"The Doom Statues" - Chapter 39

So Harry and Denise found the corresponding circuit box, along the back wall of the barn. At least that much seems reasonable, and expected. Emily isn’t quite sure she believes even her own sister’s tale, however, until she and Jeremy and a handful of others descend into the natural spring tunnel, investigate the phenomenon themselves. And more than once, too. They crunch the numbers, they count the rolls, they recreate the experiment with other rolls of 400m yarn, and even extended it further. Currently the known tunnel extends four and a half miles, without any visible change whatsoever, no end in sight.

One night, unable to sleep, Emily crept out of bed again — somewhere in the neighborhood of 3am — and ventured over to the barn alone. She has gotten to where she is no longer afraid of The Ruiner, only more curious about him, about everything that’s happening here. She hopes to spot him again, and will not run or cower in fear if she does. As far as this particular night is concerned, though, she ventures down and flips on only the first few lights down both sides of the tunnel, sits on a wooden stair for close to an hour, staring ahead down it.

For the most part, though, she remains obsessed with this mural, and has been putting in ridiculous hours painting it. Then again, she has always ridden hot and cold streaks with her art. This is why, come Friday morning, when Jeremy and the others are striking off to attempt mapping the property, she declines an offer to join them, preferring instead to remain behind and locked into this intensely focused zone.

As she had hoped, with the first five people filled in well enough to discern facial features, everyone recognized who she was painting immediately. There’s no conscious order to the lineup, either, just some sort of inner prompt notifying her as to when the timing is right to begin filling in the next person. So far it could be reasonably asserted she’s focusing on the people closest to her, or thereabouts, as the first five from left to right have been Kay, Denise, Tom and Kathy Drucker, and then Jeremy.

For some reason she’s having trouble coming to grips with painting herself, something she’s never seriously attempted before, and is stalling on that thought for as long as possible. She has also kind of decided, by whatever subconscious, internal logic is guiding her, that Harry should be last, because he’s heading up this operation, but does not live on site. Otherwise, it’s entirely a matter of feel, and she has already begun the preliminary sketches of her next subject, the missing chef, Jen. And just about everyone has loved her piece thus far, too, which is intended as realistic, as far as dimensions are concerned, though going for a slight graffiti-alien look, but only slight, in regards to her style. About the only person to complain, actually, is Kay, although it’s possible Emily was not 100% on top of her game with that first portrait.

“I feel like you made my jaw look weird,” Kay remarked, viewing her likeness just last night, “it looks, like, drawn out or something.”

Emily turned to regard her closest friend, however, examining her and the portrait in close detail, back and forth. Yet, the artist stands by her rendition, and is in reality thinking, if anything, she may have been a little too flattering, that Kay might even have a smidgen more of a lantern jaw than this. “No, I mean, not to be shitty or anything, but I think it looks spot on.”

“Not to be shitty…,” Kay repeats, chuckling at the savage humor of this line.

“Well what I meant was, don’t take that the wrong way! I think you actually look great!”

“Really?” Kay questions, not entirely buying this.

Kay wants to believe this, though. If for no other reason than it’s helping with her confidence, in attempting to attract Tony.

It’s been a strange experience thus far, in his presence. While ordinarily not the least bit shy around boys, and having both thrown herself successfully at others, and inspired others to throw themselves at her, she can only conclude now that she must not have been all that into any of those dudes. Tony’s not even intimidating, unless possibly if she were to sit around and seriously contemplate his intellectual capabilities or something. But he doesn’t throw any of that in anyone’s face, nor his already somewhat impressive pedigree of accomplishments.

On this latest fact finding quest, the two of them are almost always bringing up the rear, side by side talking. That’s just about all it’s ever been between them, so far. Last night, directly on the heels of that conversation with Emily, she did work up the nerve to invite him over to her cabin, to sit around drinking with the radio on for a number of hours. Having told Denise to get lost for as long as possible, which Denise was game enough — one might even go as far as to say reveling in the devilish conspiracy of such — to honor by staying away, spending those hours and then some up in the main house workshop, as she and Kathy learned a bunch of silk screening type techniques from Rebecca, just for fun.

Kay made herself as fetching as possible, without being obvious about it, and though she hasn’t gotten any gay type vibes from Tony, he didn’t really make any moves on her, either. Something about her level of interest has prevented her from being as bold as in the past as well. As he was leaving, there was a moment where their faces leaned inward toward one another, at the front door, and she was sure this would be the first moment where they kissed. Except he pulled away at the last instant, rubbed his chin with doubt and chuckled as he admitted, “ah…sorry, nothing personal, but I really need to think about this. We’re all living right on top of each other here.”

“So?” she replied, hoping her tone didn’t come across as wounded or defensive, “we will be, for months upon months still.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly the point,” he laughed.

