Stranded At Dusk
Gregory Novak

 

The sun had set well over an hour ago, yet the evening sky was still saturated with the faint orange hue bleeding forth from the western horizon. The dim twilight had transformed the rusted, flaking pillars supporting the dilapidated roof from a sickly brown to a marginally less offensive shade of deep crimson. A mild evening breeze swept through the air, whistling through the surrounding trees and caressing the wilted, overgrown field of grass in rhythmic waves.

The rickety steps leading up to the ramshackle porch were long blackened with soot and other assorted brands of filth. A glass wind chime jingled in the breeze, dangling chaotically as winds from every direction seemed to converge on the porch. The faint sound of early ragtime music vented out of an old cathedral-style radio inside the house. A dirty pile of rags lay heaped and flung atop an old rocking chair, which by the look of its splintered wood and chipped finish, must have been there as long as the foundations of the house itself.

It wasn�t until the chair began slowly rocking back and forth on its creaking runners that the filthy pile of rags dissolved into the shape of a horrific looking woman. Abused severely by Father Time, even the pale leathery skin of her face hung in loose weathered folds. The short grey hair around her head was matted messily despite a failed attempt to contain it with a net. Clutching a double-barrelled shotgun with a loose yet firm grip, her withered fingers looked to be long incapable of pulling the trigger, though her wide toothless grin seemed to convey otherwise. The sickly wraith was awkward to look at and was as unlikely to answer the call of �Grandma� as any other.

�Excuse me ma�am, but my car broke down about a mile down the road and I- I was just wondering if-�

�Telephone, right?� her crackling voice was almost inaudible.

�P-pardon me, ma�am?� stammered the tall young man.

�I reckon you wanna use my telephone, and get the hell outta here as quick as rain.� The old woman had a deep southern twang that was almost comical, were it not for the way her throat laboured on each word.

�Well, y-yes, ma�am,� the young man was obviously struggling for the right words. �It�s a lovely little town, nice and rustic and all, but I really have to-�

�Get back to yer wife and kids,� she broke in, �Yeah I know the drill. Jus�bout every week we get some fool city-folk done strand themselves up here and panic at the thought of spending any more time here than they have to.�
�Really, it�s not so bad. If it weren�t so late I could see myself spending a little more time up here, but I�m really in a hurry and-�

�Better watch that mouth o� yers, son. Ol� Jethrop don�t hate nothin� more than a liar, not that I�m overly fond of�em myself.�

�I�m sorry, is Jethrop your husband?�
 
�Oh Lord no, son. Though I dare say he�s probably the best lookin� thing on two legs for miles, at least �round these parts.� The way she chuckled, more of a hacking cough than a laugh really, indicated an absurdity to the statement that was lost on the young man. �No, Jethrop�s my cat. He ain�t even mine, really, but he�s taken to sleepin� on this here porch, and so I might as well regard him as my own. I never feed�im, and Lord knows my son treats him like garbage, but the darn thing seems a glutton for punishment if ever I seen one. He�s �round here somewhere,� she began waving the shotgun around, noisily knocking over cardboard boxes and toppling cans off of a nearby table. �Jethrop! Jethrop, get the hell out here and �troduce yerself, boy. We got company!� The way she summoned the creature made it seem like he wasn�t the first stranded motorist to find himself on her porch.

From the far end of the cluttered deck, there came a shuffling sound as the animal seemed to stir itself from sleep. It let out a weak meow and made its way through the jungle of rusted odds and ends piled throughout the deck. Finally, a tiny black head peeked out from underneath a crumpled blanket, inspecting the new visitor. Its right eye was missing, and as it crawled out from underneath the blanket, the young man could see that it was missing its two hind legs. The pathetic creature let out another meow, this time baring a nearly toothless gumline reminiscent of the old woman. It took the young man a moment to realize that he was staring at the poor cat with a frown and mouth hanging wide open in pitiful surprise. He fixed his expression but it was too late. The old woman had noticed, indeed it seemed she had been watching him the whole time waiting for a reaction.

