Strawberry Fields
Having something you can’t control is difficult. That’s what I was thinking the other day when a coworker asked me if I had any experience sitting kids. I do. On top of being a full-time babysitter most of my teenage years, I had to put up with the shenanigans of my two friends, Aaron and Rodney. Both of them were urban explorers and all-around troublemakers. They were far beyond what I would come to deal with in many of my babysitting jobs. I told my coworker—yes, I did have experience—even though I hadn’t babysat in more than a decade. So I’m sitting here now in her den, typing away. The kids are eating dinner and I’m alone with my thoughts. This is something I’ve never gone out of my way to talk about before for various reasons, but, sitting here now, I know it’s about time. I was told writing is one of the best ways to start. *** It was the tail-end of highschool, in the summer of 2007. Aaron, Rodney, and I were by the bay window in my parents’ townhouse, talking weekend plans. I was set to sit a kid. Aaron and Rodney wanted me to go to an abandoned warehouse with them. I was to be the mule of the operation, bringing drinks and whatever else they wanted. I didn’t do any of it myself, but they seemed happy enough when I helped out. This was the usual circuit for us. “Where are you sitting?” Aaron had asked. Rodney seemed curious too. I told them it was far out of town. That was all I was going to say. “We could tag along if it’s close to the warehouse.” “They don’t want me to bring any friends over.” I was annoyed. “But where is it?” “North.” Rodney had started playing with his Zippo, I batted it down as my mom walked through the main hall to get the mail. “North where?” He asked. “Strawberry Fields.” At that, Rodney snapped the lighter shut and stared, blank. I slowly turned back to face Aaron. He was grinning. Right. At. Me. I shouldn’t have said anything. “Strawberry Fields?” Right. At. Me. “Yes.” Strawberry Fields, as I had forgotten in that moment, was Aaron’s small obsession. He had grown up just west of the small town, and had seen and heard everything there was to know about it. To him and his planning-to-be-history-major mind, it was the jewel of southern Antebellum and modern folklore. “And they had to find someone all the way down here?” He started. “There’s…Nothi—Nobody who babysits up there.” “We’re going.” Rodney had gone dead-quiet. He was flicking the Zippo open and closed. “No, you two are not.” “We are.” “What about Rodney?” We both turned to look at him. Rodney liked a lot of Aaron’s ideas, but even he had his limits. “No.”   He stopped playing with the lighter. “Why ‘no’?” Aaron prodded. He didn’t like being outnumbered. “Those woods are haunted.” “Who said we’re going into the woods?” “Haunted.” “We’ve been to other places that are haunted.” “Those woods are Haunted.” (I heard him put emphasis on the “H”). “So what?” “I’m not doing anything out there.” Rodney had heard things. Things that made some of Strawberry Fields sound scarier than the Whickam estate, or Dindston High School’s track house (for those who know, you know). All three of us knew exactly what made this scarier. I made it clear: “Then it’s settled. We don’t go to Strawberry Fucking Fields.” Aaron looked disappointed, Rodney looked like a seven-nation army had just stepped off his chest, and I was more than content. Both Rodney and I, as we shot a look at each over Aaron’s hanging head, knew exactly what we had just dodged. As much as Aaron liked the history, as much as Aaron liked the folklore and architecture, and whatever else Strawberry Fields had to offer, it was all for one reason: The Strawberry Fields Slugger. God forbid, in that moment, Aaron had gotten his way. That was the short-lived comfort we had. It was quiet for the rest of the time Aaron and Rodney were over that day. We baked and ate some pizza rolls, quietly, and they left. *** Friday afternoon was when I began packing. The house I was going to be sitting for the weekend was about 30-45 minutes out of the way, so I packed heavier. When I was in the bathroom, collecting my toiletries, Mom knocked on my open bedroom door. I told her she could come in. Damn, was it a beautiful day—we had the windows open, and there was a nice breeze. “Jess.” “Yeah Mom?” “I brought you something.” I turned and saw her holding a small plastic sandwich bag with a green seal. Inside the bag were three small, translucent vials. “What are they?” She pointed at each. “Rosemary, myrrh, and salt.” I was still confused. To that, she walked me to my sink and asked me to hold my wrists out, facing up. “It doesn’t take much.” She said, taking my wrists and turning them over on the bottles of rosemary and myrrh oils, one at a time. She had always been a connoisseur in holistics. “Now rub your wrists together” I did. “Why am I doing this?” “A sense.” She looked back at me with mother eyes. “Put this on at the beginning of each day this weekend, just as I showed you, ok?” “Alright.” “The salt is just in case.” She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask