Night in the Woods: The Final Night - Part 2

Chapter 2: A Late Encounter
Mae made sure to copy the passage on the mailbox-note before she turned it into the cops. And by “turned into the cops,” she meant her mother immediately called her Aunt Molly when she showed her. Mae brought her handwritten copy to band practice the next day. When she arrived at the Party Barn, Bea was setting up her laptop cart onstage and Germ sat on one of the two chairs for audience members. Their audience doubled since Mae started dating Selmers.

“Hey.” Bea said, looking up from her laptop monitor. “They ever find out what happened to Mr. Penderson?”

“If they did, they didn’t tell me. But I found this on a note stuck to his mailbox!” Mae waved the bit of paper around. Germ peered over Mae’s shoulder as she opened it for Bea to read.

“...Is this scripture or something?” Bea asked after skimming it over.

“Beats me, I’ve never read the Bible. Not even a sixty-fourth of it.” Mae replied. “I had to copy it onto a different page before Aunt Mall Cop took the original note.”

“Your handwriting isn’t very good.” Germ noted.

“Gee, thanks Germ.” Mae said.

“It’s okay, neither is mine. Gramma calls it chicken-scratch.”

“So this pretty much confirms it’s a killer, right?” said Mae. Bea sparked her lighter and cupped her hand around the flame, lighting one end of a cigarette she had balance in her teeth. She took a long drag on it before speaking again.

“If the cops took it as evidence,” Bea began, expelling two grey jets of smoke from her nostrils. “That could mean they think foul play was involved. Could. We can’t be too hasty.”

“Did anyone check the paper for today? There might be a story.” Mae suggested.

“Don’t you pass by one of those fifty-cent newspaper things on your way into town every day?” Bea asked.

“Yeah, but it’s kinda hard to notice.”

“It’s right by your girlfriend’s apartment.” Bea replied with a barely noticeable smirk.

“Alright, so I forgot to look today, geez.” Mae said tartly.

“I’ll go get one, I have fifty cents.” Germ said, and immediately pattered out of the Party Barn. Bea sat on the stage and took another draw from her cigarette while Mae tuned her bass.

“How’s your dad?” Mae asked after a few moments of silence.

“Still not leaving the apartment much. How’s Selma? She coming to watch today?”

“Hope so. I tried texting her last night, but I don’t think she got it.”

“She said it herself, there’s no reception in Possum Springs.” Bea tapped a few keys on her laptop, testing a beat on her electronic drums and then nodding to herself. “She really should have that poem published.”

“Her poetry’s gotten really good. Like, really good. You heard any of her new ones?” Mae asked.

“Can’t say that I have.” Bea replied. “Oh, I don’t have The Waste Land. Most of my books are leftovers from high school and dad’s only got instruction manuals.”

“No prob.” Mae said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll probably just order one online for her birthday.”

“Amazon has used books for like, two dollars.”

“Yeah… I have some of Selmers’ poems saved on my phone, you wanna hear one?” Mae asked, eagerly taking out her phone.

“Sure.”

Mae opened her notes, clearing her throat theatrically before reading.

“''I am no poet, I am a scholar who does not read. I am the starving artist with no pencil or pad. I am the one with no clue who still keeps blabbing I missed the last ship out to Innisfree.''”

Bea nodded. “Cool. Doesn’t hit as hard as the other one, but I think it’s more personal. What’s Innisfree?”

“Selmers told me it’s a dinky island that a famous Irish guy wrote about. William something.” Mae explained, scrolling to look for other good poems.

“I knew a guy in school named William. He collected pins.” Germ returned, carrying a newspaper under his arm.

“Germ, you’re back! Gimme gimme.” Mae took the paper from Germ and opened it up, the inner pages all falling out and scattering on the ground. “Oops. I thought they were, like… connected to each other.”

“Maybe not.” said Germ. Bea gave a half-amused snort and began picking up the loose papers with Mae. A moment or two later, Bea planted a finger on the front page article.

“I think that’s it.” She said. Mae and Germ appeared at her side in an instant.

“Poisoned Milk Takes Senior Citizen’s Life.” Mae read. “Holy shit, he WAS murdered!”

“Keep reading.” Bea said immediately.

“Zachary Penderson, age 86, died in his home late yesterday evening. Officials state that Penderson died on his living room floor, a half-finished glass of Mooboy milk on his nightstand and the television still on. A neighbor called 911 after hearing a crash within Penderson’s house, which authorities say was Mr. Penderson falling to the floor.

