The Bottom Feeders and Other Stories

5: Care and Feeding of the Old Flat Mile

Some places were just born evil, and the Old Flat Mile slid easily into that description. Constructed shortly after the Second World War, that stretch of road was originally intended for glory. Architects and businessmen pointed to what they dubbed the “Golden Mile” as the linchpin in Springdale’s future rise to prominence. The luxuriant homes built there were sure to draw investors with the deepest of pockets. That was the plan until little Calvin Unruh was crushed under the tracks of a bulldozer while chasing his brother’s errant throw.

Construction halted immediately, investors clambered for their money, and the proposed housing development disappeared like a summer mirage. The county took over the road, dubbed it North 1800, and left it unpaved. The locals christened North 1800 “Flat Mile,” surely with no pun aimed at poor Calvin’s unfortunate accident.

Meanwhile, Calvin’s older brother, Daniel, lived with the knowledge that he threw the football his brother chased that day. He spent many years as a haunted, pale boy with black eyes. And as Daniel grew up, the road waited.

In time, Daniel’s guilt faded. Especially after he eased into his teen years and developed a penchant for tinkering with engines and blondes. Some said he tried to forget his brother with those fast cars and girls, and maybe they were right.

Daniel loved to drag race, and the level stretch of the Flat Mile was the perfect spot to flex his automotive muscle. There were other times, quieter evenings with full moons, during which he would ease his ’57 Chevy down that road to put his girlfriend in the mood.

On one of those nights built for romance, he steered onto the Flat Mile only to find his buddy, Jeb Harwood, waiting in his own hot rod, itching for a race. Something in the rumble of those two cars must’ve woken the road; it had tasted blood once, and its hunger must’ve grown.

Daniel ended up losing control on a patch of loose gravel, and the race concluded with his’57 wrenched around a tree. His girlfriend survived, eventually moving to Kansas City, marrying, and raising three children. Daniel, however, never really left the Flat Mile.

Unfortunately, Daniel wasn’t the last to smear his young blood in the dirt and sand. Teenage boys, full of hot blood, loved to prove their mettle with fast, reckless driving. After a few more fatalities, city officials blocked off the Flat Mile, and the road was left in loneliness and disrepair.

Over the next forty years, stories faded, signs were taken down, and the road slept. Eventually, a new generation of Springdale teens found a use for North 1800.

Oblivious to history, Jimmy Campbell, tried to navigate his father’s Chrysler through the thick April mud of the Old Flat Mile while his girlfriend, homecoming runner-up Maggie Bloch, complained. Beneath them, the road smelled engine exhaust, purred with the sweet rumble of a straining engine, woke, and called its children home.

“What the hell were you thinking, Jimbo?” Maggie asked. Her long fingernails carved deep into the smooth faux velvet bench seat as the car groaned, its wheels spinning in place.

Jimmy’s beefy paws clutched the steering wheel, gripping so tight that his knuckles turned white. “Look, I figured it hadn’t rained in a couple days, so it’d be okay.”

“Well, a couple of dry days don’t matter much when it rains for a week straight.” Jimmy ran a handful of stubby fingers through his sawed-off brown hair. “Hell, I thought the full moon would be nice.”

Maggie wasn’t ready to play nice. “Real romantic,” she said, glancing out the window and catching a ghost of her own, thin-faced reflection in the glass. “It isn’t even a full moon.”

“Like hell.” Jimmy released his foot from the gas, and the car sighed with relief. He pushed his face against the windshield and searched for the moon.

“No, it’s only about three-quarters.”

“Awww,” Jimmy moaned, dropping his head to the steering wheel. “I wanted to, you know, do something you might think was romantic.” His hands dropped to his chin. “I really fucked up. If the Charger was ready, we wouldn’t be stuck.”

Maggie’s face broke into a smile. “You think your dad’s old clunker could get us out of this mud pit?”

Jimmy’s face sprouted with red blotches. “First of all, it’s a ’69. A classic, not a clunker. And no it couldn’t get us out of the mud. Once I get that puppy humming, I’m not taking it out in this stuff, anyway. If the road was dry, hell yeah. I can’t wait to — ”

“What? Spin out on the flat mile and end up in the ditch?” Maggie shook her head and brushed her auburn hair away from her face, pulling back into a loose ponytail. “Listen, sweetie. You get me out of this mud-hole, and I’ll make sure we find a dark, quiet spot for some real romance.” Her hand slid onto his lap, and stroked the inside of his leg.

Jimmy slowly straightened in his seat. He glanced at Maggie. “I love you, babe.”

“I know.” She smiled, but her face suddenly dropped into a stunted frown. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

“I saw something move behind you.” She shivered. “Look, the sooner we get out of here, the better.”

“Don’t freak on me.”

“I’m not, I just …want to get back to town, okay? Civilization?” She waved her fingers toward the blue glow of Springdale. “I don’t like this road. The stories — ”

“ — are mostly silly legends to scare kids; to keep people from driving too fast.”

“Well, they’re working. I’m scared.”

“Right. I’ll get us out of here, then.” Jimmy pushed his door open with a squeak of rusty hinges.

“Where are you going?” Maggie’s voice eked out with a taint of panic.

Jimmy had slipped from the car, but momentarily ducked back into the dim glow of the dashboard lights. “Just going to find some wood or something I can wedge behind the tires. You know — for traction.”

“All right,” she said slowly. “Just hurry, okay?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Maggie jabbed the automatic locks as soon as Jimmy slammed his door. She huddled on her side of the car, feeling a bit chilly in the April darkness. If he would just hurry, she thought. She twirled a bit of hair on her finger. This place is creepy, but the old full-moon trick is kinda sweet. He’s a —

Maggie’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang on her door. Jimmy’s face hovered just outside her window.

