Chapter 3: More are Missing

The gang of three didn’t spend much time along the road. Their hope of finding Susan back with the others prodded them along briskly, running almost. But when they reached the others, something was definitely wrong. Patti and two other girls were now crying. It was evident that Susan was not with them.

Melannie rushed over to the three as they entered the parking lot from the road, “did you find Susan?”, she quickly demanded. “Did you find her. Clay!, where is Susan? Is she hurt? Oh my God!, what has happened to Susan?”

The look on Clay’s face suggested that something was wrong. Melannie sensed it. She started to cry. Clay, somewhat surprised by the mood of the group, especially by the feeling that he may be somewhat responsibile, snatched the hat Brock was holding and demanded from everyone to identify its rightful owner.

“Was Susan wearing this hat tonight?”, demanded Clay, somewhat irritated by everyone’s stares. No now answered. Clay asked a second time, “is this Susan’s hat?” Again no response. Clay sensed that something was wrong. Everyone remained silient like a classroom of naughty kids who kept their secrets from the teacher.
Clay scanned the group looking for support . . . anyone who could make some sense on what is going on. “Where’s Phil?”, Clay finally asked, hoping that question would help break the silence. But nobody answered. They only glanced at each other waiting for someone to speak first.

“Where’s Phil?,” Clay asked a second time. Again silence. He turns to the boy nearest him, “Mark!, where’s Phil, damnit!”, snaps Clay, now irritated that nobody in the group is participating.

“We don’t know . . . and back off!, man. I am not part of your game,” retorted Mark, somewhat miffed by the Clay’s arrogant attitude.

“You don’t know, he was here when we left!,” answered Clay right back, making sure everyone knows he is still in charge.

Mark shuffled from foot to foot, looking for the words ... any words. They slowly came, in a slow muffled sound, “right after you guys left, we saw someone that looked liked Susan running across the cementary some 40-50 yards that way.” Mark pointed in a direction that was opposite the direction Clay had taken to find Susan. He continued.

“We yelled to let her know that we were over here in the parking lot, but she kept running further away from us. So Phil and Van Kirk ran after her. In that direction.” Mark lifts his hand to indicate the direction the boys took. Clay took a step forwarded in that direction, sckowering the cementary hoping to evidence anything that Mark was saying.

Clay noticed that Mark was not talking straight. He was slurring his speech a bit. Something strange has happened. Clay turned back to Mark and commented.

“So they ran after her. That’s good! They found her. Then what?”

Mark takes a deep breathe, pauses a minute, and then continues, “well!”, he says, “they ran after her, yelling for Susan to stop. She didn’t. So Phil and Van Kirk ran deeper inside the cementary. They finally caught up to her and stopped her. We could see all three of them standing next to the big tree.”

Mark stands erect and points to a big towering oak tree some 60-70 yards deep inside the cementary. Mark finished his story:

“So we stood here and watched. Perhaps they were trying to comfort her, we don’t know. A cloud passed under the moon and it became really dark. We couldn’t see very good. But when the cloud passed, they were gone . . . disappeared. We couldn’t see them anymore. We called for them. But no answer. Maybe they took another path, we thought. But they haven’t come back. And nobody dares go after them.”

This party started with 7 men and 9 women. One women is missing, eight other women are crying. Two men are now missing, leaving five men to do what.

Nobody dares to go find them, thought Clay. That’s crazy. What was going on, he muffled within himself. The party started with 7 men and 9 women. Now one woman is missing along with two other men. Clay tried to grab his composure. Things were happening so fast that he couldn’t think. Eight women were huddled together, crying; four other men were standing idely waiting for Clay to take charge. Everyone of them, including Clay, sensed that something was wrong.

“By, Hell!,” Clay finally retorts, desperately trying to regain control. He turns to face the entire group, which had finally huddled into one general area. “I want everyone to know that I have nothing to do with this. You guys may think that I do, but I don’t. And if anyone here wants to confess up, now is the time.”

Clay waits for an answer. The only sounds were miffled sounds of women cries and the light of a cigerette from Brock, who Clay noticed, hasn’t said a word since he accused him of pullling this stunt.

Clay turns back towards the cemetary and walks over to the ground’s edge. “Games over! You guys have scared us. PHIL, VAN KIRK, SUSAN,” Clays yells back across the cementary, “I’m scared . . .We’re scared . . We’re all scared! You certainly scared the HELL out of me. You can come in now. We want to go home and get drunk.”
Nothing. Not one sound echoed back. Only shadows dancing wickedly inside the abyss casting a warning that no one should penetrate these hallowed grounds. Silence ruled the group. No one said a word. Only the faint sounds of a jostling leaves, which stubbornly refused to let go of the trees they clunged to for a season. Getting mighty drunk seemed like a good idea right now.

Clay stood at the edge of the cementary grounds, scanning the grounds for three wicked pranksters who, at this very moment, might be making a sneak appearance from behind a bush or a tree or a large tomb or please God!, something. But nothing moved. Total silence ... total stillness ... total nothing.

After a minute, which seemed like an eternity, Clay realized that the group behind him didn’t have anything to do with this. There would have been a snicker by now, a ‘Got You’ sucker, or something that would give the plot away. Nobody in this group could act this long without breaking down. The cries — they were too real now — suggested that something very serious was going on.

Clay didn’t know what to do. He skowered the grounds again, hoping for anything that would turn this nightmare around. His biggest fear was that some deranged person was inside. Clay had to take leadership. He had to do something fast before someone panics. He has three friends missing; another nine looking to him for answers. He had to do something fast.

