FICTION BY AUTUMN LEAVES

Autumn Leaves is a Canadian author and poet. Her poem “Siren’s Song” was published when she was fifteen. She is in love with the dark and has an affinity for all things horrific and disturbing. Deciding to write in the horror genre seemed to be a natural and logical step, given her passion for creativity and writing. She is also an avid horror reader and book reviewer. Her favorite author is Jack Ketchum. Autumn lives with her children and army of fur babies on a small island off the coast of Maine.

JUST HOP
by Autumn Leaves

Waves crashed against shoreline, landing like demolished bodies on the sand before retreating to the ocean to race to the shore again and again. The moon was the single light, penetrating the inky, black sky. Its ethereal white light cast an eerie glow on the beach, casting the water and jagged rock peaks into shadows. It was low tide and the beach smelled of salt and the small, rotting squid that didn’t make it back with the waves. In their panic to rush back to the water, they squirted their ink, the only reaction to fear of which they were capable aside from swimming away. There was nowhere for them to swim trapped on the sand and the sound of the squirts made in their death throes drifted in from shore on the gentle summer night breeze. Death and desperation were all around the beach on this night.

“For Christ’s sake, Jimmy, you’ve got to hold this fucker’s legs still until I can get them secured. Bastard’s a kicker,” Bud said, glaring at Jimmy, who was already too drunk for a job like this.

I should have left him at home, Bud thought, but Jimmy was the one with the chains and Jimmy was also willing to show up to help, and Bud knew that not a lot of men would, only his “best” man, a man he knew he could rely on to keep his mouth shut. He had too much on Jimmy for him to refuse anything he demanded.

“I’m a lobsterman, Bud, not a professional executioner,” Jimmy responded defensively.

Jimmy may have been Bud’s best friend and as loyal to him as the day was long, but Bud knew that this was a lot for even him. He looked at Jimmy’s face, obscene in the moonlight. He saw his friend struggle and take a deep breath, obviously willing himself not to vomit. There would be no going back from this.

Bud kept glancing up and down the shoreline, looking to make sure no one could see or hear them. He could see no one else on the beach, but he knew that their voices would carry, especially across the water to the community on the other side of the small cove. He could not risk anyone hearing the commotion and alerting the police. The police typically didn’t appreciate private vigilante justice.

We have to get a move on, Bud said to himself. By the look of that water, we have less than an hour until the tide is high. That gives ol’ Hop here only minutes to wait to drown. Twelve hours and it is low tide again. I will be out clamming by then and what’s left of him will be here on full display.

“Listen to me! I didn’t kill anyone!” cried Hop. “Shannon Waters was my friend. I loved her. Let me go so I can help you catch the person who did kill her!”

Bud leaned over and swiftly kicked Hop between his legs, cutting his begging short. “You had your chance to help Shannon, you pig, and you fucking killed her! Now you pay!”

He turned to Jimmy and said, “Why didn’t you gag him like I told you to?”

Jimmy seemed to shrink into the sand a few inches as he said, “I’ve been drinking, man. Sometimes I forget things when I get drunk.”

Bud and Jimmy quickly got to work on securing Hop’s torso, shoulders, arms, legs, and head to the weir stake as the doomed man continued to plead with them. They paid no attention. They added some of Bud’s worn rope from his truck bed just to ensure that Hop would be as uncomfortable as possible for his long wait until the end, when his eyes would close for the last time.

*****

Despite the breeze caressing the night ocean air, sweat poured from every pore on Hop’s body. The reality that Bud and Jimmy had every intention of leaving him at the beach to die bore down on him, sending him into a blind panic.

They had chained him to the weir stake in a seated position on the sand, since the stake was vertical. A weir, essentially a fence placed in flowing waters, was intended to direct the movement of fish, not as a murder weapon. Yet, here he was, in the middle of his own murder scene.

He wondered if he deserved this, considering how badly he had betrayed his wife Beatrice because of Shannon. No, not because of Shannon, but because of his obsession with Shannon.

He thrashed his body in every direction he could, but as the chains and ropes grew tighter, his movements became more limited until he could no longer move at all, aside from his head. Hop vomited down the front of his torn shirt, unable to control the voiding of his stomach. Fear he had never known before gripped his heart. He cried in fear and humiliation as he felt the warm stream of his own urine flowing down his leg. It felt surprisingly hot, as if he was burning up inside. His brain felt as if it was burning up as well, short-circuiting, malfunctioning from stress and panic.

Hop could not process the signals he was receiving from his senses. He could no longer see the pale, barren moon lighting the black sky. He could no longer hear the lapping waves nor the squirting dying squid that was stranded on the shore close to him. He could not taste the salt in the air, brought in by the gentle summer breeze. Hop was no longer aware of the scent of the salty air nor the stench of more dead squid that were beginning to decay—the telltale scent of low tide which was now ending.

