The Edge of Town

The Edge of Town



By



Rich Schrader
































August 18, 1984





When 7-year old Brent Walters woke up this morning he knew he had to do something interesting. The past couple of days were anything but and if there was anything to do, it was only to visit the last edge of town he had yet to see. He had seen all of Helms Brook except for a small stretch of land below a steep ditch that produced the grade for count road A30. Exploring every sight in town was a modest, yet admittedly pointless goal, but he felt compelled to achieve it even if it was only to satisfy his interests. After all there was nothing much else to do in the summer.

Brent and his family lived in the small town of Helms Brook that had a population of about 2,000. The purpose of the town seemed designed as a diversion for the farmers around the area as something to do after farming got boring. As with any town that size there comes with it a lot of low income housing to help fill out the space around the few shops that line the four corner business area. Even though Brent had the means and permission to go anywhere he wanted within town, his main scope of adventure was centered around the two block area from his house that kids near his age lived. Mostly they were older than him with some beginning high school already. This particular summer had been a bit more frustrating for him as many of them and there families have opted to stay out of town at either relatives places or cabins that offer much more fun than playing football or shooting bb guns.

Brents family didn’t have the money for a second existence. It was pretty much work year round for Dad, housework year round followed by afternoon diversions with friends for mom, and a little sister who watched tv all day. Not that he wanted anything to do with sis anyway. But when Brent woke up every day wishing for something exciting to happen and every morning started identically, with a sense that getting up from bed just meant he had to find something to do the rest of the day, he knew there was no other alternative but to hop on his bike and look for adventure elsewhere. He was happy to have that BMX dirt bike. It was his freedom. It wasn’t flashy or even in the best working order. But it was his. It was the kind of basic bike that was a dime a dozen all around for kids his age. It was a basic black frame with checkered gold padding on the handlebar and frame. It had only 1 way to stop and that was to lock up the pedals using your legs to cause the rear tire to skid. This created excessive wear on the rear tire. It was amazingly still un-popped as it was now August and the excessive use of the bike would mean either the tire popped in about a month, rendering it useless, or it would hold out until the end of summer. At which point he would start begging his parents up until Christmas for a new bike, preferably a mountain bike which seem to be popping these days for all the kids a little older than him.

So when Brent woke up this morning his day started in the typical fashion as it had for the last 100 days. But with the new found motivation to do something, that something was better than nothing. Waking up with a plan charged him with both energy and joy. He didn’t know what he would find at the edge of town that he had yet to see. It could ultimately lead to a place that is entirely uninteresting. He had to look despite the potential letdown. The summer may never feel complete if he didn’t have at least 1 look. Maybe he would find something to brag to the kids a t school about. It got sick having to listen to classmates little adventures and then falling blank when asked if he did anything fun over the summer.

The Walters family lived on the eastern edge of town which had a farm next door and then 6 miles east would lead to the next of Richmond. He knew that all trips outside of town were forbidden by his parents anyway. Not that he’d want to venture on those roads. The speed limit on those roads was 55 but everyone went about 70. Mostly traveled by farmers who drive the same road daily and wouldn’t expect the see a little kid on a bike. So the danger level was high enough. And if it wasn’t farmers coming by it would be some redneck kid who might view hitting a kid with there car as being a tragedy only to the fact that their car gets damaged. If they stopped to mess with the him, he might as well be dead. They don’t care what age you are. They are just as bored as anyone else and picking on a little, defenseless kid is a great diversion for them. Trips out of town not an option.

Brent had visited the west side of town which was probably the most boring spot of all. He went there once only to see a couple houses that lead down a hill towards the next town of Burns, nothing but a place designed to supplement the farmers market there. Once the west side was seen he got the hell out of there. He just felt weird about being there in a way he can’t quite explain, as though he wasn’t welcome and was intruding on a something he had no business with.

