Elsewhere

By Pendleton Weiss

Throughout the world is found myriad out-of-the-way places, unsettling vistas that travelers pass through quickly, if unable to avoid entirely. Sometimes, the fears dredged up by such places are unfounded, a mere symptom of an unfamiliar road. Of course, there are actual places to be feared too. Masked by vagaries and altered names, a careful listener may find some clue - subtle to the uninitiated, bold elsewise - that a macabre tale comes from such a place, one stranger and to be feared beyond all others. Shiver at the revelation and hope someone similarly knowledgeable has merely latched onto the rumors, deciding by their own twisted purview to attach a lie to something so horribly true.

In short, Hope It's Fiction.

Thirteen more stories widen the scope of the Hope It's Fiction series, featuring worlds removed by distance from that old, misty country. Distance but not danger. That forest-choked region is not the only place where you might find strange creatures lurking, fear mounting, and sanity waning. Night falls, in its time, over every land. You must not think yourself safe merely because you think that old, misty country far from your own. You might be surprised how far its influence extends.

Discover the ordinary experiences of "The Last Days at Orville's Forest Emporium," "Fingertip," and "Once in a Lifetime," where no twists of fate lie in wait. See worlds much removed from our own, some even closer than that depicted in "Dreaming of Far Away." Worse places than our own, such as "A Gnawing Notion," "Routine," and "The Contestant." Struggles with sanity, as in "Trendsetter," "That Knocking Will Soon End," and "No Way to Get Ahead." And finally, seek out answers, how it is all connected in "Load-Bearing Wall." Don't bother taking a map, for it will not help you where you are going.

Do not be overly entranced by these tales of unsettling and thought-provoking horror, even with their subtle suggestions toward even grander terrors. All you need to do is Hope It's Fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667808925

Book preview

THE LAST DAYS AT ORVILLE’S

FOREST EMPORIUM

Wednesday—

Sunrise slowly peeked over the high tops of the evergreen trees, turning them an orange color that autumn never could. Far below their otherwise green needles, a damp mist still lingered, huddling close to the wide trunks, running long fingers through the scant patches of grass, and skulking at the edges of the winding roadway that only just managed to navigate its way through that dense forest. The occasional weakness in the canopy allowed a bolt of light to slip to a shallower depth, though none fell far enough to touch ground; there was always a branch or tree trunk or lonesome car roof to keep it away.

There were few drivers disturbing the quiet of the hour, or indeed any hour in that remote area, but the one vehicle that did was a familiar sight and one that would be missed. The eggshell blue coup, weathered and certainly not new when it was purchased two years back, purred along the road in a compassionate way. No revving engines, no speeding. The music inside, one of a rotation of five CDs, turned down low to prevent its escape from the rolled-up windows. Headlights, but no high beams. It was a rarity, as many that found themselves alone in such a wilderness quickly forgot their simple civilizing and roared through. The animals, were they capable, would have appreciated it.

It was an easy drive. One made almost autonomously. Intuitively. It had been well-practiced. An art form. The destination manifested on the left. A quick look showed no competitors in the oncoming lane. The turn smooth.

From pavement to gravel. A bump. The grinding of rocks overpowered the music and a free finger silenced it with a button-press. A swooping S brought the car into the familiar spot, one not quite assigned, but never challenged. Engine off, door open, leg out into the chill morning air.

Natalie Dawson took a brief moment to look around. The very tops of the trees across the way were glowing a lighter green but otherwise held back any hint of sunlight; the sky purpled at its coming though. The gravel parking lot was only just discerning itself from the darkness of the night before. She breathed in the smell of wet pine. It had become a recent ritual for her. There would not be many opportunities for it later on.

As she admired the scenery, the rumble of her coworker’s truck clawed its way out of the stillness. And some music above the engine sounds too. Growing. Natalie ducked into her car to pull out her purse and work shirt before retreating behind the log barrier next to the building. The truck came from the left, squealed into the entrance, and awkwardly came to rest next to Natalie’s car – angled slightly with a noticeable gap between the two.

Shay always waved the complaint away: there aren’t any lines, and we never have enough customers anyway.

It was true. They worked at a sizable convenience store located a few miles along that forest path, hoping to satisfy those few drivers unknowingly close to the next town or the truck drivers that would be forced to bypass it, curving out along either of two separate highways (their large trailers incapable of fitting on the small roads of the equally small town). But with the town such an out-of-the-way place, a mere pit stop amid a longer drive and with no tourism to draw any others, visitors scarcely numbered the minimum to keep the business afloat.

