“Yeah,” Jed grunted, “I see it.” Caroline heard the pain in his voice. “But I need you to pop my shoulder back into place before we do anything else.”
“What!” she shouted. “I can’t pop anyone’s shoulder back into place. I’m not a doctor!”
“Anyone can do it,” he pleaded.
“Does this happen a lot?”
“Not a lot, but it’s happened before. Please, Caroline. I need your help!”
She paced back and forth in the cave while Jed held his right shoulder. His eyes were filled with tears. Caroline stopped torturing herself and crouched next to Bayberry’s star quarterback.
“What do I do?” she whispered nervously.
“I’m not really sure. The trainer always does it. Just find the grove and push.”
“Find what grove!”
“My shoulder socket or whatever. Just push!”
Caroline moved closer to Jed, grabbed his right arm, leaned in to rest her head against his, and pushed as hard as she could.
Jed screamed. His shriek echoed through the cave. Startled, Caroline fell backwards into a massive puddle of stale rainwater.
“Jed, are you ok?”
Through the grunts, he managed to reply, “Yeah, you’re a natural. Just give me a minute and I’ll be fine.”
Caroline smiled. Jed had saved her. Now she repaid the favor. Together, they were about to enter a world neither knew existed. A world beyond their wildest dreams.
* * * * * * * * * *
“What is it, Anne?” asked Tom Timmerman. “What’s in the filin’ cabinet?”
“It’s a book. Actually, more like an old journal.” She pulled out the leather-bound pages, being careful not to damage its fragile contents.
“Looks like somethin’ from medieval times. I hope it’s not the Necronomicon,” he joked.
“The what?”
“It’s from a movie. Evil Dead 2. Nevermind.”
“Actually, Tom, it’s from a short story by H.P. Lovecraft,” Anne smirked. “You should broaden your cultural horizons beyond your DVD collection.”
Anne opened the dusty cover and read the title aloud. “The History of Bayberry Cove,” she said softly.
“I don’t remember reading that book in school,” Tom replied.
Anne turned a couple of pages and found what she was looking for. “Tom, you’re never going to believe this.”
“Read it out loud, Annie.”
* * * * * * * * * *
“We lost him, sheriff,” Max shouted over the wind and thunder.
“How could we just lose him, Max? Where could he have gone?”
Larry and Max were twenty feet behind Jed Rogers when the storm’s intensity picked up, limiting visibility to no more than five feet in front of their faces. Jed had disappeared, and the gushing rainwater made it impossible to track his steps.
“Larry, we could be wandering a mile in the wrong direction by now. Finding Jed at this point would be like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“So, what do we do? Just leave him out here to die?”
Max Tucker wasn’t familiar with feelings of uncertainty. He always knew what to do. The next step was always so clear. But nothing made sense on Mt. Misery. Nothing had been making sense for the past two days.
“I don’t know what to do, Larry.”
The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. The sheriff and the town’s ultimate hunter – both lost and afraid, unsure of themselves for the first time in a very long time.
* * * * * * * * * *
Anne read:
My name is Jacob Poole. I am writing this entry in the year 1705. I have survived the massacre in Bayberry Cove. Seventy-five years ago, a man called Boreas was banished after threatening the lives of our people. He retreated to the nearby hills. We now call his home Mt. Misery because so many have died on its slopes. People blame the curse, but there has been no sign of Boreas for many years. The town has buried its dead and hopes to begin again. There are less than two hundred of us left, but we will survive.
The next few pages were filled with drawings – maps, landmarks, blueprints. Then, another journal entry:
The year is 1780. I am now ninety-eight years old. It is happening again. People wander into the woods and never come back. Nigel Harper and his family were murdered yesterday. A little girl was found dead on the beach this morning. Noah Rogers is leading a mob to Mt. Misery’s peak tomorrow to look for Boreas. The fools believe the curse is real, but there have been no sightings of a beast, or a sea creature, or even Boreas himself in over a century. I am the only remaining survivor who remembers the massacre in 1704. I keep trying to tell the mayor what really happened, but his nightmares are filled with storybook legends. He is documenting false records, leaving behind lies for future generations to discover. I must continue keeping my journal as long as I am alive so the truth doesn’t die with me.
The next entry:
Noah came back today, but he was the only one. He is sick. This whole town is sick! I tried to escape this afternoon, but I was stopped by the sheriff. Too dangerous for an old man, he told me. He has no idea what danger is.
A few more drawings, then:
The year is 1781. It ended today. This is my first entry in months because they locked me up. Said I was a danger to myself and others, but I know the truth. I know too much.
Anne flipped ahead and found this:
I no longer go by the name Jacob Poole in case anyone ever finds my diary. How would I explain my longevity? I don’t even understand it myself. The year is 1856. I am technically 174 years old, but I stopped aging almost a century ago. I go by Jeremiah now. The horn will blow tonight and then all hell with break loose again in Bayberry Cove. No one knows about my past. No one believes I am crazy. I have warned the new mayor and his sheriff and they seem like reasonable people. We can avoid many deaths if we remain in town.
“So what happened in 1856?” asked Tom.
“Hold on, I’m looking for the next entry,” Anne responded. “Ok, here we go:”
It worked. The year is over and almost no one died. I had to tell everyone about Boreas and the curse. No one would believe me otherwise. Children now talk about the legends in school. Soon, no one will want to leave their homes for fear of being eaten by some wild beast. That is perfectly fine with me. The alternative is unthinkable. Bayberry Cove must survive, and since no one will listen to the truth, our future depends upon a lie.
“What lie, Anne? What lie!”
“Tom, you’re hearing the same information I’m reading. Give me a second. There are so many pictures in here. So much gibberish. Where is the next entry? Wait…here it is:”
It is 1932 and people now call me Joe. I have been alive for 250 years, every moment spent in Bayberry Cove. Townspeople have been reading the mayor’s records and seem to be mounting an offensive. It won’t work. It never does. I am considering telling them the truth, but what would it help? No one will listen to me this time, so, instead, I write in my journal.
Anne flipped ahead to the final entry:
It is over. So many are dead. It didn’t have to be this way. My youngest grandson found the cave recently and will be ready to take my place soon. The dear boy was named after me, so who better to carry on the family tradition? I am so old and pray for eternal sleep. But the legacy must go on. My journal must be maintained. The future of Bayberry Cove depends upon it.
“Anne, this doesn’t make any sense,” admitted Tom Timmerman. “Who wrote this book? Jacob, Jeremiah, Joe? Some guy who is three hundred years old? And why is it locked up in this rusty old filin’ cabinet? Why isn’t it with its owner? And why haven’t we heard these stories before today? Gabriel must have known the book was in here.”
“Wait, Tom, this person said his grandson’s name was Joe, right? How many Joe’s do you know in this town?”
“Not many.”
“If his grandson was a kid back in 1932, how old would that make him today?”
“In his eighties, I suppose. Wait, are you saying Joe Tabor is this guy’s grandson?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? There aren’t any other Joe’s around his age. He was alive the last time Boreas showed up. And, wait, doesn’t Joe have a granddaughter?”
“Yeah, Caroline Flowers. Why?”
“Tom, I think Caroline might be in danger. I think it’s why all of this is happening; why Joe Tabor led us to this book; why Larry has been acting strange.”
“If his granddaughter is in danger, why didn’t Joe just come out and tell us?”
“Maybe he can’t. Either way, we need to find Caroline.”