All he knew was the horrible pain wracking his limbs and torso, and the fear that caused his consciousness to splinter into fragments. His tortured mind and body could not endure what was happening to him and Hop went into a state of mental shock. A state which, unfortunately, would be all too temporary. Oh, the things he would soon be seeing.

*****

As the two men drove away from the beach, Bud knew that the chains and their strong padlocks would keep Hop attached securely to the weir stake. Bud said to Jimmy, “Good work, man. That fucker ain’t going anywhere tonight except for hell, right where he belongs. Wanna stop for a few beers on the way home?”

“Nah, I’ve had enough beer for one night.”

That was when Bud understood just how upset Jimmy was over this murder business. Maybe some would consider the weir stake method to kill as cruel, but Bud figured it would bring the utmost in suffering, and Bud wanted Hop to suffer. Oh yes.

He thought, One quick ride home, and I will be scott-free. Shannon, the tease, the one who had been too prissy to show me a good time, is gone and Hop will soon be swallowed by the sea, forever silenced, his bloated corpse on display, humiliated even in death. The truth would perish right along with him.

Bud figured he had done a pretty tidy job all around, all things considered.

*****

Bud half sauntered and half stumbled out the door of the Tidal Pool, his favorite watering hole. He felt pleasantly drunk, not wasted, but tipsy enough to forget about the dead Shannon and the soon-dead Hop tied up on the beach. He felt very clever and quite pleased with himself. The cool night air caressed his face and hair, seeming to reward him for an evening’s hard work. Murder wasn’t easy and neither was tying up a man to accept the fate for Bud’s violence. He could smell the salty air, could feel the wind on his skin. He felt refreshed and rejuvenated, hardly the way someone responsible for two violent deaths should feel.

Where are you going, Bud?

The voice, soft as silk and clear as a bell carried through the trees surrounding the bar.

“What?” Bud called back, “Who are you?”

You’ve forgotten me, already, Bud? That isn’t very nice.

“Jimmy, is that you? Come on, man, this isn’t funny,” Bud said as he began to turn around slowly, looking all around the parking lot for the source of the taunting voice.

Bud took his keys from his pocket and quickly walked to his black Ford F150. He must have been hearing things. He was just a little too drunk, that was all. One quick drive home, a couple of Tylenol, some sleep, and he would be a new man.

As he slid the keys into the door lock, he felt an invisible force hit him full force in the chest, knocking him backwards onto the ground.

“What the hell!” Bud yelled. “Where are you, asshole?”

I’m here. I want you, Bud, I want to do all the things that you said you wanted to do with me. I want to penetrate you, Bud. I want to ‘fuck’ you up.

“Shannon? Is that you?” Bud called into the black night. No, it couldn’t be Shannon. Bud had killed her, choked the life out of her for refusing his advances.

She had made him so damn mad, the way she flitted around, flirting with all the boys in their senior year of college and completely ignoring him, the captain of the damn football team! She was always hanging out with that idiot Justin Hopper, Just Hop to his friends.

Hop’s only friend seemed to be Shannon. He looked like such a fool, following her around, carrying her books. She took advantage of Hop as well, used his love for her as a source of protection against the guys who would have actually had a chance with her had Hop not been there to put an end to their attempts at getting Shannon’s attention, guys like Bud. Well, Hop was certainly paying for that now, and so had that slut Shannon.

I am ready for you now, Bud, I was afraid before, but now…I want you. I want you so badly.

“You shut that up, you hear?” Bud called out, “Whoever you are, asshole, you just shut up. Shannon is gone and she is not coming back!”

But, I am back, Bud.

And then, Bud could see her, Shannon Waters with her long, golden hair and brown eyes, every bit a sunflower, walking toward him from behind the tree line. She was wearing the same brown sundress she had on when Bud strangled her. She walked through the parked cars on her way to Bud, her vaporous form unencumbered by the laws of physics. She was smiling far too widely, her arms reached out toward him, her fingers curled into claws.

Are you ready to have some fun, Bud? Like you always wanted?

Bud couldn’t hold in the scream that tore out of his mouth. He turned and ran into the treeline as well. He could hear the pounding of his own heart, his ragged breathing, and the sounds of his feet pounding the forest floor, tripping over roots and stumps in the darkness. Bud didn’t care about injuries, he just had to escape that voice. He didn’t pay attention to which direction he was running, ignoring the sound of the crashing waves coming from below and not far away.

We’re almost there, Bud, and then you can have me any way you want me.

“I don’t want you! Leave me alone,” Bud screamed as he ran closer and closer to the edge of the trees, where they met the sea cliffs, standing proudly fifty feet above the rocks and crashing waves below.