her to. Those words lingered with me after she left for groceries, as I packed the baggie in my toiletries, and when I hauled the junk out to my car. I started the car and rested my head on the wheel with the impression that it was going to be a long weekend. At least the pay looked promising. *** The family I was looking after lived in an isolated area just east of Strawberry Fields—said town being pretty small and isolated already. I went north on the highway, took the exit closest to Strawberry Fields, and passed through the town square. It was just as plain as I had remembered it, as little as I did. It was a town that someone would call ‘cute’ passing through it on the way to their true destination. This is said through experience. In the center, there was a somewhat impressive courthouse surrounded by a couple of “shoppes”. Outside, in any direction out of the town, fields. Nothing but plains and cotton fields. Evening came down as I drove through one of these fields out to the house. Nobody lived out there—nobody. I pulled up to a modest, single story suburban-style home. Half a mile east down the road is where the state forest started. Far north of the house, I could see a set of shelled, squat buildings by the treeline. They looked abandoned. I knocked on the door. I heard from somewhere inside—”The sitter is here!” The kid’s parents were making an attempt to sound exciting. They opened the door and greeted me. I found them to be a legitimately beautiful family from the start. They saw me inside and showed me around the house, introduced me to their kid, told me what the meal plan was for the next couple of days, said goodbyes, and left. With that, I was with a boy and his dog for the weekend. The boy’s name was, for the sake of this story, Charlie. He was a little over ten. Charlie was on the quieter side. I can’t remember the dog’s name—for some reason “Baxter” comes to mind. “Baxter” was a retriever-bloodhound mix, and very friendly. Charlie seemed more in tune with Baxter than anything else around him, from what I gathered. My first question, rather blunt, was, “Have you had dinner yet?” Charlie told me, “No.” “How’s pizza sound?” “Sure.” He was sitting on the couch, scratching Baxter’s head. Baxter was sitting and looking at me, his eyes half-closed contently. I went over to the pantry area and opened the chest freezer. “What kind? We have sausage or pepperoni.” Charlie slumped a little bit. “Pepperoni.” “Alrighty.” I paused for a moment. “While we’re waiting for the pizza to cook, why don’t we play a board game?” “I guess.” “You can choose, if you’d like.” “Ok.” Charlie got up and Baxter followed him to a closet in the hallway. My smile faded a little as they walked away. It was then that I felt alone. I found myself straining to hear them searching for a game, for comfort. I couldn’t. I started the oven and waited for it to preheat. Looking out the kitchen window at the darkness and isolation, I felt cold. Because my God, who would find peace in such a remote place like this? I started to focus on what might have been a tall bush out on the front yard’s edge. But it wasn’t a bush, and I knew that. I couldn’t quite make it out by the light on the powerline. I didn’t know why there was a light on the power line. Charlie came back in before my mind could keep going. “What’s that?” I asked. “Checkers.” He stood there with Baxter at his side. “Checkers?” “Yes ma’am.” Baxter lifted his nose and sniffed the scuffed box. Kid likes checkers—all right. “Checkers it is!” So we set up checkers. Board games were my way of breaking down the initial “who is this strange person in my house” barrier. I had forgotten how fun a simple game of checkers was. Charlie was beating me, bad, when the oven went off. My mind was off of things and the food was ready. I looked out the front window while opening the oven. I didn’t see the bush anymore. When I set the pizza out on the counter to cool, there was a knock at the door. I recognized it immediately. It was more of a drumming than a knock. Baxter started barking and Charlie held his collar. I went over and opened the door to Aaron. “What are you doing here?” “Nothing.” He was wearing a dark t-shirt and black urban jeans. Was that…Mascera? “Aaron, leave.” Rodney stepped up from behind and made a “It was his idea” face. “Who is that, Ms. Jess?” “Friends, Charlie. Give me a second.” I turned back to them. “You have to leave. The family specifically told me I couldn’t have friends over. How did you even find me?” “Your mom told us.” “Why…On earth.” “We had to drop something off.” “What, Aaron?” “A fun weekend.” I looked at him, and he looked at me. I looked at Rodney, and he looked at me. I looked back at Charlie and Baxter, and they looked at me. Aaron leaned and whispered. “I have a flat.” I looked over his shoulder at Vess, his clunker Toyota. It looked fine. But the roads were sort of bumpy leading up. I stood at my post for a second more, then surrendered, opening the door fully. “No shoes.” I looked back at Charlie and Baxter. Charlie looked confused. Baxter