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“They must be playing some sort of message
on a speaker or something,” said Paul.

“Maybe on the security trucks,” said
Stephen. He then hushed the others as the voice grew louder.

“Come on,” said Rachel as she pulled at
Stephen’s shirt. “Get back inside. The truck must be headed back
this way if the sound is getting louder.” Everyone else ran back
into the cabin, but Stephen was intent on hearing the message.
Rachel continued to pull at him.

“I can almost hear what they’re saying,”
said Stephen. “Something about Hank? Hank Waxman, does that make
any sense?” He relented and went back inside with Rachel. They
closed the door and stayed low as a security truck rolled down the
street, again illuminating the cabin with flashing yellow
light.

The message was muffled, but they could make
out some of it as the truck went by. “…if you leave now, we can
forget that you were ever here. Hank Waxman, we will contact the
police if necessary…”

“Well, at least they’re not looking for us,”
said Stephen after the truck passed.

“Yes they are,” said Jacker. “My real name’s
Hank Waxman.”

“Fuck me,” said Rachel. “They must’ve found
the van. God damn it.” She stood up and started to pace.

“Calm down, babe,” said Stephen.

“No, I won’t calm down. We’re fucked. We
don’t have a choice. We have to go out there and hope they just
give us a slap on the wrist and let us go. That’s the only option
we’ve got now.”

“I can’t do that,” said Jacker. “I can’t
risk them calling the police.”

“Look,” said Rachel as she tried to be
reasonable. “We’re just going to have to take that chance. If they
do end up calling the cops, then we’ll just get some minor
trespassing charges. I know it sucks, but we don’t have any other
choice here.”

“No,” said Jacker. “You don’t get it. I
can’t risk them calling the cops.”

Rachel stopped pacing and stood stone still
as she stared at the big man. “What are you saying?” She obviously
already suspected Jacker’s secret.

“I’m wanted for a few things back home.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” said Rachel. Her
cheeks burned red as her anger swelled. “Do you see, Stephen? What
did I say about background checks? God damn it. Fuck!” Her
frustration boiled over and she balled up her fists, ready to hit
something in anger.

“What did you do?” asked Stephen. “Was it
that bad?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” said
Jacker.

“Well, you’d better start fucking talking
about it,” said Rachel. She emphasized her curses as an expression
of her anger. “What did you do?”

“I hit a guy,” said Jacker in a near
whisper, as if he were shrinking away from the conversation. Even
his posture slouched as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You must’ve hit him pretty fucking hard,”
said Rachel. “Am I right?”

Jacker nodded.

“Did you kill him?” she asked. “Are we
traipsing around the country with a murderer?”

“I don’t think so,” said Jacker. “Last I
heard he was in the hospital. He hadn’t woken up yet.”

“Oh, well, that’s reassuring,” said
Rachel.

“Calm down.” Stephen walked into the center
of the group and held his arms out between Rachel and Jacker.
“Let’s just try and be rational for a God damn second. Okay?
Running out there now and begging for forgiveness is a stupid plan,
especially if we’re risking Jacker going to jail. Our best option
is to just stay here and wait until after the 14th.”

“What?” asked Aubrey. “That’s the dumbest
thing I’ve ever heard.”

“She’s right,” said Rachel. “That’s a stupid
fucking plan, Stephen.”

“Do you have a better one?” asked
Stephen.

Paul stepped in and put his hands on
Stephen’s shoulders. The argument was getting out of hand, and Paul
tried to calm everyone down. “Let’s be smart, guys. If we wait here
until nighttime, we can try to sneak out after that. Then, if we
come back tomorrow we can go try to get the van. If they already
got to it, then we can say we never went into Widowsfield. The van
wasn’t on their property, so they’ve got no right to keep it.”

“What if they call the cops on me?” asked
Jacker.

“You don’t have to come with us. I can tell
them that you let me borrow the van. Even if they call the cops,
they can’t prove you were here.”

The group was quiet as they considered
Paul’s plan. Aubrey stood near the door, far from Jacker, and
Stephen reached out to hold Rachel’s hand. The tension had calmed,
and everyone seemed to agree that Paul’s plan was the best option
they had. Still though, the fractures in their group weren’t
mended, and everyone seemed ready to separate, even if it was just
to opposite corners of the small cabin.

