Stupid Kids
“Oh thank God! Mister! Please help us!” The light of a three quarter moon silvered the desert, high enough in the sky to shine down into the canyon. I could see their faces almost as clearly as I had earlier in the day, when they came into my dusty, old gas station, giggling and grab-assing, to stock up on beer and Slim Jims for their camping trip. Cutter’s Canyon was where they were headed. There were lots of weird stories about it on the internet, they said, and they wanted to see for themselves. I told them not to go there; it wasn’t what they thought. If they were looking for a spooky place to spend the night, the old ghost town of Willoughby, just an hour down the highway, would be better, but they insisted on Cutter’s Canyon. They were college kids and pretty sure they were smarter than everybody else, not the types to listen to some old geezer running a last chance gas station in the middle of the desert. When they asked for directions, I gave them one of the topographical maps I keep behind the counter, with the trail to the canyon already highlighted. It’s not like I have a choice. That’s part of the Agreement; I’m not allowed to interfere in any way with anybody going to the canyon. I am, however, allowed to warn them. I told them to stay out of the caves at the far end and, if they wouldn’t do that, not to disturb the sacred stones inside. They laughed, rolled their eyes and said “okay, boomer.” I knew it was going to be a busy night. Stupid kids. That morning, there had been five of them. Now there were two. I can imagine what happened to the other three, but I don’t want to. “C’mon, missy,” I waved her on with my free hand, the other stuffed in my pocket. “You’re almost there.” “Help me! He’s heavy! I can’t-- There’s something in the canyon! A monster or something, I don’t know! It attacked us! Please help!” “I know. Just keep coming.” The girl was blood spattered and caked with dust, covered in cuts and scrapes. Her terrified eyes were wide and white against the gore plastering her face. Part of her shirt had been torn away and she was missing a shoe. Her friend was in much worse shape. One arm dangled uselessly at his side, a jagged bit of bone protruding through the skin of his forearm. His other arm was draped over the girl’s shoulder for support, as she hauled him towards the canyon’s mouth. Ragged gashes flayed open the meat of his chest. Exposed ribs glistened dull white underneath. Blood soaked his shirt and shorts. One side of his face was brutally swollen and his eyes were blank and unfocused, either from shock or brain damage. Probably both. Even had I been of a mind to take him to a hospital, I doubt he would have survived the trip. “Where are the rest of your friends?” I asked. I already knew, but it pays to be thorough. “Dead.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure! I saw them get torn apart by that . . . that thing!” she snapped. “Why won’t you help me?” “Just a little further,” I coaxed. “Almost there.” Crossing the Threshold when the creature was awake would be suicide. I couldn’t get any closer to her so I needed her to come closer to me. She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and struggled forward, dragging her friend along beside. Her eyes narrowed with determination. Her mouth twisted with the strain. The kid was a fighter. That made what I had to do just that much more difficult. When they were within fifteen feet of where I stood, I pulled my hand out of my pocket, clutching my revolver. It was a snub nose and not very accurate beyond seven or so yards. Whenever I had to do this, I tried to make it as quick and painless as possible, so I needed her to come within range. I don’t like the idea of causing any more suffering than necessary. She barely had time to gasp before I pulled the trigger. The bullet left a dime sized hole in her forehead. She was dead when she hit the ground. Her friend collapsed to his knees and I shot him too. He was in no condition to cross the Threshold on his own, but I couldn’t leave him for the creature. As much as I hated it, it was the merciful thing to do. The gunshots were still echoing down the canyon when, not twenty yards away, the monster rose from behind a pile of scree and let loose a shriek that rattled the loose stones and sent streams of dirt and pebbles cascading down the nearby canyon wall. It charged straight at me, the twisted lumps that passed for its feet thudding on the hardpan of the canyon floor. The thing was nine feet tall, at least, and looked like it had been cobbled together from gnarled roots and sun bleached bones. I call it a demon. I can’t rightly say if that’s what it really is, but if there’s a better word for the damned thing, I don’t know it. The demon skidded to a stop three feet in front of me, just inside the Threshold. Raising an arm as if to strike, it bellowed in my face. The stench of sulfur and rot on its breath brought the can of chilli I’d had for dinner bubbling up the back of my throat. I stuffed the gun into my pocket, the barrel still warm against my thigh, and held my arms out at my sides, palms open. My refusal to cringe or show fear infuriated it. The creature’s eyes smouldered with impotent rage as it glared at me, radiating hate like heat from a bonfire. “Kiss my ass you knot headed freak,” I spat. “They didn’t cross the Threshold. Neither can you.” The monster snorted, spun on its heel, and stomped away. It wouldn’t dare break the Agreement. There are things in this world that even a demon fears. It bent, snatching up the two bodies then loped off into the darkness. It could have killed those kids anytime it wanted, but it was waiting, hoping they would cross the Threshold so it could, too. Those were the terms of the Agreement. When the stones were disturbed and the demon awakened, it was free to do as it pleased within the canyon, but the only way it could cross the Threshold and leave the canyon was in pursuit of someone who had escaped. Then it would be out here, free to do as it pleased, and that would be bad. Very bad. My job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m the only thing standing between this world and that creature. It’s an awful lot of responsibility for one broke down old man and killing these kids weighs on me. They say that confession is good for the soul. Maybe posting my story here will help me sleep tonight. If not, there’s half a bottle of cheap whiskey in the kitchen cabinet that should do the trick. It has before. Tomorrow, I’ll hike back up to the cave and reset the stones. The demon won’t bother me; that’s also part of the Agreement. Besides, it’ll be fast asleep after such a big meal. And then? Well, then I’ll wait for the next group that wants to see Cutter’s Canyon for themselves. There’s always a next group. The world is full of stupid kids.