《As They Sleep》


 Prologue

    SEPTEMBER 7th, 1947


    It was a tough job, but it was one that had to be done. I couldn¡¯t go to college. Dad never really gathered enough money for that after serving in the first Great War. Even in the second one, I¡¯d been too young, but now that I¡¯m 19, it¡¯s past due that I start supporting my family.


    I got a job at the old coal mine near town, a few months ago. It¡¯s basically controlled by the government of Halrin, Pennsylvania, where I live. They pay alright, but I¡¯d always been more worried about other things concerning this job. Whatever. They didn¡¯t matter. I needed to get my mind off those things so I could keep on working.


    ¡°James!¡± barked my boss. He was an older man, been in the business for at least thirty years. Honestly, I¡¯m surprised he¡¯d gone that long without getting forced out of it by some serious injury. The work is no joke. ¡°Back to work!¡±


    Damn. I admittedly had been slacking off a bit, but working at coal mines for ten hours a day wasn¡¯t fun, and I was awaiting the news from Rob. He was down at the mayor¡¯s office, no doubt trying to convince the guy to finally listen to us. Last one sure as hell hadn¡¯t. This one was younger. Not too young, but, we were hoping, young enough to see our reasoning.


    My boss seemed troubled, too, though. Eventually, he stopped us. ¡°We should stop working ¡®till Robert gets back,¡± he said, only a hint of sympathy detected in his voice. ¡°He¡¯ll be here soon. No use keeping him waiting.¡±


    Mr. Adams normally wasn¡¯t the kindest boss, but he was definitely worried. That didn¡¯t comfort me, though. If he was troubled about it, that meant it was bad. So I did exactly as he said and took a few deep breaths. It was gonna be alright. The mayor would listen to reason. He had campaigned on keeping the town safe, after all. Had to include us, right? Mining was real important to the town.


    I saw Rob coming over the hill. I tried not to get too excited, but I failed. Mom and Dad had been a bit worried about this job. Worried that I¡¯d be coming home in a casket instead of on foot. They didn¡¯t have to be concerned anymore.


    But he wore an expression that didn¡¯t say anything good. My excitement turned into worry, and my worry turned into dread as he opened his mouth.


    ¡°He won¡¯t do it.¡±


    We were all in silence. I felt like crying, but I didn¡¯t. Not on the job, in front of all my co-workers. That would be the last place I¡¯d ever cry. Eventually, my boss spoke up. ¡°Our mining elevator¨C.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Adams, I tried, I really did. But he¡­ he said that we were too inefficient to be worth the investment. He said it in a real kind way, but he still said it.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t an investment. This is about your lives. Under my watch¨C¡±


    ¡°He said that if we don¡¯t improve our output, he¡¯ll have us replaced. Mr. Adams, I¨C I can¡¯t get fired, my family¡¯s struggling. The war wasn¡¯t kind to us.¡±


    My boss sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. To all of you. I promise, I¡¯ll talk some sense into him tomorrow. But if we don¡¯t send enough people today, I¡¯ll be putting your jobs at risk. Let¡¯s just get some work done. Try to be efficient, please. That¡¯ll help us later.¡±


    I shook my emotions off. I had to be a man at that moment. We all took a deep breath and filed back into the mining elevator.


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    We had been on for a bit when suddenly John got wide eyed. He¡¯d always been pretty into the mechanics of this stuff, so I was worried. That couldn¡¯t mean anything good. ¡°These noises aren¡¯t normal. Even for an old elevator. This is¡­ bad.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I asked, trying and failing at hiding the terror I felt.


    I barely had enough time to get that word out before we started plummeting. I breathed heavily, everyone else started yelling in panic.


    Then it sank in. All I could do was whisper to myself.


    ¡°Mom¡­ Dad¡­ I¨C¡±


    I didn¡¯t manage to finish my sentence before there was a loud crash, and everything went black.


    SEPTEMBER 7th, 1962


    Normally, it would be a day of mourning. My older brother passed away. 15 years ago. Mining accident. My dad turned back to alcohol after the incident, and my mom could barely take it. I had to scrounge for money at 16. Almost dropped out of school. But I made it. Got a scholarship for college football, but that never really went anywhere. Now I¡¯m back at Halrin, working as an architect. It¡¯s not perfect, but¡­ I could be doing a lot worse.


    It had been a long day at work. I was reading a book¡ª some generic science fiction. It wasn¡¯t too great, but it sufficed.


    ¡°Will.¡±


    My wife was calling me into the living room. Perhaps there was something on the television. I walked in. ¡°Laura. What¡ª¡°


    In response, she simply pointed to the television. It was what I had predicted, but what was actually on there shocked me.