But since it’s almost your last day, Shay continued with a wide grin, I’ll even myself out while you open everything up. Alright?

She had said the same thing on Monday and Tuesday. A sign of her own anxiousness. She too was counting the days.

Natalie kept to her side of the parking barrier as Shay’s truck roared to life again. A quick circle of the front of the store revealed nothing unusual. The parking lot on the other side was empty – wide, built for the semis that visited. No signs of damage to the front, animal or otherwise. A quick dig through her purse found her set of work keys, a wide ring with an assortment of jingling silvers, coppers, and golds. Not the valuable kind, of course. There were ten on the ring, but she only ever used three – the front shutters, the registers, and the back room; the others: she might have been told once before but had long since forgotten.

The shutters always stuck in a few known places, though many a bored hour had been spent discussing whether damp mornings helped or hindered their stubbornness. That morning, they were not too bad. Another cosmic kindness. With both sides secured and the same key used to unlock the front door, Natalie craned her neck to see if Shay had managed to align herself in a decent fashion. The car was hidden by the building, but the engine was still running. Progress, if not success.

The entry bell rattled a muted tin and her hand slapped the minimums on her first try. One out of every four lights flickered to life. She strolled down the center aisle (poor planning positioned it a little to one side, but it was center enough to be called so), noting a few depleted shelves along the way. Key #3 got her access to the back room and the rest of the light switches. Click, click, click – the rest of the store lit up. Natalie wondered again, as she often had, if the minimums system had been a brainchild of Mr. Orville; how the light switch at the door controlled only the minimum number of lights to see by and how the lights in back overruled it, lest some annoying customer try to fool with the store. She would try to remember to ask him this time. She would not lose the curiosity amid her other duties, only to remember it when she opened again. She was running out of opportunities to do so.

But she did forget. Shay came in a minute later and immediately dragged her into a chatting mood. They patrolled the store as a pair, walking slowly, stopping often, on occasion noting what needed stocking and reordering.

A faint rattle and a soft tread cut their conversation short. A quick peek toward the front showed the quickly disappearing form of Joe as he pressed toward the back product area. Shay cried out good morning, Joe and snickered. The footsteps paused for half a moment, then resumed.

Natalie slapped her friend’s shoulder and shushed her. Her serious face lasted only a moment before they both fell into some playful rowdiness. Joe had always remained distant, a little too quiet, and almost exclusively focused on work. He was weird, but in an aloof, mysterious fashion. Natalie had always found it intriguing, if not cute. Shay had caught her staring some time ago and took great pleasure in teaser her about it.

The sound of Joe walking out of the back room ended their moment of joviality. The two girls froze, listening. He was headed to the other end of the store.

So, Shay whispered close, are you going to talk to him? You only have three days left, after all.

What would be the point? Natalie sighed.

He might follow you. Take your confession of love to heart, drop everything, and—

And walk across several states to surprise me in my college dorm? I doubt it.

It was one of Joe’s weird aspects, perhaps the most unusual: despite the long miles of forest surrounding the store, he always walked into work. The two had pondered the possible explanations off and on for the entire length of their employment, though never with enough conviction to settle on the decisive answer; nor with enough courage to actually ask him about it. Maybe he owned a cabin nearby. Maybe he got a ride most of the way from someone he never talked about. Maybe he just walked. The one certainty: he never parked a car, a bike, or anything in between in the store’s parking lot.

The sun was just barely touching the top of big Orville’s Forest Emporium sign, meaning that the rest of the building would be covered in the blue pine-shaped shadows for a few more hours. The front windows would finally see light when the building was officially open. In truth, it was always open to someone willing to read the small, hand-scrawled sign taped to the front door and follow its directions to the small outbuilding just behind the storefront. This was the modest home of Mr. Orville, who was willing enough to open for someone coming through at more unreasonable hours.

Of course, he did not mind the interruption to his sleep because of the local kids he often employed to open and work the store during the first half of the day. A few might work evenings with him, but Mr. Orville was old enough to know that most would prefer to keep their nights free. They would be scheduled in pairs most mornings, alternating as necessary, but this week had seen all three working each day. He never said it outright, but Natalie assumed it was so that she could have as much time with her coworkers before heading off to college. A few long, summer-break days where extra hours meant being paid to hang out. He might regret that kindness in the end: he had already scolded the two girls for their lack of productivity, despite the lowered expectations.