So no reference to that incident has been made yet today, though it is a progress, of sorts. Today for example he has already confided in her much more than in the past, like when she compliments him on his last installation, as well as his next, which he has already screened in part for her: set in that same bank as the previous installment, except this time, he is all the tellers, the manager, the people in line but then also a trio of robbers storming the lobby. They pour into the scene, one after the other, with no cutaways, layering neatly into it in succession.

“I love your work,” she tells him, as they’re walking across the field, “I’m serious. I mean, if you had a huge budget and it was this fake ass Hollywood looking CGI thing, that would be different. But yours is really grainy and low budget and, like, believable.”

“Thanks,” he says, nervously running a hand through his hair, “but to be honest, that’s all mostly just some old junk I’ve had lying around. This is one thing I’ve learned.”

“Oh really? What’s that?”

“Well, yeah, when people ask what you’re into right now, or what you’re working on, don’t give them anything current. I always mention something I was into a couple of years ago.”

“Hmm…,” she says, smirking with a bit of that Denise-type mischievousness, or so she hopes, “then what are you actually working on now?”

At last he finally faces her, his eyes warm and a bit devilish themselves, behind those thick glasses, “heh heh, weren’t you listening? I can’t tell you that.”

Kay lightly chuckles but says nothing. She’s tried to economize her speech again today, owing to a recurrence of this weird jaw ache. So far this insistent throb has come and gone without any discernible pattern, though it’s exceedingly odd that, despite not mentioning this to anybody, she would still testify that Emily’s portrait of her seemed to feature a somewhat elongated jaw. While this is surely only due to seeing such because she’s preoccupied with this pain at the moment, what if that’s not true? What if her jaw actually were elongating somehow? How crazy would that be?

To take her mind away from these concerns, she focuses on what the others are doing. As expected, Jeremy and Denise lead the charge, in front of the pack, issuing orders. Overseeing the yarn dispensing operation, as they’ve broken out numerous additional rolls for this mission. Kay watches as Denise carefully pins down both ends of a roll switch, the end of one and beginning of another, as she then waves a couple of the others — Rafael and some short, thin, pale and studious seeming, college age girl she still hasn’t gotten to know — to continue ahead with that next one. Rounding out their posse, Tom continues sketching and half smirking, not just bodily but also distant from the pack in attitude, while Lydia snaps pictures with a fury.

“I should be filming, really. But I don’t know, I’m just not feeling it at the moment,” Tony concedes.

“So what are you working on, anyway? If your exhibits have all been some old junk? Come on, you can tell me…,” she pleads.

He chuckles and tells her, “eh, well, noting too mind blowing or secretive, really. Just going through the footage I’ve shot here so far, editing some stuff. Trying to decide on my angle.” She nods but doesn’t say anything, is somewhat occupied pulling apart a pinecone she’d bent to pluck from the ground earlier. As if sensing his manners might be out of place, Tony abruptly says, “oh, but wait, enough about me — how’s your work coming along?”

Kay gives him a melodic, tinkling giggle and admits, “well, I’m feeling good about how productive I’ve been. Kathy’s an absolute sweetheart, she really is, so I’ve learned a lot from her. But even so…I don’t know, I’m not too crazy about any of the actual work I’ve created so far.”

“It’ll come, it’ll come,” Tony assures her, nodding as if trying to convince even himself.

She’s sure that’s probably true, but is not too concerned about it. Occasionally aching jaw aside, and sweating these developments with Tony, Kay has otherwise felt herself in mostly a dreamlike state here, troubled by not much else. If asked, she would admit to hoping somehow that they never had to leave, that she could make it work forever up here. As it stands, though, she’ll just have to content herself with soaking up as much of this atmosphere as she can.

This has manifested itself in displays like the one earlier, where she’s interested enough in coming along, though passively observing all discussions about specifics. Even Tony was chiming in with recommendations, as they met in the library after breakfast, but Kay just sat with a distant smile and watched. Sure, from that easy chair perch, she might have spent at least half the time fantasizing about Tony, and the really sweet if slightly disappointing time in her cabin last night — but only half. The other half she intently listened, and attempted paying attention to what the others were discussing, though really not caring one way or the other.

In the end, they agreed to a combination of digital and analog approaches. Some were reliably able to pull up map and compass apps on their phones this morning, while others could not, though there wasn’t any apparent pattern based upon devices. Therefore they also broke out more of this yarn, despite Rafael’s objections about depleting the supply before notating it, and Jeremy also brought along a pocket compass to make sure they trod a direct line due east, during this initial stretch.

The phone apps universally show that if heading due east from the pond behind Otherwise, it will run into the still depicted, overgrown Old Stokely Farm Road in roughly 1.2 miles. Nobody seems all that surprised by this figure, and it’s generally assumed that this will turn out correct. But no one that she’s aware of has even so much as mentioned how to approach that swamp, to the north. And it’s the part south of here which concerns them most.