Alma held Paul’s hands and stood on the tips
of her toes to whisper to him. “I’m not leaving.”

He was surprised, and scowled at her. “What
do you mean?”

“I told you, I need this.” She spoke in a
whisper to avoid pulling anyone else into their conversation. “I
want you all to leave, but I’m going to stay.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Alma,” said
Paul.

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not. You’re coming with me. I know
you want to stay here, and I’ve tried to be supportive of this
whole insane thing, but now it’s gone too far. I don’t know what’s
going on in this place, or why they’ve set it up to mimic the past,
but I do know that if you stay here, you’re going to get hurt. I’m
not going to let that happen.”

“If I leave, I’ll never know the truth.”

“Alma, you’re being ridiculous. Listen to
yourself. You don’t even know that this is going to work. Do you
really think if you just stay here until the 14th that you’ll
suddenly remember everything?”

“This place is trying to put us in order,”
said Alma. “It wants me to figure this out. I can feel it, Paul.”
She looked down at the kitchen floor. “I just have to try and calm
down, and focus on the number. Maybe if I do it on the 14th, at
3:14…”

“Maybe what?” asked Paul.

“Maybe that’s how I can complete the
circle.”

“Do you hear yourself?” asked Paul. “Do you
hear how insane you sound?”

“Look around, Paul,” she said. “We’re way
past sanity.”

Widowsfield

March 14th, 1996

Raymond stood in front of his father to
protect him from The Skeleton Man. The Salt and Pepper Diner had
been enveloped in the fog, and a brick had been thrown through the
front door, shattering the glass. The fog seeped in like water and
swirled at Raymond’s feet.

The tall, thin silhouette of the man with
the chattering teeth appeared in the threshold of the diner.
“Raymond,” said the demon. “I need your help.” His voice was a
series of echoes in Raymond’s head, and though he spoke, the
chattering never ceased.

“I don’t want to hurt my Daddy anymore! I
want you to leave us alone.” Raymond held two kitchen knives, one
in each hand, and prepared to fight off the demon.

“I don’t care what you want,” said The
Skeleton Man. “This time I don’t want to play here. I need you to
come with me.” He reached out his bloodied, skeletal hand through
the fog.

“Raymond,” said Desmond as he lay on the
floor. The fog thickened around the man’s limbs and held him down.
“Don’t go with that thing!”

Raymond looked at his father, and then at
Grace, who was behind the counter. The dogs were barking outside,
and Raymond knew the mutated children would be here soon to murder
whoever they could. This was a recurring nightmare that no one
could wake up from.

“Raymond,” said The Skeleton Man. “I want to
take you to see your sister. I need your help hiding from her. I
need time to find the one we lost.”

“If I go, will this end?” Raymond’s voice
trembled.

“Let’s find out,” said The Skeleton Man.

The children swarmed outside, waiting for
The Skeleton Man’s permission to rush in and murder Raymond’s
father and the waitress. They were already in the back of the
restaurant, devouring the cook.

“Don’t go,” said Desmond as the fog started
to choke him.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” said Raymond. “I have to
try and help us die for good.” He took The Skeleton Man’s hand and
was pulled into the fog. The children rushed in, and Raymond heard
his father screaming in pain as the creatures tore his flesh from
his bones.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Murder and Children

March 12th, 2012

“Alma,” said Stephen from the stairs. He was
ashen, and spoke quietly. The stairs in the cabin were beside the
kitchen, and led to a hallway with three doors. There was a
bathroom, a master bedroom, and a guest room on the second floor
and Stephen had gone up to check out the rest of the house while
the others waited downstairs.

“What?” asked Alma.

“I think you need to come up here.”

Her stomach sank, an identical sensation to
what she felt when coming over the hill and into the woods on the
road before reaching Widowsfield. “Why? What did you find?”

“Just come up.”

