Mark Anderson was a man of little expectations. He never expected much from life or even from himself for that matter. He wasn’t a slacker, he made the grade, set the bar high, it was just his nature. He never expected to be famous, to date a super model, to be CEO of a large company, he simply didn’t care for The American Dream. So it came as a surprise to the people of Prosper when he volunteered for duty in Iraq to earn the money he needed for college.
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“Come on people, let the kids through, it’s not as if we’ll never see them again,” Deputy Orvil Rockwell shouted, pushing all two hundred pounds of his paper pushing bulk through the small crowd of cheering townsfolk.
Mark followed close behind, matching Rockwell’s strides step for step. A light blue cap hung by the side of his head, shadowing his dusty blonde hair. A large black bag containing all the belongings he could force into it hung loosely as his side. Jimmy Barker, class clown and Mark’s best friend, walked in his wake.
“Nine months of hell, nine months until we get to see this place again,” Jimmy said, jogging up.
“Yep.”
“You don’t seem very fazed by that snippet of enlightenment, do you?”
“You know I love this town, Jimmy, it’s just-”
“Not enough?” Jimmy suggested, slapping Mark on the back.
“Exactly.”
Behind them the Downs brothers chattered wildly amongst themselves. Charlie, the eldest at nineteen, was well known for his constant surveillance over his younger brother Sam and, despite his rugged appearance, popularity with the ladies.
A long time back, a drunk driver rolled through the Downs brother’s neighborhood. Charlie was only thirteen at the time and he’d been told to keep a lookout on his brother, then eleven. Instead, Charlie left Sam unguarded and stayed inside to watch TV. It wasn’t his fault. They never caught the guy who did it. Poor Sam’s leg just shattered. But after Charlie saw what the car’s wheels had done to Sam, he never forgave himself. It’s probably why the Down’s brothers were so close. Funny how something tragic can bring two people that much closer.
As for Sam, he didn’t grow much after that. He still walked kinda crooked, but for the most part lived a normal life. Always a charmer, Sam could bring out the brighter side of any situation.
“What the hell is this?” Charlie asked, snatching a can out of Sam’s hands.
“Hey give it back!”
“What is this stuff, hair spray? Do guys ever use this anymore?” Charlie joked, turning the small can over in his hands.
“Yes they do and it works better than any kind of gel I’ve ever seen!”
Charlie remover the cap and held it under his nose.
“Ugh, smells like Febreeze. There’s no way I’m letting you keep this.”
Charlie tossed the can over his shoulder.
“Good thing I’ve got a stock,” Sam replied, opening his carry-on bag, revealing a whole bagful of cans inside. Sam and Charlie raced ahead, stepping onto the bus that would be taking them to boot camp.
Mark, heavily berated by friendly pats on the back, pushed his way to the front of the crowd.
“Be there in a second,” Mark said as Jimmy boarded the bus.
Mark hugged his parents quickly.
“Be safe, son.”
“I will, dad.”
“I love you, Mark,” his mom whispered.
“You too, mom.”
Mark stepped aboard the bus, knocking into an exiting passenger as he did.
“Excuse me.”
Mark turned to face the man, his veins rushing with ice. The man was dressed in an expensive, black business suit, neatly tailored. His tall, bulky form stood to rival Mark’s. That he dressed in a suit, considering that he was in a town built of the foundation of being farm boys was not what chilled Mark, it was his face. The man’s smooth black hair was neatly greased back, showing his face in full form. Two fresh, deep cuts extended from both sides of the mouth, creating a wide, toad faced gap. An ancient scar ran down the forehead, leading through the eye itself. A wide slit passed through the merciless lright eye, literally splitting it in half down the middle. The eyes was obviously dead, yet it blazed with a harsh glee, wildly fierce and exotic. He quizzically cocked his head and smiled, showing the teeth, the coal black teeth, rotted to the core, digging deep into the roots. Then he was gone, blending into the cheering crowd.
“Mark, you okay?” Jimmy asked, standing at the front.
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re bleeding.”
Mark then realized that a small trickle had led from his nose, his fingers came away wet with blood.
“Must be the wind, it’s nippy. I’m fine.”
Mark turned back, taking his seat on the bus. With a loud hiss the doors closed and the town fell silent. Mark blinked in confusion as he watched their mouths open and close, flapping futilely. The bus’s wheels ground in place at the gravel. Total silence, as if the world had been put on mute. Only his breaths echoed hard in his ears.
