Blackwoods Bend & The Frame Tales

By Amanda Johnston

There is a town in rural Alabama where things aren't what they seem. On the surface all is quiet and life is slow, but there's something rotten at the heart of Blackwoods Bend. Inexplicable disappearances, strange deaths, ghosts, and horrifying creatures plague the residents as they have done for as long as anyone can remember.

 

When Robert McGowan dies mysteriously, Danny Frame and his friends are drawn down into terror like they've never known. With the help of an enigmatic librarian, Danny tries to solve the mystery of Blackwoods Bend Road.

 

Who will be the next to die? Will it be the person Danny cares for the most, or will the Road take Danny, himself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amanda Johnston
• Release date: Sep 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201756529

Book preview

No One Knows

The Chilling End of Robert McGowan

Blackwoods Bend sat directly between the Middle of Nowhere and the back-forty acres of Hell. It would have seemed normal enough if you just passed right through on the main highway. There wasn't much to the town itself, and if you blinked you'd miss it. There were houses scattered among the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountain system, which made up the terrain. The Barton River ran through it like an artery and rural lands bled into suburbia. Just thirty minutes in either direction were outlet malls and modernity, but in Blackwoods Bend time seemed to have settled in the mid-20th C entury, and decided that was as far as it was going to march on.

There was nothing very much out of the ordinary at first glance except for Blackwoods Bend Road itself. The infamous road was nothing but a dirt strip that ran through Blackwoods Forest; a name that sounded more vast than it actually was. The forest was about six acres long and approximately twelve acres wide, and it was named for the looming, black-barked trees that made up the area.

No one was really certain who had planted the black wood trees there. They weren't a native species to the region so they didn't grow there naturally, yet there they stood; tall as time, as big around as the sky, draped with vines and kudzu. Tornadoes came and went in the spring and fall, and not one tree around that road was touched, though some other areas of Blackwoods Bend would be throttled. It was always dark there on the road, it was always a little cool—even in the ninety-five fahrenheit heat and humidity of August—and it was always misty.

The last occupant to live just shy of Blackwoods Bend Road died in the 1960's from suicide, and in the note that they left behind they sited the strange occurrences on the Road finally being too much for them. Once the age of technology began, a person could get an idea of how big Blackwoods Forest was from looking at a satellite view of the areas that surround it, but no one had ever surveyed it on foot. At least those that did try to find its specific measurements never returned.

When you had lived in Blackwoods Bend all of your life things really didn't surprise you that much. While normal cities had their crime rates and their political debates over what to legalize and when, Blackwoods Bend simply trudged against the grain of whatever haunted us. The small town existence was your life. People were born, people died, people got married, people got arrested, and people got eaten by some unidentifiable hell-beast. It all trickled down through the grapevine, was processed, and then we moved on.  The things that no one could explain got swept underneath the rug by a tattered old broom, and we'd pretend that the house was really clean, never mind that the house was also on fire.

The passage of hot gossip—as if the information was a black market commodity—was how we all found out about the disappearance of Jessica Hayward as soon as the day after she vanished.

Blackwoods Bend Road got her. I saw her headin’ off that-a way, said one of the old miners at The Hilltop, a local convenience store-slash-bar.

I saw it, too, someone else proclaimed. It was that werewolf out there in that holler. Had to be. Carried her off screamin'.

You're full'a shit, Woods, another miner scoffed. Naw, it was definitely one of those big tree monsters.

"I am tellin' you, it was angry Indian spirits. That's what it was that got her," an elderly lady rasped, turning to face the men as she paid for a carton of Marlboro Reds.

Stories went around and around, but the truth of the matter was that no one knew what had got her. The day after her disappearance all of the police patrol vehicles went out in threes, one car behind the other rolling swiftly down Blackwoods Bend Road, calling for her over megaphones. They never got out of their cars, just rode through the bend, back and forth as fast as they could, without losing sight of the car in front of or behind them. Everybody knew that you never stopped your car on Blackwoods Bend Road, you most definitely never got out of the car, and setting the soles of your shoes on its red, clay-dirt surface meant that you must have had a death wish.