�If you don�t mind me asking, ma�am, what happened to the cat?�

�Not that I mind tellin� ya, but I don�t know if Jethrop minds.� Puzzled, the young man looked down at the cat, who glanced at the old woman, and then returned its gaze back to him. The old woman apparently took the gesture as confirmation to go on. �Wolves,� she said vindictively.

�I�m sorry, did you say wolves?!�

�Yessir I did. It seems Jethrop here had a run-in with a couple wolves a few years back out in the forest,� she gestured across a vast expanse of farmland toward a distant treeline. �How the poor thing got out at all is beyond me, but he did.�

�My God,� the young man winced at the thought. �There are wolves around here?�

�Well I didn�t think so neither �till it happened. Sheriff sent out a team to go find and kill�em, but they never found nothin�. Alls they found was a couple animal carcasses and an abandoned den. The damn things seemed to have moved on since, but I could still swear I hear�em howling and cryin� at the moon every now and then. And Jethrop perks his head up at the sounds too, so I ain�t crazy. Though if I am,� she said with a sly grin, �at least I ain�t alone.� She reached down to stroke the cat, who purred and stretched out along the edge of the chair.

�You really have wolves this far south, huh?�

�It would seem so, though I can�t imagine where they came from or how they got here. Most seem to agree that they�re more vicious and violent than most, too. Why, Reverend Jolsten even says that they�re �come up from the depths of Hell itself.� No one�s every actually seen one mind you, though if you look real careful at night, you can see dozens of eyes lookin� out from the trees. They get awful brave at night, but come dawn, they�re gone with the stars.�

�Is it really safe to sit outside here with all those beasts roaming around?�
 
�Aw shucks, they don�t seem to come �round here much, �specially after I let loose a couple shots a while back. Think I mighta hit one, sure as hell heard it yelp loud enough. Seems they respect me a little more than the other townsfolk �round here. Poor old Tommy Stilks swears up and down the damn things surround his house at night and torment the hell outtav�im, knockin� over garbage cans and killin� his chickens. He�s never seen one either, though he says he�s got the claw marks on his screen doors to prove it, and even his great dane won�t go outside anymore, even in the daytime. Yeah, it�s safe enough for me and ol� Jethrop here, but I can�t say as much for anybody else, includin� you, boy. I gotta telephone inside you can use to call a tow truck, though the nearest garage is in the next town over, and it�ll be about an hour before it gets here. Two if Sammy�s been drinkin�, it bein� Sunday and all. It�s an old telephone, so ya gotta crank it up on the side and then dial.� She hefted herself up onto her feet and opened the screen door. �I�ll show ya where it is, follow me. I�ll fix us some coffee while ya wait, and we can talk more about the wolves. Somethin� tells me yer the kind o� man who likes that kind o� stuff.�

�That sounds . . . interesting. Thank you.� The young man considered the situation a moment, and then proceeded to follow her inside, Jethrop on both their heels. He turned around to look out at the dirt road, and further in the distance, the forest and mountain range behind it. The sun had almost completely disappeared beneath the western horizon and the first stars could be seen peeking out of the darkening sky. He could already hear a faint howling in the distance, and though it was too far away to see, he could almost feel eyes watching him from every direction. Even the crickets were silent, too afraid to give away their hiding places. He turned into the house, and the door slammed shut behind him. Directly ahead of the small anteroom, looming above an ornamental coat rack, was a large oil painting of a wolf, bright yellow eyes staring directly ahead at the viewer.

�Down the hall there, to your right,� she pointed, kettle in hand. �The telephone, I mean. Ya better hurry. It�s already seven o�clock and even Sammy won�t venture out past eight, drunk as he gets.�

The young man nodded and walked toward the telephone. �Right, thanks again.� He had a feeling that it would be a long night, regardless of when he left. �Where�s your bathroom?�

�Oh,� the old woman yelled from the kitchen, �It�s out back, an outhouse. Go ahead, I�ll turn on the light.�

The backyard light flicked on after a moment and he carefully proceeded outside. One way or another, it didn�t seem like he would leave the cold comforts of the wilderness completely unscathed.

 

 

Copyright © 1997 Gregory Novak
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"