River Falls

I suppose when the four horsemen came up to my car, I should've known to put it in reverse. Or perhaps their grim faces should've sent me running. Either way, I swallowed the hot stone lodged in my throat and lowered the windows as they approached. Their lanterns bathed the dirt road in a ghoulish orange glow. Not vibrant, but tempered and sickly - as though someone had placed frosted glass around the Mona Lisa. The hooves clopped on the ground and a horse whinnied as it stopped by my door. A man slid off, his coat dark and graced by a shimmer of water from the drizzling rain.

          "H-How do you do?" I asked, the warmth of my breath stolen away by the frigid night.

          His beady eyes glared out from beneath heavy eyebrows. He scowled and replied, "Cars aren't allowed up here, mister. I suggest you turn tail."

          "Oh, but you see..." I rummaged around for my license. "I'm a journalist!" I thrust it in his face rather hastily and dropped it on the ground.

          He picked it up and sniffed. "This doesn't mean anything to me."

          "Ah, well... I spoke to, uh... Mr. Donahue-"

          "How's that?"

          "I sent him a letter... about three months ago, asking if I could come up here and do a story on your wonderful little village. After some convincing, he agreed. So, here I am!" I attempted a smile, but my interrogator growled, stopping my lips in their tracks.

          "Wait here," he ordered, leaving the horse to keep me company. He went to converse with his comrades while I took a few deep breaths. Something about that man... He returned before I could formulate a full thought. "Mr. Donahue... Bill... is dead-"

           "Oh my-"

          He held up a hand to silence me. "He never told any of us about this... He was getting a bit... fussy towards the end, but if you can provide us a letter proving your correspondence with him, then we can take you in... on our terms."

          When I got my senses back, I rifled through my briefcase, spilling many of its contents over the passenger seat. I found a letter from Mr. Donahue and held it up. "Here - this is one of his first letters."

          He glanced at it for a few seconds, noting the handwriting and the signature at the bottom, and then sniffed. "Very well. My name is David Gilman."

          "Ah, pleasure to meet you. I'm Martin Deersworth, but you can call me Marty." I held out my hand and he stared at it with cold detachment.

          "Martin, before you step out of your vehicle, you must understand some things. If you are to come with us, you must adhere to the rules of our town. First and foremost, we do not allow any... technology. Not even a wristwatch. Your writing will be done by hand. Second, you must clothe yourself in the garb of our people. And third, you will not cause a disruption in our practices, no matter what, and you will participate in any... activities required of a resident."

           I shifted in my seat. "These activities... is it like... chopping wood for fires, rolling hay, or cleaning up after animals?"

          He grimaced, though it may have been an attempt at a genuine smile. "Among other things, yes."

          "Oh... alright," I shrugged off a nagging thought at the back of my head and began to get out of the car.

          "Leave all your belongings here," ordered David as I stepped out into the muddy night.

          "What? Even my-"

          "Everything you need will be taken care of until your... story is complete." His eyes were stern. "Now, wear this coat and wrap it tightly around yourself. I do not wish for your... outside clothes to be seen."

          I did as I was told, and then followed him to his horse. "I... I've never ridden a horse before," I admitted.

          "Don't worry," said David, climbing up, "you'll be walking."

          "W-what?" I spluttered, "In this cold?"

          "You want your story, don't you?"

          I felt a spark of anger flare up in my chest, but I tightened the coat around me and began marching forward, the horses neighing as they started off. One way or another, I thought, I'm getting my story.

***

Our road crested about 500 yards ahead. From the summit, the town below seemed small and inconsequential. Just a few main roads, all dirt and lined with oil lamps, and a few large buildings amongst the houses. A forest sprawled out around the village - the same one our road cut through. As we descended towards the town center, I felt the trees close in around me, looming over me like dark sentinels.

          "Welcome," grumbled David, "to River Falls."

          I shivered in response. A ten minute walk led us right to what I presume was Main Street. Four dominant buildings were placed in a corner of a crossroads. The town hall, a large church, an infirmary, and a storehouse. Some people walked in and out of these places, and I was struck by their clothing. The women wore bonnets over traditional black dresses, and the men wore dark overcoats so large it was hard to tell what was underneath, though I caught a glimpse of a black suit with a white collar. I knew the people in this village were traditional, but I never thought they'd look like they just stepped off of the Mayflower.

          David and his companions parked their horses in front of the church and slid off. "In here," said David, taking my shoulder and steering me inside. Rows of pews greeted me - so large that it must've been able to fit the townsfolk twice over. It was a simple church - an altar at the front and a large portrait of Jesus behind an organ.

          I said, "This is a nice place. And that's a beautiful painting."

          David grimaced and said, "You think so? That's good. You're a man of faith, then."

          "Huh... Yeah..." In truth, I had not been to a church since I moved out for college.