It wasn't just that it was spooky. This was a place where no one was sure what happened, or why, but if you didn't pass through fast enough you were never heard from again. There were no exceptions to that rule, no matter who you might have been, or where you were from. If you spent longer than the necessary amount of time it took to speed through there, you just seemed to go. That was the reason why the posted speed for that section of road alone rose from forty-five miles per hour to seventy-five, then back down to forty-five.

People were always suspicious of the Road, but there was a noticeable uptick in activity that started in 1965, when the cars started ending up just outside the forest, empty of any and all passengers. It started with one car that belonged to an older gentleman. It was assumed that he was senile, and that he had gotten out and wandered away. A search party was organized to comb the forest, but then they all vanished without a trace.

After that it was rumored that there was a serial killer in the woods. More cars started showing up on the other side of Blackwoods Bend Road, belonging to people from all walks of life. Whole families would be in the wind, so it had to be reasoned that someone must have hitched a ride, killed the people, then they drove the victims' car to the end of the Road. The only odd thing about that theory was that there wasn't a sign of a struggle in any of the cases. It seemed like their occupants had just gotten out, walked off, then disappeared. The car would be parked right at the end of the Road as if it just rolled to a stop. Most of the time, if the cars still had gas in them, they'd still be running.

No one was ever able to find a sign of the missing people, or of anyone hiding out there on the Road that could have killed the victims off. Four or five more men and police officers were lost while out in the woods searching for survivors or corpses, and eventually the mayor at that time called everything off. He petitioned the county for a new road that would circumvent Blackwoods Bend Road, Highway Seven was constructed, and Blackwoods Bend Road became an abandoned side-road of dirt and dereliction.

We all grew up thinking that the stories were really just fairy tales to keep us from going out to the woods to do what kids weren't supposed to do—we all know what. It became harder to convince ourselves of that theory when people that we were aquainted with personally started to vanish. By the age of fifteen we all knew of at least one kid who went out there to the Road on a dare and then never returned. Their names would be listed in the yearbook in the memorial section, and nothing else would ever be said. After a while you accepted that things just happened on the Road and in this town.

Wherever you're from, I'm sure that you'll understand, at least in part, what I mean. Every town has their boogeymen and their urban legends. Those tales of strange, horrifying things that go on everywhere, even in your backyard under the moonlight, when all the world is asleep. Most of the time you never know it, and life goes on as normal, with only a few so-called crackpots who say that it happened to them. None of us in Blackwoods Bend were as blessedly oblivious, not after one-hundred years of township, and a few hundred dead or missing.

We believe that Jessica Hayward has left Blackwoods Bend of her own volition, the police chief said on the news two nights after Jessica's disappearance. Our sincere condolences go to the family, and we hope that she gets in touch with them soon. When someone from the local newspaper asked the chief if that was all the authorities had to say about the case he just blinked at the woman. She’s twenty-two. She can do as she pleases.

No one else was called in. No Alabama Bureau of Investigation, no FBI—nothing. Town officials decided long ago that what happened on Blackwoods Bend Road stayed there. They didn't want to draw any attention to the town, whether that attention was positive or negative. If word got out that something strange was going on in Blackwoods Bend, it would be crawling with paranormal investigators, professional and amateur. Nationally aired shows about ghosts and other creatures would have shown up, and overrun the place. In addition to that, the rest of the country would have thought that it was just further proof that Southerners are less intelligent than everyone else. So, people stayed quiet, and our secrets stayed hidden.

Businesses stopped coming to town in the late seventies. There wasn't even a McDonald's in Blackwoods Bend. There was the Flat Cat Diner, The Hilltop  that was built into the gas station, and a Dollar General (because not even monsters could stop them from putting at least one store in this fucked up town). Just a few years ago an antique shop opened behind the library, but people presumed that everything in that shop was possessed, and there was an unspoken pact between residents to avoid it. If you went missing, or worse, you'd been warned. Your fate was all on you.

