Chapter 6
Henry and Samantha reached the street as a distant siren was approaching. It was far enough away that they had time to run to the nearest intersection and hide in the nearest backyard. Still near the edge of the cemetery, the two would stay hidden until the sheriff's car had passed, both fearing a confrontation with the remainder of the pack. Once again, they heard the faint cries and yips of the coyotes who previously pursued them as an easy kill. In a state of panic, one might easily imagine these simple creatures as guardians of the dead, prowling the resting places of the departed. It was only when the sheriff's patrol car screamed by that they returned to the street and ran back to town.
Tired and breathless, they stopped in Norway's downtown district, and although they were far enough from the cemetery to feel the relief of having escaped intact, the terror of their experience remained with them. Both stood near the pizzeria with their hands clasping their knees. Between the terror that had overwhelmed them and running not only from the sheriff, but also the dark figure in the cemetery, the two teens were exhausted, their minds clouded from fear. Once they recovered their wits, they made their way up Main Street, but the walk was anything but silent.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Samantha began. “If I ever start talking about going back there, I want you to slap me.”
Henry was too exhausted to get out any more than a few words and stopped again to catch his breath.
“Holy fuck,” he began. “Who the fuck was that with the gun?”
Samantha had heard stories of an old man living only a mile or two from the cemetery, but was unable to recall his name. It was rumored among the town that he was insane and perhaps crazy enough to kill someone. Whenever he was seen downtown, the police always seemed to be present, keeping a watchful eye. In truth, Frank was greatly misunderstood. A Vietnam veteran, he had spent a great of time participating in jungle warfare, always in fear of whatever insidious devices lay hidden by the enemy. He had seen things no one should have to see, done things that would otherwise be deserving of imprisonment. He was not insane but simply led an isolated life as a means of escaping the society that sent him to a foreign land to fight a pointless war, only to return without his humanity.
The only thing Samantha knew about Frank was that he didn't live within the town's borders, and with some degree of insistence, Henry inquired again as to who it was that fired the fatal shot, saving them from a horrific death.
“I don't know,” Samantha answered. “I think he lives near the back of the cemetery.”
By this time, Henry had caught his breath and was beginning to recover his senses.
“Behind the cemetery?” he began. “Oh, that's great! I feel so much better.”
His sarcasm was mixed with fear as an obvious question rose in his mind.
“So, what's this guy doing in the cemetery?”
He paused a moment to consider the question he had asked.
“You know what?” he continued. “I don't even want to know.”
After finally recovering, Henry stood up as his continued anxiety led to paranoia, and glancing around the darkened downtown district, his mind had quickly convinced him that they might not be alone. Samantha put a hand on his arm in an attempt to comfort him and keep him focused.
“Henry,” she began. “Relax. It's not like we've been followed or something, okay?”
She grabbed his hand and led him away from the bright Friday night lights. It seemed that their adventure in fear was not yet over. Now, the pursuit they feared was no longer in the form of a wild pack of four legged demons, chasing them through the town's modest necropolis. Now, Samantha had become obsessed with hiding from the local sheriff. Her reason was simple. She was seventeen years old and carrying half an ounce of Black Alaskan weed. Getting caught would open the door for more trouble than Samantha could possibly imagine. Not only for her but her mother as well.
Over the next few minutes, Samantha would, several times, peek out from around the corner, looking down Main Street for any sign of the sheriff's car. Henry sat next to her, frightened into silence. He realized that if he were caught alone, he would probably be let off with a warning. But accompanying someone carrying a bag of weed brought the potential of being seen as an accomplice. Then, as if out of desperation, Henry was struck with an idea.
“Hey, Sam,” he whispered. “Is the bookstore still open?”
“I don't think we have time for that,” Samantha replied.
Henry insisted on sharing his idea.
“No, listen,” he continued. “It's Friday night. Some places are still open. We can go the bookstore, hang out a while and leave. If we're stopped, the clerk can vouch for us.”
Henry had become calm enough to not only think straight but come up with an idea that was nothing short of brilliant.
“Henry,” Samantha said. “You're a genius.”
Their opportunity came as traffic momentarily began to clear and at that moment, they both stepped out of the shadows and walked around the corner into the halogen beams illuminating the street. The bookstore was a mere half block away, but to Henry and Samantha, that distance seemed to stretch on forever.
Finally entering the bookstore, the teens wandered to the back, being sure that the clerk saw them walk in. They browsed through the store's many sections, leaving ten or fifteen minutes later without making a purchase. Samantha led the way in a hurried pace, and with Henry walking quickly behind her, they crossed the nearest intersection.
“Do you want me to walk you home?” Henry asked.
Samantha's mind ran in a panic, but she realized that it would do no good for both of them to get caught.
“We need to split up,” she replied. “Just go home. We can talk later.”
The return was uneventful for both teens, and aside from a stern talking to, there seemed to be no other problems. Henry wasn't nearly as concerned as Samantha. He had gone home carrying the slight odor of smoke but his parents, never having been exposed to marijuana, mistook the smell for cigarettes and would repeatedly caution him against their use. But Samantha would be on the receiving end of a very different conversation. As liberal as her mother was, her guidance on marijuana was quite strict and after discovering the bag of Black Alaskan in Samantha's day pack, harshly warned her of the consequences of getting caught.
“But you said it was okay,” Samantha said.
“Yes, I did,” her mother replied. “But, you have to use it here. You're a minor, and this town isn't exactly known for being progressive. So from now on, you use it in the cellar.”
Samantha knew that any other parent would have picked up the phone and called the sheriff. Fortunately, Samantha's mother was a great deal more enlightened than most parents, and as a nurse at Maine Medical Center, she was very familiar with the results of alcohol abuse and it was not something that she wanted Samantha to fall
into.