just wanted to meet his new buddies. I walked up to them and squatted. “They’re my friends. They have a flat. They’ll be here for a little bit.” “A flat? Out here?” “Don’t entertain them.” Charlie understood the assignment, I thought. Aaron was already up behind me and had overheard me. He took this statement as a challenge. He put out a fist. “Hey bud.” “Hi.” Charlie gave him a fist bump, smiling. I intervened. “Charlie, this is Aaron. Aaron, Charlie.” “Nice to meet you.” Aaron smiled. “Same to you.” I pointed over to Rodney. “And that’s Rodney.” Rodney looked over and took a moment to register. “What’s up.” He gave Charlie a peace sign. “Rodney, Charlie.” “Cool.” The guy was already out of it. He did not want to be there. Charlie looked up. “We’re playing checkers. Do you want to play next?” He was looking at Aaron. “Sure. I’ll let you finish playing with Jess first.” With that, Aaron took note of the pizza smell in the air, walked around, and invited himself to sit on the kitchen counter. He started prodding at and eating the pizza, folded, out of all ways. Rodney had made himself comfortable at the dining table. I pulled my lips in and refrained from saying anything, even when Aaron walked back and started eating on the couch. “Your move, Ms. Jess.” “Alright.” I made my move. Aaron broke in. “Chess is so boooring. Let’s do something else.” “Checkers.” I corrected him. “Aha…—Rodney!” Rodney looked up from his DS, disinterested. He reached in a bag and threw Aaron a flashlight. He got up and mosied over to where the lights were. Dammit, they had rehearsed something. “Lights please…” Rodney turned all of the lights off. Aaron flipped the flashlight on under his face. “As darkness falls, I have a story to tell…a doozy, might I add.” “Charlie, Rodney, get the lights.” Rodney stayed put. Aaron turned to Charlie. “Do you want to hear a scary story?” Charlie looked at me, Rodney (whose face was still lit up by the DS), then Aaron. “Sure.” He smiled a bit. I gave up completely. I knew what was about to happen. It had happened a million times before. “Alright.” I said under my breath. Aaron slid his way down from the couch, sitting criss-cross, flashlight still under his face. He jerked his head for Rodney to come over. Rodney shut his DS and walked over, sitting down. We waited, some more patiently than others, to hear the story. “Now begins a story unlike anything anybody in this room has ever heard before. And it starts here, in this very town, over a decade ago… “Strawberry Fields was always a popular spot for country getaways and lookseers. It was a thriving city. It even, and I don’t know if you know this, Charlie, had a school. A high school.” “I did.” He responded. “Did you know that the high school is right behind your house?” “Yes.” “Oh. Uhm—” Charlie stared blankly. Aaron continued, “—It started in the early nineties. The high school, Acker High, used to bring all kinds of people to Strawberry Fields. That is, until it was shut down. A student named Mitchell had been going to Acker High since his freshman year. According to his classmates, he never talked or did much of anything. All anybody ever knew of him was that he was dropped off and picked up by a dark, expensive car every day, and that if you said anything to him, he would stare at you with sullen eyes until you left the room. “He was bullied. Bullied beyond what anyone should endure. After he hit his senior year, he had grown tall enough to where people didn’t find it easy to physically pick on him anymore. But one day…One day that changed. “No one knew how the altercation really started. It was in a chemistry lab, and between a particularly mean student and Mitchell. Mitchell had apparently had enough. They got into a brutal fistfight that even the teacher couldn’t break up. Mitchell ended up slamming into a storage rack where containers of corrosive chemicals fell and shattered onto him in a soup of agony. He didn’t make a noise as he sat on the floor, writhing, or when his bully, acting with a rage and hate far beyond anything normal, took Mitchell by the hair and slammed his face into a lit bunsen burner. Everybody screamed and watched in terror, but nobody helped, as Mitchell jerked around in flames. There was a point where the fire eventually went out and the class watched as Mitchell sat up and took a shard of glass from the wreck that had been made. Five people died that day. “Later, authorities found the school’s tool shed broken into with its door off its hinges. A set of tools was missing, and there was a trail of trampled grass leading into the state forest behind the school. No definitive trace of Mitchell has been found ever since. “However, teenagers, lone campers, and anybody else who finds themselves in those woods late at night tell of a rotting monster holding itself together with every shamble, dragging a long pipe wrench through the dirt with cannibalized, peeling fingers. Most people hear strange sounds and see odd shapes—and anybody who’s known those woods for their life will at one point say they’ve heard the