The Dead Sisters

Shirley Parker had to look twice at his wrist watch to make sure his eyes weren’t playing games again.

Surely time hadn’t slipped by as quickly as the digital numbers suggested. Although it was only a few minutes past six o’clock, the sun was already drying the sullen forest that surrounded him, creating dreary vapor clouds that settled low to the ground.

The lurching shoulders of hill that huddled around the shallow valley where they had set up camp the previous night were dull and silent; the only sound that pierced the lifeless environment was a bird cry that seemed to echo from a mile away.
Shirley wriggled his back side along the fallen log that served as a seat and stared vacantly at the gray ash remains of the fire the two of them had set up. Only molten coals and scattered pieces of wood remained, which gave him an impression of what roasted bones of a victim caught in a fire would look like.

He tore his eyes away and looked around the forest as if expecting to see something other than scores of trees and shrub that somehow blended in together, and were already beginning to give a sense of intimidation.

He waved at the clouds of mosquitoes that whined around his face, not bothering to slap them anymore. They had a taste for his skin now; the watery substance that his mother recommended as insect repellant was easily penetrated, and he swore out loud as the tiny vampires injected their needles and drank whole heartedly.

Darren had been gone for exactly fifty three minutes according to his watch that he now checked for the third time, and he could feel his breath slightly increase and the saliva in his mouth thicken.
He contemplated having a cigarette but thought better of it; they were down to their last four and he had already smoked one of his two before Darren had ventured off in search of a fresh water creek.

The thought of this made Shirley’s throat lock up tightly and he swallowed hard. Thirst was taking over again. Dehydration was, after all, the cause of the hallucinations he had experienced earlier.

During a Health and Movement lecture at college he had read all about how people who suffer dehydration can have trouble distinguishing aspects of reality and illusion. According to one lecturer, it is documented that a women who walked astray from her tour guide in the Simpson Desert convinced herself that the only chance of survival was to eat the sand that she walked on.

Imagine what the autopsy folks would have said, he thought suddenly, what would they think to open a women’s belly and find kilos of sand rotting her guts?

His left arm began to throb.
A well fed mosquito sat on his hand just below the wrist, plump with blood. The itch was maddening. Shirley smacked it with an open hand and wasn’t surprised to see a red trickle ooze from under his palm. He grimaced as a wave of nausea swept over him, sending colourful dots and blobs in front of his eyes.
At least the sensation made him forget about his aching thirst. For now, anyway.

Who was it that forgot the Camel Pak in the first place? Shirley’s memory was sketchy, but he was almost certain it was Darren. They had driven down to Lakeview Point and parked in a little dirt and gravel area adjacent to a small opening in the forest that was pathed by a thin gritty walkway. A crooked wooden sign stood beside it and had ROUTE 31 in large black letters painted across it.

“All right, got everything?” Shirley asked as he strapped his bag’s clip into gear, knowing full well that it was a common occurrence that his pal Darren would leave one or two things behind on their regular camp trips.

“Yeah. Think so. I doubled checked in the car. You?”

“Yep, ready to roll. Let’s break out.”

It wasn’t until the pair of them had journeyed a mile or so into the shroud thick forest and began an attempt to set up base camp that they realized Darren had misplaced the Camel Pak, thus their only water supply.

The only God damn thing we really needed on this shitty trip, Shirley remembered thinking, was that bottle of water. And that’s the only thing he forgot to bring. What a fuck up.

He was right. After they argued for a short while, Darren made a decision that he believed would rectify the situation; he would take both their water bottles and walk through the area, within a reasonable perimeter, taking note of his tracks, until he found a creek with gushing fresh water.

Not gonna happen. Shirley thought, but kept it to himself. Darren screwed up, so Darren can fix up. Simple as that.

Now it was his stomach that began to pound gently and brought him back to the problem at hand. It felt as if there was a warm fist inside his lower abdomen.

“Fuck, not now.” He moaned and slowly rose to his feet with the aid of a branch that protruded out of the tree stump.
Urinating when he hadn’t had a single drink for the past day or so was probably the worst possible thing he could do as far as his body was concerned, but the soft thump in his bladder continued as the fist seemed to expand.

He had gotten as far as the closest tree and began to unzip his fly when Shirley first heard a brief rustle followed by the soft crackle of sticks breaking under someone’s feet.

After zipping up quickly (and almost catching his privates in the process) he swung around towards to the sound, eyes wide and tongue lashing across his lips that felt crusty and cracked.
There was silence at first, then another rustle of leaves and a branch breaking.

“Who is that? Darren? Where are you?” He stuttered, trying to make his voice sound as confident as possible. The bulging sensation in his bladder had numbed. “Who’s there? I’m armed.” He wished that wasn’t a lie.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t shoot cowboy.” Darren said, emerging from the tangled concoction of twisted branches and bush with both his hands raised and a grin spread across his face.

Shirley heaved a sigh of relief then locked his focus on the two water bottles that hung off straps around his shoulder. They were both empty.

