Chapter Five

Within ten minutes, they reached the crossroads. A cascade of oranges, reds, and much darker shades crept over the top of the landfill as they moved to the “X” cradled in the epicenter of the two roads. Bathed in light that seemed much too much like blood, Muddy shivered. Looking around at the others, he wondered who else felt the dread that lay ahead of them. Poe appeared calm, spotlighted in an array of earth colors that accented her beautiful, but cloudy eyes. Corey and Otis jittered a little in the reds, obviously feeling similar to him. But Silver Eye simply stood there, eye closed. Was he meditating?

The two paths crisscrossed at the dead center of the valley between the monster-tall mounds that buried at least fifty years of human trash. Rumor had it that the Jersey mobs often tossed their “whacks” there, but the police wouldn’t bother to search the area.

Who’d want to?

At one time, each path might have been a dirt road leading to the water’s edge, a path for a fishing boat. They leaned out as far as they could see. Who’d ever fish there now? Muddy wondered why the piers were boarded. Was it to protect the trespassers or mutated fish? Either way, he stood there amazed at the perfect perpendicular “X” that was born in the middle of a place where no normal person would ever tread. One thought crossed his mind; did they build the landfill around the crossroads, to hide it where its supposed secrets were obscured from the eyes and curiosity of the many? Likely, it was the latter, if anyone did know about them—or believed.

Corey seemed to be reading Muddy’s mind. “Hey, did you notice that none of these paths have any junk on them? Does someone actually clean here?” They followed the pointing of his arms. True enough, not one bottle, bag, can or paper lay on the paths that crossed under their feet.

“Weird,” Otis added.

“Welcome, my new friends.” The bluesman spread his scrawny arms wide, the dying sun silhouetting him in shadows. “Welcome to the start of a brand new life.”

Corey spoke first. “Are you trying to scare us with some hoodoo again?”

The wide smile opened with a wink from the man’s good eye. “Actually, yes I am.” If you’re not scared then you’re more messed up than I was when I first stepped here so many years ago.”

Was this guy serious, or just screwing with their heads?

“Mr. Edgar ‘Muddy’ Rivers,” he bellowed. “Are you afraid to step into this journey to find your long lost brother?”

“I said, are you ready?” he repeated, this time a bit louder.

No, I’m NOT ready. Definitely not ready to die.

“Sure thing. When do we go?”

Poe vocalized what he was thinking next. “Is this going to hurt?”

Corey added, “Has anybody ever died doing this?”

Of course, Otis had to add his two cents. “Is there any food there? All this being scared is making me hungry. How about women? Cute ones, not ones with glass eyes.”

The bluesman continued staring as the teens babbled. They were scared out of their minds, whether they admitted it or not. After about thirty seconds of a pure tidal wave of talking, he'd had enough. “Will you please shut up?” he exploded. “You want to die over there? You want to get stuck over there like your dope head brother?” he continued. “What the heck is wrong with you people?”

Nobody had ever talked to them like that. Most people treated the group like the label on them read “special” as in special education. Exceptional students. Those kids who tried so hard. Except for a few bullies, no one had mustered the guts to treat them as “regular” kids.

Somehow, Muddy didn’t think Silver Eye gave a darn about what they were.

Still...

The old man raised one hand in mock defeat. “Ok, little lady with the razor throat, I give. But get your buddies’ butts in gear so we can get moving.”

Muddy hung his head while Poe softened her stance, just a little. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just a little scared.”

As the bluesman dug the harmonica out of his jeans, he muttered to himself. “So am I. So am I.” He turned to the band. “Now follow my lead.”

* * * *

A stream of blues scales bled from lips, hands, and tongues, sending echoes off the landfill’s walls. After a few cascades of passionate blues sounded, the old blues man settled into a simple shuffle that Muddy quickly figured out was in the key of G. His favorite, and that of many musicians, whether it be for the smooth sound or the ease in jumping into a zone that let a musician stretch out and lose himself.

