Ashford

My first term creative writing project this year, one of the longer stories I've written so far

The dense canopy lingered above like an umbrella blocking out the stars above. Just a few hours ago the orange glow of the sun setting behind Mt. Rainier washed over the horizon, just as it had for days before. The consistent darkness of the forest was broken by two flashlights, their faint incandescence shining on piles of leaves and fallen trees. It was unusually quiet, even for this time of night, as footsteps rustled the foliage around them. Tensions had been high all day, reports that something unspeakable had taken place. Everyone knew that atrocities like this happened everywhere, towns that all claimed to have a sense of “community” but did nothing to prevent their own from dying at the hands of each other. As yet another melancholy town slept, an air of distress seemed to carry itself throughout the backcountry roads and countless rows of evergreens. There was talk of some kid who’d disappeared the night before, but most figured they’d probably skipped town to go drinking, few had any reason to stick around here. By the time they found her it was already far too late. It felt like hours went by before they could comprehend what they were seeing, a lifeless shell of what once was a person laying in a pool of crimson that coated the leaves.  Time seemed to grind to a halt as a misty rain began cascading down over the trees. Frantic thoughts raced through their heads, “how could it have happened here?” “this doesn’t happen in towns like ours”, but the truth slowly fell upon them. This happened everywhere. Sooner or later, it was bound to happen close to home. All that mattered now was finding out why.

The term “insanity” was always thrown around in these types of situations. How could any regular person have done something like this? But that’s all he was, regular. Regular, regular, regular. He figured it could’ve been anyone. Under the right circumstances anyone could’ve done this. Sheets of hail plummeted from a pitch black sky as fields and farms off the interstate quickly passed him by. There was nowhere else to go but north. In that moment, adrenaline still wearing off, he couldn’t think straight, it seemed like he’d never been able to. It was only a matter of time before flashes of red and blue would break through the fog of the storm. “It wasn’t me”. His voice was low and strained, as though it was a struggle for any sound to come out. Gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles were turning white. He’d been drinking, but it didn’t matter anymore. He wouldn’t get out alive, nobody ever did. “It wasn’t me”, he repeated. Nobody else was in the car with him. “It wasn’t me, it can’t be”, his tone was becoming gradually more panicked and intense. His mental state had been on a steady decline for quite some time, everyone knew it, but this was the tipping point. He’d finally make something of himself, no matter how he had to do it. They’d all know his name. They’d all know.

Ashford was a picturesque town laced among the extensive Washington forests. It’s a place people went to retire, living out their last days away from the hyperactivity of any large city. At night, the streets fell completely silent save for the crickets. All one could hear was the static white noise of their own thoughts and the wind faintly rustling the trees. For the longest time, it wasn’t a noteworthy place, somewhere outsiders never went out of their way to visit. Residents of towns like this often say “everyone knows each other”, as though a lesser population automatically results in a greater sense of community, but this wasn’t the case here. The people of Ashford kept to themselves, most of the time anyway. Discussion was kept between families, and perhaps close acquaintances at times. It was enough to break some, who left for Olympia or Seattle after only a few weeks. Staying there made you seem to forget the rest of the world, never thinking beyond the crystal clear lakes, dense treelines and the snow-capped tip of Mt. Rainier glistening above you. No matter what happened the sun would still rise over the woods, illuminating the dry country. No matter what happened, the townsfolk still emerged from their suburban houses each day, walking the streets with the same resolve. No matter what happened, nothing could change.

A handful of neon lights pierced the night sky in stark contrast to the pitch black void blanketed with stars that sat above the nearby wilderness. The county's police station was a couple towns over so a meeting spot was designated at a local bar, it wasn't ideal but there weren't many options. The man leading the case was tall and lean, scars lining his arms and his face clean shaven. The locals didn’t know him well, and few put any trust in him. The girl’s father emerged through the door soon after, a look of despair in his eyes unlike most around here had seen before. “She was with us one night and the next she was gone. I don’t know what could’ve happened.” His tone was manic, with his voice seeming to be on the verge of breaking. Ever since word of what happened got out the whole town seem to share his state of disbelief. “Sir, I assure you, I will not rest until justice prevails.” It was the same thing he’d said dozens of times before, almost autonomous at this point. He attempted to maintain a degree of confidence in his tone, but it only came across as insincere. “I understand how you feel, and believe me we’re going to get through this.” He didn’t know. He didn’t know and he would never know. “I just don’t understand.” The girl’s father was starting to break. “I just don’t understand. I don’t understand.”

