Shades strolled along, of a mind to take a load off his own.
From losing the Maximum, to the Excelsior hijacking. Their whirlwind stay in Anchor Point, crash-landing and nightmare trek through the Woods, to their harrowing voyage around the peninsula and back. It all happened so fast of late, with scarcely a moment to catch their breaths in between.
Now here he was, ambling down one of many dirt roads through a dwindling town that still stood vigil against the Woods. In his short time here, he had learned of other towns farther up the coast, and figured he and his friends would soon be taking the train out there, likely only a matter of days. Of course, Moira had advised them not to mention Camp Stilton or the Woods out that way, as the folks in those parts apparently held to a very stubborn denial about the peninsula.
Though that still left Roger, trying to figure out what to do about his grounded Albatross. When it comes to what you care about, he said, you save what you can and figure it out as you go along. It sounded like words that tided him over through other crises, but lacked much conviction in his current near-despondent state. Even if they could cough up the credits to get someone to tow the plane upshore, that still left the question of whether anyone out there could even fix the old bird up, let alone what it might cost. Ironic, given that they just left a realm with such a robust salvage industry.
Only time would tell, he concluded, deciding to dig up as much as he could about this Commonwealth of Sinovia in the meantime, before venturing out into it. Mountains, visible from the other side of town, and apparently an entire desert farther inland. Though Lorna Edwards did an impressive job mending his denim jacket and compound cargo pants when she washed them, his boots, which seemed nearly indestructible when he first bought them, were clearly showing their mileage, high on his list of priorities before setting out on another journey.
Mostly just relieved that neither of his friends seemed interested in trekking out their, either. Sinovia… He turned that name over in his head, figuring that surely it couldn’t mean the same thing it did in his world. Wondered what Amy or John would make of it.
Of course, Pickford was a small enough town that he had already confirmed neither of his friends had passed through here, so he did his best to quash the cynical prediction that he would have no better luck upshore. Along those lines, it occurred to him that he had said he would meet Max and Justin in the marketplace soon. Figured he should probably turn back soon, yet his feet led him on.
For lack of a better explanation, Shades felt drawn in this direction. It wasn’t so much like gravity pulling him on a downhill path” the path of least resistance” it was more like something called out to him, and his feet obeyed. Of course, his feet always had a mind of their own, a tendency to wander at will, yet most of his travels of late had offered them little opportunity to roam.
All the same, this time it really bothered him, now that he finally took notice. He somehow sensed that whatever was calling to him, it possessed an evil aura, a low buzzing in the back of his mind that was slowly getting a little more distinct with every step he took in this direction. At first, he felt safe enough walking around this side of town, mostly because the Woods were in the opposite direction, and so his own unfamiliarity with the local geography only served to pull the rug out from under him at this point.
While he was lost in thought, he failed to notice still-occupied houses giving way to boarded-up doors and shuttered windows, overgrown lawns and sagging fences, and the mood all changed. Even his ever widening proximity to the Woods failed to be very reassuring in this setting. Still, he continued to walk this way in spite of his growing dread.
This looming certainty that he was drawing closer to something everything in his rational mind told him he should be walking away from. And it was taking way too long for his taste. Found he could remember all too well how time seemed to slow down that time he approached the pedestal of the Book of Fate, deep within the twisted depths of the Harken Building, or a childhood dream he recalled out of the blue a moment ago.
Of walking into an abandoned schoolhouse, striding up to a podium at the front of the classroom, that looked to have been converted into some kind of occult altar, with shifting, shimmering symbols all over the chalkboard behind it…
It was only when several arguing voices cut through his reverie that he thought to look up from the road to his surroundings. For a moment, he was heartened by the sight of other people, at least until he saw where they were, for even at a glance he knew of no place else in Pickford this could possibly be. Looking upon the place his feet had led him, he looked back down at his shoes in consternation.
Seriously, you lead me to a haunted house?
That was also about when he noticed that those gathered in front of the place were a bunch of kids, and he found that sinking feeling in his gut could apparently sink a little deeper as he tuned in to their ongoing dispute.
“…I can’t believe you let her go!” one boy shouted at another boy, who appeared noticeably older than the others, at least junior high to their grade school.
“She was the one who was crazy enough to go in there,” the older kid shot back, sounding defensive enough that Shades already suspected this was going to be trouble.
“You coulda stopped her!” a little girl protested, stepping back when he wheeled on her.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Well…” the girl stammered.
Shades cleared his throat with a loud cough, then interjected: “I was under the impression this place wasn’t really a tourist attraction. What’s going on here?”
“None of your business.” The older boy turned to face him with a stern glare Shades struggled to keep a straight face at. “And just who the hell are you anyway?”
“If you want to know someone else’s name, it’s common courtesy to give your own first,” Shades admonished him, taking a good look at his face. Same sallow countenance, dark hair, stocky build, his features slightly softened by both youth, and whatever his mother contributed to the boy’s makeup. “Tully, right?”
