Prologue
The farmer wiped his brow with the back of his dirt-covered hand. He stared down the road, using the same hand as a visor under the blazing sun. There was a man; he looked as if he just left the hospital – which was miles away – the bottom of the flower patterned hospital gown was dirty, but not as dirty as his legs, which, from the knee down, looked as if he walked through a puddle of mud and now dried to his pale legs. He was limping down the highway, heading toward the farmer. The farmer continued to stare, trying to see the strangers face. The man was slow and looked dazed and confused, but when he noticed the farmer he suddenly stopped, staring vacantly at the farmer, tilting his head to the side – resembling a dog – and sniffed the air.
They stared at each other for what seemed like hours until; finally, the farmer broke the silence.
“You all right there, son?” the old farmer’s southern voice strained with concern.
The man took three, quick, limping steps forward, and then stopped as suddenly as he started. He was now ten feet away from the farmer. The farmer could now see the man’s face; his face was pale – white like a ghost with a slight blue-grey tinge – his eyes were red and vacant, and blood dripped from his sideways open mouth.
Startled by the man’s appearance, the farmer took a hesitant step back.
He hesitated again, “Are… are you in some sort of tr-trouble, son?”
The man in the dirty hospital gown took three more limping steps towards the old farmer. The farmer flinched at the quick movement, but stood his ground. He wanted to help this man but something about him was eerie.
“Son?” he repeated.
It was like a flash. One moment he was staring at the man’s frightening face and the next he was on the ground, blood spurting from his own neck, the man on top of him. He screamed and swung his arms to try and fight the man off. The man caught his arm and bit a large chunk of flesh off. The pain was excruciating, he screamed again. The man then tore open the farmer’s shirt and bit into his hairy stomach. Blood burst out and the man shoved his dirty hands inside.
The farmer’s screams were useless in the vast, open plains. His blood spattered on a nearby sign. ‘Welcome to Deadwood’.
Chapter 1
Happy Death Day
Only one more year of school, thought Alexander Reed as he pushed open the school doors and took a deep breath of warm summer air. He had just one foot out the door when a hand grasped his shoulder tightly and pulled him back.
“Mr. Reed.” Said a deep low voice in his ear. The hand on his shoulder released and Alex wheeled around to see a very large black man staring down at him. The dark man was very tall and muscular and even though he was in a suit and tie he had a strong image of a warrior.
“Principal Michaels!” said Alex in his usual smart-ass tone as he reached up and adjusted the man’s tie – which of course needed no fixing – and grinned up at the Principal and the Principal glared back down at him.
Alex had messy dirty blond hair, he was rather skinny but not boney, and he had some muscle, but not as much as the man standing in front of him.
Many people knew that before Mr. Michaels became Principal Michaels he was known as Sergeant Michaels. He was in the Canadian Military, fighting in the Middle East, but what people didn’t know was that on the day before he was to return home, he saw his own brother die beside him in a roadside bombing. Few people knew this, Alex among them.
“How’s the wife?” Alex asked in the same tone, shoving his hands in his pockets; he felt his cell phone in one pocket and he fiddled with his keys in the other.
“Pregnant.” Replied Principal Michaels. He was expecting a ‘congratulations!’ in response like he had received from the other people he had told, but Alex said something different.
“Oh, you stud, you!” surprisingly Principal Michaels gave a little smirk and adjusted his suit coat instead of his usual ‘death stare’ Alex received when he made comments like this. Alex was often sent to the Principals office, but unlike other delinquents sent to the office, Alex was smart; he was the smartest in most classes, but he was also a smart-ass.
“Er… What can I do for you, sir?” asked Alex.
“I just wanted to wish you a good summer.”
“Uh… Ok…” said Alex, taken aback, “Er… you too.”
And with that, the Principal turned on his heel and marched away.
There was a tap on Alex’s shoulder and he turned around to face the doors to see who it was. At first the sun was in his eyes, but then a silhouette appeared and his eyes adjusted. An angelic woman stood before him, looking like a vision with the sun behind her, beaming off her bright blond hair in a loose ponytail. She was wearing thin black glasses and had bright pink lipstick that made her look even more divine. She wore a white collared shirt and was unbuttoned enough to show off some cleavage. He had nearly mistaken her for someone else; it was Alex’s young and extremely classy French teacher.