“Upon further investigation, the milk in the glass and in the carton was revealed to contain sodium fluoroacetate, a compound so toxic it was banned from use as a general pesticide in 1990. The Ham Panther Supermarket where Penderson purchased the milk was closed for investigation, and all cartons of Mooboy were confiscated. The manager of the local Mooboy Farm and Processing Plant, Sal Tattaglia, denies any usage of the poison.

“‘There’s just no way it could happen,’ says Tattaglia. ‘We’ve avoided purchasing any inorganic feed for our cows for over twenty-five years, and we’ve never used anything but minor weed-killers on our farm. A chemical like that could only be added deliberately, and my staff would undoubtedly notice and report if someone tampered with our product.’

“While investigation continues, the Possum Springs Police Department urges the citizens to avoid drinking any Mooboy milk until otherwise notified.”

The three friends looked at one another when they finished reading. Bea was the first to speak.

“Shit.”

“Double shit.” Mae added.

“I guess you were right, Germ.” Bea said.

“Lucky guess, I guess.” Germ replied, picking up the funny pages and sitting in his usual chair to read them.

“So wait,” Mae said, scratching her head in confusion. “How does the stalker letter tie in with all this? It’s gotta mean something, right?”

“Who got a stalker letter?”

Gregg entered the Party Barn, his guitar case slung over his back. Angus wasn’t far behind, carrying an amp and wheezing faintly. He set the amp beside the stage and sat down on it, taking a puff from his inhaler.

“You okay, Big Guy?” Mae asked.

“Fine.” Angus said after a short, clean breath.

“Stalker letter!” Gregg exclaimed, flailing about. “Show it to me!” Mae handed Gregg the letter,  the yellow fox snatching it and reading a few words before his brow wrinkled in confusion.“This is your handwriting, Mae!” Gregg said, putting a hand on his hip and smirking. “So you’re into stalking now, huh? Selmers’ll be pissed!”

“Shut your helling mouth, GREGGORY.” Mae snapped, smiling too. “It’s not the original, the cops took the real one!”

“So who’s it for then?!” Gregg demanded.

“It was on Penderson’s mailbox.” Bea said, handing the front page of the newspaper to Angus. “You might want to read this.”

Gregg skidded to his boyfriend’s side, wrestling his guitar off of his back and leaning it hastily against the stage without taking his eyes off the newsprint.

“Oh wow.” Angus said after a moment. “No wonder they closed the Ham Panther.”

“Germ was right, they do have bad milk.” Gregg uttered in a hushed voice.

“That’s what I said.” Bea replied.

“He’s like a super detective!” Gregg cried.

“Yeah, like, Ger-lock Holmes!” Mae added.

Germ himself hadn’t looked up from reading Calvin & Hobbes.

“What does the letter say?” Angus asked, setting the paper down in his lap and taking the note from Gregg.

“It’s some weird Bible mumbo-jumbo.” Mae said.

“We think, at least.” Bea chimed in.

Angus adjusted his glasses, squinting a bit at Mae’s untidy handwriting. He read a few words aloud to himself before suddenly rising to his feet.

“I’m not sure this is a Bible passage.” he said. “No. No, I know what this is.”

“You do?” inquired everybody at once.

“I think so. Where do I remember it from..?” Angus massaged his temples, bowing his head slightly as he racked his brain. All of a sudden, he shot straight up and clapped his paws together. “Flannery O’Connor!”

“Flattery-a-whatnow?” Mae asked after a moment.

“Flannery O’Connor. She was an author from the Deep South.” Angus explained. “I read a collection of her short stories not too long ago, and that’s from one of hers. ‘The Enduring Chill,’ I think it’s called.”

“Oh. Geez, I never woulda gotten that.” Mae said with a sheepish laugh.

“It’s a good story.” Angus said. “This guy comes home from college because he thinks he’s dying, and he acts real smug and self-righteous about it, blaming everybody around him. But it turns out he actually just contracted a permanent, non-lethal fever from-”

Angus seized up mid-sentence, his mouth open just a tiny bit.

“You good, Cap’n?” Gregg asked, his eyes shifting back and forth uncomfortably.

“...From drinking unpasteurized milk.” Angus finished in a hollow voice.

“So?” Bea asked, arms crossed.

“So the way Mr. Penderson died matches up with what happened in the story. They both drank tainted milk.” Angus explained. Mae held up a paw, trying to wrap her head around everything.

