traveled another five more miles before he almost slammed into a gate that announced that the road he was on had ended.

Whoa, holy shit, man, Marc said while laughing. He stopped only yards short of slamming his Lincoln into the rusty gate. Dust swallowed the car immediately after he came to a complete stop and clouded his vision for several seconds. He continued to laugh as the dust settled, and because his bowl was still in his left hand and his lighter was pressed tight against the steering wheel under the palm of his right hand, he decided to take a few more tokes before he got out of the car to have a look around.

When he finally exited the car he couldn’t believe how the silence of the country still blew him away, and he thought about the old question about the tree falling in the forest and nobody being around to hear it. Did it still fall? Well, the answer to that question was now lying