The southern exit of town was maybe the most intriguing, though he didn’t know why. He always wanted to know what was beyond the railroad tracks. He already knew actually. On drives with his father out that way he was almost disappointed to see only some winding roads that lead to a series of farms. Ultimately a letdown, but even when he made repeat visits to the railroad turnaround point he felt drawn to go further even if he knew what he’d find. He would actually spend a lot of time in and around this area, mainly on the high school grounds next to the train tracks searching for whatever encouraged his curiosity, but to no avail. He always marveled at how dead the high school grounds were. There always seemed to be activity at other schools he had seen through cousins and almost regarded the school a ghost school. He knew the school was used but never saw much activity there. It was probably a school where kids got out early to go do chores on their farms. No value in education that would supercede farm life. Made him glad his dad wasn’t a farmer.

Aside from the high school there wasn’t much else to explore. Except for the storefronts run by teenagers and grumpy middle aged clerks looking to bust anybody to break up there day. There wasn’t anywhere else to go unless he wanted to start wandering up to peoples homes and alleyways. That simply generated curious stares from people he didn’t know or want to know.

Except today he was to explore a very little path he had observed on the north end of town. He had been to the north end the most out all areas because there was the most potential for finding activity. There was an actual playground across from a service station/ice cream parlor. The diversions here were modest even for a kid his age. But id was something after all. All the flavor and types of ice creams at the store had been sampled at least once and now there were maybe only 2 choices he would indulge in when the money was scraped up. The playground was a place where energy could be expended, but would be better spent if there kids his age to play with. Only the occasional mother with a newborn child would stop by for while. That was when Brent would feel even less welcome in town. The mother would glance up at Brent occasionally, but he knew by the look on her face that she wouldn’t even so much as say a little “hi”. She wanted the moment with her baby to be a more private moment. Five minutes later Brent would on his bike and on his way home hoping something had changed there to provide some stimulation to his mind or body.

Brent wouldn’t leave without breakfast. His mother dutifully performed this task like clockwork. The simple task of filling a bowl with cornflakes and pouring milk and a little sugar in it was hardly a chore. Sometimes she would ask Brent what he would be doing today and sometimes she wouldn’t simply because she knew there wasn’t much for her boy to do in this town and there were few surprises.. He was up to his own devices and imagination. Character building said dad. Brent started to despise that phrase. After all where was dad? Already at work. You would think he’d have more character from all the long hours he worked, but Brent did understand the value dads paycheck provided. He wasn’t a totally selfish kid, but its hard not to carry the same cynical nature that your parents carry.

Once mom saw that the bowl was empty she took it to the sink right away but didn’t do anything with it. That just where it went when its dirty. It’ll give her something to do later. She just continued to daydream out the kitchen window, like she does on most days. Her feelings towards the town and the small town life weren’t much different from Brents. Obviously that where he gets a lot of his character. Sometimes dad can be too rigid for him, Brent thought. He saw that his mom was in deep thought about something so he’ll just get up and walk out the door. Mom already knows the routine areas he visits anyway.

Brent walked outside down the concrete steps where his bike is parked right next to them for night storage. He liked that there is a sloped driveway to zoom down. A great way to begin a trip. He loved hear the tread on his bike tires when they picked up speed. The vibrating always gave him a slight rush of adrenaline to motivate him to continue on speedy romp around town for as long as his breath would allow..

Once down the driveway he had to turn right and head a block down a newly paved road. At the end of that block he had to continue going straight up a slight hill that he knew wasn’t all that high but was a strain for his little legs. It didn’t bother him that it would fatigue him. He knew the value of a good climb and that was the little downhill that followed. Then came rush of wind that couldn’t stop him from reaching the bottom as it sometimes does when climbing a hill. A nice little treat this morning. Even in the morning the summer sun was a bit harsh and he knew the rest of the day would be muggy as it had stormed the night before. To feel that rush of wind while going downhill gave him a refreshing moment for himself that no one could take away.

Another half block and on the left is the park. Dead as usual. The town had recently purchased new playground equipment. Brent was all excited knowing that it could attract more kids his age, but to his dismay the new equipment was even more childish than before. He could see being tired of it by the age 5. Just another thing to alienate him further. On the right is the gas station/ice cream parlor. Maybe later on he’ll raid the change jar at home to buy a cone; or silly paddy which lasts 2 minutes longer in fun factor scale.