    The mayor was dead. Stabbed, in his own home. Security said that they saw no one enter or leave, so justice was long ways away. It was¡­ devastating. The collapse happened almost immediately after he took seat, but he¡¯d gotten the whole town through it. Without him supporting  everyone, I don¡¯t even know where I¡¯d be.


    ¡°Damn.¡± I was shocked. How could it happen? Everyone loved the mayor. He was nearly on his fourth term.


    Laura looked at me sadly. ¡°Just¡­ horrible. What¡¯s going to happen to the town now?¡±


    I shook my head sadly. For the first time in fourteen years, I was completely lost.


    SEPTEMBER 7th, 2000


    I stepped out of the fire truck in disbelief. The basis of our town''s history, everything that we valued¡­ nothing but ashes. It was our job to contain the fire, but I had held on to a slight hope that we could save the mayor¡¯s building. It was¡­ gone. Completely beyond repair. I couldn¡¯t believe it.


    ¡°Harry.¡± One of my coworkers was ushering me forward. It was Jim, I saw. We were good friends, but that time, I couldn¡¯t even muster up the strength to reply. ¡°Come on.¡±


    I gave a half-hearted nod and rushed forward. We all turned on our hoses and doused the fire. It took a long time, the entirety of which was filled with tension so thick that you¡¯d need a sword to cut through it. Orders were barked out, which I obliged to the best of my ability. But everyone in the Halrin Fire Department knew: this was the job that we never, ever wanted to get the call for.


    We got the fire under control. It didn¡¯t end up spreading to any other buildings, which was practically a miracle, since it was big enough to burn the entire building to the ground.


    A few safety precautions later, we entered the wreckage. It was all but annihilated. We hadn¡¯t gotten there quick enough, but, honestly? It seemed like the fire had consumed it unnaturally fast. We never stood a chance.


    After a couple searches, I heard Jim in the next room. Or, at least, what remained of the next room among the charred remnants. ¡°Oh, God. Harry. Take a look at this.¡±


    I walked over to him and saw what he was pointing at. A completely preserved note, unaffected by the fire.


    ¡°Finally.¡±


    I don¡¯t know if it would have been scarier as a longer note or not, but I do know that it terrified me nonetheless. ¡°Jesus.¡± I tried to avoid shuddering. How the hell had it been placed there? ¡°So¡­ what are you thinking?¡±


    Jim seemed to be going through the same emotional struggle as me. ¡°I mean¡­ it¡¯s obviously arson.¡± He looked over it a bit more. ¡°But, honestly¡­ if I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say this town is fuckin¡¯ cursed.¡±

 Chapter 1

    I held my drink and awkwardly stood off to the side of the party, watching everyone else socializing. It was some kind of off-brand cola. No one was able to secure any alcohol, but, even if there was some, I wouldn¡¯t touch it. I¡¯d been kind of wary ever since my brother Luke vomited all over the living room carpet at a party once. No one had ever let him live that one down.


    The only thing that really kept me at those parties was my friend, Ryan. I¡¯m not going to pretend that my loner tendencies were a good thing, but they weren¡¯t something that I could really break. Ryan¡¯s a lot more social than me, and it makes sense, considering practically everything about our personalities.


    ¡°Dude. You gotta chill.¡± Despite having significantly more sociable friends, he came with me to the party. Maybe out of pity, I¡¯m not sure. He was trying to give me another pep talk. I guess that turns habitual when you¡¯re on the football team for four years. ¡°Be yourself. Standing in the corner, drinking¡­¡± he squinted at the label of my still-unopened bottle, ¡°¡®Zora-Cola¡¯ isn¡¯t going to do anything for your social life.¡±


    I appreciated the effort, so I tried to reply without sounding like an asshole. ¡°It¡¯s difficult to assert myself and¡­ be myself. You know?¡±


    ¡°You talk to me,¡± Ryan pointed out. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t want you to be the person you think you are. I want you to be the guy I know. The guy I¡¯m friends with. There¡¯s gotta be someone else here into painting, right? Use that as a conversation starter.¡±


    ¡°Are they? Ryan, most of these people seem like their last such experience was preschool finger painting.¡± I had, shamefully, given up on the not-being-an-asshole part.


