The Incident at Blackgrove

Chapter 7: The Incident, Pt.2 (The Aftermath)

I woke up, not with a sharp gasp and wide-open eyes, but a slow coming-to. I was disoriented, unsure of where I was, or when I was. My eyes felt like they couldn't open. Heavy, crusted over, my eyelids refused to move. As I slowly gained my senses back, I could tell that it was daylight. I could feel the coolness of morning and I could hear the songs of birds in the distance. Other than the birds and the sound of trees moving delicately in the morning breeze, there was silence. Every sound I made reverberated throughout the small cabin.

Then suddenly, the jingle from the night before rang out throughout town once again. The same automated voice began saying the same message. "Greetings citizens of Blackgrove!  This is a message from your Town Council.  This is not a drill. The day we've long feared may finally be here..." It continued, but I stopped listening. Eventually, the message ceased. I felt cold. I was still naked. "Willa?" I asked wearily, my voice weak. No answer. I realized that on me I could feel a heavy, cold weight. I tried to get up or move around. I couldn't. Something was wrapped around me. Not something human, but something.

I wriggled and moved, trying to get out of whatever I was wrapped up in, my eyes still unable to open. It was difficult, but I managed to free an arm and feel around. The thing that was wrapped around me felt like plastic or fiberglass. I moved up with my hand and felt a slight separation, like a movable joint. I moved a long piece that was binding me and with much effort I managed to slip out of the thing, as if I were pulling myself out of a hole.

I stood up and opened my eyes.

A sharp chill went up my spine as I saw what had been constraining me.

A mannequin.

The mannequin wore no clothes and had long blonde hair. It looked like just like Willa. I leaned over and looked at the mannequin's face. She seemed sad, a painted tear rolling down its cheek. The look on her face was haunting, half lifeless, half alive. I refused to believe that what was in front of me was really Willa. I couldn't move. I just stood there, unable to speak, unable to do anything at all.

"Willa!" I called out, "Willa!" I thought, beyond all logic and reason, that maybe she had gone off somewhere. Her clothes were still on the floor, though. Why would she leave without her clothes? Well maybe something moved her without her knowing, I thought. I tried, desperately, to hold on to any idea, excuse, or theory I could think of that might explain how she was actually alright, waiting somewhere out there for me.

I couldn't say exactly how long I stood there, just staring at her. That mannequin just sat there, in an embracing position, head down, stuck forever in that pose. I was entirely confused and distraught. Then another chilling detail I noticed: beyond the natural sounds of morning, no sound of man stirring could be heard from the town below. Sans bird calls and tree sways, the entire town was silent. What on Earth was happening?

Wiping tears away (that I didn't even realize had fallen), I put on my clothes, grabbed the gun, and got out of the cabin. "Willa!" I called out, sincerely hoping that she would respond and that this would all be some cruel prank, like all of the pranks of years past. But there came no answer. The trees around the cabin swayed slowly and birds flew overhead. These two ever-present sounds almost felt like Sikhs himself, watching me with amusement as I began to navigate the nightmare he'd created.

After a quick look around the area immediately surrounding the cabin (and finding nothing), I decided to get in my car and head down to town. I was going to call 911, but there wasn't any reception up by the cabin, and I had a sneaking suspicion that no one would pick up anyway, so I decided to try calling 911 down in the town area.

As the forest road opened up into the town on that pale, crisp morning, I noticed how empty and dead the streets were. The festival stands and decorations were all still standing. Trash rolled around in the town square, like urban tumbleweeds, and the stands stood empty, unoccupied. The whole of town felt like a fresh corpse, and I felt like the coroner. Rolling down the window, I could still smell the leftovers of kettle corn and other food, the sweet cinnamon and apple smells of autumn fading into a cold, scentless nothingness, like autumn, but desaturated, like the pale complexion of a dead body.