That morning, Joe’s presence eventually eroded away their urge to slack and converse. The two girls often felt the need to hide their conversations from him, except for when they were stationed at the cash register; it was the one post he was hesitated to fill. Their reluctance came, in part, from how they would watch and wonder about him, but regardless of whether he was the present topic or not, such open discussions drew an odd, slow look from him. Natalie and Shay each described it differently: the one thoughtful, the other creepy. That morning, he was being too productive, in an omnipresent way, for them to stay hidden away for long.

Damn it all, Natalie thought. She was stretching up as far as she could go, tiptoes and all, her balance just waiting for the best moment to give up and give out. The box of noodles in her hand just barely caught on the lip of the shelf, refusing to clear it and come to a rest. She gave up before her balance did, settling down with a huff. Vexing. She hated the top shelf. It had always been a problem for her.

She looked slyly around, checking for witnesses as she thought about just throwing the boxes into place. She had tried it before, been chastised before. She had not been a very good shot at the time. It was better not to risk it.

The box fell back onto her trolley of stock as she set off for the employee step stool. It was always disappearing down one aisle or another, never an easy thing to find. Everyone was too lazy to return it to a regular spot each day. Well, she was. She assumed others were too (especially, Shay).

Natalie rounded the corner and spotted Joe down the next aisle. Closer than the stool, she thought and turned down the aisle toward him.

Hey, Joe. Could you do me a favor?

He looked up, blindly putting the product in his hand onto the shelf. He stared but did not speak.

Well, I can’t reach the top shelf in the next aisle. Could you put some things up for me? His unwavering gaze made her flush and she needed to look away. Her eyes fell onto his own fully stocked cart; overloaded, overflowing. The favor began to seem unreasonable. Or, you know, point me in the direction of the step stool…

Joe remained unwavering. Sure.

Natalie prepared for the directions, but was caught off-guard when he walked around her, pressing close to the shelves to give her a wide berth. No contact, not even by eye. She turned and watched him round the corner toward her cart.

When she caught up to him, Joe already had the box in hand. He pointed to it as she approached.

She nodded. "Yeah, I’m just a little too short for that one.

Joe reached up, but the bottom of the box just barely caught the lip of the shelf. He remained almost frozen in place, with only his hand fidgeting the box around for a better position. Natalie caught herself staring at his awkward attempt and flushed.

That’s okay. I’ll just find the step stool. She thumbed back toward the end of the aisle and hurried off. The stool was three aisles down, knocked diagonally out into an aisle by an oblivious shopper the night before. Or Shay. Natalie grabbed its sides and scooted it along on its wheels, hunching to keep up momentum. When she straightened up to return to work, she was surprised to find Joe still there, now nearly finished with her pile of items. He turned toward her as he blindly placed the last box onto the shelf. Natalie stuttered out a thanks from under his gaze and then grew curious.

How did you manage to put those boxes away? I thought you couldn’t reach. The whole top shelf was neatly aligned and organized, suggested that he had not resorted to her first temptation of throwing them.

Tiptoes. He paused, staring. Do you need me to help you with anything else?

Natalie eyed him thoroughly. Between her own unenthusiastic slouching and his bad posture, she could not accurately compare her height to his. She had a momentary thought of getting closer for more of a comparison, but her mind took it to places better left for after work; she dismissed those thoughts and Joe simultaneously, both with much more effort than she liked.

With the step stool kicked carelessly off to the side, unneeded, Natalie circled over two aisles and found Shay. She pulled her trolley in close to Shay’s and began to chat, giggle, and altogether be less productive than either of them should have been.

Amidst their revelry, Natalie saw Joe passing the end of the aisle, pushing his now-empty cart with determination. The sight might have been inspiring, shaming her into being likewise productive, but she distracted herself with thoughts from her earlier encounter. His distance, his complete lack of interest. Shay caught her lost in thought and interrupted her with a harmless prank while her defenses were down. They remained distracted for a time. When the laughter stopped and the coast was confirmed clear, Natalie risked a dangerous question.

Do you think he’s asexual? Joe, I mean.

Shay shrugged, the implications of the question lost on her. I dunno. But I do know that I, for one, am B-sexual.

Natalie raised an eyebrow. Don’t you mean bisexual? Her memories raced for any signs to prove the statement a trick and not a confession.

"Nope, definitely bee-sexual. She pulled a box of honeyed cereal – generic brand – off the shelf and held it at arm’s length before bringing the cartoon mascot into a loving embrace. Oh, Mr. Buzzington. Take me away from this dreary life of toil!"

They turned at a loud throat-clearing. They had let time get away from them, fooled around too close to the front. Mr. Orville stood in the doorway, looking sternly at the cereal box still in hand. If you intend to elope with my merchandise, you damn well better pay for it first.

