The sidewalk was old, unkempt, and uneven. Weeds grew in the divides between concrete sections. Most of those sections were cracked and tilted in various directions and at varying angles. He was aware that it went on this way for many blocks ahead, as it had for the many that he’d already put behind him. Most of the yards, and many of the houses that they fronted, appeared to be as worn and neglected as the sidewalk. Even the tall trees looked tired, though they retained the dignity that is their birthright.
Yards and houses had appeared after the second block of his angry walk from a nasty dive bar in Old Downtown. The first block or so had been lined with dingy second-hand shops, and then there was a long-closed gas station on the second corner. That abandoned gas station was where his car was still parked; where it had been disabled by a repo man who was apparently unable to read license plate numbers in correct fashion.
This was his business partner’s fault. His car wouldn’t have been parked in the gas station lot, if his partner hadn’t taken the company checkbook to his favorite damn beer-and-a-shot joint. Fortunately, only one check had been written before he'd arrived, parked the car, and recovered the checkbook. The check was only for fifty bucks. It could easily be subtracted from his partner’s next profit-sharing check. He stopped walking and grinned, since he was by then too tired to grin and walk at the same time. Standing there with a dark smirk, he nearly laughed aloud at his own profit-sharing joke.
He'd never understood his partner’s fascination with drinking in the Old Town, and now it had cost them their only working vehicle. He began walking again. He still had another seven blocks of this blasted sidewalk ahead, before he would get to the bridge that crossed the river into New Downtown. He lifted his eyes from the sidewalk to look ahead, and noticed that wisps of fog were drifting in. As he continued walking, the wisps became swirls, and soon he was able to see less than a block in any direction.
The length and pace of his stride both increased, along with the speed of his heartbeat, as he hurried ahead of the dark forebodings and fears that raced through his mind. He knew that nothing followed him in the fog, but he refused to turn and look behind. This began to feel ridiculous to him after a few seconds, and he slowed to a more sustainable pace. He took several slow breaths, and noted that the sounds of his footsteps on the sidewalk were beginning to echo back to him from the surrounding fog. He spoke his own name out loud, as much to provide audible comfort to himself as anything. His voice was muffled but somehow also resonant, contained as it was within the fog.
After a few more minutes, he began to feel as if he should already have arrived at the bridge. That feeling was accompanied in the next moments by his awareness that there was no longer sidewalk beneath his shoes. He had been scuffing through rough grass and rocky soil for at least a few steps. He stopped walking, confused. Had he somehow turned in the fog and left the sidewalk? He could only see a few feet when he peered ahead into the gloom. And, now that he’d stopped, he could hear moving water. He knew that he was finally close to the river, but where was the sidewalk?
He did a slow turn, looking at the ground for a few feet around him. When he had turned halfway around, the fog behind had thinned some. He could see that the sidewalk had simply ended a few feet behind where he stood. Where it ended it looked as if it had been cut clean with a sharp blade. After a few seconds, thick fog again closed in and he could no longer see the sidewalk or the buildings beside it. He turned back toward the river and Downtown, and took a few more steps before stopping, again. With the rise of a stiff breeze, the fog ahead was clearing. What he saw left him stunned.
The shallow ravine of the river was there before him, but there was no bridge to the outcrop of exposed rock on the other side. There was no downtown beyond the river. Where before a cluster of buildings had been, a wilder place now appeared, with trees, wild bushes, and wetland marsh. At the edge of the river he could see a tall, white bird, stalking frogs or small fish in the shallows.
A current of panic surged through his body, he spun around to lunge back in the direction of the sidewalk and the heavier fog. He stopped. There was no fog behind him, and there was no sidewalk, just more trees and wild bushes. The only sounds were of wind in branches and voices of unseen forest birds. He moved beyond panic, into befuddlement. He stood still, mentally straining for something that might make sense of all of this. He heard another sound from deeper in the woods. It wasn’t a bell sound or a whistle sound, but was some hybrid of the two.
Not knowing what else to do, he began walking toward the sound, deeper into the woods. After a few seconds he found a small clearing around a wide, flat rock. On it, was a small canvas bag, a box of one hundred wooden matches, and a battered smartphone with cracked glass. He picked up the phone and noticed that there was a text message displayed. He read it through the damaged screen with some effort.
“Welcome to the next neighborhood over.” He read. “Two hints for you; follow the river south to find people, and fill the bag with blueberries from the bushes around this clearing before you start. They’re ripe and tasty, and will give you energy to walk” Below the text, in a stylized, bolder font, it said “Neighborhood Watch: RS Group.”