unscreamed pain felt on that fateful day at Acker High. Others say, if you listen really closely, beyond the bugs and the night noises, you’ll hear a mysterious clicking as something watches from the darkness with dead-focused eyes, poised to smash you to a pulp with one wrong move. Mitchell was given a new name after the incident that took place at Acker High, after Acker High got shut down, gutted and left. Now, people call him ‘The Strawberry Fields Slugger.’” Aaron knew how to tell a story. Charlie was on the verge of tears, holding Baxter, Baxter had his mouth closed, and Rodney was frozen stiff. I was not happy. But I couldn’t shake this. Until that point, I hadn’t heard the story told in that much detail. This doesn’t mean I didn’t know of it. I had regrettably grown up hearing about the Slugger. I even remember, vaguely, when Acker High was shut down immediately after “the incident”. It was a big deal at the time. Surrounding schools, even out of county, were sent home for the rest of that week. The school board had been looking for an excuse to get rid of that school for some time, and “the incident” was their reason. When Aaron was old enough to catch wind of what really happened, as well as the legends around it, he never looked back. “Have you ever been camping out there, Charlie?” “No.” That was the final nail. “Bedtime, Charlie.” I had been an ineffective babysitter that night. We got up (Aaron scoffed at our departure) and got ready for bed. Charlie was scared. He didn’t say anything, but I could tell he was scared. “I’m sorry, Charlie. They can be difficult.” “I thought the story was cool.” I could see something else in his face. “You don’t have to pretend. They’re going to be gone by tomorrow. Swear by it.” “I want to go to sleep.” “Do you usually sleep with Baxter?” “Yes.” “He’s got your back, kiddo.” Charlie climbed into bed, and I picked up Baxter and set him on. He turned in a couple of circles and curled into a tight crescent next to Charlie. “Ms. Jess?” “Yes Charlie?” “Goodnight.” “Goodnight. Holler if you need anything.” “Yes ma’am.” And he was off to bed. *** “What the hell was that?” “What?” “The kid almost pissed himself when I shut the door.” I was furious with Aaron. “Maybe you shouldn’t have let me tell that story.” “I’m outnumbered, dude. You kind of forced that on us.” “Maybe I’m just a good storyteller.” Aaron walked over and turned the lights back on. Rodney wasn’t paying attention. “Get out.” “Hm?” He was already into another slice of pizza, now cold, most of it uneaten. “Out!” “It’s too late for me to drive back home.” I began yanking his ear and leading him out of the house. He yelped with hammy pain as I led him to his car, dropped him, and started walking back. Rodney had followed subconsciously. As I turned to close the door on them, I saw Aaron holding three things up in his hands; pizza crust, keys and a cell phone. My keys and cell phone. “Get back in here.” “I want to stay.” “No. His parents said no.” “Ask them.” “No!” “Fine.” “Why do you want to stay so bad?” “I need an excuse to be here.” “Why, Aaron? Why?” “It’s no coincidence of the universe that my best friend is babysitting right next to Strawberry Fields state forest. It’s a dream come true.” “Shut up.” He began laughing. “Why didn’t you come yourself?” “I don’t like to be alone.” He said this dead-serious. I looked at him for a moment, a foot up on the doorstep. “Aha.” I paused. “Rodney?” Rodney looked up from his game. “Yeah?” “Shut that and keep an eye on your friend.” I pointed a finger at and square-eyed Aaron. “Aaron. One more spooky thing, and you’re a dead man. You need to apologize to Charlie in the morning.” “Can we crash inside?” “Give me my stuff.” I don’t know why it happened that way. It happened the way it needed to happen. *** We all woke up separately. I was the first awake, then Charlie and Baxter, Rodney—and finally Aaron, who was crashed on the couch. He had rolled out of one of his socks while sleeping and woke up with a very loud snort while I was making breakfast. Something told me it was for show. It immediately reminded me I had walked back on a promise I had made to both the parents and the kid I was sitting for. Over Aaron. This frustration made it easy to crack eggs that morning. By the time we all sat down, I had forgotten about Aaron’s apology to Charlie. Charlie seemed just fine that morning, looking slightly excited over Aaron and Rodney’s continued presence. “What are we doing today?” Was the first question Aaron asked after an unusual silence. “Nothing in particular.” “I…” Here we go. “Was thinking about a historical tour of downtown. Anyone up?” “Sure!” Said Charlie, out of all people. This was his hometown. He knew it better than Aaron probably did, the kiss-up. “I think we should stay home for a bit.” Was my automatic reply. “I second that.” Rodney spoke up. Aaron and Charlie were already out of their seats dashing for the door and leaving their half-eaten breakfasts. “Shotgun!” Charlie yelled. Baxter was still lying down where Charlie had been sitting. The only