Thursday—

Orville’s Forest Emporium had been open for a few hours. The various tasks the mornings required were all but checked off, with little help from Natalie and Shay’s conversing. Joe had drummed on with mechanical efficiency, same as always. So it was, with Mr. Orville settled into the back office, the girls wandered the aisles, keeping themselves busy while listening for the chime of some new customer.

Snickering in the deep aisles, they had fallen into straightening up the shelves. Their topics of conversation were slowly bleeding away. Their remote job kept them from much of the goings-on in town and all the juicy school drama had dried up with the summer sunshine. There was the odd handful of television shows to discuss, perhaps an interesting video online. They could always show each other some odd treatment of product. Comment about a strange customer when they came. Changes in the weather, current or predicted. Even their craziest hypotheticals were quickly dwindling.

Now and again, they would find themselves reminiscing of their senior year. Teachers, classes, the scandals and heroics, their uneventful prom – they ran through everything in summary; just scraping the top of the memories. It had been a year so full of plans left unfulfilled. The conversation drifted unintended toward Natalie’s inevitably goodbye. Today and tomorrow, then perhaps never again, for all of their promises to call, email, and text.

They split from each other, focusing on different parts of the store. Silent. Until some new topic could be broached.

Natalie turned toward the shelves of juices, pawing the containers lazily, adjusting any that were placed with their labels not facing outward, putting misplaced items in their correct location. Who would toss a candy bar from the registers behind all of this? She shifted the jugs around to reach it unhindered, then straightened the juice containers into orderly rows.

Oh! Oh! Thief! Shay started calling out in a fake yell. Natalie felt the candy bar yanked out of her back pocket; she had absently placed it there to free up her hands. The crinkling of the wrapper told which way Shay had fled and Natalie wheeled into a fast walk to chase her around the corner.

I just needed my hands free, she explained as she made a grab for the evidence dangled tantalizingly before her. You know, so I could do actual work.

Shay bounced away from her attempt and circled back to the previous aisle, dangling the bar by a corner above her head. Natalie scanned the store, fearing that her friend’s laughter might be loud enough to draw Mr. Orville’s notice.

I was working too, Shay grinned out as Natalie caught up to her.

Because poking the product counts as actual work. Now, come on. Orville might see us.

Orville’s in the office, Shay said carelessly as she spun away from another lunge. She almost bumped into a display of muffins. Almost.

There’s a camera right there! Natalie cried out, pointing. She had been a little too loud. After they paused to listen for footsteps, they resumed their leisurely posture. Shay slapped the candy bar into Natalie’s expectant hand.

I don’t believe it.

Hey. I don’t want to get lectured, not before– Her words slowed in her mouth. The reminder was coming again. Luckily Shaw interjected.

Not that! We’ve worked here how long? How do you still not know that those cameras aren’t real?

Natalie did not believe her.

Have you ever seen any monitors, recording devices for them?

Yeah, there’s that TV with the VHS in the back of the office.

Shay punctuated her evidence with some crass hand motions toward the observing lens, steadily breaking down Natalie’s skepticism. The expected harrumph never echoed out of the office, nor was there the clomping of the owner’s familiar footsteps.

That’s not for the cameras. Orville watches movies on that thing. Look, do you think he went digital? He’s probably had that tape player for years. There was one time, over a month ago, I walked in while he was on lunch; he was practically singing along to ‘My Fair Lady.’ Those cameras are just for show. How’d you not know that?

I guess it just never came up, Natalie shrugged, trying desperately to seem apathetic and definitely not signaling how stupid she felt at being cautious whenever she noticed one of the fakes hovering over an aisle she was working in; never worrying about any lasting recordings, but always cautious when Mr. Orville was in, lest he see them fooling around at the time. Her attempt failed. Shay had been staring at her, not in the incredulous manner she would have expected, nothing mocking. Instead, there was a sad look, maybe one of pity. There was still more to talk about.

She opened her mouth to speak, but what she might have said was lost in the moment. A thick sleeve shot between the two girls, a gruff excuse me coming too late to give any actual warning. The spines of both girls shot into working mode and Natalie managed out a weak are you finding everything today? It went unanswered. As the brown leather jacket pulled out of sight around the corner of the next aisle, the two girls worked (actually worked), pulling the next carton of saltines to replace the one taken, fluffing up the bags of chips to look nice, tilting the boxes to look less crooked, then eventually just wandered in front of product as their conversations returned to its less productive topics.