“That’s right, Travis Tully,” Travis retorted, “and I’m here to tell you you’re not supposed to be.”
“Yet here we are anyway,” Shades replied, “so perhaps someone would care to tell me what all the fuss is about.”
“Trespassing,” Travis snapped, cutting off the other kids even as they opened their mouths. “I was just sending these brats home.”
“Not without Melissa!” one girl blurted, stamping her foot. “That jerk threw our ball in there, and she went in to get it…”
“Shut up!” Travis snarled, though he came off sounding more frantic than authoritative. “That’s none of his business!”
“It is now,” Shades declared, now that he understood what was at stake. “I’m making it my business.”
“And just who the hell do you think you are?” Travis challenged as he strode up to him.
“Shades MacLean,” he answered, now that he knew who he was dealing with. He turned to the children and added: “At your service.”
“Be careful! That guy’s bad!” one boy warned him. “He beat up my big brother!”
“Don’t worry,” Shades assured him. Don’t know if I’m bad enough to rescue the President from ninjas, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when I back down from a creep who bullies children… “I’ve dealt with his type before.”
And Travis took a swing at him.
Just about when Shades figured he would. Too predictable, so Shades was way ahead of him, sidestepping and catching Travis’ arm, twisting it and throwing him down hard. Wrenching most of the joints and ligaments on his right side, the impact jarring his entire left as he hit the ground.
A hearty helping of what he was in for if he decided to go another round.
“Anymore, I’m not used to fighting weaklings,” Shades told him. Though that last exchange confirmed what he suspected, the kid was definitely farm strong. Travis could certainly do some damage if he got an opening, so he decided to borrow a page from Roxy’s playbook, and keep up the intimidation offensive. Though they had the respect of the Edwards and Stilton families, the rest of the locals mostly regarded them with a mixture of awe and wariness, seeing them as being almost as uncanny as the Woods they passed through to get here, and he decided to play that to his advantage. “We fought things in those Woods that would turn your hair white.”
“You son of a bitch…” Travis muttered.
It took him three attempts to get back up, and he still wasn’t quite on his feet yet, staggering back from Shades in understandable alarm at the single step he took in Travis’ direction.
“And now you’re talkin’ trash about my mom…” Shades shifted into a casual fighting stance. Though he left his thigh holster back at his room at the inn, he decided that with something like the Woods looming over this town, concealed carry was a practical compromise in order to look less threatening. Right now, he tried not to think about his shoulder holster. Unless something else came along to menace them, he had no intention of drawing in the presence of children. “Should I take that as a challenge? If you keep this up, you’re going to make a hypocrite out of me.”
“My old man would skin your ass…”
“He’s welcome to try.” Figured the kid was probably talking from experience, he decided that Jarvis wasn’t half as scary as Erix or Roxy, nor anything else he met in those Woods. Grateful to him for letting them in, but still didn’t like the smell of him. Felt bad for the kid, though now seemed a bad time to show it. “But I imagine he might take a chunk outta yours, first.”
“Careful!” one of the girls warned him. “His dad’s the caretaker!”
“I know who he is,” Shades reminded them, turning back to Travis. “So if he’s the caretaker, why doesn’t he take care of this?”
“The house takes care of itself,” Travis told him. “My old man gets paid to deal with outsiders like you.”
“And I would only point out that he’s not here to take care of that right now,” Shades quipped, “so might I ask what he would do about a little girl wandering off in that twisted place?”
“Do?” Travis snorted, “You don’t do anything. I told you, the house takes care of itself.”
“And when her parents learn of this?”
“Hey! It’s my word against yours!”
An assertion answered by a jury of Melissa’s peers, all quite vocal about their verdict.
“Shut up!” Travis roared, turning on them. “Or I’ll””
“You’ll what?” Shades demanded, drawing his attention back. “If you make any more trouble for these kids, I’ll give you the ass-whoopin’ your mama never gave you.”
“Mama never gave me nothin’!” Travis nearly choked on the words. “She died in there!”
“My condolences,” Shades offered. And meant it. In spite of all his sneering and posturing, there was no hiding how terrified Travis was of that house. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I don’t need your pity!” Travis felt the sweat dripping down his neck as he tried to stare down those impassive mirror lenses.
“Maybe you just need a hug?” He shrugged.
The others started laughing right on cue.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Travis shed any pretense of dignity, slinking away in shame, most likely seeking someplace to lay low until this whole mess blew over.
“You’ve done enough harm for one year,” Shades declared. This fool had already wasted a dangerous amount of time, of that much he was sure. “If you’re no use here, then get lost.”
The kids’ cheers, though, were short-lived, as they turned back to the real problem at hand.
“What do we do now?” one boy moaned.
“I don’t know.” Thus far, that whole confrontation had left a rather sour taste in his mouth. Though he also had to admit a certain satisfaction, as well, at providing the sort of intervention that was sorely lacking in his own childhood experiences with playground bullies. Now that he thought about it, one of the things that got him into martial arts in the first place. Yet Travis was just the tip of the iceberg here, and he wasn’t sure what to tell them now, so he asked, “How long ago did she go in?”