    He chuckled, though I¡¯m not sure if it was genuine or just to appease me. ¡°Mike, come on. Generalizing potential friends is no way to live your life.¡± He always thought that way, of course. Every stranger was someone who could become a friend, every person on the team was the MVP in their own way. He was always weirdly uncompetitive for a football player. Ryan and I had met in kindergarten, and, honestly, considering the popularity gap, that¡¯s probably why we¡¯re friends at all. He¡¯s this really tall, African-American guy, with maybe seven inches on me and at least seventy pounds of muscle. He¡¯d joked before that if there was a yearbook category for ¡°works out the least¡±, I would win the spot four times in a row. I didn¡¯t really take offense to that; not many people are 5¡¯8 and barely 110 pounds.


    Ryan had stopped his pep talk and resorted to just standing beside me, so I looked around at all the other party-goers. I got the impression that a good portion of them were planning on drinking something stronger than ¡®Zora-Cola¡¯ later, but, honestly, didn¡¯t notice anything else out of the ordinary. As with everyone in this town, they were very average. I¡¯m not trying to be quirky or unique, I was pretty average, too, just average with a painting hobby. Everyone there got average grades, leading to average jobs and shared laughs at average jokes near the water cooler.


    I live in eastern Pennsylvania, in a town called Halrin. There are about 30,000 people there, so it¡¯s not exactly big, but it¡¯s not that small, either. Ryan always talked about how I¡¯m overly pessimistic about Halrin. Maybe he was right, but it seemed that all it produces is something slightly better than average at best¨C no stand outs. I guess that¡¯s the norm for smaller towns, but I¡¯d had dreams of moving to the city. Unfortunately, when you¡¯re a prospective artist with nothing more than a mediocre portfolio, moving to NYC is basically buying a one-way ticket to the homeless shelter.


    Luke and I have opposite personalities. We¡¯re nonidentical twins, but the looks actually never even mattered with differentiating us. I didn¡¯t hate him or anything, but I had slight resentment over the fact that he was definitely the favorite child. He¡¯d always been a lot less socially awkward, for one thing, and he doesn¡¯t have any future plans that will put him on the street. He was more successful than me in pretty much every aspect, so he had life planned out. He was gonna get a boring office job, sure, but at least it¡¯d pay the bills.


    I suppose you could say I was kind of jealous. It wasn¡¯t that bad. He had his life more in order, sure. He had a girlfriend, sure. He had ten times as many friends as me, sure. But I could deal with that. It wasn¡¯t that bad.


    Suddenly, something takes me from my thoughts. Laughter, and, shortly afterwards, Ryan tapping me on the shoulder.


    ¡°Mike,¡± He said, sounding mildly concerned but also somewhat amused.


    ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Your brother is kind of, um, he- well. He threw up again.¡± At this Ryan held his hand to his mouth to repress laughter. I held myself back from shoving him away and headed off into the crowd to try to find my brother.


    There was exactly one advantage I held over him: I had much, much more self-control.


    I eventually fought my way to him. He was right in the center of the crowd, lying down on his back, both mouth and shirt absolutely covered in vomit. Sometimes, I really wished we weren¡¯t related. I felt like the next few days were going to be one of those times.


    Ryan followed me. ¡°I¡¯ll lift him,¡± he offered as he bent and hauled Luke over his shoulder.


    The people around us were either laughing or taking pictures, doubtlessly to be posted portraying him as some kind of party monster. If I had gotten wasted and vomited on my shirt, the most I would have gotten was someone calling me a drunk-ass loser on Instagram. Even his embarrassing moments were more popular.


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    Why the hell did he never learn? I was going to be the one he complained to about being embarrassed online while Mom told me off for not keeping him in line, I knew. Great. I was always the chaperone, despite the fact that he never shut up about being fourteen minutes older.


    Ryan carried Luke out quickly while I followed closely behind. Everyone moved for him, of course. His personality meant that he would have asked politely, but his physique said that he would have pushed you away himself.


    We got Luke outside, and I told Ryan to drop him onto the nearest patch of land, safe landing or no. He shook his head at me and put him on the grass gently, before pulling out a cloth from his pocket.


    ¡°You just keep a cloth with you? Just randomly?¡± I asked him in surprise. That was¡­ kind of weird. But Ryan is an interesting person sometimes.


    ¡°Not primarily for this purpose, but¡­ yeah. This isn¡¯t shocking, it¡¯s fairly commonplace whenever someone brings alcohol to a party.¡± Ryan began cleaning off the vomit from Luke¡¯s face. I let him do it while I just looked away in silence. The only noises were the music from the party escaping from the partially open door and the occasional tweet of a bird out later than normal.


    I like birds, they¡¯re really peaceful. My grandfather used to always take me out with him on Saturdays to go bird watching. We spotted very common birds, nothing out of the ordinary, but it always made me feel like some great explorer. Grandpa died a few years back, but sometimes the birds reminded me of him. It was a bittersweet feeling.