attention he gave them was a quick side-glance in their direction. Rodney and I looked at each other and got up. I fed Baxter and cleaned the table. Aaron and Charlie were leaning on the house-side face of Vess, arms crossed, right feet against the passenger doors. They looked like mini versions of one another. If Aaron’s goal was to spin up a well-behaved kid for my dealing, he was making more than a good start. *** Everyone got in, Aaron said something about buckling tight before he sped down the west-bound road to Strawberry Fields. “This, Charlie, is a CB radio.” Charlie had asked what the black, analog-looking box was mounted on Aaron’s dash. “What’s a CB radio?” “You know how police cars have a radio to talk with other police cars?” “Yeah.” “It’s like that, and whoever has a CB system like mine can talk to me.” “Do you talk to anyone?” A piece of gravel flung up and pelted the underside of Vess. “Rodney back there has one. We talk sometimes. He keeps it in his room, though. He’s too cheap to get a car.” Rodney looked angrily away from his window view, then back out. Charlie snickered. For the first time Aaron had brought himself over, I smiled. “It works as a speaker too.” He pointed to the ceiling of the truck. “There’s a bullhorn on the roof.” “It works?” I was familiar with this trick. Aaron had been so proud when he had it installed. He showed it to everybody. “Let me…” He turned on the CD player. “You May Be Right” belted over the truck’s inner speakers. He picked up the CB’s microphone and started singing. A couple of lyrics in, and…“You may be r-IGHT!—Sing it Charlie.” He passed the mic to Charlie. They sang “lun-ATIC” in unison. Aaron knew the lyrics, Charlie filled it in with gibberish until he recognized something. “Sing everyone!” As much as Aaron could be a nuisance, here he was, doing what he did best. We all sang along, even Rodney. *** Aaron’s tour of downtown was prolonged. I can’t say Charlie and his’ banter kept it boring, however. We learned that Strawberry Fields was initially founded in 1852 around a small strawberry farm started by a family called the Ackers. The Ackers also owned shares in two textile plants built in the late 1880’s, one succumbing to an explosion in 1904, and the other shutting down by the mid-60’s. The second plant’s building is standing as far as I know, used as a packing center for the Acker’s still-active farm. Aaron stated how ironic the town’s name was, given that its main reliance before tourism kicked in was in the cotton industry. The strawberry claim was decorative until the 80’s/90’s when people started nosediving for southern charm, a trend set into motion by cities such as Savannah and Charleston. Another weird thing we learned—the courthouse was built before the city’s establishment by an investor who hoped to see the land around it used someday. An odd choice, but it paid off in the end. The courthouse had been turned into a town museum at some point after the tourist boom. We went inside and quickly found out that Aaron had told us most of the history it presented. After that, we went to shops. One was an ice cream shop. I had mint chocolate, Charlie had vanilla-fudge, Aaron had rocky road, and Rodney had strawberry. Dammit, it was fun. It was the most fun we’d had as a friend group in a long time, plus one. But this isn’t why you’re here, or why I’m here. After we got back home, Aaron showed me three sleeping bags he had stowed away in his truck bed. Charlie was wound up with sugar, running circles with Baxter. Rodney had loosened up. He was throwing a squeaky toy across the yard for Baxter. He had even left his DS in the backseat. “Tonight.” “I can’t leave Charlie…and Baxter.” “Just for tonight. You’ll be back in the morning before he even notices. And we’ll be gone.” I pondered for a moment, then, Aaron whispered, looking back at the three behind him. “Jess, this is my last week with you two. I’m going back home, for school—college.” “California?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t—” “I didn’t have the balls.” He rubbed his lips with his index. It began to fall into place; Aaron’s insistence, his usual energy amped-up by a power of ten, and an underlying, unspoken mood that had nagged me from the very beginning of his and Rodney’s arrival. Subconsciously, I couldn’t tell him “no” from the very start. This was for a reason I hadn’t realized until I was told. My guard was down, and I answered something against both mine and Rodney’s best interests; “Yes, Aaron.” He didn’t say anything back. His eyes were off in the distance as he drew his lips in. “Did you bring beer? I wasn’t given my runner’s notice.” “Yeah, Jess.” He turned his attention back to the kid I was babysitting, his dog, and our shared friend. The sun was starting to get low in the sky. Aaron looked at his watch. “We’d better get going.” “Let me settle Charlie down.” *** “Charlie?” He turned and looked. “We’re going to settle down early tonight, I’m feeling tired.” “Aw…” Rodney dropped the squeaky toy. He knew something was up. I led Charlie inside and set him up