The Witching Hour Book 2: Moon Bane

Traffic out of Pittsburgh was unbearable, with the storm raging on both within the city and the entirety of Western Pennsylvania. It had been nothing but bumper-to-bumper traffic as Alex made her way from her house to Interstate 76.

The weather person on the radio reported that this was gearing up to be one of the worst thunderstorms in history. Consistent showering would continue for the next three days, with flash flood warnings for northern communities. This included the numerous small towns and cities dotting the Allegheny Mountains.

Alex hated driving in the rain, hated it with a passion. Nothing made her feel more vulnerable behind the wheel than wet roads and the people who moved on them around her.

Stopping at a rest stop along the interstate, she grabbed breakfast and another coffee. This time she would order an iced coffee with classic syrup and cream. Medical school taught her that the caffeine in cold coffee hits the bloodstream faster than hot, and since then, she only has hot coffee at home in the morning.

She was a caffeine addict, increasing her caffeine intake since quitting smoking. One addiction for another. She chose to stop for Megan, and only for that reason.

Alex had picked up smoking in the service. Nothing took the edge off when overseas like smoking. After returning and finishing her service, she still found comfort in smoking. It would increase when stressed and help her focus while completing school.

She met Megan while a medical student, back when they both smoked. It wasn’t until after dating for some time that Megan insisted that they both quit. Alex smoked her last pack and went cold turkey after that. The things people do for love.

After getting her breakfast and beverage from the pick-up counter, another large bolt of lightning ripped across the dark cloudy sky. The rain continued, becoming an even heavier downpour since she left home.

Through a gnawing feeling of preparedness, she quickly stopped by the mini-mart within the rest stop and grabbed an electronic cigarette device and three packs of liquid pods. She told herself it wasn’t cheating but a clean alternative. Megan would understand.

The combination of the storm, a field case in the mountains, and the strange dreams had Alex on a slight edge. And the only way she dealt with stress was to pump her body with more uppers. Nicotine and caffeine were the poisons of choice.

Alex needed the constant feeling of jitters when she was on the job. Especially when on long commutes to field operations, where she would spend most of her time trapped behind the steering wheel.

As Alex returned to her SUV with her iced coffee and blueberry muffin, she got situated in the driver’s seat before pulling out the fold-out map of Western Pennsylvania from her glove compartment. She checked the route once more.

She highlighted the route on the map with care. Alex wanted to ensure that every exit and highway number was burned into her memory before reaching the backwoods country up north.

Paper maps and charting routes were an obsessive-compulsive habit, a practice not personally desired but instilled in her through her army training. Once satisfied, she quickly filled up at the gas pump.

Before leaving the rest stop, Alex plugged her phone into the car audio system and selected her preferred background noise. While scrolling through her playlists, Alex popped a nicotine pod from the box and clipped it into the electronic cigarette device.

She placed it on her lips and took a long deep drag on the device. The burning sensation hit her lungs, and Alex felt the dopamine release bring her down to baseline.

After another inhale, she selected the playlist and hit the button to start the music. The randomizer picked “Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

She silently approved, clipped her phone into the dashboard holder, put the car in drive, and left the station toward the interstate. Driving was her personal time.

It was a brief respite before having to deal with the outside world once more. This is when she could silently ruminate on whatever thoughts or memories were troubling her at the moment.

The topic of reflection this morning was her strange dream. As well as the subsequent conversation she had with Megan about it, there was a sense of relief from telling the truth about the dream, but there was also regret.

Alex knew she should have withheld the last part. There was no need to confess that she found it enjoyable.

This is the part Alex hated about revealing one’s psyche to others. That it becomes hard to stop once you start running your mouth.

Alex knew that eventually, she would have to discuss it again with her wife and that Megan would say something about being concerned for her well-being. It would be her punishment for being too honest and open.

Afterward, she would have to promise to not shut down and cut Megan off from the truth, which she would. It was the same routine. Another day passes, and it feels like nothing changes.

As she continued north on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, it wasn’t long until she reached her exit for highway 157. The road quickly transitioned into a curve-infested mountain pass not long after she left the interstate.

Each mile she passed, there was an exponential growth in the number of pine trees lining the sides of the road. Heading higher up the Allegheny mountains and deeper into the forest, Alex continued to smoke her electronic cigarette and changed her thoughts to a new topic.

The dream from the night before was bothering her. This bestial dream from the night back was haunting her subconscious, and it wasn’t long before it had burrowed into her conscience and consumed her thoughts in entirety.

Alex had read as much of the literature on PTSD as she could obtain. From textbooks to published journal articles, she studied the condition in depth.