As far as Jessica Hayward went, she was just one more in the long line of missing persons. In the few days after her disappearance there were a bunch of guys that talked about going into the woods after her. She had been a pretty girl and very friendly, so naturally all the guys in town were interested in her safe return. There were always those that wanted to pretend to be heroes after something tragic happened, after all. These were the same puffed-up, manly-men who normally wouldn't spit on you to put you out if you were on fire, yet in times when everyone knew nothing could be done they'd say they'd volunteer for the rescue if other puffed-up, manly-men would. After Jessica's disappearance those guys talked a big game of actually leaving the Road, to search deep into the forest.

As it usually happens with bar-stool heroes, they never really would have followed through, and of course never did. Eventually, after a couple of weeks, Jessica became part of the Blackwoods Bend legend. Did you hear about that girl who never came back? they'd ask. Well, I’ll tell you how it really happened. Her disappearance became a minor blip on the radar screen of weirdness, and ten-year-old kids went back to daring each other to take one step off the asphalt onto the clay-dirt surface, or else they were chicken. They had enough self-preservation instincts to never actually do it. It wouldn't be long before they would become like the rest of us adults, and they'd avoid the place altogether, regretful that they were so careless as children while warning their own kids to stay away from that damned Road.

Regardless of the fact that Jessica's disappearance had been ruled mundane and of her own volition her family decided to hold a memorial service. I'd gone to school with Jessica's older siblings, Janet and Jonathan. They were twins, born the same year that I was, and when I'd first met them we'd been friends. We drifted apart in our teen years, though I wasn't certain why, and they wouldn't speak to me to tell me.

I was told that when I was sixteen I'd been in the car with my parents when my father lost control of the vehicle and we went over a steep embankment. My Aunt Sela says that we hit a large tree, I was ejected, and my parents were killed. I have no memory of the accident, and my knowledge of my life picks up on my twenty-first birthday. I often used to wonder what I was like through the end of my high school days into my early adulthood.

Regarless of what may have happened, I felt it would be good to see Janet and Jonathan, even though the circumstance wasn't a good one.

As soon as I entered the funeral home's chapel I realized that whatever had caused them to dislike me was still unforgiven. Janet's look was cold, and Jonathan seemed disgusted at the sight of me. Still, I thought optimistically, maybe it's not me, and they're just feeling whatever way because of their sister being gone. I made my way over to say 'hello', realizing instantly that my optimism was idiocy in a fancy hat.

What makes you think that you're welcome here? Janet spat, crossing her arms over her chest.

I just thought I'd come and pay my respects, I said, keeping my voice even, though I was alarmed at the venom in her tone.

Jonathan scoffed, narrowing his eyes at me. Save it, Frame. As if you really care. You're just here to gawk like the rest of them, and worse still, this is your fault.

Now, that was a step too far. Excuse me? I hadn't seen or spoken to Jessica, except for once, years before, when we'd run into each other at Walmart. How could they stand there accusing me of being the cause of her disappearance? I wasn't gonna have them going around, slandering my name. You should be careful what you say about people, Jan.

Is that a threat, Daniel? Janet asked, pursing her lips.

"Hell, no, it's not a threat, I responded with a glare. Are you insane? Look, I'll leave—"

"Good! You should leave! You know, Jessi was obsessed with findin' out what happened to you in high school. She really liked you, and couldn't fathom that you were just a freak of nature. It ended up takin' her away from us, Jonathan said, tears of sorrow and anger standing in his eyes. This is your fault, Frame, even if you didn't do this on purpose."

I was stunned into silence for a moment. "A 'freak of nature'? I was in an accident, Jonathan. It was totally beyond my control. No one is more sorry than me that I don't remember what happened, or those few years after, but I hardly think it's fair to blame me for some fixation Jessica had. All that I do remember is that when I was finally able to retain information, you two disliked me. That's the long and short of it."

You don't even know the truth. You're not just some victim, Janet said, poking a finger into my sternum.

Well, then, by all means! Educate me on the truth, Janet! I hadn't meant to shout, but nobody likes to be jabbed repeatedly in the chest by a pissed off set of acrylic nails.

Jonathan raised his hand, drawing his twin away from me. I think it's high time you left, now, Daniel. Janet set her jaw, glaring back at me as Jonathan led her away.