“’Ave a good summer Ales!” she said with her very strong accent and her gorgeous smile.
“Thank you Madam Lynette,” he beamed at her, “Maybe we can hook up some time for a beer?”
She blushed, “Z’at would be lovely!” she replied with a sweet smile.
Someone outside the doors called Alex’s name. Madam Lynette turned her head to look for the source, so Alex took this chance to look at her chest.
* * * * *
It was nice to have fresh air in his lungs after sitting in a room of five hundred sweaty teenagers writing final exams. Alex, being one of the most intelligent students in school was finished and out early for exams. The person who called him was the first person out of exams, she was also the only smarter student than him, the person he mistook Madam Lynette for; his best friend: Ingrid Louise.
Ingrid had long light blond hair, it was almost white, and she wore red thick-rimmed glasses and matching lipstick. She was about a head shorter than Alex, and very beautiful; but no one ever seemed to notice. Maybe it was because of the way her large glasses covered her face, or how she never let her hair down and always had it in a tight ponytail, or perhaps it was because she never showed anyone her beautiful smile; except for Alex. She never had a boyfriend; in fact the closest thing to a significant other would be Alex.
They had just left the school grounds and were walking down Spry Street. This street connected to the main road in the town called Deadwood. Though its name proclaims a dry and grey looking place, Deadwood was actually green and cheerful, and on a day like this the town beamed of shine and beauty. The sky was perky blue, cloudless, and the sun was shining as bright as possible. Birds were chirping in trees, squirrels were running around wildly. It all seemed a little Disney-esque.
As Alex and Ingrid walked down the street, heading towards home, they talked about their plans for the weekend.
“I think we should have a movie night/sleepover,” Ingrid suggested, “We haven’t had one in ages!”
“Yeah! We should!” Alex agreed, and they laughed about the last time they had a movie night/sleepover, when they were thirteen-years-old; Ingrid’s pug, Arnold, pooped in the sleeping bag they were to share – they put two sleeping bags together - so instead they spent the night in a very large cardboard box. They also discussed that now they were seventeen and with parents lurking about, sleeping arrangements would be different. Alex was about to suggest sharing the same bed but he was startled by something spraying his leg. At first he thought it was a dog pissing on him but then realized it was a lawn sprinkler. This made them laugh.
Everybody’s lawn in Deadwood was bright, healthy green, and usually had some sort of flowerbed or lawn decoration, everyone’s except Old Man Copper. His lawn was untidy; the grass was long and grey, and there was a creepy lawn gnome; it had a long white beard, a large, red, pointed hat that was the same size as the old stumpy body. It had a dirty blue shirt and red pants, and a broken little shovel that resembled an axe. Mr. Copper’s messy lawn was empty except for the gnome and an old, leafless maple tree. Some of the more critical church people in the town thought of this tree as pure evil, but other – more normal – people thought it was dead and Mr. Copper was either too lazy, didn’t have enough money, or just didn’t care enough to chop it down. But then again, everything in that man’s lawn was dead, or at least looked dead. Some of the neighbors of Copper said that late at night they would see him come out with a bucket; maybe he collected the syrup from the tree.
Nobody, except for Mr. Copper, has seen the inside of the old man’s house. People just assumed that the inside looked as creepy and filthy as the outside. There would be rumors around school that when Coppers cats would die he would hang them up on the walls to decompose; but Alex’s friend Ray’s mom worked at the veterinarian clinic and she said that he has never owned an animal, at least not on record.
Everyone’s house on the street, except for Mr. Coppers, looked fairly similar to its neighbors. A few years back the town of Deadwood brought in a little money – the famous actor, Tom Cruise, had stopped in to take a dump and the town ended up throwing him a parade. He then gave the mayor a large sum of money to leave him alone because he was just passing by – and with that money they renovated the old houses on Acer Street. Everyone’s houses were torn down and rebuilt in excellent time. But Mr. Copper refused to get his house torn down. Everyone’s house looked almost identical, but Copper’s stood out in a unique way; the roofs on the new houses were black or grey, and Copper’s house was as red as his name. His house walls were made with brick and covered in moss, while the other houses had sparkly white sidings.
