Revival at Slaughter Pen Bay
Fiction Genre: Horror/Fantasy/Drama Synopsis: A story not defined in time, set in the Palouse in SW WA where gentle hills formed over tens of thousands…
Author: Nelson Vessey
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Fiction Genre: Horror/Fantasy/Drama Synopsis: A story not defined in time, set in the Palouse in SW WA where gentle hills formed over tens of thousands…
Fiction
Genre: Horror/Fantasy/Drama
Synopsis: A story not defined in time, set in the Palouse in SW WA where gentle hills formed over tens of thousands of years from wind, blown dust, and silt. Slaughter Pen Bay is at the south end Rock Lake, located in the heart of the Palouse.
Feedback: I am looking for feedback on the writer’s voice, dialogue, consistency of POV, and emotional impact of the character’s arc (John).
Triggers, warnings, and danger zones:
No violence, some tragedy, children in danger. Subtle horror within the context of the main character’s arc.
No political or religious opinions expressed in this story.
John wiped the road dust from the kitchen window and peered at the translucent image moving amid the heat waves rising from the long gravel access road. The patch of color, which at first was blue, then white, seemed to dance within the thermal river flowing toward the Pine City highway. He checked the outside thermometer installed on the window frame. "Maybe we ought to wait a couple of days before we make that run down to Colville. The temperature outside is over 100°."
Sam snorted, inadvertently spraying some of his vegetable soup over the remainder of his ham sandwich. He wiped off his gray, stubbled chin, and looked up at John. "Not in this life, bud. We need gas and we're running low on groceries, and I'm out of Lucky Strikes. Could use a case of Olympia, too.”
"I know, Sam." Said John. "I just have feeling that maybe we should wait."
John moved closer to the kitchen window, hoping to get a better look. When he did, what he saw, sent a burst of shivers rolling down his broad back. Floating in the heat-wave river was a little girl, with long, blonde hair, dressed in something blue and white.
John thought of his daughter, Esther, who bled to death in his arms after he had dragged her from their wrecked Buick; her small heart pumping the last of her onto his chest, sharing her internal warmth as she spoke her last words, “It’s alright Poppa, I can’t feel anything.”
John began to shake, and he grabbed the counter top for support. He could feel the that terrible emptiness brought on by Esther's death. No, not that again, please. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. When he recovered and looked along the dusty road, the image was gone.
Sam noticed his brother standing motionless, frozen at the window. "You alright, John."
John clasped both hands over his nose and mouth, then took a slow breath. "I'm fine. I thought I saw something unusual. We should go."
Sam watched his brother for a moment, pushing away the feeling of dread suddenly roiling up from within his chest. “We’ll be ok. Long as our luck holds and the AC doesn’t act up like yesterday.”
John turned and stared at Sam. “Don’t curse us. That’d be a bitch. I’ll bet it hits 110 out there.”
Sam scoffed. “Keep your finger crossed.”
They were halfway down the entry road when something exploded beneath the truck hood.
"Dammit,” exclaimed John.
"What was that?" asked Sam.
"I think we blew a rod."
When John opened the hood, his heart sank. "Sure, as hell. A connecting rod punched a hole in the engine block."
"Shit for luck," said Sam. "It's going to cost a fortune if we need to put in a new engine. Take some time, too."
John slammed the hood closed and shook his head. "I'll see if I can get some work down at the Sheppard place. Long enough to get us back to level, anyways."
Sam motioned for John to be quiet. "Did you hear that?"
John looked around. "No. Hear what?"
Sam pointed to a large round hill on the other side of the adjacent pasture. Within the warm, morning wind, barely audible, a child’s voice manifested. "Up there. It's a little kid!"
Suddenly, there was quiet, save for the call of birds, native to the Palouse. Now, John could hear.
"Help! I need someone to help me! My sister is drowning!"
They looked in the direction of the voice and saw a young boy standing on top of the hill.
"He's pointing down toward Slaughter Pen Bay," said Sam. He grabbed John's arm. "You have to run John. With this leg, you know I can't. Go, I'll be right behind you!"
John nodded to his brother, and took off running as fast as he could. At the top of the hill, John could see the little boy pointing toward the middle of the horse pond. He scanned the surface of the pond quickly and saw nothing, then, he looked again, and saw something that looked human floating beneath the surface, near the shore.