Silver Eye winked at him then nodded over to Otis and Corey. Poe simply began swaying, feeling the beat erupting in the air. Drumsticks slapped the side of the ancient instrument and a deep groove was born. A simple two and four beat, the backbone to most blues, rock, hip-hop, funk, and dance songs in existence thundered, causing the dirt beneath their feet to shudder. The saxophone added low bass tones to complete the framework before Muddy felt connected enough to join the fray.

The guitarist felt his fingers acting on their own accord, fretting a basic barre chord, followed by pick hand-slicing into the rhythm, chunking out what now became a solid blues-rock groove. He knew he was light years behind his brother, but felt he had something in him. Both hands synced up with the coordination of two entities that were separated at birth, but had now found each other. As the old man vamped on the twelve-bar blues, Muddy jumped off the basics and into the depths of more serpentine chord movements and fills that curled around his licks.

As the group gelled, Poe’s voice crept into the mix as she first hummed a simple melody that echoed Silver Eye’s blistering blues. The voice of an angel, an angel with an attitude, she completed the group. Normally, when the band hit on all cylinders like this, an adrenalin rush washed over them, bathing the teens in a chill that was like no other feeling in the world.

But another sensation crept into the groove. Both tickling and shocking, like when someone gave another a static touch, it permeated the night air. As the music shifted a bit, Muddy could tell he wasn’t the only one to feel it. The music didn’t lose the rhythm, but the intensity took a hit.

Silver Eye ripped the harp from his lips. “Don’t STOP playing!” Flames roiled in his one living eye.

Even though the man yelled the command at the group, Muddy knew most of the energy careened toward him. For a long moment, he was back home, back in the first grade, back in little league. All those people hollering at him for not holding up his end. Heck, he was so used to hearing it, the harshness of the man’s words barely affected him. Still, it hurt.

Instead of crumbling and walking away like at a baseball game, he swallowed it whole.

His gaze locked onto the old man's and dug harder into the rhythm. His fingers scurried up the neck in fiery cascade that ended in a screaming bend before falling back into the groove. The others followed suit and upped the tempo, and intensity.

After about a minute passed, it happened.

One moment, his gaze was pasted onto Silver Eye, matching him lick for lick in the song. The next, the landfill began to quiver behind the old guy. Muddy’s legs buckled as he attempted to focus his vision.

What happened to Zack was now happening to them.

The tingling intensified, as if a million tiny bugs dug into his skin and danced to some hyper speed song. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel great, either.

Muddy glanced at each of his band mates to make sure it was actually happening and that no one was simply hallucinating. Then his gaze skittered back to the world around the crossroads.

As if some designer of the universe had wrapped them in a clear shower curtain, everything they saw shimmered. With each passing beat, the curtain wavered faster. Muddy nearly had to close his eyes as his stomach felt woozy. The tickling didn’t help, either. He wondered what would happen if he puked during the process.

Still, they played.

Then the curtain shook so fast that everything beyond it lost clarity. One moment, the landfill and the paths leading to where they were seemed normal. The next, he couldn’t see a thing, even though the moon still illuminated the scene.

It shook, shook some more and the tingling forced Muddy’s eyes to shut. He shook so hard that he dropped his pick. Afraid to see what it fell into, his fingers plucked the strings in its place. Even before he forced himself to look, he knew what they wouldn’t see.

“We’re here,” announced Silver Eye Watkins.

And their lives changed in a heartbeat.

* * * *

Muddy opened his eyes when he heard someone gasp. The curtain had parted. Act two of their lives, destinies, fates, etc. had just begun.

The band still stood on the crisscrossing paths, but that was the only similarity to where they were just moments ago.

Gone was the landfill. Lush greenery exploded everywhere in a forest that bordered on jungle status. The wind whistled in an odd key. Trails ran off into the dark north, south, east and west. Other than that, it seemed like nobody had been here in ages.

“We’re not in Jersey anymore,” Otis muttered, unable to keep the fright out of his voice.

Poe lifted her head. “Definitely doesn’t smell like New Jersey.”

“All of you—shut your traps!” Silver Eye looked scared enough for all of them. Whether he was scared for himself or for the band, Muddy didn’t know, but the expression on his face quieted them in a heartbeat.