Alex and Ingrid walked down the street passing by Old Man Copper’s house, but not paying much attention to it. The two of them had come accustomed to the Copper house because they lived only a few houses down the street. Alex and Ingrid were neighbors and they’d been best friends practically since birth. Ingrid had a ton of pictures in her purse of the two of them, from when they were babies in the bath together up to just a few months ago. The most recent ones were taken in the spring; Alex was behind her, one arm was wrapped around her waist holding her close to him and the other behind her head holding up two fingers to give her bunny ears. Ingrid was holding freshly picked flowers – which Alex had given her a few minutes before the photo was taken – and had her hand on his. They were making scrunched up faces and sticking their tongues out. If anyone saw this picture and didn’t know their situation they would assume they were in a close dating relationship. Alex only knew about this recent picture and the one of them as babies in the bath. He had no idea that she kept a book of more than fifty in her purse. Some days they would find a spot somewhere and just take pictures of each other for hours. Over the years – with Ingrid keeping and developing them all – they had taken over three thousand pictures. Ingrid had around twenty picture albums full; and those were just the ones she had taken, there are still the ones taken by other people unaccounted for. The ones in her purse were just copies of her favorites.
They stopped in front of Alex’s house and hugged goodbye. When Alex got to his door he turned around and watched Ingrid walk into her house before he entered his own. According to Alex’s cell phone it was quarter to eleven when he walked in the house. Dad won’t be home ‘till four and Kirsten shouldn’t be home for another two hours… Alex thought. Nachos and horror movie time! He smiled to himself.
Kirsten was Alex’s little three-and-a-half year-old sister. When his mother was pregnant with Kirsten, Alex thought that he would get neglected when she was born so he would neglect her, but when she was brought home from the hospital she gave him her first smile ever when she saw him. After that they have gotten along so well that when he were to babysit her it was like hanging out with his best friend, and getting paid to do it was a bonus.
Alex went to his room to get one of his horror movies from his large collection of films. He sat down on his bed first and looked out the window. Whenever he was in his room he would always look out the window. It was like a reflex. Most people would say his view was bad but to Alex it was the best view he could ask for. When Alex looked out his window there was a house in the way, Ingrid’s house. In fact, it was Ingrid’s bedroom window, which was symmetrical to Alex’s. This was to their best friend advantage. If one of them were sick or were grounded, they would still be able to talk to each other through the window less than a meter away from each other.
One night a while back, it was storming – and Ingrid has always been afraid of storms, not the lighting but the thunder – and all that night her parents were fighting and yelling. With the windows so close together, and the size of the window, Ingrid was able to crawl from her window to Alex’s where she spent the night cuddling close in his arms. And in the morning she crawled back in her room. That whole night they didn’t speak a word. They just held each other.
Many times Alex had walked into his room to find Ingrid waiting for him, sometimes crying after a bad day or a bad fight with her parents, and sometimes she would be grounded and just wanted to see him.
One time Alex walked in his room, and like always glanced at the window, after his glance he quickly returned to stare. Ingrid was undressing. When she looked out the window to see Alex standing there with his jaw hanging down and realized he could see her naked body they had a very awkward conversation. Occasionally Alex would bring up that incident and make jokes. When he did she would go red in the face.
Alex went down to the kitchen to make his nachos and was startled to see Kirsten sitting on the counter eating a jelly sandwich. She waved her sticky hand and smiled, jelly on her rosy cheeks. He waved back waving the movie as well.
“Don’t boys your age normally look at dirty magazines when no one’s home?” A soft, familiar voice came from behind him. Mom. He turned quickly towards the fridge to see his lovely mother standing with her arms crossed on her chest and a smirk on her face. “Let me guess? Horror movie and nachos?” she said with a bigger smile and opened her arms for a hug.
“Hey mom!” he said as he hugged her. “I thought you weren’t going to be home until tomorrow morning.”
As they released each other she kissed him on the cheek, “I got home early!”
“Duh.” Kirsten mumbled behind her sandwich.
Their mother was a singer. She wrote her own songs and played by herself with only a guitar. She would often be gone for days, weeks, and sometimes months playing her music wherever she could. She had just gotten back from a month long cruise on a very large boat for a bunch of wealthy Irish people. “Their accents were really strong,” she explained, “ and I wasn’t the only one performing! They had their own little concert show going on that boat! There was a band with an Irish singer, with fiddles and such, and the singer’s son dressed up as a leprechaun to dance for them!” she laughed at this.