“Wait. Are you saying that someone poisoned Mr. Penderson’s milk, then left a page from a story where a guy drinks poison milk on his mailbox?”

“It wasn’t poison in the story, it was just untreated.” Angus replied.

“Milk right from the udder is like, half bacteria.” Gregg added. “They superheat it to burn away all the disease before they sell it.”

“How do you know all that?” asked Mae.

“My uncle wanted to keep me from drinking any of his sheep milk.” Gregg said.

“Sheep milk? Blech.” Mae said, sticking out her tongue.

“Are we going to overlook the serial killer note?” Bea said crisply.

“Serial killer might be a bit of a jump.” Angus said. “This could just be some asshole wanting to scare everybody.”

“By killing someone?” Mae asked.

“He also could have heard about what happened to Penderson and now he wants the credit. Assholes do that all the time.” Angus said, climbing onstage. “Terrorists will claim responsibility for an accidental explosion to scare more people, or religious nuts will call some guy’s heart attack an act of God so they feel more powerful.”

“That’s…” Mae began. “Really smart.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t a psycho, but we should probably wait for more info, right?” Angus said, tapping the microphone. “Check check.”

“I’m just gonna come out and say it, guys,” Mae said, double checking that Selmers hadn’t shown up but lowering her voice anyway. “I’m worried it’s The Cult.”

The four friends went quiet, Germ looking up from the paper. That night in the mines was something they never spoke of if they had to. The only other person that knew about The Cult of The Black Goat was Germ, who already had a run-in with one of their members, and they felt as though he deserved an explanation since he had bombed the well for them. Germ may have blurted things out, but for some reason, Mae and the others knew he would keep this secret under wraps.

“Nah.” Gregg said after a moment. “They were all about leaving no trace.”

“I’m with Gregg.” said Bea. “They would never leave someone’s body laying around unless it was an accident.”

“And they only went after people at night or in the outskirts of town.” Angus added.

“I know that, but what if like-”

Mae couldn’t finish her thought as the door to the Party Barn opened up, everyone immediately going back to setting up their instruments as though nothing had happened, Germ returning to his paper. A bear in a puffy violet jacket and black skirt entered, raising a paw in greeting.

“Hey guys. I’m not late, am I?” Selmers asked.

Everyone replied with various versions of “No, you’re fine!” as Mae hopped off the stage and hugged her girlfriend.

“Geez, do you ever take off that hoody? It’s like eighty-something degrees outside.” Mae asked, brushing a bit of lint off of Selmers’ sleeve.

“It makes me feel cozy. ‘Specially my hood.” Selmers demonstrated by pulling her hood up and tugging hard on the drawstrings until only her mouth was visible. Mae let out a girlish giggle that she immediately swallowed. “So, what are you guys playing today?”

“We’re starting off with our cover of ‘Going to Pasalacqua,’ then moving on to the regular set.” Angus explained. “If that’s cool with you guys.”

“Sounds good.” Bea said.

“Coolio!” Gregg said.

“Yup.” Mae said.

“Good deal.” Selmers took her seat to the left of Germ and offered a fist bump. “Hey Germ. Whatcha reading?”

Germ tapped fists with Selmers. “Garfield.”

“I didn’t read him much, I was more into Peanuts.” Selmers replied, leaning back in her chair. “I heard Garfield could be pretty funny though.”

“Peanuts is a lot better.” Germ said. “It shows how life gets shitty for no reason.”

“Amen to that.” Selmers chuckled.

---

When practice ended about an hour and a half later, Gregg and Angus excused themselves, as they had been planning a dinner date together. Bea said she had things to take care of at home, and Germ simply walked away with a short goodbye. Mae frowned, as she was hoping to eat out with everybody, but felt a little better when she saw Selmers exit the Party Barn.

“Guess it’s just you and me tonight, Selmers.” Mae said.

“Guess so. Anything you want to do?” Selmers asked.

“Uhh… you wanna do sex?” Mae said, shrugging dopily.

“Dude, my parents are home!” The bear laughed, socking Mae in the shoulder. “And wow, that was a bit outta nowhere.”

“I know, but I’m horny! I got cat scratch fever!” Mae replied, blushing. “And I know it’s outta nowhere, but it’s also not, really. We’ve been together for like half a year.”

“True, good point. But that won’t change the fact that my parents are around.” Selmers said.