in his room. “I want you to know I’m going to be in my room for the night, if you need me, call me. Don’t knock. My number’s right next to the house phone.” With less concern than I had anticipated; “Alright.” “I’ve got your back.” Baxter walked into the room behind me. “So does Baxter.” I smiled. Charlie smiled back. “Thanks, Ms. Jess.” “If you get hungry, leftover pizza is in the fridge.” *** I went to the bathroom to freshen up. Rummaging through my toiletry bag, I noticed my Mother’s gift. I breathed in, and out, and turned the bottles of oil over on each of my wrists and rubbed them together. I tussled my hair, and left. *** Aaron, Rodney, and I loaded into the truck. Rodney had some resistance, but had been buttered-up enough from the day to participate. I wondered what had happened to the guy who had initially refused to set foot in Strawberry Fields. Aaron must’ve said something very convincing at some point. We began driving towards the reserve, only a minute or two of going east. It didn’t take long for the road to give way from pavement to gravel, gravel to dirt, then from dirt to grass. The sun was setting slowly. The light was angled just right for the forest to look dark in front of us. Storm clouds started to hover in from the north. Aaron navigated as though he had lived in the area his entire life. My regrets started when Aaron pulled up to a wiry, yellow metal gate. He put Vess in park and breathed, closing his eyes. I didn’t look at him for longer than a second. It had begun sprinkling, and the headlights made a distinct shape in the air in front of us. Rodney was quiet in the back seat. Time was as it was. Aaron backed the truck up at least thirty feet and adjusted to second gear. He pummeled through the gate, kicking up grass and dirt. I could hear it coming up the underside of the truck just as the gravel had done earlier that day. None of us said a word as he continued up the trail, chose a right in a three-pronged fork, and came to a clearing. There was a full camp setup; two tents, a firepit, sitting logs, and a woodpile. “Surprise!” Aaron turned to look at us, smiling lightly. We all got out and explored what had been prepared for us. We didn’t know how or when Aaron had made this possible. It was just like the camping we used to do with our families when we were little. I even recognized the two tents. After a minute, a sound came from the northwest of our campsite, interrupting the moment. It sounded like an out-of-tune chainsaw, low and deliberate. It didn’t sound as much machine as it did…organic. “Loggers, I hope they didn’t see us in.” I said. “Too dark.” Rodney replied. When we turned back around, Aaron was grinning and holding up two cases of beer. The tent behind him was unzipped. Two more cases of beer were inside. “Shit.” Was my response. “Double surprise!” Rodney stood there, his eyes were large. He was in heaven. Aaron contained himself as he drug out a cooler. “But first, friends, we explore the high school.” “I—” I wasn’t going near there. “You don’t have to come, Jess.” He turned to Rodney and brought his voice two octaves higher. “Rooodddddneeeyyyy.” “Don’t say no more, man.” Aaron tossed me his switch-knife and told me to call if I needed anything. “Stay safe.” *** The sprinkling had stopped. I sat at the firepit as the sun set, trying to make myself of use. I built up the campfire and searched a near fifteen minutes for a lighter. Aaron hadn’t left one in his elaborate setup, unfortunately. Halfway between when Aaron and Rodney got back, the chainsaw noise from the Northwest started back up. It lasted five seconds, fading from what was already a quieter noise than last time. Just then, I got a call on my cell phone from an unknown number. “Ms. Jess?” “Hey Charlie.” I broke into a cold sweat. “Where’s the pizza?” “In the sandwich drawer, I think.” “Let me check.” “Ok.” I heard him open the fridge and rummage around. “Found it.” “Good. Anything else, Charlie?” “No ma’am.” “Ok. Settle down and enjoy your pizza.” “Where did Aaron’s truck go?” I glanced over at the truck and bit my cheek. “He told me they would be on some errands, him and Rodney.” “Will they be back tomorrow?” “No, Charlie, they had to go.” “Shucks.” “Hey, when you need a babysitter next, we’ll see.” “Okay.” “Have a good night, Charlie.” “Goodnight Ms. Jess.” “Bye-bye.” “Bye.” *** Aaron and Rodney were back at seven. Rodney was the first out of the car. I asked him if he would help me start the fire. He handed me his Zippo and a can of bug spray he had in his bookbag. I got to work and gave up in five minutes. I sat and looked around. Rodney was across from me sipping a beer and messing with his DS. Aaron was still in the truck, I figured. I went to him. He had the windows rolled down and the A/C on full blast. He was sweating from his lip and forehead. I asked him what was wrong. There was something clearly wrong. Aaron snapped out of his trance, and told me he was ok. He got out and walked past me and towards the fire. He jumped back just as quickly to get something from his truck bed. Aaron