Clay turned back to his friends. “Phil, Van Kirk, and Susan are either missing or playing a joke. We need to go in there and find them.” Phil broke the silence that gribbed the group. “But I want everyone here to understand, and to hear me plainly, I had nothing to do with this. Either they do,” pointing back across the cemetary, “or someone here knows what is going on,” pointing back at the group, “or someone else other than us is here tonight.” Clays lowers his head but keeps his eyes fixated on his friends. He wanted to emphasize one more time that he is serious about his comments. It is either they or some other uninvited guest who is behind this prank.

“What do you mean someone else?” Cole piped up. He was working on his fifth cigarette. He always smokes heavily when he is nervous.

Clay regains his composure, “I’m saying, they maybe, just maybe, and you girls need to get a grip of the situation and control yourself. There could be some loner, psycho, what-have-you, taking our friends down.”
Two of the girls gasped, as though someone had slapped them hard on the back. Clay wished he didn’t have to make this comment. But he had to. He would be stupid to think they didn’t feel something like this was going on. He had to take control fast before the entire groups panics. One or two people panicking, you can manage. An entire group panicking, that could be ugly.

Clay steps over to his car, which Brock was leaning against. He looks Brock in the eye to assure him that everything is under control. He opens the trunk of his car, fumbles inside for a moment, and then withdrawls two handguns, one slightly larger than the other. Clay straps one gun to his waist, proceeds to pull his pants up to make sure the holster has a firm grib, and then returns to the group who stood in complete ahast on the events unfolding. Was Clay serious? It took a moment. But seeing him stand, legs slightly apart, one hand on his gun, another holding a second, sensed that something really wicked was about to take place. Several more girls begun to cry.

“Now hold it right there,” blurted Cole, puffing the last bit of tobacco before flipping the butt to other side of the ground. “You are scaring the HELL out of everybody. There has got to be a simple explanation.”

Cole walks over to Clay, knowing that he will have to do a lot of persuasive talking to calm everybody down. Clay responds as he approaches, “simple!, and what might that be, my Friend?”

Cole didn’t have an answer. Susan’s hat, the implanted tomb stone with her name on it, the sudden disappearance of Phil and Van Kirk, the passing of time, nearly a hour now, with no sign of this being a prank or joke, gave credence to Clay’s sudden defensive action. Cole knew it. He only hoped for a different solution, which he now offered.
“Let’s go back into town and call the authorities. They can best handle this.” This was Cole’s best calculated decision, which seemed to receive nods of approval from other members of the group. But that fleeting sense of hope was quickly shattered by the reality of the situation.

“And leave our friends here, alone, while we hy-tail back to town,” retorts Clay. “If you want to go, GO!. But I am not leaving without Susan, Phil or Van Kirk. If some of us leave now, who knows what that bastard will do.” Clay removes the gun from its holster. It was a shining black semi-automatic that Clay used in target practice. He was know as a good shooter. Winning different ribbons and recognition awards from the gun club back home. Given the situation they have now come under, having Clay here amongst them, brandising a slik weapon, seemed the best option at the time. Everyone would like to leave this hellish place. But not just now. Good friends were needing to be found.

“Then what is your plan?” concedes Cole, realizing that Clay was right. He felt bewildered on the next steps. Leaving now, if only in one car, could provoke some action that could endanger their friends.

“Let’s go back in and see what we can find,” Clay begins. “Cole, Brock and myself will go in. The rest of you will remain here. If we don’t find anything, then part of you will go back into town and get the police.”

Clay quickly instructed Cole to retrieve his flashlight from the back of his car. He needed to move fast. It was getting late and the group was sensing danger. Clay was sure that something strange was going on. But he wanted to make sure that Susan and the others were not playing a joke before bringing in the police. Just one more scan of the grounds for any clues before conceding defeat.

Cole returns with his flashlight as three of the girls crawled into the car to escape, if only a little, from the dark reality that Clay started to paint. Clay pauses his friend for a moment, asks him to wait, while he leaves final instructions to the group remaining behind. Clay gently grasps Mark arm and led him over to the edge of the cementary grounds.
“Mark, you said it was that big tree off yonder where you last saw Phil, Mark and Susan?” Mark nodded in agreement. “Are you sure it was Susan or someone else?,” Clay concluded, as he faced Mark, drawing upon him to remember in detail everything that he saw.

Mark understood where Clay was leading, but he couldn’t answer. It looked like Susan because of the long hair that trailed behind her back. It was too dark, and too far away, to identify exactly who the players were.

“Listen, Buddy! I have two handguns. They are both fully loaded. I am going to take this one and I want you to have the other.” Clays pulls out his second gun. It was a smaller version than the one attached to his waist; but nonetheless, it was powerful enough to bring down any suspected villian.

Clay was a bit hesitant to to give up his gun in light of whether Mark has ever shot one before. But what choice did he have. Someone had to stay behind while he and the others investigated the disappearance of their friends. And since Mark was the most viable candidate at the moment, he needed some protection. Clay illustrated to Mark the loading and firing mechanisms of the piece. Mark was uncomfortable at first, but realizing that he was staying behind, it brought some comfort to him that he had some form of protection. Perhaps Clay was right and that some deranged person is lurking inside the cemetary. A loaded gun with six full chambers ....

Clay hands the gun to Mark, who cautiously gribs the handle to feel it weight and form. Clay leaves one last instruction, “Make sure you know who you are shooting at before you fire. I don’t want to have a murder on our hands because Susan decides to jump out and say, ‘I got-cha’”

Mark was not amused, but understood what Clay was saying. He stuffs the gun into his trousers, wipes the sweat from the palm of his hand, and walks back to a car to begin his role as sentry. The others in the group witnessed Clay’s hand-off of his second piece. It brought little comfort, but not much.