“You don’t want to let anything know we’re here.”

The guitar nearly shook from Muddy's hands. “Who’s here?”

“We don’t need to worry about whom just yet,” he said. “Right now, the what around this place can kill you before you tune that thing.”

The what? We’re in Jersey, aren’t we? This area didn’t have any wildlife that could harm us, at least not without guns.

“And yes,” he continued. “The trip does screw up your guitar. Now tune that thing before you get us killed.”

Just as Muddy twisted the first tuning peg, thunder roared all around them. This time, the ground did shake. He turned his gaze skyward and saw nothing but stars in the coming night.

“Hurry!” Silver Eye’s fright burst out of his voice. Then he did a strange thing. He played a melody on the harp that sounded out of the norm. Blues, yes, but more methodical, more complicated in pattern.

“Why?” Muddy wondered aloud. “It’s just a thunderstorm. Don’t worry, I’ll cover the guitar.”

Silver Eye shook his hands while his neck craned left and right. “That ain’t no storm. Lightning is not what you need to worry about tonight.”

“But, what is it?”

“Just tune the dang guitar,” he said, placing a vise-like grip on the boy’s arms. “Drummer, sax boy, get ready for my cue.” As their mumblings began, he cut them short. “Quiet! When I yell, blow out the best low C you've got. Pound that skin as if your life depended on it.”

Poe sidled up to the guitarist, obviously scared out of her mind. “Eddie,” she said, using a name she only called him when she was upset, “what’s going on? What do I do? What’s out there? I can’t see anything—or sense it.”

The bluesman answered for both of them. “Little girl, you just sit tight for this one. I’ll be needing your golden voice soon, but it won’t help much here. Just stay out of the way and don’t mess with me.”

Wrong thing to say, part two. Yet instead of flipping out and tearing out the guy’s other eyeball, she bit her lip and turned to Muddy. “You’re still a little flat.”

Muddy knew that, but looked up at her and forced a smile. “Thanks, Poe.” Using her ears, they tuned the guitar to perfection within a minute. Trembling just a bit, he turned to the group. He went to move in closer, with Poe in tow.

Silver Eye’s hands shot up like an armed rifle. “Don’t move! Stay on the path. Do NOT step off the trail, definitely not at night.”

Poe stared into the waving green blades. “The grass is alive!”

Before anyone could register her comment, the thunder roared again. And again. Then once more. What kind of storm was coming? Why did he say it wasn’t one?

As if reading the teen’s mind, the old man’s voice filled in the space between the booms. “Son, this is much worse than any storm, hurricane, tsunami or what-have-you.” He motioned for all of them to pull tight and face outwards, away from each other and toward the forest.

Otis’ hand turned white with a fearful grip on his sticks. Corey’s fingers tapped out a jittery rhythm on the sax’s pearly keys. Poe sunk into Muddy’s side, whether to be comforted or to comfort, he had no idea. It was just nice, even if this scared them.

Above the thick carpet of grass, swaying in the wake of the thunder, walls of trees stood, surrounding the group in a claustrophobic embrace. Nearly black against the night, they rustled and shook arm-like boughs, tossing creepy shadows across the trails. If the teens wished to run, which direction would it be? Rumbling around them shook everything by whatever caused the thunder.

Another sonic boom shook the air, ground and their bones. The trees trembled at the edges of the pathways. The sound pained Muddy’s ears as he strained to keep his eyes open and focused on the rumbling walls of green. Thunder never lasted this long, nor did it actually hurt.

A moment later, that thunder walked right through the trees.

At first, he thought the trees themselves came to life and decided to attack. Then he noticed the fur. The long arms. Trunk-like legs. And then, the face.

With a mouth as wide and oval as a dinner plate, but blacker than the soul of a math teacher, the thing ambled toward the band, in rhythm! When the thing’s feet hit the ground, it sounded like a rock song two and four beat. Loud. Boom – cha. Boom – cha. Just like the beat of a good song. Bass drum, snare drum, then a cymbal crashed with the vibration of a gong, shaking them off of their feet. Muddy and the others dropped to their knees in agony. The sound pummeled them with high and low pitches, rattling teeth and vibrated bones.