The two agreed that the man must have come into the store while they were fooling around, their horseplay being loud enough to stifle the sound of the door chime. When their furtive glances noticed Joe ringing him up at the register, they completely put him out of their minds.

The rest of the morning passed without incident. A few people came through. Mr. Orville mostly stayed in the back room, oblivious to the shenanigans the girls held under the now-proven fake cameras. Natalie nearly finished reading The Black Room with the White Line during her break (there was just one chapter to go). Now there was nothing left to do but to go home.

Natalie was halfway to her car, fumbling with her keys, when Shay jogged up behind her and began shouldering her behind the store. Natalie spun around, walking backwards to suss out the situation without slowing their progress. Shay had a devious smirk on her face and both arms wrapped tightly around her chest. Inquiries were shushed away until they were both hidden in the shadows.

So what is this all about?

Shay tossed a glance behind her and then returned with a grin. Her arms unfolded to reveal two big brown bottles of beer. The labels were intricate, identifying them as specialty beers – good ones.

What are you doing?!? Natalie gasped, almost too shocked to be infected by her friend’s smile. The temptation was great.

Relax. I paid for them – left the money in the register. And besides, we decided to have our first drinks together, right? So, I’m not letting you slip away to college and give you the opportunity to welch out on me.

Natalie’s cheeks reddened. It seemed like such a simple act, but the full impact of the incoming change finally hit. Her eyes fell to the bottle she held in her hands, a little too touched by the sentiment to look Shay in the face.

But we’ve still got one more day… She whispered as she absentmindedly thumbed at the condensation.

That may be true, Shay said, adjusting her posture and tone to one of mock intellectualism. But I figured if we are to have hang-overs, it is better that you have one for your last day of work, and not the long drive away.

They locked eyes and rolled up their smiles until they were both laughing. Then they chinked their bottles together and spent a few minutes struggling with their caps, regretting that Shay had not the foresight to choose a brand with screw-off tops.

There was a general feeling that they were making some progress when a sudden scratch of pavement caused them to look up. Even if it had not, the gruff, booming voice of Mr. Orville would have.

What the HELL do you think you’re doing?

Both girls froze, powerless to move as their boss marched up to them. Shay still had a hand on the cap, the bottom of her shirt twisted between in a failed attempt to provide a better grip. Natalie moved to hide the bottle behind her back, but faltered halfway; he had seen it clearly enough and there was no point in subterfuge.

Mr. Orville went into a long rambling lecture. You were both such good employees, giving up your free time to help out an old man. Much of his attention seemed to fall on Natalie.

She was fighting to keep her eyes from closing, but her face was tightening under his glare, and she was forced to blink away an upwelling of tears. Her mouth opened automatically, but she could offer no explanation and did not want to make excuses. Not to someone who had been so kind to her in the past. She winced.

Then she was concussed by an unstifled snort and whipped her head around to look at Shay. It was not as she expected. Her friend’s hands had flown to her face to try to stop an outpouring of laughter, but with the full view of Natalie’s horrified face she could little help herself from shaking with mirth, blushing to the point of asphyxiation. The juxtaposition overwhelmed Natalie, who turned again to Mr. Orville, seeking some kind of understanding. He had kept his eyes on Natalie, but Shay’s outburst had driven a slight upturning at the corners of his pursed, once-judgmental lips. Shay planted her hand on Natalie’s shoulder, drawing her attention while also giving herself a little extra stability in light of her weakening state.

It’s alright, Nat. He knows– he knew– he was in on it, she gasped out between her laughter. He said it was okay; hell, he practically came up with the idea.

Natalie turned again to Mr. Orville. He had a full smile now that the deed was fully confessed. Natalie could feel herself cooling down, her unscrambled nerves registering a subtle wind on her terror sweat. He willed herself to not wipe her eyes, hoping that any attempts at tears had gone unnoticed by the pair. A few minutes passed as the joke ran its course toward completion.

This, my dear, is your going away party, Mr. Orville declared after the details had been spilled. He had his keys out, a bottle opener keychain at the ready.

Friday—

Despite the size of the bottle and their complete lack of experience with alcohol, Natalie and Shay survived their little party without any ill effects. Mr. Orville had made sure that their stomachs were full of pizza beforehand, and they drank slowly; he kept a watchful eye on the two as all three conversed. Reminisced. Apparently, he too had been known to have had an underage drink in his youth, so he knew the best way to go about it.

It would have been the perfect sendoff had Joe only been there. The others said they approached him with an invitation, but he merely returned that familiar blank expression and said he could not make it. Presumably he walked home during Mr. Orville’s faux lecture.

He was there that next morning. Working as though nothing