To get to the little unexplored area on the west side he had to cross a county road A30. A30 wasn’t any less dangerous to cross than any of the other roads leading out of town, but where Brent had to cross the speed jumps down from 55 down to 25 after cars come roaring around a sharp right hand corner. So Brents timing had to be precise or he’ll startle some unsuspecting driver and they’ll honk loudly, which will draw to much attention to himself. Too often he’ll start and then have to stop to avoid getting smacked by a car not watching the side of the road.. No part of town is worth making another persons day a bad day.

As Brent glares down the A30, mainly listening for an engine or tire noise, he stops to appreciate the one little crown jewel that he is proud the town has. The Stripwood Hills golf course is a 9 hole course that makes the town a little bit respectable. It is kind of an oddity in such a small town, as far as Brent knew. Besides who would drive all the way out here to golf. There had to be better courses in better towns. Possibly the rich folks who’s gigantic home have started popping up outside of town. It was hard not to be envious of those people. They probably didn’t need to leave their homes as they likely had enough things to do inside those huge places to keep themselves entertained.

Straight across the road was the spot to start. Brent got across the road without a hitch. Slow day as there weren’t many cars in the morning as there will be around noon. As luck would have it there was nothing too interesting about the last unseen spot in town. Basically just the edge of a cornfield with a small unused access road from the field that led up to A30. There was a steep ditch around the field down from the road, likely made so steep to grade the road when it was built but it seems to entirely hide that side of the cornfield. Next to the access road is where a large house is where the roadside strip of homes and repair shops on that side of town begin. No activity was ever seen by Brent from that house. It could be just the old homestead house that the cornfield had once belonged to. After all what Brent did know about the field was that it was 2 properties put together creating the largest combined parcel in the area. The owners home, shop, and shed were on the entirely western edge of the property, almost in the next town really. Brent couldn’t even make out which ones they were. He could just see another road that leads to Burns in the faint distance.

Even though there wasn’t much to see, Brent decided to explore the area anyways. After all, it was possible to find arrowheads in open fields without even trying real hard. They were popping up everywhere; some were really good examples.

He decided to rest his bike along the embankment so that it wasn’t seen by anybody nearby to think he was up to mischief. Since there wasn’t much room to look anyway he knew he’d be venturing into the field. It was perfectly safe this time of year. There was no crop dusting or harvesting yet. He absolutely dreaded the thought of being caught in front of a combine. The immensity of those machines scared him a bit. He wasn’t sure if he would even run. Maybe just freeze up and be another farm tragedy that gets read about in the papers from time to time.

As Brent walked up to the first row of stalks he heard what sounded like loose dirt sliding behind him. It was likely just his bike slipping. He had set it so high on the embankment it probably slid down. The ground was just as he expected it to be; muddy. Every step he made his feet sank to above the soles of his shoes. Its ok because farm mud was always so pure it was easily cleaned off the shoes without much leftover material stuck to the shoes. But if he wasn’t careful, walking on the surface was similar to walking on ice. Getting a face full of mud was not what he wanted. Plus mom would have a fit about having to do a special load of laundry.

There wasn’t much to find here. The ground had seemed to be tilled 100 times over. He was only a few rows in and could still see where the road was as cars were going by more frequently now. His bike was no longer visible. He was about to finalize his search when he spotted a figure a few rows in. It was certainly larger than he was but not by much. It appeared to be a man that was short and with a build that was stocky with a bit of a beer belly. Brent let out a faint “hey”. He didn’t know the purpose of it other than to appoligize if he had intruded on the guys property. But the figure was walking away anyway.