She was in the middle of a story about a drunken Mexican woman who had fallen overboard when Alex’s father walked in the kitchen with a grim look on his face. He kissed his wife and she asked him what was wrong.
“Old Mrs. Miller passed away this morning.” He answered with a sigh.
For a moment, Alex held back a smile. Mrs. Miller had been his babysitter when he was younger when his mother would go off on one of her music trips and his father working at the computer store. She was a mean old hag, Alex thought, an absolute bitch. He was glad she had finally croaked. She used to make him clean her house and wash her car and even give her foot massages. He shuddered at the memory; her old wrinkled feet, too much lotion in his hands making them slip and slid all over her small grotesque crow like feet. He even remembered the sour, salty taste in the air when she would take off her old slippers.
“How did she die?” his mother asked, bringing him back from the memory.
“She fell down the stairs and… well…” he trailed off.
“Is she okay?” Kirsten asked in her little voice, obviously not paying much attention to the conversation. Even though she was only three and a half she was very smart. Her vocabulary was better than most third graders.
“Oh, no, honey she…” their mother was saying but couldn’t find the right words to say to her child.
“Died.” Alex finished his mother’s sentence and both his parents glared at him at the same time. He shrugged.
“Oh.” She said in a quiet voice and went back to eating her sandwich.
They were all silent for a while. Alex’s father broke the silence, “The funeral is tomorrow morning and we will all be attending.” He was mostly saying this to Alex. Alex shoved his hands in his pockets and cussed under his breath.
He went back up to his room and as he opened his door he saw Ingrid walking in her room at the same time. They saw each other through the window and smiled at the coincidence. She waved him over and smiled wider. They reached the window at the same time. Alex’s window was open before hers but she spoke first.
“Did you hear about Mrs. Miller?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d she die?” Ingrid asked.
“Fell down a flight of stairs.” They were quiet while they both processed. Then they burst out laughing.
“I keep picturing it in my head!” Ingrid was laughing so hard her face was red. She snorted and they both stopped laughing, looked at each other, then laughed even harder. After a minute they simmered down and stopped.
“I feel bad for Mr. Miller…” Alex sighed.
“He was always such a sweet man.” Ingrid said as she leaned against her window frame. They were quiet, seeming to be lost in the same thoughts.
“So, do you have to go to the funeral too?” Ingrid asked.
“Yep, Yep.” He replied then leaned out the window.
“What’re you going to wear?” she said in a teasing tone.
“Clothes.” He said back in the same teasing voice.
She laughed, “I figured, which ones?”
He leaned back, crossed his arms and stared at her smirking, “I’ll wear my yellow shirt.” His smirk got wider as he said this.
“No!” She laughed; the only yellow shirt Alex owned was one with a comical picture of a stick man falling down a flight of stairs. “That would be horrible!” she laughed until she snorted again, making Alex laugh more.
They suddenly both stopped laughing. “Bye.” She mouthed, shutting the window, he shut his and waved, and then Ingrid closed the blinds. He sighed and went and sat on his bed. He could hear Ingrid’s father entering her room. Their muffled voices seemed harmless. Then came the sound of shattering glass. Alex quickly stood up, his fists clenched. Ingrid’s father’s loud and angry voice made Alex feel enraged. He absolutely hated it when this would happen. It seemed to happen at least four times a week. Her father would barge into her room, sometimes drunk, and scream at her – usually some furniture or piece of the house would get broken – for something as simple and stupid as leaving a dish out on the counter; even if it were drying after being washed, or her shoes were not put away properly. It was always something small and ridiculous, but once she had hit another girl at school right in the face and had gotten suspended for three days and her father said nothing at all.
Alex waited until the yelling stopped. He heard Ingrid’s door slam so he walked to the window and opened it. He stood at the window and waited. He waited. He started to get worried; she had never taken this long before. If he did something to her… he glanced at his baseball bat in the corner.
The window opened, Ingrid’s eyes were red and wet and puffy, a tear still sliding down her soft cheek. Alex held out his arms and she started to crawl through the window. He grabbed her and pulled her in and they held each other.
* * * * *
The walk to the funeral was uneventful, the Reed family walked down the road wearing clothing suitable for a funeral. Mr. Reed wore a black business suit, Mrs. Reed and Kirsten wore matching black, knee length dresses, and Alex wore a black dress shirt with a loose black tie, black jeans and bright red sneakers.
