Page 48 of Into the Dark, We Go
The woman hesitated, her smile faltering for a moment. "Well, he was at St. Elwes Parish," she said slowly. "That was some time ago, though... before he came here."
"Must have been a nice change of pace for him," Nick said.
Her voice dropped, and she glanced away briefly, as if choosing her words carefully. "One could say that. There was... well, some trouble back then. But that was a long time ago." She quickly busied herself with the rosebush, pinching off a wiltedbloom with more force than necessary, clearly eager to change the subject.
"The roses look beautiful," I chimed in, sensing she was uncomfortable with how much she’d shared with us, and added, "Is the church open? We’d love to take a look around."
"Come on in. The Reverend’s inside."
Mitchell shifted, visibly uncomfortable with Nick taking the lead. "So, uh, is there anything... unusual going on in town?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
The woman’s expression turned sour. "Unusual? Lord, have mercy, child! This town’s been a might too lively for my taste, what with them motorcycles tearin’ up and down the street day and night. I swear, it’s enough to rattle the fillings right outta my teeth. Yesterday, one of ‘em whizzed by my house so fast, I nearly flew outta my sandals! What’s the world comin’ to?"
For some reason, she directed her last question at me, and I couldn’t tell if she was expecting an answer or just thinking out loud. I didn’t know where the world was headed, either.
I gave a slow shake of my head, lips pressed together, hoping to convey a mix of sympathy and shared disapproval of the motorcyclists. It encouraged her, but not as I intended. She continued talking, having found attentive listeners in us.
"I’ll tell you more," she lowered her voice. "Folks ‘round here might say what they want, but I’ve got proof. Some right strange things been happenin’ here." She glanced over her shoulder, then beckoned us closer with a finger. "I’ve been writing to some organizations, and they’ve confirmed it all. It’s here, but nobody’s talkin’ about it."
Something about her demeanor had shifted, like a subtle crack in a grave. Ever since we arrived in Black Water, I sensed that something was off about this place. And now, we’d finally found someone willing to talk to us.
"I know it sounds plumb crazy, but it’s the honest truth," she said, "I’ve seen it with my own two eyes! Microwaves explodin’, glasses shatterin’, shelves crumblin’ down. And it ain’t just things, neither! It’s people, too. Everyone can feel it. Headaches, fatigue, and memory loss. They’re messin’ with our lives, and nobody’s liftin’ a finger to stop ‘em. Cuz the government’s behind it all, testing them direct energy weapons right in our own homes!"
She observed us, expecting a reaction. But we were too shocked to offer her one that would be acceptable or appropriate in this situation.
"Well, thank you kindly for your time," Mitchell said, edging away. "We’ll go check out the church now."
Disappointed, she returned to tending the roses.
As soon as we walked a few yards away, June jokingly slapped Mitchell’s arm. "Why’d you ask her about anything strange? She’s clearly crazy herself."
"I didn’t know that!"
"You love ‘em crazy," June said, turning to Nick and me with a sly grin. "You should’ve seen his ex."
"Oh, shut up," Mitchell grumbled, but he said it playfully, swatting his sister away with a slight chuckle.
"I hope there’s a second exit. I don’t feel like talking to her again," June added.
Mitchell held the door for us, and we entered the elegant mid-size church. Inside was a haven of cream-colored walls and stunning stained-glass windows that filtered sunlight into kaleidoscopic patterns.
June scowled, slowly making her way through rows of polished wooden pews. "Ugh, I hate churches."
The scent of old hymnals, worn wood polish, stale air and aged carpet tickled my nose. I tried to recall the last time I’d been to church. Maybe when Grandma was still alive. I wasn’t raisedreligiously, but my Dad’s mom regularly attended church and sometimes took me along. The Reverend was a kind and friendly man. After the service, we would often stay and chat with him and the other ladies. They would give me candy and tell me what a good kid I was. I wouldn’t have minded going, and had even entertained the idea of joining the choir, but my mother forbade it. Her rationale was that I was too young to be indoctrinated into religion. I sensed that her genuine concern was that I might find a sense of belonging there, one that didn’t revolve around her.
The church was empty. No trace of the little boy, either.
"Hello? Anyone here?" June’s voice echoed through the vast hall.
Mitchell hushed her to keep quiet, but it was too late. From the hallway to the left of the altar, a figure emerged. The black suit and white collar he wore identified him unmistakably as the Reverend.
He clasped his hands. "How may I be of assistance to you?"
"Hey, sorry to interrupt. Can we ask you a few questions, if that’s alright?" Mitchell approached the stairs, looking back at us as if seeking confirmation that he should retake the lead. Or perhaps he was trying to show us he was keeping his cool after what had happened at the cemetery.
"I’m Reverend Carver," he introduced himself with a slight, somewhat condescending nod. Then he steepled his fingers briefly. "What brings you to our community?"
"We’d like to ask a few questions about the town."