I'm sorry for your loss! I called to them, standing still for just a moment more before turning on my heel to make a brisk exit from the building. "Sorry for your loss of intelligence..." From the corner of my eye I noticed people watching me grumble as I walked away, but I didn't look up at them. I was too angry, and extremely embarrassed. How dare they blame me for something so serious as their sister's disappearance or death? It didn't make any sense.

I managed to get outside without any further incident and I was almost to my car when my cell phone started ringing. I could see it lighting up, shifting around in the cup holder where I'd left it. I'm not the kind of person that's easily distracted by my cell phone, but I'd thought that it would be more respectful just to leave it in the car for the time that I would be in the memorial service. I had no idea that would end up only being six minutes. I'm not certain why I hesitated to open my car door to answer the call. There was some sense of unease staying my hand, but I shook it off. I hurried to open the door, sitting down in the driver's seat before I grabbed the phone to answer it. Hello?

Daniel? It's Amy, the voice said, though I knew who she was as soon as she spoke. Amy Friss was a friend of mine that I'd met after high school. She and her boyfriend, Will Leister, were from a town over, but they'd met our mutual friend, James Blake, and they'd become part of our friend group. Listen, I know that you said you were goin' to that Jessica girl's funeral, but—

Yeah, well turns out that I'm not welcome here. It's a long story. I'm just leaving now. A few people walking into the building glared at me strangely, and I climbed into my car the rest of the way, slamming the door shut. Damned judgmental town folk. What's up, Ames?

You remember James' cousin, Robert? Weird guy—into all the monster stuff? she asked.

McGowan. Yeah, I remember him. He told me he caught a UFO on video, but his cell phone camera didn't pick it up right. He also told Will that there was no such thing as dark matter, I said, recalling how hard I'd laughed at the stunned look on Will's face as he insisted that dark matter and anti-matter weren't the same thing, and Robert whole-heartedly refuted it.

Well...they found Rob dead this mornin'. James is really shaken up. Can you head to his house? she asked.

Instantly I felt bad for my remarks about how weird Robert could be. It's only okay to speak ill of the dead if the deceased was an asshole. No, really. Two things that dying doesn't forgive; debt and dishonor. Robert was a crackpot, but he was a good guy. Wow, that's horrible. Yeah, I can head right over there, I said, turning the key in the ignition, then switching the phone to speaker. Do we know what happened?

I heard Amy take in a deep breath. All that I know is that it was enough to make James' mom drink for the first time in thirty years.

"Holy shit. Well, I'm on my way. I should be there in about ten minutes," I told her, turning onto the main road that ran through town.

Pick up a six-pack of beer on the way, Danny. You might need it, she said before the call disconnected.

I glanced down to my phone in the cup holder, then let out a sigh of my own. Just another day in paradise.

There were three other cars in the driveway when I pulled up to James' house. One was James' SUV and the second was a truck that belonged to our friend Keith Moreno. His presence wasn't a surprise, as he and James had been best friends since they were young. The third vehicle had a UAB football bumper sticker, and I guessed that Will and Amy must have come over together in her car. I parked and got the six pack out of the back seat, letting myself in. No one ever knocked at James' house, we all just simply came and went. James considered us family, and family doesn't have to knock.

The eat-in kitchen was vacant, save for a few cases of beer on the table, and some empty bottles. I could hear voices coming from the screened-in sun-porch, but it sounded like they were coming back inside, so I sat at the table to wait. A moment passed before they slowly trickled in through the living room, all holding mugs of beer. Without a word Will nodded to me, turned to the china cabinet built into the wall, handing a matching mug to me. You're gonna need beer. A lot of it.

"What in the Hell happened?" I asked as they settled around the table, and James hung his head. I met eyes with Will and Keith trying to get a gauge on the situation, and their expressions were both grim. I cracked a beer open, pouring it into the mug, and James seemed to be waiting for me to take a sip of the alcohol before he spoke.

"Robert had been sayin' for a while that he thought someone was gettin' in his house at night. I'd thought he was just not sleepin' enough, you know? Workin' too late, gettin' up too early...Maybe he was losin' it," James said,