“Holy cow…” Corey whispered, although even if he had screamed, they wouldn’t have heard it. “Look,” he said and pointed, obviously guessing the rest couldn’t hear him.

The cymbal didn’t exude from a rock drum kit, Buddhist monastery or marching band. When the lumbering, thundering thing slammed its mouth shut and then sprung it wide open again, Muddy imagined himself in the front row at the heaviest of metal concerts. It blew a gale force wind at them, knocking leaves and twigs from the trees. Yet, the creature stood firm, those massive legs holding its stance steady, arms swung back for better projection, Muddy guessed. Then, it lifted one of those limbs up and out, ready to beat on an imaginary drum. At the end of the arm grew not a hand, but a stubby lump, rounded with the girth of a volleyball.

Silver Eye raised his head and yelled for Otis to do something.

What did he expect Otis to do to that thing? Bite its ankles? Did it have ankles?

Otis waved at the man, signaling that he didn’t understand.

The branches in the thick curtains of green parted again in a rolling wave of sonic pain. Two, three, four more behemoths of fur and massive mouths burst forth and lock-stepped their way to form a semi-circle. Just like a bigger mouth. Opened in their direction.

Silver Eye yelled again. Otis waved once more, but Muddy stopped in his tracks. The lead creature wore a guitar string around his neck with a shiny, silver triangle dangling from it. Could it be...?

He almost charged toward them to get a better look, but suddenly all five ogre-like creatures raised their arms, as if waiting for a drum major to commence a marching cadence.

The little drummer’s eyes danced in fear and confusion. Muddy could see him mouthing “What? What do I do?” along with some other choice words.

The old man raised his hand and began thumping the ground. Slowly at first, then both of his withered palms sped up into a full-fledged drum roll on the path. Otis nodded like a bobble head on speed and readied his sticks.

The first creature swung his mallet hand down in a powerful arc, straight into the middle of a chest that resembled a swollen kettle drum. Muddy felt the beat before it hit his eardrums. A fist of sound punched him, sending his body flying across the grass. He landed in a lump of pain about twenty feet away.

Immediately, he looked for Poe. The deep grass split to his right. Seconds later, a hand rose through the shaking blades. It was Corey.

“Get out of there, man!” Corey’s hand swallowed his and yanked him back toward the path. The grass shivered and swayed. Something had been waiting for one of them to stray. Muddy booked it back to safety almost before Corey did. He kneeled on the trail shaking with deep breaths and scanned the scene for the others. Still on the path, but much farther back lay Otis and Silver Eye.

Where was she?

He couldn’t stand to think of the possibilities of what might happen to her if one of those goons got a hold of her. Did one step on her? Could one swallow her in that cymbal-sized mouth?

As the echoes of that boom faded, whispers assaulted him from every direction. Muddy turned and found the others, not whispering, but screaming to each other. The old man furiously signed at the band to grab their instruments and stand.

Still, where was she?

The other four things readied their arms, waiting to knock them into the dark of the forest.

Then they froze. At first, Muddy swore he heard an eagle’s cry. Piercing, yet beautiful, it rose with the parting of the razor-like grass. From it sprouted Poe.

What the?

She sang like they'd never heard her sing before. Toward the creatures she strode, eyes wide open, as if she could see them—clearly. Her voice rose in pitch, intensity and volume. She sounded like a cross between an angel and a ticked off eagle. The creatures remained still as the band took up their instruments and ran behind her.

“Watch it,” Muddy yelled to her as she came within a yard of the beasts, arms frozen in midair. “They’re right—”

“I can see them.”

“What?”

She stared straight ahead then turned to each one of the band members individually. “I can see them.” The excitement in her voice shook her skinny frame. “Look at their faces. Look at them. There’s nothing past their mouths. Only blackness.” When she stopped singing, the ice in their movements began to melt. “I can see here.” She had lost her sight so long ago, when that monster back home had hurt her.