    Lost in thought, it took me a moment to realize what he had said. ¡°Wait. There¡¯s alcohol here?¡±


    ¡°Mike. There are two Wal-Marts in this town, it¡¯s not exactly hard to just go get a case of Coke. Zora-Cola is offbrand, sure, but it¡¯s at this party because it¡¯s probably the cheapest way to get drunk. It¡¯s also incredibly bad for you, but, you know. Trade-off.¡±


    I had never actually opened the Zora-Cola, which I then realized was for the best. I shook my head. ¡°Wow. Luke, come on, man, Get up.¡±


    After several seconds of no response, I gently nudged him with my foot. Ryan frowned at me. ¡°Don¡¯t kick him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not kicking him.¡± I nudged him again, slightly harder, and that finally woke him up.


    ¡°Five more minutes,¡± He murmured.


    I actually kicked him after that. It wasn¡¯t intentional, but I doubt that made it hurt less.


    ¡°Ow!¡± He yelled with a frown as he rubbed his shoulder. ¡°Dude, what the hell?¡±


    ¡°Get up. You got wasted again.¡±


    ¡°Oh, shit, did I?¡± It seemed to suddenly dawn on him that people would have taken pictures of him again. ¡°Huh. They just got over the last time and, now, uh¡­¡±


    Ryan laughed and patted Luke on the back. ¡°It¡¯s alright man, they¡¯ll forget again soon.¡±


    In response, he simply grinned. ¡°Hope not. Everyone thought it was hilarious last time.¡±


    I looked at him incredulously. ¡°It¡¯s not a goddamn party trick, Luke! Alcohol is dangerous! And if Mom finds out about this, it¡¯s my ass on the line! She¡¯s already given up on keeping you in line, so the job¡¯s mine now!¡±


    Luke looked up at me with a very sober face for a drunk guy. ¡°Yes. Yes, totally,¡± He said slowly. ¡°Y¡¯know what you can do about that?¡±


    I glared at him, hoping that he would at least try to take this seriously. Wishful thinking was a habit of mine.


    ¡°You should try and live a little! Party with us, don¡¯t just stand in the corner. Drink a little, dance, y¡¯know. Just party!¡± Luke smiled as he began to stand up. He slipped midway and had to grab hold of Ryan to stop himself from falling over again. ¡°Whoops!¡± He laughed, slowly managing to stand up relatively straight.


    ¡°Y¡¯know, maybe you should listen to your brother, Mike. You could try to party, let loose a little.¡± Ryan added with a smile. ¡°Minus the drinking. That¡¯s not a great habit.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I can¡¯t, Ryan. You know that.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s not like you¡¯ve really tried to party. People aren¡¯t evil, you know. They won¡¯t hate you.¡± He gave a smile reminiscent of a mother trying to convince her son that first grade wouldn¡¯t be too scary. It was kind of infantilizing, but, hey. Maybe I deserved to be infantilized at that moment.


    I just frowned and, not wanting to confront my lack of party ability, looked back at Luke, who already looked like he was going to fall asleep again. ¡°Luke. We¡¯re going home now. If we¡¯re lucky enough to not get caught, you¡¯re going straight upstairs. Understood?¡±


    He didn¡¯t verbalize his answer, seemingly too focused on staying upright, but gave a thumbs up.


    Ryan was the only one of us to have a car and was smart enough to stay sober, so we all went over to his old, beaten up Ford. Despite likely being around since the Colonial age and looking like it had been stepped on by several elephants, the Ford was Ryan¡¯s pride and joy.. Used cars in this town never were historically great.


    Luke struggled to walk over, so Ryan supported him and brought him over. The whole situation was really getting on my nerves. Our family had always had some sort of gene for alcoholism, and he was certainly affected by it. Mom had kicked it, but he didn¡¯t even try. It wasn¡¯t really frequent or harmful enough to be a constant worry, but it annoyed me how everything always fell on me. I couldn¡¯t fix shit, I had enough of my own problems.


    At the risk of sounding like a dick, the worst part was it was basically only an issue with alcohol. He still got good grades, he was still popular, and it only happened at parties. So he was still the favorite. They never said it, but I knew it. They hadn¡¯t even stopped letting him go to parties, which was just unbelievably frustrating. I¡¯d never pulled anything like this.


    We all got into the car and, after Ryan confirmed we all had on our seatbelts on, he started the car. I took one last look up at the house, but I was surprised at what met my gaze. It was a strange figure, human but completely blue and faceless. Almost like a ghost. As the car drove away, I tried to remember whether or not I had, actually, had some of the Zora-Cola.