"Oh, God," John said to himself and ran down the hill so fast he fell hard, sliding face first into the dirt. He jumped back up, taking such long strides he feared he might fall again. When he approached the edge of the pond, he pulled off his shoes, and jumped into the water in one fluid motion. He swam straight towards where he last saw the body, keeping his head out of the water in order to see as clearly as possible, powering himself forward with a front crawl until he could see the boy’s sister, then dove beneath the surface and put his left arm around her slight body. He side-kicked along the surface of the pond, using his right arm to power him toward the shore, then walked on his knees, carrying the little girl onto the shore, and gently laid her down. Her long, blonde hair tangled about her face, and a layer of mud covered her white blouse and torn, blue pants.
Sam arrived, breathing heavily. "Is she still alive? Doesn't look like she's breathing."
John took her arm, and slid his big fingers underneath to feel for a pulse at the surface near her thin wrist. Her skin felt cold and lifeless. He almost recoiled, but continued, ignoring the hopelessness he felt welling up inside him. He thought for a moment that he felt something, so, he waited breathlessly for confirmation, pressing his calloused fingers gently against her pale flesh. There was nothing. She's dead. It's no use. Stop it! There is still a chance. He checked both eyes to see if he could notice any sign of life. But her blue eyes looked dull and lifeless. Dammit!
"I'm gonna need your help, Sam. I'm going to try artificial respiration. What I can remember. I need you to walk down to the highway, see if you can flag down a car."
Sam nodded his head several times, his mind racing, then replied. "I'll get someone. Somehow. Just save her." Sam skittered up the hill towards the highway, moving as fast as he could with his bad leg.
John looked down at her pale face and her lifeless body. He thought of Esther, and what she looked like the last time he had seen her. He remembered hearing that sometimes people come back, even after several minutes. He grabbed his shirt and placed it beneath her neck so her little head rocked back. Then, he opened her mouth and felt around to make sure there was no obstruction, and to ensure that her tongue wasn't stuck back in her throat. He tried to calm himself, then bent down, pinched her nose, and began giving her repeated breaths, careful not to breath in too much at one time. He was guessing about the repetition frequency, and he feared that he might be harming her in some way.
John did the best he could, pausing intermittently when he got dizzy, continuing doggedly, intent upon breathing life into her fragile body, even if he had to do it until his lips bled. He remembered hearing that sometimes people come back, even after several minutes.
John watched the little girl's chest move up and down in concert with his efforts. Sweat had formed on his brow and was now dripping into his eyes. The longer his efforts lasted, the harder it was for him to refrain from thinking about Esther, and how different her body had felt the moment she died.
John was tired, and he feared he might be unable to continue. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to stop because giving up would mean admitting the girl was dead. He pressed on, grimly, refusing to stop. It was clear after twelve minutes; John had lost the battle. He began to sob, his salty tears falling from his weathered cheeks onto her alabaster face. Just a few more minutes. You can't give up.
Ultimately, John's strength and resolve diminished. It was when his faith had failed him, that the impossible happened. John felt a spasm in the little girl’s body. He worried that he might miss the faint beat of her puerile heart, undetected due to his calloused fingers. He looked to see if she was breathing. Although the breaths were shallow, they were regular. He put his hands on her shoulders and shook them gently.
"Can you hear me?"
Her green eyes opened. She stared at John for a moment, then up at the cloudless sky.
Green, not blue? John felt disoriented and dizzy, much like he had felt by the kitchen window. Beautiful like Ester's were, little emeralds. His vision blurred and he heard a ringing in his ears.
The boy ran up and grabbed John's shoulder. "Is she gonna be alright?"
John nodded, hoping to reassure the boy. "Yes, son. I believe so. I’ll need your help to get her home."
John stood up and cradled the little girl in his arms. She stirred, and nuzzled against his chest. John touched her forehead, a father's touch, imparting reassurance.
The little girl looked up.
John held her closer. A beautiful child. Like Esther.
She smiled, her white teeth contrasting with her cracked and bruised lips. She touched his arm with her small hand. "I love you, Poppa. I do."
John stared down at the young girl, afraid of what he hoped he would see. Her face seemed different, narrow; and her lips were fuller, now pink, and her emerald-green eyes shone bright in the noon sun. Green eyes, like Esther. “How do you feel?” asked John, hoping to bring his senses back to the present.
“I’ve missed you so,” said the girl, a warm smile forming on her face. “Where have you been?”
John touched the side of her face with his hand. “I’m right here. I found you in the bay. In the water. I need to get you home now.”
“Home with you, Poppa?”
John could see the disorientation and confusion. She is not making sense. Poor thing. God help her. “You’ll be fine. I’ll take you home, now. Your parents will want you to see a doctor.”
The girl smiled broadly, as if John was making a joke. “You always make me laugh, Poppa. You know my name because you gave it to me. You wanted to name be after Queen Esther, like in the bible.”
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