poured gasoline on the logs, found Rodney’s relinquished bug spray and Zippo, and lit the fire. He cracked a beer on his forehead, chugged it, threw it, and shouted. This was the signal. Before any of us knew what to do, we were tossed beers and asked to sit down. I had never had any alcohol in my life before that point, not even sips. I opened the can and began drinking before I could tell myself to do anything different. Rodney now had a second can. Aaron was talking over the fire at us. We didn’t know what to say. All we knew was to open our mouths, drink, and close. Rodney tossed the DS aside, and I slumped on the ground and put my back against the log. The sun disappeared faster and faster behind the blue overcast. *** Someone had turned the music down. “Does anybody have a campfire story?” Aaron raised his voice over the crackling and night bugs. Rodney combated, “You gave us one to last the weekend.” Aaron laughed in a shrill pattern of hiccups. I laughed too, it was true. “I have one.” I said. I was certain of this in my slightly intoxicated state. I caught Aaron’s eyes from across the log. Sharp eyes. “Tell us.” He looked serious, looking at me in a way I’d never seen him look at anything before. “I…I was—It was. Well shit.” I threw my hands up in defeat. The guys laughed. “Almost had it, Jess.” Aaron was doubled over. “I have one, I have one.” Rodney looked at each of us. “What?” “I saw myself a Bigfoot once.” “Oh?” I smirked. “I was spending the night at Aaron’s and his momma walked in to check on us.” “Well, shit.” Aaron laughed in spite of himself. “No, seriously, seriously. I was on a camping trip with my pa on the Appalachian trail, and we saw something fishing in a river. It was tallern’ a bear standing up on its haunches. Leaning down and scooping in the water. It had the darkest fur and the most human eyes. Nah, man, you quit that laughing, you’re the one who dragged my sorry ass on this trip.” Aaron was in a new wave of laughter, he wiped a tear from his eye. “Sorry for dragging your ass.” “Better be.” “Dude, this is our last gettogether for the summer.” “Huh.” “I’m leaving, next week. For college.” “Oh shit.” “Yeah shit.” “Pass me another beer, and keep laughing.” We all laughed. Aaron’s message probably went over Rodney’s head. And here I was, through the laughter, staring at this gap in the brush behind the fire, beside Aaron and Rodney, a seat away from me. “Pass me another beer, too.” I said. This was my fifth one. *** I was plastered when Rodney got drunk enough to play only with his lighter, curled up with his knees to his chin, eyes zipping between it and the fire. I was even more plastered when Aaron scooted up next to me and started talking. I understood exactly what he was saying to me. He looked at me in the eyes and crossed his arms. It was that same look from before, when I went to tell my imaginary story. We had small talk, until he stopped abruptly. “Jess, Jess…Jess.” He was drunk, but in control. He kept a respectful distance from me. “Jess, I. I. I’ve—let me look at those eyes.” He paused. “They’re so pretty.” “Thanks.” I smiled, my eyes dropping. “I want to say. Wow.” He tilted his head forwards. When he pulled back up, he was beet-red. “I never got a chance to tell you this. I didn’t have the balls.” “You do.” “I don’t, Jess. Don’t kid me.” “I’m not.” “Really?” “Yeah, really.” “I—I. I’ve always had the biggest crush on you. You wouldn’t believe it.” He started laughing, covering up his face. “I can’t believe I just said that.” I replied with the truth. “I’ve always liked you too.” “You’re so pretty, and you’ve been my bestest friend since forever and I can’t even begin to understand how much I—I—I.” He stifled tears. “I appreciate you, Jess. You understand me.” I didn’t know what to say. I did what I thought was the best thing in the moment to show him what it meant to me. I kissed him. Aaron flailed back, then hugged me. I’ll never forget that. Rodney was laughing behind us, kicking his legs and turning the radio up by just a little bit. Aaron shot up after we were done. “Hey!” We all turned to look at him. “I haven’t showed—shown—you guys this little puppy.” He lifted the side of his shirt and pulled a handgun from the inside of his pants. I was alarmed at first. “I want to protect y’all. You’re my best friends ever. And maybe, maybe I brought this out here to get a good wallop at the Slugger. He, he, I missed my chance earlier.” “The hell do you mean, A—Aaron?” Rodney clicked his lighter shut and chucked it at him. “I can’t.” Aaron began to cry. “I didn’t mean to.” I looked at him as tears began to stream down my face. “Aaron. What did you see?” “I love you guys. I wouldn’t ever want to hurt anybody. Not you Jess.” “Selfish prick.” Rodney had his hands in his face. I looked back at the gap in the tall brush behind the fire. My God. “Aaron! Please, sit down. Sit down, Aaron.” “Jess, I’m sorry.” He wailed, holding the gun flat in his hands, free hand clenching the bridge of his nose. “Just sit down, please don’t make the noise, please don’t make that noise.” Rodney