Brent knew curiosity could lead to bad things but why go back to his dreary day without at least something to talk about. Why not see what the man is up to. Sometimes the locals can be generous with new faces, namely kids curious about what they do. So Brent rushed into the rows to see if he could find the stranger. About five rows in expecting the guy to be there, there was instead what appeared to be some half ass crop circle. That was the only logical description for it. The stalks were pushed down to the ground in a crappy, irregular circle with the center being a few half stalks protruding. Not real big, about the size of his bedroom. All the stalks had been dead a while. Turned a pale yellow color compared to the surrounding rows of green stalks ready to be harvested.

It was time to leave. Nothing to see here. Besides, Brent was getting the same get the hell out of here feeling that he got when he visited the western fork of town a while back. The distance from home was not great but there was a suffocating feeling he got that made home seem a long frightening journey home. This little exploration wasn’t worth the need to look over his shoulder every five seconds on the sprint home. He turned to face the road once again and about ten feet ahead of him was the man. Despite the fact that the man was now facing him, few details emerged about him. He was entirely dirt black filthy. What appeared to be blue coveralls made up most of the clothes that could be identifiable. His head was entirely tilted down as though he was looking straight at the ground. His face was completely unseen, but there was obviously a steady stream of drool coming down his face. This man was obviously sick.



The most frightening thing wasn’t the man but the 2 young boys behind him. They were a bit cleaner. They were both wearing blue coveralls also with white shirts underneath. There faces were clearly visible; a little pale but distinguishable as they both had blonde hair and bright blue eyes. The typical corn-fed child found on farms everywhere, Brent figured. The scary aspect was how they were staring into the back of the mans head unwaveringly. They would not deviate from that trance. Their eyes wide open almost in terror, staring intently and with obedience. Something was going on here or had gone on here that Brent didn’t want to deal with at that moment. However the man and the 2 creepy children were in between him and his bike. He didn’t know where he would run to if that was necessary. The mud was so slippery that running was a dubious thought in its self. He knew that slipping wouldn’t create distance, in fact getting back up would be even more difficult. Brent didn’t know what he was going to say but just as he was about to say something, anything, the man turned and started to walk away in the northern direction with the 2 kids right behind him in perfect synchronisation. Like the kids were attached to him. The mans walk was a lumbering gait. It reminded Brent of the characters in the movie “One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest” after they got the shock treatment. Just totally brain dead.

A brisk walk forward was his escape plan. As soon as the man and 2 kids were out of sight he would head for his bike. About 8 rows of stalks was all he needed to be penetrate to achieve escape to his bike. As he was walking he kept his eyes fixated to the right, exactly in the direction of the strange humans, if they could be called that. He had reached the edge of the rows and all he could think about was getting home as fast as possible. That was enough excitement for the rest of the summer. Hell, the rest of the year. The rest of his life might be spent trying to unravel this new found mystery.

Just as he was to step towards his bike, 2 small hands were clasped to each of his ankles. He looked down to see hands, smaller than his, with the 2 children attached to them grinning up at him with these sinister grins on them. Those smiles even had a tinge of playfulness like they were messing around. Brent certainly wasn’t in the mood for games. Before he could react to the situation a great force had pulled his legs out from under him causing his head to smack the muddy ground hard, rattling his brain. He rolled to his back and wiped the mud from his face to see the 2 kids laughing wildly and the man behind them holding both kids legs in the air. The mans face was now visible. In a split second Brent saw that the man likely had been deformed at one time by something. A chemical agent of some sort that had burned his skin. He looked like a burn victim with the reddish skin hanging in clumps off his face. Snot and drool covered what was left to see. His eyes pure black, unlike anything human; shark like would be the best description.

In the next instant the 2 boys started making a loud, high pitch scream as if they were about to go on a fun ride. Brent was frozen in fear, but he was proud that he has kept his head so far. Given the circumstances most kids would be wetting themselves and screaming for mommy. What could be done? The grip on his ankles from the kids was surprisingly strong. It was unlikely he would break those grips. The only thing he could produce was the only thing on his mind, so he said it loud so they all would hear. He needed to try something. Desperation was setting in. So he said it

“I want to go home”, was said in a desperate tone. A second after he said it, 7 year old Brent Walters was dragged through the mud, deep into the cornfield, never to be seen again.