Old World Shadows - Chapter 1
SANFORD, MAINE
1990
There were eleven dead bugs, five indeterminate blobs, and one water stain on the ceiling. Sam had counted them six times, before moving on to counting ceiling tiles (a grand total of forty-seven). Then he’d added twenty-nine holes by chucking his pencils at the ceiling, and finally three pencils, when they ended up stuck just out of his reach. Now, he lay sprawled on the unmade bed staring vacantly at the ceiling and wondering how much longer it would be until Dean and his dad came back from wherever it was they’d gone.
No one ever tells me anything, he griped to himself. It’s always, Sammy, do your homework, or, Sammy, don’t leave this room, or, Sammy, wait here while we vanish for half the night and come back bloody and refuse to say anything about where we were or what we were doing… Well, I’ve done my homework, and I’m waiting for them to come back, but if I have to stay another minute in this awful motel room, I’m gonna go crazy.
Sam sat up abruptly and shoved his feet into the sneakers he’d kicked off when he lay down. He didn’t care what his dad had said; the forbidden outdoors was calling him, and anything would be better than dying of boredom in the ugliest motel room north of the Mason-Dixon line. Grabbing his jacket and a flashlight, he cracked open the door and slipped out into the night.
The gravel parking lot was dimly lit by the light from the motel sign - Black Bear Motel, Vacancy, Ask about weekly/monthly rates. Sam couldn’t imagine staying here for a week, much less a month. Sure, his family lived out of motels, but even a seven-year-old could tell that this was pretty much the dumpiest motel ever.
He shuffled his feet as he wandered down the parking lot, scuffing his sneakers through the gravel and leaving ridges in his wake. The biggest flaw in his decision to leave the room was starting to dawn on him - there wasn’t really anything to do out here either. A vending machine got his hopes up for a minute, but the cracked glass and the out-of-order sign dashed any plans of sneaking a soda or candy bar. After poking the buttons a few times, and giving the machine a few kicks for good measure, Sam made his way around to the front of the motel.
Ducking low, he crept past the manager’s office without being spotted, then crouched near the wall as he peered across the road at a playground. Yes, it was deserted - it was eleven o’clock at night, after all - but the swings looked perfectly serviceable, and the single streetlight gave just enough light to see. Sam looked both directions before crossing the road; he could hear Dean’s voice in his head lecturing him about safety and “always look both ways” and “don’t ever go off on your own,” at which point he deliberately thought about something else.
Once across the road, he grabbed a swing, walked himself backwards and jumped on. The swing chains made awful groaning noises as he pumped his legs, and he could feel the rust rubbing off on his hands, but the feeling of the wind in his face and the way gravity seemed to turn off for a second at the end of every arc brought a grin to his face. Eventually, when the swing wouldn’t go any higher, he launched himself off into the air. There was a soft thump as he landed, followed by another thump as the flashlight fell out of his pocket and rolled away.
“Crap.” Sam peered at the ground around him, which was dark enough that finding the flashlight was not going to be easy. His dad would kill him if he lost the flashlight, after he finished killing him for leaving the room in the first place. He started shuffling around in circles, hoping to find it that way.
Two minutes later, he’d found a couple of flashlight-sized sticks and one rock, and acquired a bruised toe thanks to the rock. “Crap,” he repeated. Then again for good measure, “Crap.” A pause. “I am so dead.”
As Sam looked up and over towards the motel, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning around, he saw a boy about his own age standing at the edge of the lighted area. “Hey there,” Sam said, “have you seen my flashlight?”
The boy just stared at him, and said nothing.
“My flashlight,” Sam repeated. “It fell out of my pocket somewhere around here.”
The boy still said nothing, but after a moment, he pointed to a spot about two feet to Sam’s left.
A quick exploration of the area revealed the missing flashlight, and Sam looked up, impressed. “Good eyes; thanks!”
The boy’s expression didn’t change, nor did he say anything, but he beckoned to Sam, then took a step away, turned, and beckoned again.
“You got something else to show me?” Sam was curious, lonely, and bored, and this kid had just helped him out of a sticky situation, so he took a couple steps towards the boy, who turned and disappeared into the gloom at the edge of the streetlight’s range. Clicking on his flashlight, Sam caught a glimpse of the boy, who beckoned again and moved away into the woods. With a shake of his head at how weird the other kid was being, Sam followed.
Ten minutes later, Sam was no closer to catching up to the boy, who seemed to always stay just at the edge of his flashlight’s beam. Sam couldn’t understand how the other kid moved so quickly through the woods - it seemed like there were roots and rocks everywhere, just waiting to trip him up, but the boy never faltered. Sam was also fairly certain he was lost, and with every step that took him further from the motel, the woods seemed to get progressively creepier and darker. Finally, he lost sight of the boy altogether.
Shining his flashlight around, Sam tried to figure out where the boy had gone, or, barring that, how to get back to the road. Then his flashlight started flickering on and off, before cutting out completely, and he muttered a swear word under his breath, something he’d heard his dad say at the end of a particularly bad day. He didn’t know exactly what it meant, but it seemed appropriate for a situation like this.
He groped his way through the dark in the direction that he hoped was the road, but he’d only gone a few steps when his flashlight blinked back on, illuminating the edge of a deep ravine. Sam scrambled backward, then cautiously shined his light over the edge. The ravine had to be at least fifteen feet deep, with steep rock walls and no apparent way down, but as Sam panned his light down the floor of the ravine he was startled to find the boy standing at the bottom. “How’d you get down there? Are you stuck?”
The boy, as always, said nothing, but just gestured for Sam to follow.
“I can’t get down there, not from here. Is there another way down?”
Still silent, the boy stared and beckoned.
Sam was getting frustrated now. “Look, just tell me how you got down there. Or tell me how to get back to the road.”
The boy pointed to the right.
“Is the road that way? Or do I need to go that way to get down to where you are?” Sam was ready to be done with this kid, but a part of him wasn’t willing to give up without answers, not after following the boy for this long.
Just as Sam was about to strike out to his right, he heard a distant voice from the opposite direction, calling his name.
“Sam? Sammy? You out there? Please be out there…”
“Dean?” Sam hollered back. “Where are you? I’m kinda lost.” When he turned back toward the ravine, the boy was still staring at him. “Listen, I’m not sure what you want me to see, but I’ve gotta go now. Sorry.”
The boy flickered twice, then vanished. Now it was Sam’s turn to stare.
“This way, Sammy - follow my voice. And hurry, Dad’ll be back from the bar any minute now.”
With one last puzzled glance at the ravine, Sam turned and trudged back through the woods.
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Chapter 2