And Mark saw him. He saw the Scared Man, saw his black to smile, saw him wink. Not with the left eye, but with the right, the ruined eye. The slit, the gaping maw in the eye, it closed. It shut sideways, with a wet squelching sound. An audible pop issued forth and a stream of blood came from the Scared Man’s eye. His hands shot up toward his face and he turned away from the bus, shrieking an inhuman, almost apelike cry toward the side of the crowd.
The bus kicked off and the crowd’s cries rushed back. Mark spun in his seat to watch the crowd as it rushed away from them. Amidst the darkness of the Scared Man, he swore he saw a light.
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9 months later...
“Why do you think they stopped writing us?”
“Maybe the mail stopped flying to Iraq.”
“But why would it?”
“Look how the hell should I know, Sam?!” Charlie burst out, stopping as quickly as he had begun, “look, I’m sorry.”
Sam sat across from Charlie at the front of the gently rocking bus. After nine months, home was only fifty miles away for the four young soldiers. Jimmy and Mark sat together in the two back rows, the only other occupants of the bus aside the driver. Mark watched as fields of amber flowers and tall grass rolled by.
“Mark, aren’t you wondering?” Jimmy asked, jarring Mark out of his trance.
“Bout what?”
“Bout why our folks forgot us.”
“They didn’t forget us Jimmy, there has to be a reason.”
Mark glances ahead and focused on the bus driver. He was a fat man, plump but of a hearty sort, not yet bald but already combing his hair to make it look like there was more then what was really there. He glanced back and shot Mark a warm, toothy grin. Mark waited for the driver to turn back to watch the road but he didn’t. Mark gave a little wave and the man finally turned back, clearly satisfied.
“So, you boys back from Iraq?”
“Yes sir,” Mark replied.
“How long you been stationed?”
“Nine months.”
“Nine months? Lordy, you kids are veterans now,” the driver replied, putting an emphasis on each syllable of the word ‘veteran’.
“Still got a while till it’s over,” Sam said, pushing himself up.
“How long you boys got till you head back?”
“Bout two months.”
“Good rest.”
“Yes sir,” Sam replied.
“Ya’ll deserve it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The driver glanced back at Sam and smiled.
“You don’t have to call me sir, son, name’s Donald. Pleasure.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, Donald,” Charlie said, giving Sam a little thump on the head.
“This here’s my brother Sam. That’s Jimmy, Mark, and I’m Charlie,” Charlie continued, motioning to each of them in turn.
The bus driver’s brow furrowed as if a thought had just crossed his mind.
“Seems like a small lot of ya. Ya’ll the only kids from the town who went?”
“Na, few didn’t make it,” Charlie replied.
“That’s a shame. That’s a damn shame. Always the youngins that lose their lives.”
The driver lapsed back into silence again. Charlie looked at Sam and shrugged.
“Best not to bother him anymore, Sam.”
“What? You were the one doing all the talking!”
“Yeah, but you got me started,” Charlie said, grabbing Sam round the head.
Mark focused himself on the driver. The man’s eyes were narrowed, brow bent, back straightened and tense, oblivious to the ruckus the two young men behind him were creating.
“What’s up, Mark?” Jimmy asked.
“Look at the driver. He’s acting odd.”
“Look’s fine to me-” Jimmy began but the driver interrupted, speaking in a calculated, raspy voice.
“Bad vibes, children. Really bad vibes.”
“Excuse me?” Sam asked.
“Don’t trust this road, too much death ahead, family and friends lost. Fires are raging. God, the screams, the screams of the children! So precious. We’re...lost in the dark.”
The driver’s body began to shake furiously. Mark felt a harsh force begin to weigh him down. He clutched at his chest.
“AGH! My head, what the hell is going on!?” the driver shouted, wrenching the wheel and running the bus off to the side of the road, coming to a quick, sudden stop. Dust billowed up from beneath the wheels.
“Hey man, you ok?” Jimmy asked, shaking the bus driver’s shoulder.
“Ye-yeah...I-I think so...” the driver whispered, trying to stand but quickly sinking to his knees.
“Man, if you gotta hurl, just let it out.”
“No, I’m fine...”
Mark turned away from Jimmy and the shaking man.
“Look there is no way this guy is driving.”
“I’ll do it,” Charlie volunteered
“Against regulations...” the bus driver whispered.
“Hey man, screw regulations, I’m wanna get home. You can just rest in the seat. We’ll stop at the town center and call you a doctor.”
“Prosper has a town center?” Sam interrupted.
“Yeah you didn’t know that?”
