Ernie resumed eating.
Sandy licked her fingers and moved away from the fire. “You think it’s going to rain?” Leaning back on one elbow, she gazed upward.
“It wouldn’t help,” Alan said around a mouthful. “The mosquitoes probably use Aqua-Lungs.”
“I mean, it’s just so hot.” She fanned herself with a paper plate. “Next time, can we bring an air conditioner?”
“What do you mean? What next time?”
Casey distributed the evening rations of cigarettes, and somebody rolled a joint. They all felt pretty good—full bellies, a campfire to stare into. Alan stretched out on the ground.
“What happens if it does rain?” wondered Sandy, sitting back. Last night there’d been more stars than she’d ever known existed, but to night the sky was blank.
“We get wet.” Alan rolled onto his stomach and rested his chin on his arms. “That is what’s known as going camping. Hey, what’s that over there? See it above the trees?” Suddenly, he was on his feet. “Is it the moon coming up?” Ernie laughed and Casey joined him. Alan turned to them in bewilderment.
“That’s a city,” said Casey. “It’ll reflect off a haze like this sometimes.”
Far to the north, the cold whitish glow hung low in the sky.
“What city?”
“It looks almost radioactive,” said Alan. “Tell me, you suppose a war started, and we’re the only ones who don’t know about it?” He giggled. “Maybe the only ones left alive?”
They all stood, staring over the conifers at the distant wash of brightness. “So faraway.”
The sands whispered, faint as thought.
“These crickets sound like they’re big as a house.”
“Back in high school, I used to borrow my brother’s ID and catch the labor bus at dawn, come out her to pick blueberries for the day.” Casey’s voice droned intensely. “You wouldn’t believe the ways they used to get people onto that b us—practically dragged them off the street. These old guys would come staggering out of a bar in North Philly. Next thing they know, they’re out here in the fields, throwing up, passing out, sun blazing down.”
“Tell me, is that how they caught you?” Alan asked, as he sat down by the fire. “Staggering out of a bar?”
“Why’d they do that, Case? Bring people in from the city, I mean? Aren’t there little towns and stuff out here?”
“Well,” he began, “there probably just aren’t enough pineys to—”
“Pineys! Oh, I know about them!” announced Sandy gleefully. “They’re the crazy people who live out here! Man, I’d forgotten all about them. We used to hear all kinds of stories.”
“What crazy people?” Jenny edged closer to Amelia, closer to the fire. “What are you talking about?”
Casey looked disgruntled.
“Yeah,” Sandy continued. “This friend of mine was telling me. He was driving and he runs out of gas, right? Shit. Something stung me. Shit. Anyway, he said he saw these men in the woods, right, and he gets out of the car, only now the men are gone.” She looked around the campfire. “But he feels like he’s being watched. Anyway, he starts walking. Finally, he makes it back to the main road. So he finds this broken-down old gas station, and this weird guy sells him some. So he starts lugging gas, right? But when he makes it back to the car, the windows are all smashed. And there’s all these weird marks on the side of the car.”
The others continued to lean forward expectantly.
“I remember seeing a newspaper article once.” All heads turned toward Alan, now perched on a rolled-up sleeping bag. “A couple years back—they found this old house out in the woods, you know, log cabin sort of thing. Inside, they found this ten-year-old girl in a crib. First they thought she was retarded, but then they found out her brain was normal, but mentally she was still, let’s say, an infant.” He buried a cigarette butt in the sand. “Turned out her mother lived about a mile away with her new family. Once a day, she’d walk over, feed and change the girl and then leave. The girl would just lay in the crib all day, every day. All alone. Never learning to speak.”
“But that story’s not really true, is it?” In obvious dismay, Sandy tried to make out Alan’s expression.
“Honest to God.”
“But that’s so sad!”
“How come she stayed in the crib?” Amelia demanded impatiently. “How come she didn’t just—”
No one knew where the voice had come from. They all looked around, finally locating the stranger’s dark form. Back beyond the shifting perimeter of light, Ernie spoke nothing further.
“Tales like that come out of the barrens all the time,” Casey told them finally. “The pines seem to breed that kind of—”
“I was just thinking. You suppose our cars are all right?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. Sure.”
Firelight flickered over them.
“Mom, are there really…?”
Alan leaned forward. “What are you grinning about, Casey?”
The mood was set. Conscious of everyone watching, Casey took out his pipe and tobacco pouch and, with slow deliberation, filled the bowl, then took a light from a blazing twig. Which would it be? The walking tree monster? The man-eating grizzly? He fed wood to the fire, and waves of sudden heat pressed them all back a bit, smarting their eyes. “I’m going to tell you a story,” he said at last.
There was giggling and whispering as they shifted and settled themselves. Jenny glanced in Ernie’s direction. If he’d sat closer, they might have done their best to include him, but…
Casey’s face glowed orange, like a jack-o’-lantern, firelight glinting from his eyes. “This story takes place in the Pine Barrens.”
(“So where else?” “Ssh!”)
“There was a young couple out driving.” And so began the old tale. His voice held them. Sometimes he would pause in the telling to look around in a marked manner, and the others would find themselves searching the fleeting lights and shadows as well.
(“And then the car broke down, right?” “Be quiet.”)
He told them how the boy decided to go for help, leaving the girl alone. “Roll up the windows, and make sure you lock the doors. And stay in the car. Remember that—whatever you hear, stay in the car.”
(“Uh oh.”)
The burning shadows flickered and leaped, swept over them.
Casey sucked on the stem of his pipe. “She heard it go tap, tap, tap.”
From beyond the dome of brightness, the crickets seemed to pulse louder.
(“Amelia, are you scared?”)
“She thought about trying to run for it.”
(“No!” “Stay in the car, stupid.”)
Sandy yelled and smacked at Alan, and he snickered, drawing back. Casey spoke faster now, racing through the part where the state trooper arrives and tells her to get out of the car and walk straight toward him, and not to look back what ever she does.
The soft sound of burning filled the clearing, as did the sharp smell of smoke. Patches of redder darkness erratically circled the flame, revealing first one person, then another.
“Slowly, she walked toward him. Just at the last second, she turned around.”
(“No, don’t!”)
He finished the story, explaining that her boyfriend was hanging from a branch above the car and that as he swayed in the breeze, his foot tapped the roof. After the briefest of pauses, the group giggled, groaned and chattered in unison. (“Wait a minute, I don’t understand what happened.” “You left out the part about the escaped lunatic.” “Hey, does anybody know the one about the babysitter who gets the phone calls?” “Do you know any of the Hookman stories?” “Oh, that one’s great!” “Who-man?” “You know, the escaped homicidal maniac with the hook instead of a hand.” “That’s enough. No more scary stories.” “Get out! They don’t let maniacs have hooks.” “I said, that’s enough. You’re all going to give Amelia nightmares.” “Forget Amelia, I’m the one’s going to have nightmares!”) And Casey sat back, pleased with himself and smiling because of the goose bumps on his arms.