Leave you alone? I can’t do that now, Bud, now that I am so ready to show you what I can do for you.

“Leave me alone you goddamn ghost,” Bud whispered, fear clenching his heart. He turned to face Shannon looming behind him, her eyes bloodshot, her face purple from strangulation, and her feet not touching the ground. She was levitating toward him, something only the spirits of the dead could do. Bud could not tear his eyes away from her any more than he could stop his feet from taking steps backward, closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.

It’s time to say goodbye now, Bud. You’re about to join your good buddy Hop when he drowns. And you will be in the same dimension with Hop, who will soon realize that you are the real killer.

With Shannon’s final words to him, Bud took one more hurried step back. He realized his mistake too late, pinwheeling his arms to try and keep upright, but it came to no avail. He could gain no purchase, his feet finally slipping from the cliff’s edge, sending him falling backward into the rocks and churning waters. Hop would not be the only one drowning tonight over Shannon.

*****

“Thoughts” was not the right word to describe what was happening in Hop’s mind at that moment. His lips moved wordlessly as tears of rage and sorrow began to spill from his weary eyes. He managed to croak out one word: “Shannon.”

With much effort, he attempted to collect his thoughts and sent a silent message for his wife to the universe: Oh, Beatrice! I am so sorry! I should have stayed home with you. I can’t ever come back and it is all my fault, Bea. Maybe this is what I deserve for my betrayal. But I loved Shannon. I loved her so much that I couldn’t stay away and I am so, so sorry, Bea. You don’t deserve to be a widow. Please, please try to understand and not to hate me. I love you, too.

By the time the tears falling from his eyes slowed almost to a full stop and he had finished his unspoken prayer to Beatrice, the ocean waves were licking his legs as he sat in the sand. Though the night was dark, the full moon cast enough light for Hop to see that the tide was already one third of the way up the beach past where he sat. He had only minutes to watch his own death approaching. Only minutes to remain on Earth.

And then what? Hop wondered. Where do I go when the sea rises over my head and I drown? What then? Shannon, can you hear me? I will be gone from here so soon. Did it hurt, Shannon? Did it hurt when Bud killed you? Did you suffer? Oh, dear God, please don’t make me suffer. Please, please tell me I will be with Shannon, wherever she is. Please just tell me that!

Hop began to sob again, his fearful wails the only sound on the beach except for the endless rolling waves, bringing the cold Atlantic water ever closer, ready to claim his life for the murder of the oldest and truest love of his life, a nightmare brought to life by Bud. That knowledge filled his heart and his voice box with astonishing pain.

Convulsions of anger, fear and grief began to wrack Hop’s bound body. He was utterly lost in his anguish and despair, no longer paying attention to the rising tide. How much time had gone by before he once again opened his eyes to check the water crawling up the empty beach, he could not say. When he was able to register the height of the water, it was mere inches from his hips.

“Shannon!” Hop cried once more before, once again, losing his conscious mind to the fear of his fast approaching demise. His end of days and the beginning of an eternity of silent, dreamless sleep. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking any more than he could control the stream of warm urine running down his leg. It felt like a final insult from Bud, who was now slowly murdering him.

Shannon, Hop prayed with desperation, please tell me I will be with you. Please promise me that you will be there waiting for me when it comes. Death. When I die, Shannon, will I see you? What did you see? Is it scary, Shannon? Were you afraid to go too? Shannon, please, I’m so scared!

Hop’s body was in terrible pain as well as his soul and mind. The weir stake and the rough rope chafed any exposed skin and the salt water rising all around him made his abrasions feel as if they were on fire. He suffered completely, inside and out. His falling tears began to mix with the icy waters that waited to claim his life. The pain was maddening and Hop was once more reduced to sobs and pained wails for mercy. All his mind knew now was agony and torment. His hope of escape died long before he would.

As the lapping waters reached his neck, Hop offered a final silent prayer to Shannon. It is almost over now, Shannon. Please, please be there waiting for me. Eternity without you, even if I end up in heaven, would be hell for me. Come for me, I am begging you. Take me with you.

Hop kept his eyes open, barely blinking, as the ocean rose for the last time in his life. As the freezing water covered his head and reached its peak at ten inches above him—full high tide—
Hop began to blink. His tired eyes could make out a faint, ghostly image in the sea of darkness. A slow, bemused smile spread across his face at the very moment his heart beat for the last time. The vaporous image of Shannon Waters, her arms reaching out to embrace him, drifted closer and closer, phosphorescent in the blackness.

Though she made no sound, Hop could feel Shannon’s words in his freshly dead heart: Don’t worry about Bud any longer. Come on, Hop. Let’s go home.