was glued to his log. Pale, sick-looking. “I’m sorry Jess. I’m sorry Rodney. I’m so sorry. I—I said…” “Aaron! Sit! Please!” I glanced around the fire. Rodney had already seen it. It was in the brush gap, that awful face. I’ll never forget it. It was facing us, looking as far up to the sky as it could with its festering eyes. Its skin was marbled with grey rot. Stringy hair sat on its forehead. A set of uniform bottom teeth glared in the firelight. I screamed. Aaron turned, stumbled back and shot at it. The muzzle flash was blinding. The bushes rustled and the head shot straight up, taller than any of us could have imagined. Its teeth began clicking together rapidly. We ran into the woods, stumbling, coughing. Rodney fell behind fast. Something made a ‘wooshing’ sound flying close behind us. I didn’t look back, but if it was what I think it was, and if it did what I think it did, it was the pipe wrench making fatal contact with Rodney’s skull. We heard a scream and thump from behind us; sparse droplets of blood splattered on Aaron and I’s backs. It didn’t pursue us after that. The extra footsteps had stopped. It took us a moment to realize this, and when we did, Aaron and I ran in a crescent around the campsite and back to the truck. He fumbled for his keys, holding his handgun firmly in his left hand, looking around the side of the truck for our chaser. We didn’t see anything as we got in. Aaron started the car, and we sped off, abandoning the campsite completely. Aaron found his way to a cleared strip of forest run with powerlines. He put the truck into park. He slammed his head and upper back against the seat and gasped for breath, tears streaming down his face in a silent cry. “I didn’t mean it Jess.” “I know you didn’t. You just wanted us.” “I want—Jess. I can’t have—“ He leaned his head back and looked at me with sad eyes. Eyes I realized had found mine beautiful. What happened in that car remains private. We were never approached by the Slugger despite my worst fears as we held onto each other, skin-to-skin. *** My phone fell out of my shorts pocket when I began working them on again. I flipped the phone open, curious about the time. 12:30. Five missed calls from an unknown number. I listened to each voicemail in horror as Charlie described a “dead man” looking through the windows of the house at him and Baxter, facing them, staring up at nothing. There was a voicemail for each major window of the house, including his bedroom. The last one was more than alarming. It started with prayer and ended with the sound of shattering glass. Aaron sat up slowly, listening, cigarette ash falling from his chest. By the last message, he had put the truck in drive, muttering “That son-of-a-bitch” to himself over and over. “Take it, Vess.” We spurred over the forest back to the house. Aaron’s gun chucked around in his cupholder as we pulled across the grass, then dirt, then gravel, then road. We both jumped out of the car. Aaron’s gun was drawn as he practically kicked down the front door and we stormed in. “Charlie!” “Charlie!” The glass of the sliding patio door to our left was busted. Shards found their way as far as the living room carpet. “Ms. Jess! Aaron!” We passed the guest room door, which was wide open. Charlie was safe, in his room, with Baxter. They were curled up under the bed. Baxter was shaking. Both were terrified. “Look behind you.” Charlie hissed under his breath, looking over our shoulders at the slightly-ajar closet door. Sirens blared in the distance as Aaron fired shots into an empty closet. *** I never talked to Aaron or babysat after that. I never saw Charlie, Baxter, or Strawberry Fields again. The Slugger was never found. Up until 2010, Aaron and I were in legal trouble with Charlie’s family and Rodney’s estate. Their families never stopped blaming us for the gruesome events of that Saturday night, and probably never will. Rodney, or his remains, have never been found to this day. I’m comfortable writing this far away from my home state. I’m in New York City, I’m an accountant, and I’ve never been happier in my life. Writing this, I found the courage to mail a letter to Aaron’s old house yesterday. I have the address memorized by rhyme and heart. I know his folks, out of all of ours, where the most likely to never move. Maybe they will know the best way to get in touch with him. This is something I’ve needed to let go of. I started writing this while babysitting at my coworker’s place. Now I finish it, in my apartment and looking out at the nighttime cityscape. I haven’t got, as Aaron would put it, “the balls” to open the mail. It came today. It’s sitting on my kitchen bar, and I can see it from where I’m typing. I have two bills and a letter with a return address to Strawberry Fields, TN. Crediting Name: Eric S. McCarthy Email: [email protected] Social Media/Website Links: https://www.youtube.com/@hidebehindstudios (YouTube); https://www.instagram.com/hidebehindstudios (Instagram); https://www.reddit.com/user/Hidebehind_389/ (Reddit) Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.