This terrain section is in most need of an update, GPS-wise. Regardless of whose device, or where the map app is accessed, none of them depict the lake. Meanwhile, the point at which the current Stokely Farm Road is routed around this forest, cutting through south of here in straight east-west fashion, as opposed to the old route’s north-to-southeast slant, should be in the neighborhood of three miles from Otherwise. In other words, what they’ve charted of that natural spring tunnel would have long since passed underneath it. None of it is making any sense, even Kay would have to admit. But while it’s certainly interesting, interesting enough that she would have probably agreed to this expedition with or without Tony, she’s not exactly sure what Jeremy or Denise or anybody else actually expects to do about the layout here. The distances are as they are.

The plan at the outset was to reach Old Stokely Farm Road and run string from there down to the cemetery and beyond, to where it meets the current road. Except that now as they’re setting foot on this overgrown pavement, continuing to observe this pointless yet persistent ritual of jumping up and down on the asphalt as always, someone observes the smoke billowing from the Hazelwoods’ trailer. Talk then turns to how they’ve still not made it back up there, for a follow-up interview of sorts.

“We should split up into two groups,” Denise suggests, “we don’t need, what, eight people measuring yarn.”

“Good point,” Jeremy agrees, “though I’m definitely gonna be one of those people.”

Denise nods, expecting this, and says, “and I don’t need to be. I’ve already met Maggie and Owen, so it would be good for me to head up this posse.”

In the name of variety, the more vocal contingent, this being Kay and Tony and Tom, agree to go with her. Lydia mutters something about how she should probably join Jeremy, to document this process. Rafael and the even quieter girl, Zoe, whom Jeremy’s thinking he seriously doesn’t even remember seeing before today, are by default left rounding out his pack.

Their journey to Fairlawn Cemetery passes as expected. Almost without commentary, and even less incident, they arrive at the road’s brush covered end, climb over it and through the graveyard down to Stokely Farm Road proper, roughly .88 miles later. Plant their feet on that firm, smooth, slightly warm asphalt, as if just to confirm it’s real and to say they did, before moving out of the road in deference to this approaching white minivan.

“Okay, so what we do now?” Rafael questions. Jeremy’s standing with hands on hips, surveying the lake ahead, the road as it bends in that direction, then turns and smiles at the group. Rafael knows what this means and shakes his head, tells him, “no way, man.”

“What?”

Zoe has wandered off to inspect the names on various tombstones, in a seeming random pattern. It strikes Jeremy as odd that she’s wearing a flimsy white summer dress, with some pink flower pattern, and nothing else aside from her shoes. Then again he supposes they’ve all worked up quite a sweat on this seasonable fall day. The other two stand motionless, eyeballing him with weird, nervous grins.

“You’re thinkin bout walkin this, man,” Rafael says.

“It’s a thought,” Jeremy admits, smiling over at them again.

“Do you even have enough yarn left?” Lydia questions.

There’s something unrelentingly sad about this girl, Jeremy thinks. She’s tall and awkward and quiet, but that’s not quite it. Nor is it the light film she always seems to have on her teeth, her tendency to dress plainly, almost mannish. Rather that this sadness pervades every aspect of her being, and it would never matter how glamorous she attempted making herself. She could look pretty, and almost would without this aura of sadness alone, in consideration of her admittedly gorgeous, wide blue eyes, her long, corn silk hair and smooth, pale complexion. Then again, if anyone is aware of this, it’s surely Lydia herself, and this likely feeds the sadness, in a self-perpetuating loop.

“Eh, actually…,” he says, even while thinking these things, as he continually glances at the phone cupped in his hand, “I seem to be getting decent service out here. Could just follow the map app and assume it’s correct. I mean, I’m aware no one else would be interested, so I won’t even ask…”

Though Rafael furrows his brow, unsure about the wisdom of this strategy, even if Jeremy’s only volunteering himself, Lydia continues just smiling oddly, her eyes darting in regular intervals over to his. Eventually, Jeremy has no choice but to ask, “what?”

“Didn’t you say it takes, like, an hour to drive?” she questions.

“Yeah, but that’s what’s not making any sense. There has to be a shorter way. There has to be. Even if I have to leave the road and just follow the lake shoreline, see where it goes. Or better yet figure out where this freaking spring tunnel comes out.”

The others leave Jeremy standing at the road’s edge, with what yarn remains, as they traipse back the way they came. He thinks about sending Emily a quick text, but changes his mind. There will surely be plenty of time for this, and he wants to see what kind of progress he can make before announcing his whereabouts. It’s always possible he will tire long before reaching Otherwise, and will have to send for someone to come get him. All three of his departed companions are glancing over their shoulders as they walk up the cemetery hill, as though worried about him, but he knows he’ll be fine. And, figuring his enthusiasm will not exactly last forever, begins striking off down the road himself.

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