It was odd enough that her flashbacks consumed her dreams, but suddenly having a new lucid dream out of nowhere was even more bothersome to her. Maybe it was a form of microevolution her brain was undergoing to disassociate from the painful memories.

Translating the fear and the pain into a fantasy where she was more in control and finding excitement and joy in the atrocities. Atrocities that the various psychological experts told her were necessary to survive.

But then, she should discover reconciliation within her own consciousness and spirit. The exhaled vapor was beginning to build up and linger in the front cab of the SUV.

After turning on the AC and rolling the windows down, the light on the electronic cigarette began to blink. The pod was empty, drained bone dry.

Alex plucked it out with two fingers and flicked it to the passenger side floor before loading a fresh one. Another inhale brought the new burn igniting deep down in her lungs.

Another large intake of iced coffee washed down the lingering mint flavor pasted across her tongue. Alex reached over and increased the speed of the windshield wipers before putting her foot down on the gas pedal.

As she zoned out again to the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers, she quickly picked up where she left off in her thoughts. They say physicians make the worst patients. Regarding mental health, Alex was no exception to the rule.

She was first exposed to psychiatry as a medical student and knew it wasn’t for her. Having to discuss and listen to strangers’ insecurities, emotions, and taboo thoughts sounded like a torturous hell.

Regarding personal ideology on all this, she wished she could find comfort in her Catholic upbringing. Growing up in a predominantly Catholic Mexican American household in New Mexico, there had always been strength in numbers. Someone was always there to catch you when you needed it the most.

But there was no longer a safety net in either family or the church. Not for a lesbian, at least.

The headlights of the SUV caught the reflection of a sign through the tree line up ahead on the right-hand side: Damonburg, five miles. As the road became more treacherous with its many turns, the surrounding area also appeared more sinister.

The trees in Nephast County did not look like the standard pine trees. Instead, they retained a very diseased appearance. The needles were yellow-gray in color and drooping low from the branches.

The bark peeled from the trunks with numerous large cankers that wept with oozing sap. As she peered into the forest while passing, she observed innumerable trees riddled with putrescent fungal growths.

Alex brought her car to a slow stop upon her arrival at a fork in the road. Through the rapidly moving windshield wipers, she could make out the time-worn reflective lettering of the rusted green road sign.

The partially decayed white lettering read Damonburg, followed by a white arrow pointing left. Quickly, she put her turning signal on and turned onto the muddied road.

The rear tires began to spin as they crossed from the asphalt to the deep mud of the road. Alex dropped the SUV into four-wheel drive and progressed forward through a sharp right turn.

As soon as she cleared the turn, the SUV was suddenly stopped, skidding along in the sloppy brown path. The headlights of the SUV illuminated the visage of a broad and roaring river.

Alex reached over and grabbed the map from the passenger seat. It was the Tschepsit River, a winding tributary of the Allegany.

The map showed the Tschepsit River to come down from the mountain and form a U shape around the town of Damonburg. Hence, the river took her by surprise when she rounded the corner.

Ahead of the SUV was a two-way bridge. Its sturdiness was questionable and concerning, as Alex could see the faint swaying of the construct as the roaring river pounded against the middle span in the storm. The support rails looked more rotted than rusted, giving the doctor a feeling of uneasiness about crossing it.

On the other side of the bridge, Alex could see a cathedral and clock tower through the rain. The town of Damonburg was just on the other side.

Putting the vehicle back into four-wheel drive, Alex began the journey across the bridge.

The bridge started to sway and wobble with more ferocity as it began to bear the bulk of the SUV’s weight. She turned off the stereo to concentrate, and as the music faded, the cab’s interior was filled with the gut-wrenching sounds of creaking and cracking wood.

As the SUV crossed over the middle span, Alex hit the gas pedal and sped over the last half. The increase in tire force was now forcing the decrepit bridge to shake uncontrollably.

Gazing into the rearview mirror, the bridge appeared to be more slithering than shaking. The tires passed over the edge of the bridge and back onto solid ground.

To her immediate right was an old-looking gas station. Alex released a heavy exhale before putting on her signal and turning into the gas station.

She was not surprised that the pump did not take debit cards. Locking her car, she made her way inside the gas station.

The sign on the door read, “Kolb’s Kountry Korner Gas and Grub,” in old English lettering, followed by the hours of operations underneath. A blue “open” sign hung below that, tilting at an angle.

Alex opened the door to the sound of a soft bell jingle. As the door shut behind her, she turned and fixed the blue sign so that it sat straight.

Wiping her hands with hand sanitizer from a small bottle in her pocket, she approached the counter and waited for service.

Standing at the chipped, worn, and scratched wooden counter, Alex stood with crossed arms staring at the rows of cigarette packs lining the wall behind the register. The speakers overhead played some oldies song while a dust-coated ceiling fan completed slow rotations over the vacated counter.

