and I have nothing better to post here; I am posting my story from the forum.
Warning it has some graphic language and is a bit twisted so if you don't like that kind of thing don't read any farther, oh it isn't very good, because well I am just not that talented people!
There was only a slight chill in the October air, unseasonably warm really for this time of year. The kids all decided to have a sleep over in the tree house. I knew what they were up to, hell ever parent that had been raised in our little town knew what the kids were planning tonight. We all did the same thing ourselves at that age. Sweet memories of youth could turn so sour though, and I wished I could retell our story to those kids in my tree house. I wished I could implement the terror of that night to these children, but they wouldn’t have to live the same horror we had, and I couldn’t tell anyone about our night. That is how we referred to it “our night”. Halloween was only 3 days away, and it was a tradition of sorts, started even before my time, the kids would all camp out the weekend before Halloween, and when they thought the parents were sleeping soundly they would sneak off to the old house up on the hill; the house was supposedly haunted, and they would tell the story of the old woman who had died there and how her ghost still roamed about.
There was no evidence of any woman really dieing in the house, and I have come to understand that ghosts are not real, at least the kind in scary stories. Oh I believe in ghosts, they haunt you for life, but I don’t believe they are the kinds that float around inhabiting houses they died in. No ghosts tend to live in your memories and your thoughts that is where they are real, and I fear my demons will follow me to my grave. I could hear the kids up in the tree house and I smiled at their innocents, and hoped they would keep theirs much longer than we had ours. The phone rang interrupting my thoughts.
“Hello” I answered.
“Maryanne, it is Jean. How are you?” she sounded calm, but I knew she was feeling the night close in on her just as much as I was.
“Jean, I am good. How are you?” I tried not to let on that I had been thinking about “our night”, but she knew just like I knew she had been scrutinizing over it as well. We had been there TOGETHER, along with George, Stan, and Marty. The five of us had always been a tight group.
“I am fine. How are the kids doing?” She was making small talk, but neither of us wanted to bring up what was always somewhere in the back of our minds.
“The kids are having a great time, you want to come over?” I asked.
“Yes.” Was all she said.
“OK see you in a few minutes.” I hung up the phone, as Marty came through the back door. I had been expecting him, and soon Stan would show up as well. George use to come too, but this year it would only be the four of us. George had let the ghosts of the past get to him, and had taken his own life after last years get together. I always think there was more we could have done to save him, but people deal with their problems in different ways. I guess that was the only way George knew how to make the ghosts stop haunting him.
“Hey, sis.” He said as he leaned close and kissed my cheek. Marty was my brother, my twin brother.
“Hi sweetie. Jean is on her way. Where is Stan?”
“He said he would be here in a few, don’t know what is holding him up.” Marty and Stan were best friends then, and had always reminded that way.
We sat down at the table and I poured us some coffee, we were not going to sleep tonight anyway. We could hear the laughing and MUSIC coming from the tree house, my twins Beth and Bobby, and their little friends, there were five of them, just like it had been with us. Jean’s oldest Ryan was among them. I wanted to bring up “our night”, I needed to talk about it, but I didn’t know where to start not even with Marty whom I was closer to than anyone in the world. That is when Marty broke the unspoken rule, the rule we never really made, but always seemed to follow.
“The weather is exactly like the night we went out. Did you notice how unseasonable warm it is, just a bit of a chill, but not cold like most years.”
“Yeah I noticed.”
“It was my fault Mare, I know none of you ever blamed me, but I have always blamed myself.”
It had been his idea to follow that shaggy YELLOW dog into the woods BEHIND the old house, but he was not responsible for what happened to them there. Marty always thought he could save everyone and everything, and he was sure he could BEFRIEND that stupid dog. We had only brought two flashlights with us, so we decided we would all stay together and walk in a straight line one light on each end. I remember how dark it got with each step we took, and the sound of our breathing was the only thing to be heard. We lost the dog right off the bat, and then we lost ourselves; that is when we saw the fire and heard the men talking. We should have known that no sane person would actually be camping in the woods that time of year, but we were young and scared. We were taught to trust adults; I guess that is growing up in a small town where bad things just never happen.
Stan and Jean both strolled through the front door disturbing my thoughts. It was hard to believe that it had been George that had taken his own life, and not Stan. Stan and I were the ones who had suffered the most at the hands of those men, but George had delivered that skull CRUSHING blow to the bald ones head.
“Hey guys I got food for the kids, and booze for us!” He pulled the paper bag from behind his back. Stan drank a lot, but none of us blamed him. That was how he silenced the evil.
Jean and Stan sat down, and I got them both cups and filled them with coffee as Stan open the bottle and began pouring a splash in all of our cups. I topped mine and Marty’s off with some hot coffee, and we all sat there staring at our booze filled mugs, wanting to talk about that night, but not sure where to start.
“I was telling Mare that it was all my fault. You know the night it happened. If I hadn’t been so stupid it wouldn’t have happened.”
Jean looked dumbfound, as she placed her hand over Marty’s. “It wasn’t your fault. You had no idea, and we all wanted to follow that damn dog Marty.”
“We could have talked you out of it man, we could have said no way, we should have…” Stan’s eyes drifted to the floor.
I knew that Stan was thinking about the torture those men had put him, us, through. I still don’t understand why they singled the two of us out for their sick little games, I am sure they were going to work their way through the whole group, before George got brave and took a stand. I can still feel those vile hands against my skin, and looking up and seeing Stan’s naked little body bent over that log with the filthy man kneeling behind him. I can still here Stan crying. I remember the words the bald man said as his fingers probed at my most private parts, “you know how long it’s been since I had nice tight pussy little girl, and I ain’t never had me no virgin pussy.” Sometimes I woke up at night hearing those words.
“I still can’t believe George killed himself. I always figured it would be me that took that route.” Stan was teary eyed. This had been the first time we had really talked about anything that happened that night.
“When George saw what that man intended to do to you Maryanne, he lost it. He broke that rope and picked up that rock and just started smashing it against that mans head over and over.” Jean shook her head in disbelief even after all these years it was still hard to believe.
The other man stood up and moved toward George, but Stan jumped up, the man didn’t know which way to turn. I couldn’t see what was going on the dead man was lying on top of me as bits of brains and blood ran into my eyes. The next thing I remember was George telling me it was all going to be all right. “Get him out of me.” Was all I could say, and George said “I am trying to pull him off you Mare; it is going to be ok.” He managed to pry the dead cold body off of me with Stan’s help, and when I stood up I saw the other man lying there dead as well. That is when Marty screamed “Oh my god you guys that is the sheriff” pointing at the man who had molested Stan.