“Well, good to see you didn’t get your dumb ass lost. I’m surprised.” He started. His tone was still tainted with fear. “What I’m not surprised about is the fact that your bottles are empty. I told you there wouldn’t be a creek around this area for at least a mile. I know this forest. I did my research-“

“Oh?” Darren interrupted with an expression of genuine intrigue. “You know this forest? Are you sure?” He began to walk closer to Shirley and fallen branches continued to snap under his shoes. “Well then, I’m sure it won’t be news to you that there is not only a creek near by, but a whole God damn waterfall.”

Shirley sniffed and wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve. “A waterfall? Where? And why didn’t you fill the bottles up? I’m fucking dying out here man. I’m seeing all this weird ass shit, like I swear there was a spider as big as a dog that ran across our camp site just before. My mouth feels like someone’s jammed a vacuum cleaner into it and sucked out everything.”

Darren gave an amused grunt and looked at the ground. “Well then, looks like it’s pretty obvious that you don’t know this forest at all. Besides, it would be too heavy to carry these damn bottles full of water on my own. It’s a little while away, so I thought I’d just come get you and we could both go there. Maybe have a swim or something, I dunno.” He paused then gestured at Shirley. “Taking a leak? I’ll let you get back to it, pal.” As he walked towards the tent he hummed a tune that Shirley couldn’t quit pick, but sat teasingly at the tip of his tongue.

Before returning to the tree, Shirley squinted at the horizon as the sun made its last attempt to infect the sky with its golden blanket. He turned around to face the wide trunk of bark again, but didn’t unzip his fly.
The sensation had completely passed.


***
Around the same time that Darren and Shirley first shook hands outside a Med Lab in Westcorde College and exchanged small talk about what the pair of them shared in common, the photographs of two girls that lived in a small but well constructed cottage just south of the Wisconsin border headlined the front page of most major newspapers in the state. On the cover, citizens of Ellwood Park could read a detailed article of how Amy and Lucy Anderson, two sisters both aged nine, were last seen walking hand in hand on a partially overgrown path that led them through Lently Forest. The parents of the lost children later told reporters that the twins often took the route on the way home from school as a short cut. After dusk settled upon the sleepy town without their daughters sitting at the dining table, the parents issued a missing persons report to the local police department who told them reassuringly that the girls would probably show up at a friend’s house.

A week passed without any sign of Lucy and Amy, and all of their friends were contacted and confirmed no knowledge of their whereabouts.
After two months the search parties were called off and the hope to find the girls wilted away. The frantic parents were said to be inconsolable, and begged for any one to come forward with information. Posters and billboards were set up with approval by the council all around the town; the sister’s faces were side by side, their strawberry blonde fringe squaring above their eyebrows with grins that displayed sets of teeth and pink gum.

At the end of November, the police finally made an arrest in a small village two miles from Lently Forest. Robert Bolley, a carpenter in his mid forties, was charged with the abduction of the Andersons on the grounds of a history of child molestation and a faulty alibi the day of the disappearance. Mr. Bolley was later convicted and given a twelve year jail term, but claimed he wasn’t responsible for the girls vanishing and was completely unaware of their existence altogether.

A year later, two young men briskly wandered through the same forest and trudged on the same sandy track that the Anderson twins once used as a short cut in hope of finding a source of fresh water. Shirley Parker struggled down a hill as the loose soil slid from under his mud soaked sneakers; on many occasions he grasped clumps of intertwined weed that sprung from the ground or jutting branches to steady his awkward descent.

His friend, Darren Alford, strolled in a comfortable silence without any stumble or fault as if he knew the area well.
The cloud of mosquitoes and other thirsty insects grew thicker as the night sky began to show its twinkling freckles. Shirley took his beanie off and raked his hand through his hair before using the woolen cap as a fly swat, striking random directions in a feeble attempt to break up the large group of pests.

“OK. Where in Christ’s name are we?” he asked. “Do you even know?”

“Sure I do. Can’t you hear the waterfall? It’s just up ahead.”

Shirley tugged the rim of his beanie until it fit tightly around his head and listened carefully for the sound of water trickling down rocks. He only heard the monotonous buzz that poked holes into his mind.

“I can’t hear shit.” He shrugged and looked around. The trees swayed rhythmically and appeared as a warped blur against the purple sky backdrop. He noticed the stars were scattered in strange constellations. “This part of the forest looks kinda weird, buddy. My thirst will hold I think. We’ll head back and get some rest tonight and check out your damn waterfall in the morning. What do you say?”

Darren didn’t say anything. A woodpecker drilled into a hollow tree and a loon cried to which others responded. No human voices though.

“Darren?” Shirley whirled around, snapping his head back and forth and breathing loudly. His heart thumped rapidly in his rib cage. “Don’t screw around. Where are you?”
Still no reply. “Darren! Darren! Where the fuck are you man?” He yelled. The sound of his own tone frightened him; cold needles of fear prickled his trembling voice.
That’s not possible, he thought, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. Was he even here? Am I hallucinating again?
“Oh, Christ.” He muttered, squatting down with his arms resting on his knees.