          "Robert, Michael... Go fetch Martin some clothes from storage." At David's command, the two sped off back down the rows of pews and out of the church.

          "So you're like the leader around here?" I asked, rubbing my arms under my coat.

          "I am on the council... and I do lead the night's watch at our borders." David sat down, his back perfectly straight.

          "Ooh, the night's watch," I smiled, "Sounds like something from Game of Thrones."

          "What?" The other companion stared at me blankly.

          "Oh," I felt myself blushing slightly, "It's a TV show-"

          "There is another rule," interjected David loudly, "You will not speak of the outside world or its many... intricacies... during your stay here. You will be introduced as a reporter, yes, but that is the extent of your history as far as the people of this town are concerned."

           There was a ferocity in his eyes I had not seen before. It was all I could do to nod and say, "Understood."

          Before we could converse further, Robert and Michael returned, their arms laden with heavy clothes. David took them and briefly showed me how to... dress myself. It was a little embarrassing, especially because they had me strip naked in front of them, but when I was done, I was warm and toasty under layers of shirts and coats.

          David led me out of the church and said, "You will sleep in my home tonight. We eat breakfast and lunch in the house, but dinner is a... gathered affair. Tomorrow is the beginning of our harvest, and you will help."

          "Of course," I said quickly, "Thanks for your hospitality."

          David did not acknowledge my appreciation. "I noticed your eyes flicker when I mentioned faith. Are you uncomfortable with praying?"

          "Well... I'm not uncomfortable with it, but... I haven't done it in a while."

          "We are a pious people," said David, leading me to a part of town with small, quaint houses and cottages. "You will learn to pray with us."

          "I'd be happy to," I said honestly. "So... you're all Christian? Catholic?"

          "Not exactly," said David vaguely. "Here we are - my home."

         Before I could say anything else, he opened the door to a small wooden house, much like all the others in the village. Inside was one large room downstairs - a small kitchen with a wood burning stove, a round dining table with four places, and a living room consisting of a fireplace and a couple padded armchairs. A staircase led up to a second floor.

          "I only have a cot for you. I will fetch it from upstairs." David quietly made his way up the stairs, and I surmised his family must be asleep up there. He soon came down with a cot, which he set up by the fireplace. With brisk precision, he lit a fire and laid some comforters down on the cot. "Here you are..."

          "David... Thanks again." The cot was small, but it looked so comfy in front of the fire.

          He shrugged and headed to the door. "I have work to do in the night. I will return."

          And he was gone, leaving me to take off my outer layers and lay down before the fire, speculating on the strangeness of my evening. I hadn't eaten dinner, and my stomach growled almost wildly, but I was able to force down my hunger and drift off into a troubled sleep, dogged by the thoughts of these mysterious people and the modern comforts I had left behind in my car.

***

          "I'm sorry, who are you?" a gentle feminine voice echoed in my groggy mind as I was shaken awake. Dawn had just crept over the horizon, the light streaming through the skeletal trees and into the home.

          "Oh," I sat up slowly, shivering as the fire was down to its last embers. "I'm Martin Deersworth - I suppose your, uh... husband didn't tell you about me?"

          The woman wore a long dress underneath a vest and a warm black coat. She shook her head. "No, he did not."

          "Well, I'm a reporter... I came to your town yesterday, where David found me and was... kind enough to let me stay here." I stood up and found my clothes folded on the chair.

          "I see. And did he tell you about the rules of our town?"

          I nodded. "He did."

          She smiled and extended her hand. "I am Patricia Gilman. Welcome to our town."

          I returned her smile and grasped her hand, recoiling at its coldness. "Oh! Uh, thank you." 

           "Mother, who's there?" called a small female voice from upstairs.

          "Just a... friend of your father's - a reporter. You may come down to meet him."

          Soon I was approached by two young children - a boy and a girl. The girl said, "I'm Molly, and this is Peter. He doesn't speak much. We're twins."

          "Pleasure to meet you," I said warmly, shaking her little hand. "And how old are you two?"

          Under a surprisingly severe look from her mother, Molly said, "We're... seven."

          "Oh wow-" I was interrupted by the door opening. David came into the house, looking tired.

          "Father!" cried Molly, pulling her brother's hand as they went to embrace him.

          "Children," he said gruffly, patting them both on the back and giving his wife an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, dear. I planned to be back before dawn, but... I was delayed. I see you've met our reporter."

          "Indeed," she said, a curious smile on her face. "He tells me you've... talked with him?"

          David grimaced. "I have. He will stay here until his... story is complete."

          "Well, I am glad to hear it," said Patricia. "Come, let's eat."

          "Before I forget," said David, shedding his coat and picking Molly up, "You will be helping out in the fields today. Patrick Wallman will be here shortly to take you there."

          "You're not coming?" I asked, heading to the dining table.