Another moment passed, and no sign of help appeared. Growing impatient, Alex looked around the counter for a service bell.

Failing to see a bell, she decided to check the back.

Alex turned around and recoiled at the sight of an overweight man standing two feet from her. His sudden and unannounced arrival shocked her, taken aback by the lack of doorbell or any other cues of his presence. Exhaling sharply as she stepped backward, Alex recovered quickly and offered him an apology.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been waiting for help with paying for my gas. Do you work here?”

The stranger stared at her with a blank face, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. Finally, the man spoke, but he did not speak English. Instead, the man responded to her in what sounded like German.

“Du bist nicht von hier, Ausländer. Was willst du? Geh dorthin zurück, wo du hergekommen bist.”

Alex apologized again, explaining to the gentleman that she did not speak German. The man continued to talk to her while she shifted her attention to the aisles behind him.

A voice appeared from behind her. Alex turned around and could see that a woman stood behind the counter, though no door was near the back counter. She leaned over and inspected the floor.

Was she hiding behind the counter? What the hell? Alex thought to herself while returning to an upright position. She gave the woman a friendly smile, but the longer she stared at the clerk, the more uncomfortable Alex felt.

The woman was a gaunt, almost hollow-looking middle-aged woman with graying brown hair. Her hair was pulled back into a tight and neat bun, the pressure causing the veins on her forehead to bulge a bright purple color.

Crusted sores frozen in various stages of healing dotted the skin around her mouth, peeling back over a pair of yellowed protruding teeth. The clerk looked half alive and severely cachectic. Alex began to feel pity for the woman, as she looked like she might be suffering from late-stage cancer.

Moving from her face, Alex quickly looked at her clothing and was briefly thrown off by the peculiar choice in fashion. The clerk’s dress looked very dated, almost a period piece from a hundred years ago or so. She had heard of the Amish living in Pennsylvania but thought they lived in Lancaster County on the opposite side of the state.

Alex broke the awkward silence. She removed thirty dollars in cash from her wallet and placed it on the counter.

“I would like thirty in gas, please. You can keep the change,” she said.

The clerk slid the money toward her, keeping her sunken hazel eyes fixed on Alex. The clerk rang her up in silence, never once blinking or averting her gaze.

With the transaction complete, Alex thanked her and began to walk back toward the door. As she touched the handle, a sudden sense of professional duty forced her to stop.

I should make sure she is okay, or at least see the local doctor.

Alex pulled her hand from the handle and turned around. When she faced the counter again, Alex found to her surprise that the old woman was no longer behind the counter. Also, there was no sign of the short, overweight man.

She looked down aisles and behind the counter, but it became clear that the gas station’s interior was utterly vacant once more. Alex backed herself to the door, an uneasy feeling welling inside her.

Exiting the store, she turned around and returned to the pump. Finishing the refill, Alex slowly placed the nozzle back into the metal holster of the pump.

The more she thought about the clerk, something seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on precisely what it was.

Alex got into her car and shut the door while shaking her head with a scoff. As she reached over her shoulder to buckle her seat belt, Alex paused in thought.

Her mind had finally connected the dots, and in a catatonic state of shock, the seatbelt flew from her hand and back into the seat.

“Holy shit. That, that doesn’t make sense. No.”

She ripped open the door handle and got out of her car in a rushed panic, getting a last look at the inside of the gas station.

To Alex’s surprise, the interior of the station was pitch black. The blue sign on the door had also been turned, showing the words closed in white brick letters.

Her heartbeat began to pound in her chest as her eyes darted around the front of the gas station in frantic search of any sign of the clerk from within. The unsettling feeling within her had elevated to a buzzing of overwhelming anxiety.

Alex got back into the driver’s seat, reaching into her bag on the passenger seat and retrieving a prescription bottle. It was an anti-anxiety medication.

She took the pill with a dry swallow and sat in silence as her mind raced.

~That woman looked like the person…from my dream. The woman from the gas station that I had attacked. But I don’t understand. I have never seen that woman before.

What is going on? No, that’s irrational and stupid. It’s all in your head.

Just get a fucking grip, Alex. Get a grip. I’m getting worked up for nothing.~

She started her SUV and began to pull forward. As her car cleared the pump, an extensive outline of a dried red stain lay on the concrete.

As she pulled onto the road, Alex looked up and beheld an antique-looking sign on two large wooden beams.

The cracking and fading old English letters read:

Welcome to Damonburg.

Est. 1690. Population 1,309.

As her car pulled onto the highway and continued down the road, two sets of sunken glazed eyes watched her from within the darkness inside the station.