Dead Eleven by Jimmy Juliano

Author:Jimmy Juliano [Juliano, Jimmy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2023-06-27T00:00:00+00:00

26

WILLOW

Seventeen Days until Her Disappearance

Dominic,

I’m freaking out right now. I can’t sleep.

It all stems from this afternoon. I clocked out just after lunch, a little early Thanksgiving gift from Rita (she invited me to her place for the holiday, but I lied and told her I was busy. I don’t know, felt weird). I used my extra few hours to go exploring. It was another cold and wet day, and I was bundled up, hitting trails, wandering down gravel roads, and I stumbled across this little ranch house buried in the woods. Kind of run-down, sagging front porch. I immediately recognized the truck in the driveway. Rust bucket, Desert Storm bumper sticker. It was Larry’s truck from the bar. I’m thinking, what good fortune! I can talk to him and find out more about this Gloria thing.

I knocked on the screen door. No answer, but the interior door was open, and I took a look inside. Spotted yet another tube TV. Also spied a vintage typewriter and one of those triple-decker stereos with the cassette decks and record player. I think a Bon Jovi 45 was spinning up top.

From my vantage point, I saw a woman go out the back door and walk outside. Larry’s wife, I assumed. Slightly older, a cordless phone the size of a hair dryer pinched between her shoulder and ear, carrying a basket of laundry. I walked around back and did this little wave as she’s hanging laundry on a clothesline. She puts the phone down, looking extremely irritated. Almost like I’d interrupted something really important. The woman had these very deep-set eyes, and they bored a hole right through me.

“Is Larry around?” I asked.

“Who wants to know?” she said.

“Oh, I just met him at the bar the other night. I’m Willow. I’m new in town.”

“Well, he’s gone. Left the island. Not coming back for a while.”

“Oh,” I told her. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

“Well, you should be,” she said. She walked back inside and gave the back door a good slammo in the process. I was the unwanted visitor, and I got the hell out of there.

You want to know one of the strangest things about that encounter? It was thirty degrees outside and drizzling. Who hangs up laundry to dry when it’s freezing and rainy? Just an odd bird all around. I didn’t trust her. I had this sinking feeling that whatever Larry was about to tell me in the pub was REALLY off-limits to people like me, and the dude caught some serious flak for it. Like he got thrown in the town brig or something.

Flash forward to the evening. I’m sleeping, and I have this absolutely macabre dream. That monster from my past is outside my cottage, milling about, balancing on one arm and testing the doors and windows with the other. That intensely red hair kind of shimmers in the moonlight. Larry appears from the woods, and he approaches the creature, almost like he’s hypnotized and can’t help himself. I’m inside the cottage, pounding on the window, begging for him to not get any closer.

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