“Look, now is not the time guys,” Mark said harshly, “help me get this guy on his feet.”
With the help if Sam and Jimmy, Mark was able to carry the portly driver to a seat at the middle of the bus.
“Let’s get going, Charlie,” Jimmy urged.
Charlie kicked the bus back into gear and pulled out of the ditch and back onto the road. Mark motioned for Jimmy and Sam to gather round him at the front of the bus.
“You hear what that guy said?”
“Yeah, bad juju.”
“This is no joke, Sam. Look, I want you two to watch over him for me,” Mark replied, motioning to the bus driver who lay across a seat, muttering quietly to himself.
“What are you gonna do?” Jimmy asked.
“Take a nap.”
“A nap?”
“I feel...different, guys, like a part of my soul’s been taken. Like I’m lost. I need to rest. What happened to that man just now, I think it affected me to. Not as strong, but I felt it.”
Mark turned and walked to the back of the bus, feeling his friends’ stares burning into his back. He slumped into the seat and laid his hand against the window, creating a makeshift cushion. Jimmy and Sam took their seats across from the bus driver. Charlie kept on trucking.
Mark felt his eyes begin to close, heavy with exhaustion. And that’s when he saw him. The White Man. That was the name he immediately gave him, not because of his skin color, but what he wore. Long billowing rags, torn and dirty, yet blazing with an eternal light, hung loosely from his body. He walked in faded teddy running sneakers, worn from age. His short blonde hair leapt into the air. His blazing blue eyes connected with Mark’s. They quickly bleached into a bright white. The man smiled. Mark felt a fresh warmth spread through his body. The bus sped by and the man was left behind. Mark closed his eyes again, blocking out the wondrous light.
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Mark laid in the woods. Leaves fell silently down to the ground below, floating peacefully. Long green vines hung loosely from the tree branches above. The soft soil sighed beneath his feet as he walked, sending up small swirls of dust into the air. He recognized the woods. They were the woods that surrounded Prosper, he’d spent many years playing here. He stood and looked into the sky, watching as specks of gray snow fell from the sky. He held out his hand and caught a flake in his outstretched hands. A smudge of gray smudged his palm. Ash? Was it ash?
From beyond the woods he could see the glowing fires sending hot ash to rain from the sky. The snows of hell. Flames licked the fields of grain and crops, polluting the air with the smell of sweet corn. Mark stumbled through the woods and into a clearing, standing tall, his face illuminated by the flames. Bodies lay piled amongst the burning fields. Mark turned away as he saw the children, tied as the hands and feet, thrashing in the flames.
“Oh God, the children! The screams of the children!”
Mark turned and faced him, the White Man. No light blazed from his body, soot and ash covered his once blazing robes, his face stained. His mouth was wide, ash floated down his throat. He took harsh, deep breaths that sounding like rattling foil, racing faster and faster. Spit shot from his mouth as he choked for air. His blue eyes were swirling with white, milky and twisting like a serpent’s tail. His left hand at his side, his right outstretched, hand opened, revealing what was inside. Blood dripped slowly from the beating heart clutched firmly in his hands. A large hole caved inward in the middle of his chest, dried blood splayed down to his waist.
His breaths grew more and more hectic. Mark took a step back. The White Man’s eyes widened and flashed to a pure white. From his throat came a harsh whisper.
“RUN.”
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Mark jerked awake, fighting and thrashing against the hands that held him. Jimmy’s face came into focus.
“Whoa, Mark calm down. Calm down!”
“What!? What happened!?”
“Are you okay, man?”
“Yeah. I think so, just a bad dream,” Mark replied, from the back of the bus he could see Sam and Charlie wrestling the fighting driver who was attempting to get out of his seat.
“Please let me go! The fires, the raining hell fire!”
“Will you please shut him up!?” Jimmy exclaimed.
“It will consume us all! We-” the driver continued until Charlie landed a hard blow across his jaw, knocking him out cold.
“Whoa.”
“What the hell happened?” Mark asked, standing up.
“He just started screaming as we crossed Prosper’s town border,” Charlie replied.
“We’re in Prosper?”
“Yeah,” Jimmy whispered, “Mark, you said you had a nightmare, I’m not so sure you’re better off awake.”
“What?” Mark asked, heading to the front of the bus. The large tree they were parked under obscured his view.
“Mark, let us still be sleeping, let this all be a dream,” Sam whispered as he stepped off the bus, holding his heads over his head, tears rolling down his cheeks, “please.”
“Sweet Jesus...”