The border wasn’t far now. He’d get across. They’d never know. This would all go away. Eventually he’d stopped talking out loud to himself but his mind was still racing. Pretty soon it wouldn’t matter but for now he had an opportunity to consider everything he’d ever done, and how it ended up like this. Psychosis, schizophrenia, delusions, aggression, it didn’t matter now, nothing did. The rain had stopped and the clouds began to part, the faint glimmer of stars was beginning to shine through to the earth. After a whirlwind of chaos, the vacant stretch of road was peaceful, at least for the moment. The blood laced among the fabric of his shirt was starting to dry. He caught a glance at himself in the mirror above him, he barely recognized himself. A week’s worth of stubble was building up along his face, and his hair was as unkempt as he’d ever seen it. “Jesus.” his voice sounded like it was starting to degrade. It sounded lower and even more strained than it had been earlier that day. He drifted past another stretch of forest, not unlike what he’d seen before, but a brief glimpse out the foggy window to his left revealed a dark figure staring back at him. It was almost human in nature, almost. He’d always known escape was never an option, and his lust for blood returned. His own volition quickly withered away behind the barrier of a psychotic mind. He stopped in the dead center of the highway and stepped out into the brisk zephyr of the night.  The knife was still in his pocket from before. It appeared to be rusting, but it could have simply been the combination of dry blood and steel. He walked slowly as the frigid autumn breeze blew through his hair. The moon was the only light as far as he could see. “Come here.” He spoke without thinking, not realizing that nobody could’ve heard him. It didn’t appear as though anyone else was on the road with him, but he could feel a presence other than his own.

Her name was Ember. She’d lived in La Grande, further down the highway toward Tacoma. Those who knew her knew she didn’t get into this kind of trouble. She kept to herself, most of the time anyway. The last documented evidence of her alive took the form of CCTV footage from a grocery store in Ashford. She couldn’t have been older than 16 or 17. Straight black hair flowed down past her shoulders. She wore a thick winter coat that hid her relatively small stature. She’d been to Ashford countless times, cycling between there and La Grande. It should’ve been a routine evening, but this was the day that it wasn’t. The town mourned, even those who didn’t know her. It sent a message that no one was safe. People hid in there suburban houses for days after they found her, none of them could even comprehend what had taken place. Death had finally come to their small town, and its shadow loomed there forevermore.

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The only sound was the crunch of leaves beneath the soles of his shoes and the wind in the branches above. By this point he was deep in the woods. His muscles felt like they were burning as he stepped further and further into the unknown. He didn’t know what drew him there, but still he continued. Still, he somehow felt a presence there with him. All of a sudden, certain phrases seemed to echo through his head, things he knew he wasn’t thinking himself.

“We do not look kindly upon sinners.”

“Yet another, sent to the eternal father.”

“Pitiful, really, that it has to end like this.”

He fell backwards, shaking on the ground. Once again, the dim light of the moon was the only thing shining through the trees. The man was certain he was going to die. His mind was falling apart, the world spun around him though he lay still on the leaves. Drifting in and out of consciousness, a shivering, bloodstained vessel awaited its inevitable demise. 

“Ember”

He knew the name, and he knew it well, but now the very thought of it haunted him and brought back bits and pieces of what overcame him that day. One moment she was alive and well, and the next she was bleeding on the floor. He didn’t understand. It was all a blur, perhaps a figment of his mind. No, he still felt the blood caressing the skin of his chest. Coming from the horizon, faint at first but gradually building up louder and louder, it sounded like a helicopter, but he couldn’t be sure. It felt like hours had past until the forest was surrounded entirely. This was it, it was finally over.

The sun began to peak above the horizon behind them, turning the sky a mixture of orange and blue. It was a frosty morning, the temperature seemed to be cooling even more so than it had the previous day. The officer could see the vapour of his breath in the air, as well as those of the others around him. This was the place, they were sure of it. They would finally end this. Before they even uttered a word, he stepped out in front of them. The man, the single entity, who’d tortured their rural community beyond comprehension, was now within their grasp. His jeans and t-shirt were torn in several places, and, as expected, a dried bloodstain was clearly visible above his torso. By this point he looked like he’d been living in the wilderness for weeks, dirty, unkempt and unwashed. They could tell simply by the look in his eyes that he wasn't thinking straight. At that moment, something struck the officer as odd, even more so than the situation already entailed. He’d seen these same eyes before. It was the same man he’d spoken with at the bar in Ashford. The man who’d claimed to be the girl’s father. The same man who’d faked his way through a visible sense of despair, which was likely nothing more than a facade. Though his outward appearance was much more disheveled than their last meeting, it was undoubtedly him.

Before they could even speak a single sentence to him, the man quietly uttered two words. “Shoot me.” The wind had stopped, so he could be clearly heard, despite the intense strain in his tone. The knife had fallen out of his pocket somewhere in the woods, he wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings so he wouldn’t find it again. Just as they’d all hoped, it was over.

Months later, the wounds of the town still felt fresh. Some had adjusted, some moved away, others never got over it at all. More people knew of Ember now then when she was alive. Time carried on, but the events of that autumn day remained. Far away from there, somewhere in the woods, cell doors closed. A man was staring out the window at the rain hitting the treeline, speaking softly to himself. 

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand.” 

Reviews

[roarke]

Great setting detail and connected writing. I'd lead with Embers story though and intersperse the setting details there. Also Identify the "He" in this story, name, profession, relationship in town, etc. Rearrange a few things and you'll have a super suspense story. Solid writing here.