“I’m not sure…” one boy admitted.
“We started arguing with him…” one girl explained, trailing off at how that explained both too much and too little.
“I see.” Shades nodded. Since it seemed the one promise he could make with any confidence, he told them, “I’ll do whatever I can for Melissa, though I don’t know what I’m up against. I’ll try to find her, but if we’re not back within the hour, go tell somebody. There’s no way you’ll be in half as much trouble as your friend is right now.
“While we’re on the subject of friends, please leave a message with Moira at the Pines. Max and Justin’ll want to know what’s happening. And don’t let that creep off the hook, anyone who knows about this place should know better than that.”
The kids nodded in anxious acknowledgement.
As he gazed out at that haunted mansion, Shades began to realize that even standing beyond its gates and staring at it wasn’t all that safe. Somehow, he understood that if you stood their long enough, the place would start to waft into your head, and it would eventually begin to seep into your dreams. That if you stood there long enough, you might just feel compelled to do something foolish, like taunting a dangerous dog on a worn-out chain.
Wondering if even the edge of the Woods would have made for a less dangerous place for them to choose to play. Imparting a newfound respect for Jarvis, even if it wasn’t for his parenting skills. Facing the house directly, he could feel all those bold words he drove that bully off with trying to cram themselves back down his throat, but he pressed on anyway.
Up close, he had no trouble seeing why folks took to calling it the Castle. The stonework, the parapet towers, so many narrow windows, as if it was built as a bulwark against the outside world. However much reputed trouble they may have had cultivating those vines back then, now they dominated most of the walls. Vineholdt, indeed. Even if he hadn’t seen the Woods for himself, he could tell at a glance that their parents warned them away from this place with dire cause.
Even from here, he could feel an unseen presence glaring out at him from every window. Reminded him a little of crotchety old folks back in Lakeside, with their Beware of Dog signs, who’d rant and rave and threaten to call the cops just for setting foot near the edge of their property, sometimes even if it was on a public sidewalk. Only here, he already understood that the consequences for trespass could get a whole lot worse.
Even though it was broad daylight, he couldn’t help picturing the opening scenes of most Castlevania games as he stood before the gate. For the first time in many moons, wondering whatever became of that whip he picked up on his last day on Earth. And to think, most of the time, all that came to mind about that thing were Indiana Jones references…
Found he kept expecting something cheesy to happen, like a bank of dark clouds blowing in front of the sun out of nowhere, or a bunch of crows or ravens to perch along the wrought-iron fence and start cawing at him, though he wasn’t so sure just how cheesy he’d find it if anything like that actually happened to him now.
Who ya gonna call? And from somewhere in the back of his mind, Bruce Campbell answered: Just me, baby. Just me…
All this internal wisecracking mostly just served to drive home how much he was creeping himself out, so he did the one thing he could think of to focus his mind.
Put one foot in front of the other.
As he stepped across the gate, Shades felt something change, something in the air, something fundamental. The only thing he could compare it to was the captain on an airline flight he was on years ago, having to take a detour over part of Canada, announcing that they just left American airspace. Over the years, he’d been across a couple borders (mostly state lines), been past a few of those Beware of Dog signs, hell, even walked into another dimension one dark and stormy night. Never, since the night of the Flathead Experiment, had a few steps’ distance seemed so far.
He turned around and glanced back at the kids. There was hope, and even a certain awe at his boldness, but also a quiet panic lurking around the edges of their gaze. As if they believed they were seeing him for the last time.
Perhaps they are…
Shades shunned that thought as best he could. That kind of thinking would benefit no one. Still, he pondered the wisdom of going and fetching his friends. No matter what his pride told him, he understood those children wouldn’t shame him for turning back now; he had already done more than they apparently had the courage to do. And he was also sure part of what confidence they did hold out for him drew from them surviving the Woods, so it took an effort not to remind them that their expedition was a team effort.
Surely his friends were already on their way to the market by now, no telling how long it might take to track them down, especially if they split up. Was becoming increasingly certain that time was of the essence, that all the backup in the world would do no good if something wasn’t done soon. Recalling those bleached bones from his first day in the Woods, of Shelby and Lorna’s final heartbreak at learning their daughter’s fate, he found he didn’t want another Kelly Edwards for this generation.
By now, he stood before the broken bay window, so he took the next logical step. Careful of the shattered glass, he pulled himself up to the window ledge and peered inside. In the gloom, he could see the ball still lying on the floor, a rather less than reassuring sign. Honestly wished he could be a little more surprised.
He looked back at the kids, half surprised they were still there, tried to summon some moisture back into his mouth, then called out, “Which way did she go?”
They pointed off to the left-hand side of the mansion, faces blank with fear.
Shades quietly hoped she hadn’t found any way in as he headed around to the far side of the building, yet he doubted the house was going to make anything that easy.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Shades' feet have a mind of their own