This time there was a response. Not his college friend, but something that would compensate for now. A subtle flow of water was just audible above the drone of mosquitoes. It took him a while to make sure it wasn’t just another hallucination, but he was soon certain that the sound was coming from a nearby cluster of shrub.
He could make a mental picture of it: tossing and tumbling on its rocky bed, drawing him closer. Shirley approached the sound on wobbling legs, trying to keep his tired body upright.
The woodpecker kept its beak in its business and another loon screamed.


***
When Darren Alford – the one of pure flesh and blood – arrived back at the camp site, (missing his friend Shirley by about ten minutes) the final tendrils of smoke curled up from their shabbily designed fire before it fizzled out completely.
After setting aside the two bottles that brimmed with water, he yawned and fondled around the log until he found a section with no sharp protruding twigs then eased himself down and relaxed.

He was satisfied, and for good reason too. It took him longer than expected, but at the end Darren brought home the goods. Shirley doubted him; said there was no creek and the chances of fresh water in these parts were slim to none. Sure, it was his fault about the Camel Pak but in the end Darren Alford always delivers and this was no exception.
He grinned at the thought of Shirley’s face when he saw the two bottles almost overflowing with water.

Stupid asshole, he thought shuffling around the log. He’s probably gone looking for some himself.


***

It was an unfortunate truth that the sweet sound of water running hastily through a creek was a complete fabrication of Shirley’s exhausted mind. After tearing down the tougher parts of bush and vine that acted as obstacles with his bear hands and suffering painful lashings in return, his vision was graced by the presence of a giant mouth.

This was his first impression of the cave when he laid eyes on it. It was as if earth was stretching its jaw creating an enormous gaping hole in the ground.
As he approached, Shirley’s pulse heart was jumping at such a rate he thought it might explode out of his ribcage altogether.

His eyes were struggling to adjust to the small amount of silver light provided by the moon, but he could almost swear that there was a person standing at the edge of the cave. A small person, perhaps a child. The silhouette was inky and hard to define, but Shirley could make out small movements.

My imagination. He thought firmly, trying to convince himself. Just like Darren, she’s not actually there.

Yes, it was a she. A small girl with her hands on her hips like greeting a husband late home from work.

“You’re not real.” He croaked at the figure. “Leave me alone.”

The girl held her stance and kept her closed fists tightly fixed to her hips.

“Mister.” The girl whispered. “Mister, I’m a dead sister.”

Shirley froze. Every muscle in his body simultaneously locked up and his breath seized.
Although Shirley never saw the article, he had heard about the tale of young Lucy and Amy disappearing without a trace. All recollections of this story now flooded his mind.

They caught their killer. Some old hick from upper state with sexual problems. From what Shirley understood he was still serving time in the penitentiary.

Shirley gulped and tried desperately to clear his throat that felt like a cotton wool had been stuff down there.

“Two.” He managed to say. “There were two. Where’s the other one?”

“Asleep. Dreaming.” She paused and began to step towards Shirley, who remained cemented to the soil he stood on. “Oh, how we’ve waited. Waited for some one to visit.”

“I’m sorry.” He blurted out involuntarily. “It’s not my fault. I heard about what happened to you. They found your killer. They brought you justice.”

The girl uttered a giggle that was dry and coarse.

“No killer. There was no killer. It was a storm. A hail storm.” She whispered. “Two sisters walking home from school caught in a hail storm. The only cover was this.” She waved her hand at the cave. A shimmer of light caught her forearm, and Shirley saw that twisted flesh hung off her rotting bones. “We were swallowed. We fell into its pit and Lucy hit her head. Her skull broke in half. I stayed with her.” A little grin formed at the corners of her mouth; a guilty smile. “I got so hungry down there.”

She staggered closer, until Shirley could clearly see her features. Her eyes were dead but still intact in their sockets. The skin was loose and hung off her face like a rubber mask that had melted.
Tufts of filthy hair sprung out of her scalp like weeds and sat on her shoulder.
“Come and see where we live, mister. We can’t leave. Come and see where we live.”

Shirley blinked furiously in a last effort to prove that it was all an illusion. His surroundings began to spin clockwise and red stripes danced in front of his eyes.

I’m fainting. He thought frantically. He dropped to his knees and jabbed a sharp rock but the pain was distant. Louie Louie, that what the song Darren was humming.
His vision became hazy as the girl made her advance. He could smell her, the smell of rain or hot cement. The odor or decomposition was rich in the air.
Then there was only black.


***

Soon after Darren awoke from a nightmare he couldn’t remember, he became aware that his friend still hadn’t returned from wherever he wandered. It took him a while to get over the sense of disorientation and confirm his own whereabouts.
The forest. I’m in the forest. He thought, and for some reason that made him feel very uneasy and isolated. Darren began to hum a tune, his favorite, to keep himself awake and break the silence that swept their campsite.
He picked up one of the bottles of water and took a couple of generous gulps before placing it beside him on the log. Shirley would be happy to see his findings, and that made him feel good.

Darren yawned again and flicked a sweaty lump of hair away from his eyes.
He waited for his friend to come back and see what he had achieved, in spite of his bitterness.
He sat and waited.
And waited.