“Gotcha,” he muttered, loud enough to be heard through the glass.

Maggie snapped the door open, smashing it across his knees. “Damn it Jimbo, I nearly wet myself.” She stood up next to the door, and looked into the darkness, past her doubled-over boyfriend. “Jimmy …who's that?” she asked, shivering.

Jimmy let a pathetic little groan slip out of his mouth as he rubbed his knees. “Just some guys. They can help push the car.”

Three figures shimmered in the moonlight. They appeared to be teenage boys, somewhere between sixteen and nineteen, but they all seemed strange. Their faces were pinched together, too gaunt and pale, even in the moonlight. Maggie tried to muster a friendly smile, and the boys’ lips cracked open in response. They wore dirty clothing, streaked with dark stains.

Most likely mud, Maggie thought. Gross.

One stepped forward and stretched out a withered hand. His fingertips were stained black. “I’m Dan. This here’s Lonnie and Earl. We can help,” he said. Maggie couldn’t see his lips move. A taint floated with his voice, like the sound of a light wind cutting through a strand of old trees. The other two stood behind him like chimps; the one introduced as Lonnie poked a finger into his mouth and scratched at his gums, digging out something black that shone in the moonlight.

A rancid odor oozed off the boys. It was wet and fishy — the scent of a riverbank after a flood.

Maggie quickly slipped into the car and slammed the door shut. Jimmy said something to the three, and sloshed through the mud to the driver's side. He tried to shake the thick muck from his shoes before shutting the driver’s door and slipping the gear shifter into neutral, but it was no use.

“Who are those guys?” Maggie whispered. She caught herself with one hand against the dash as the car lurched forward. The back of her neck burned like some dull razor had plucked out the hairs one by one. “I haven’t seen them around school.”

Jimmy shrugged, maintaining a solid grip on the steering wheel. “Probably home-schooled or something.”

“Home-schooled? Really?” Maggie cast a curious glance at Jimmy’s profile. “They look a little freaky to me.”

“Yeah, well, some of those home-schooled kids are religious fanatics, you know. Maybe these guys are part of some wacky cult. They seem nice enough, though.”

Maggie turned to look over her shoulder. The yellow faces of the three strangers grinned in the back window, showing bent and browning teeth. Their eyes were cold and black, so she quickly snapped her eyes back to the front of the car. “They make me feel dirty. The way they leer at me.”

“Babe, if they’re religious zealots, they probably aren’t used to seeing hot numbers like you. Really.” Jimmy leaned over and kissed her on the neck. Maggie pushed him away and flashed a tepid smile.

“Look, we’re almost there,” Jimmy announced. He straightened in his seat and peered into the cone produced by the headlights. “We still on for that dark, quiet spot?”

“I’ll think about it,” Maggie muttered, crossing her arms across her chest. She couldn't shake the crawling sensation of the boys’ eyes on her back.

“See, safe and sound,” Jimmy said as the headlights lit up the yellow sign at the end of North 1800. “I’ll just thank them, and we’re off.”

“Jimmy, don't ….”

“Just a quickie. They really helped us out of a jam.”

Jimmy stepped out of the car.

Maggie stared at her feet for a moment, looked at Jimmy's open door, and slowly brought her gaze to the window next to her. A flat, leering face with bloodshot eyes and stretched, chapped lips floated an inch from the window.

“You're purdy,” the face gibbered, its voice muffled and cold. Maggie let out a small gasp, quickly turned away from the window, and reached for the door lock. Her thumb flicked the switch, but the lock wouldn’t cooperate with Jimmy’s door hanging open.

Jimmy poked his head into the car. “Hey, Maggie. This guy owns a ‘57 Chevy — stock everything. They other guys have nice rides, too. Vintage. They say I should come out sometime, race with them.”

“That’s nice, Jimbo. Once you get that old jalopy of yours running again, anyway.” Maggie’s voice crawled with sarcasm. “Can we go?” she implored. She heard a slight scratching sound.

Outside Maggie’s door, pale fingers felt for the handle.

“Yeah. Just a sec.” Jimmy’s face vanished again, but Maggie still heard his voice. “Look, is there anything we can do to thank you?”

Maggie’s door popped open, and she nearly collapsed in the mud. She would have, if not for the strong arms that caught her. She plucked at them with her fingertips, feeling cold, wormy flesh — they way she imagined the white belly of a catfish would feel just after it was pulled from the river.

Maggie’s mouth dropped open, but no sound escaped, as a rotten hand slipped across her lips. Another set of hands moved over her body, and she squirmed against the invasion. Jimmy's face was pale in the darkness, and she only saw him in profile as the arms dragged her into the thick, swishing grass around the ditch.

“You see, buddy,” Dan said to Jimmy, once Maggie was several yards away, “we’ve been out here a long time. Too long, really. Your girl there … she’s pretty. Earl, Lonnie, me — we’ve been dead a long time, but those urges just don’t go away. It’s real lonely out here.”

Jimmy turned to the car, and caught a glimpse of Maggie’s flailing feet as Dan’s greasy companions pulled her further into the grass. His stomach dropped, his heart throbbed frantically, and something big and hard crashed against the back of his head.

Dan stood over him holding a rusty tire iron. He bent down, breathing his filth on Jimmy's prone form. “Don’t worry, buddy,” he sneered. “We’ll take real good care of her.” Then, he raised the tire iron, and cracked it repeatedly against Jimmy’s skull, until blood and brain matter leaked out.

When he finished, he dragged Jimmy’s body to the ditch and joined his friends across the road.

And so, the Old Flat Mile filled its belly on hot, young blood once again, while its children enjoyed a feast of their own.