          He raised his eyebrows. "I must sleep. I will see you at dinner."

          "Right, right," I said, shaking my head. I should've known he'd need rest.

          We had a meal of eggs with some toasted bread and milk. They ate with great speed, and before I was even done with half my breakfast, David was headed upstairs and the kids were getting ready for school. Patricia stayed with me, though I could tell I was testing her patience as I shoveled eggs and toast into my mouth. Soon, there was a knock at the door, and a tall, brooding man was there to take me to the fields. I finished up my food with all haste, and donned my coat before following him out into the wet street.

          "I'm told you are a reporter," said Patrick, his voice rather soft.

          "Indeed. And I have a question for you, actually." He raised his eyebrows, so I asked, "River Falls. Where's that town name come from?"

          "Oh, the river in the south."

          "The river... Deus, is that it?"

           He smiled. "Yes, that's it."

          "So... River Falls. Is that because there's a waterfall?" The clouds had rapidly sealed off the sky, so I was left to wonder where south was.

          "No," said Patrick, "Not exactly."

          "So then..."

           "Did David brief you on the rules of this town?" asked Patrick, his blue eyes sharp.

          I raised my eyebrows. "Everyone seems to want an answer to that question. Yes. And I agreed to all of them."

          Patrick smiled widely, revealing a missing front tooth. "That's... excellent."

          Before I could say another word, we'd reached the fields, where people were busy working with wheat. "I didn't think wheat did so well this far north."

          "Works just fine for us," said Patrick, "Now, you go on over there - William will show you how to pack the stuff."

          I nodded and went over to William, a young man who looked about twenty, though his large forearms and gnarled hands indicated a man tougher than his years. "Hi, William, I'm-"

          "You're that Martin fella, right?" His voice was light and almost buoyant.

          "Why, yes I am. How'd you hear about me?" 

          "My dad's Robert Dowd - he's on the night watch." William extended his massive hand and I shook it with as much might as I could muster.

          "Ah, well... Pleasure to meet you," I turned to the hay and said, "Alright, what do we do with this?"

          "Just watch me," he said, beginning the process of gathering the harvested wheat into bushels and tying them up. I began to follow him, and he interjected at times to correct my technique. Before long we were breaking for lunch. We ate in the fields and quickly resumed our work. My back was soon sore, and as the sun set in the evening, everyone looked quite happy to be finished. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and followed William into the town.

          "Let's go, Martin," said William, steering me by the arm. As we walked, he asked, "So Mr. Gilman told you all the rules-"

          "Of the town," I finished, rolling my eyes, "Yes he did. And I agreed."

          "So you'll be joining us at the ceremony tonight?" William's eyes were twinkling.

          "C-Ceremony?" I frowned, "What's that about?"

          "Oh, tonight we're... dancing. Welcoming a friend back into the village." His grip was like iron on my arm.

          "Back? But I thought, uh... I see... Well, I guess I, uh... What I mean is - of course I'll be joining you. I agreed to the rules..." In spite of the cold, I felt a bead of sweat form on my forehead. For some reason, I felt the need to say, "I'm just staying until I get my report done."

          William giggled. "You're staying until your story is complete."

          "That's what I-" As we entered the church, my heart stopped. "The... the painting," I stammered, "It's different!"

          My companion giggled again. "I thought you'd say that."

          Where once was a portrait of a happy, kind Jesus, there was now a painting of some dark necromancer in a black robe, his bony fingers hovering eerily over some mutilated bodies. "Ah, our guest of honor," said David, appearing from within the crowd, "Do take your place at the front, please."

          "I, uh-" My heart died in my throat. Suddenly, a great chanting began around me; it seemed the whole town was in the church. "I think I'd better be going," I said, my fingers numb.

          "Going?" said David, his eyes narrowing, "I think not. You agreed to take part in the town's activities, did you not?"

          "I thought that meant farm work-"

          "Residents of River Falls honor their words," grumbled David dangerously, "Though Mr. Donahue had passed, we offered you a place with us, did we not?"

          "Yes, but-" The chanting grew louder.

          "Take him to the front, William."

          I was driven to the altar like a disobedient cow, the crowd's voice in total harmony as they chanted their strange tune. Was that Latin? There were two long boxes up front, and I was forced into one of them. "Is this a coffin?" I asked helplessly.

          The box next to mine creaked open and out came... a little boy. His waxy skin glistened as he fixed me with a toothy smile... Before I could ascertain what I was seeing, the boy leapt over to me and sank his teeth into my neck. Were those fangs? I felt the rush of death coming, but then... the world sank away, and I was lowered into my coffin, the crowd starting to dance.

          "See you, Martin," said William distantly, and I faded away.

          My story, as it is, ended that night. I have just emerged from my coffin, and I know not what year it is. Now there is only servitude to River Falls. The outside world is... Well, that's none of my concern, is it?