She didn’t want to. The thought of ascending
the stairs terrified her. She remembered how her father would
scream at her whenever she dared go upstairs. Alma looked at the
couch where her mannequin was sitting and remembered sleeping there
instead of in the spare room to avoid interrupting whatever her
father was up to.

“Want me to go check it out for you?” Paul
offered to go up in place of Alma.

“No,” said Alma. She took his hand. “Just
come with me.”

They followed Stephen upstairs, and Aubrey
came after them. When Alma turned to look at her, Aubrey said,
“Hey, I want to know what I’m in for by staying here. Whatever’s up
there, I want to see it too.”

“Me too,” said Rachel as she came up behind
Aubrey.

“Fuck that,” said Jacker from the kitchen.
“You guys go ahead and check out whatever evil shit is up there.
I’m staying right here. Fuck this place.”

Stephen led them down the hall to the master
bedroom. The door was closed and he paused in front of it, as if
scared to open it. “I don’t know what to make of this.”

“What?” asked Aubrey. “Open the door. What’s
in there?”

“Alma, was there anyone else here besides
you, your father, and your brother when everything happened?”
Stephen still gripped the door’s knob, but didn’t open it.

“Yes,” said Alma. “There was a girl, named
Terry. My dad was cheating on my mom with her. She’s the one that
owned the cabin.”

Rachel put her hand on Alma’s back and
rubbed circles on her. “I’m sorry, Alma. I didn’t know that.”

“Are there mannequins of them in there?”
asked Alma. “Are they in bed together?”

“Not exactly,” said Stephen. He looked at
the others and then at Alma. “You might want to go in there
alone.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Alma. “No more
secrets. I don’t care if everyone sees.”

Stephen nodded and then opened the door. He
stepped back to allow Alma the chance to walk in first.

She only saw the room a few times in her
life, but the details were burned in her memory. This was where her
father would disappear for days at a time with his girlfriend. They
would appear occasionally, staggering down the stairs and to the
kitchen for food, but most of their days were spent in this square
prison. The chemical smell of their drugs would waft out from under
the door, which was one of the reasons why Ben and Alma decided to
sleep downstairs instead of in the spare bedroom. They would watch
their movies, with the television turned up loud enough to drown
out the sound of the bed creaking when their father and Terry were
having sex.

The room was the same as it had been, with a
disheveled queen bed in the center, the covers bunched up in the
center. There was a dresser with a clock on it, and the time was
stuck at 3:14 even though it was much later in the day. The sink
was dripping in the bathroom that was attached to the master
bedroom.

There were two mannequins on the floor. One
was hunched over the other, with his hands pressed inside the
woman’s chest. The mannequin on the floor was battered and painted
red. Its chest was cracked open and the male mannequin was reaching
inside as if trying to pull the woman’s heart out. His arms and
chest were splotched with red paint.

“
I need to get my camera,”
said Stephen as he went back down the stairs.

Alma felt dizzy as she stared at the
depiction of murder, or cannibalism. She wasn’t sure what she was
looking at. Then the chemical smell of her father’s drugs stung her
nose, like a ghost of a scent that seeped in through her frozen
memories. She swatted at her nose and fell backward into Paul’s
arms. He held her and tried to pull her back, out of the room, as
she flailed at the air.

“What’s wrong?” Paul was frantic. “What’s
going on?”

“Get me out!” said Alma finally. “Get me
away from here.”

“Move!” Paul commanded the others to step
aside as he carried Alma to the stairs. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“Wait,” said Stephen as he held his camera
at the bottom of the stairs. “You can’t leave yet. We need to wait
until dark.”

“No,” said Paul. “Fuck it. I’m taking Alma
home now.”

“Wait,” said Stephen as he stood in Paul’s
way.

Paul shoved his shoulder into Stephen. The
cameraman fell backward and stumbled over the last step of the
stairs. He fell and dropped his camera, which hit the floor hard.
The viewfinder screen snapped off and skittered across the living
room.

“You mother fucker!” Stephen got back to his
feet and was ready to charge at Paul.

“Stop it!” Rachel grabbed her husband and
tried to pull him back.

Paul set Alma down and turned to face
Stephen. “Come on then, little man. Let’s do this.”