The Miller house was only two blocks down the road from the Reed’s. There would be a wake at the house then the actual funeral would be later in the day. They arrived at the Miller house and the door was open. Mr. Miller stood in the entrance waiting to greet people. Alex was the last one to enter; he held out his hand to shake Mr. Miller’s and say his respects but was frozen to the spot by the sight of the old man’s grim face. His wrinkled face was a mixture of complete sadness and absolute horror. There were tears in his eyes but they didn’t want to fall. His voice was as grim as his face, “Hello Alex,” he tried to form a smile, making his face more horrendous. Alex nodded and their hands met. His hands were warm and clammy. They didn’t shake, they just released and Alex went inside.
When Alex was inside he searched for Ingrid before he would go to the casket. He spotted her white hair tied in a bun, and walked through the crowd in the small room. Most faces were old, some younger, but all were adults, the only child would be Kirsten.
“Hey,” Alex said placing his arm on Ingrid’s shoulder. She turned at the sound of his voice and smiled at the sight of him, and seemed to blush at his touch. She was wearing a long sleeved black blouse and a short frilly black skirt with fishnet leggings. She looked devilishly beautiful. She was chewing on something, Alex turned his view to the table they were at and saw a plate full of mini sandwiches.
“I don’t know why nobody is eating them,” Ingrid said, pointing at the sandwiches, “They’re pretty good.”
Alex smirked, “Maybe because of the dead person in the middle of the room.”
She shrugged.
Alex snatched up a sandwich with one hand and grabbed Ingrid’s free hand with the other and pulled her through the small crowd towards the coffin. By the time they made their way to the casket Alex had finished his sandwich. They both looked at the old dead woman, staring at her pale face. Mrs. Miller was wearing a dull pink suit dress, and she had on her pearls she had worn every day. A pale pink hat pushed down her white curly hair. Even with her face covered in makeup and completely lifeless she still looked as vulgar and heartless as before.
Ingrid leaned over and whispered in Alex’s ear, “Old man Copper was here, he left before you got here, he came over and he…” She looked to see if anyone was listing, “…He touched her face!” Alex turned and looked at her. Ingrid continued. “And that’s not even the weird part…” she stared deeper into Alex’s face, “He was talking to her… And he said your name…”
Alex was about to retort when someone tapped him on his shoulder. He turned to see his mother with a blank face and carrying his sister. “Take her for me please, she doesn’t like it here and she keeps fussing.”
The transfer was quick, in one swift movement Kirsten was in Alex’s arms. “I no like it here, Aly.” Kirsten said in her tiny voice.
“I know sweetie.” Alex said and carried her, Ingrid following close behind, back towards the table of appetizers. Once they were there, Alex gave Kirsten a sandwich and she ate it quietly. They stood around for a few minutes, listening to people’s conversations. Everyone seemed to have the same story about Mrs. Miller, something about a public swimming pool and a very large cow.
Then, it all happened so fast; everyone went completely silent… There was a strange moan outside, a combination of pain and hunger… Then it was silent again.
Suddenly, with a loud crash, the large window at the front of the room seemed to explode as something burst through it. Glass scattered everywhere. It was in the shape of a man, but it couldn’t have been one. Its vacant eyes were blank with red around the edges. Before it even hit the ground it was landing on top of a woman who was in her twenties. It grabbed her by the shoulders and bit savagely into her neck, it ripped a large chunk of skin and flesh and pulled its head away, both of them crashing to the ground. Blood spurted from the woman’s neck.
There were people screaming and trying to run, but they were too close together in the small living room. There was a thump as someone knocked over the coffin, Mrs. Miller’s body rolled out, tripping an old man. He fell and hit his head on the corner of a coffee table.
Some men were trying to pull the attacking creature off the woman. They grabbed its arms and started to pull. It seemed to have barked before in bit into one of the man’s forearms. You could barely hear his holler over the screams of panic and fear.
Another man, like the one who smashed through the window, came through the open frame and launched itself on a man shielding an old woman. It tackled the man to the floor and dug its fingers into the man’s eyes; blood erupted from underneath its fingers as it bit into the man’s jugular. Blood sprayed across the room, hitting Alex in the face.