As the message sunk in, the light in the phone faded until it went completely dark.
He set the smartphone back on the rock, pulled the checkbook from his pants pocket, set it next to the phone, and reached for the canvas bag. “Damn,” he said out loud as he straightened, “I guess I won’t have to worry about my rotten business partner, anymore.”
Kevin R. Carr (2022)
About 1140 Words
This was his business partner’s fault. His car wouldn’t have been parked in the gas station lot, if his partner hadn’t taken the company checkbook to his favorite damn beer-and-a-shot joint. Fortunately, only one check had been written before he'd arrived, parked the car, and recovered the checkbook. The check was only for fifty bucks. It could easily be subtracted from his partner’s next profit-sharing check. He stopped walking and grinned, since he was by then too tired to grin and walk at the same time. Standing there with a dark smirk, he nearly laughed aloud at his own profit-sharing joke.
He'd never understood his partner’s fascination with drinking in the Old Town, and now it had cost them their only working vehicle. He began walking again. He still had another seven blocks of this blasted sidewalk ahead, before he would get to the bridge that crossed the river into New Downtown. He lifted his eyes from the sidewalk to look ahead, and noticed that wisps of fog were drifting in. As he continued walking, the wisps became swirls, and soon he was able to see less than a block in any direction.
The length and pace of his stride both increased, along with the speed of his heartbeat, as he hurried ahead of the dark forebodings and fears that raced through his mind. He knew that nothing followed him in the fog, but he refused to turn and look behind. This began to feel ridiculous to him after a few seconds, and he slowed to a more sustainable pace. He took several slow breaths, and noted that the sounds of his footsteps on the sidewalk were beginning to echo back to him from the surrounding fog. He spoke his own name out loud, as much to provide audible comfort to himself as anything. His voice was muffled but somehow also resonant, contained as it was within the fog.
After a few more minutes, he began to feel as if he should already have arrived at the bridge. That feeling was accompanied in the next moments by his awareness that there was no longer sidewalk beneath his shoes. He had been scuffing through rough grass and rocky soil for at least a few steps. He stopped walking, confused. Had he somehow turned in the fog and left the sidewalk? He could only see a few feet when he peered ahead into the gloom. And, now that he’d stopped, he could hear moving water. He knew that he was finally close to the river, but where was the sidewalk?
He did a slow turn, looking at the ground for a few feet around him. When he had turned halfway around, the fog behind had thinned some. He could see that the sidewalk had simply ended a few feet behind where he stood. Where it ended it looked as if it had been cut clean with a sharp blade. After a few seconds, thick fog again closed in and he could no longer see the sidewalk or the buildings beside it. He turned back toward the river and Downtown, and took a few more steps before stopping, again. With the rise of a stiff breeze, the fog ahead was clearing. What he saw left him stunned.
The shallow ravine of the river was there before him, but there was no bridge to the outcrop of exposed rock on the other side. There was no downtown beyond the river. Where before a cluster of buildings had been, a wilder place now appeared, with trees, wild bushes, and wetland marsh. At the edge of the river he could see a tall, white bird, stalking frogs or small fish in the shallows.
A current of panic surged through his body, he spun around to lunge back in the direction of the sidewalk and the heavier fog. He stopped. There was no fog behind him, and there was no sidewalk, just more trees and wild bushes. The only sounds were of wind in branches and voices of unseen forest birds. He moved beyond panic, into befuddlement. He stood still, mentally straining for something that might make sense of all of this. He heard another sound from deeper in the woods. It wasn’t a bell sound or a whistle sound, but was some hybrid of the two.
Not knowing what else to do, he began walking toward the sound, deeper into the woods. After a few seconds he found a small clearing around a wide, flat rock. On it, was a small canvas bag, a box of one hundred wooden matches, and a battered smartphone with cracked glass. He picked up the phone and noticed that there was a text message displayed. He read it through the damaged screen with some effort.
“Welcome to the next neighborhood over.” He read. “Two hints for you; follow the river south to find people, and fill the bag with blueberries from the bushes around this clearing before you start. They’re ripe and tasty, and will give you energy to walk” Below the text, in a stylized, bolder font, it said “Neighborhood Watch: RS Group.”
As the message sunk in, the light in the phone faded until it went completely dark.
He set the smartphone back on the rock, pulled the checkbook from his pants pocket, set it next to the phone, and reached for the canvas bag. “Damn,” he said out loud as he straightened, “I guess I won’t have to worry about my rotten business partner, anymore.”
Kevin R. Carr (2022)
About 1140 Words
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