“Shit. Oh, wait! My parents aren’t home!” Mae cried, but she just as suddenly felt a rush of disappointment. “Wait, nevermind, my dad is. He got the day off from the Ham Panther.”

“Bummer.” Selmers said.

“...Man, asking you for sex was way easier than I thought.” Mae admitted, scratching her head. “I thought you’d like, need time to think about it.”

“It’s no big deal, Borowski. We’ve all got needs. Tell you what, if you remind me later tonight, I’ll send you something to tide you over.” Mae flushed all over, Selmers smirking at her.

“Nudes.” Mae whispered, as though addressing the holiest of artifacts.

“Sure. I’m not shy.”

“Can I see your butt?” Mae asked in a tiny voice.

“If you want.”

“Can I show it to Gregg?” Mae asked immediately.

“Slow down there.” Selmers said.

“Come on, pwetty pwetty pweeease? Gregg always sends me pictures of Angus’ ass and I want to show him up!”

Selmers snorted. “I don’t think I know Gregg enough to let him see my nudes. Don’t get me wrong, he seems like a cool guy, but this is something I only want you to see.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mae sighed. “Oh, how’d your interview go?! Did you nail it?”

“Not sure. She said I start working on Monday, so that seems like a good sign.” Selmers replied, grinning proudly.

“I knew you would! You’re such a badass!” Mae hopped up and down excitedly and hugged Selmers about the neck, the bear catching her mid-bounce in a bracing hug of her own.

“I’m pretty damn excited. It’ll feel good to earn my own money.” Selmers said, keeping one arm wrapped around Mae.

“Your job will probably be so much better than mine. All I really do is sit at a desk and check out movies. My manager won’t even let me watch any movies while I sit around, the TV just plays the same ten ads over and over.”

“I doubt I’ll actually have time to read or write any poems, Mae. I’ll be sure to grab something on my lunch hour, but that’s probably all the time I’ll get.”

“You could listen to books on tape!” Mae suggested. She didn’t quite hear Selmers’ response, though, as all the talk about books reminded her of the note she found. “Hey, Selmers..? Do you know anything about… Flannery… O’Connor?”

Selmers thought a moment. “The name sort of sounds familiar. Why, who is she?”

“She wrote stories. I uh, heard about her on one of Dad’s old people shows, and you read books.” Mae kept the note a secret. She didn’t want to blurt anything out to Selmers.

“That’s a recent thing for me, Mae, and even then, it’s mostly poetry stuff.” Selmers said. “But I’m probably going to be in the library tomorrow, so I can poke around if you want.”

“Oh, no, it’s no big deal, really. I was just curious if you knew anything.” Mae said, laughing nervously.

“Oookay. This is my stop.” The two of them had arrived outside Selmers’ apartment building. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, stop by the library.”

“Will do, Smellmers. Love ya.” Mae gave her girlfriend a rather lengthy kiss on the lips. “Hey, don’t forget about the nudes.”

“Shhh! My parents might hear, stupid!” Selmers pressed a claw to her own lips, but her smile was unmistakable as she went inside.

Mae’s stomach rumbled angrily after Selmers went inside. Mae groaned a bit when she realized she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Since she slept so late on the weekends, it was either buy her own dinner or settle for leftovers at home. Her mom made chili the previous night, which wasn’t as good after it sat in the fridge all day, plus it gave her seriously bad gas. She thought a moment before heading down into the Trolley Tunnel, hoping that the dog at the newsstand would actually serve her now that she had money. She didn’t feel like waiting for food.

The delicious smell of cooking potatoes and warm pretzels greeted her as she entered the old tunnel. Mae crossed her fingers and rang the small bell for service.

“Can I have some perogies?” Mae asked. The dog cook that worked there didn’t even turn to look at her, continuing to chop onions. Mae frowned and raised her voice a bit. “Can I have some perogies, please?”

“I don’t serve thieves.” The cook said, still not bothering to make eye contact with Mae.

“Look, I’ve got money right here.” Mae held up a few dollars. It was like speaking to a brick wall. “I was a teenager when that happened, you know. Teenagers do stupid crap all the time.”

The dog finally looked up at Mae, pointing his vegetable knife at her. “Beat it, I said. Who even knows where you got that money?”

“Uh, from working?” Mae replied.

“Work, huh? I can’t think of a place around here that’d hire punks. Someone desperate, I bet.”

Mae felt cold anger prickle down her back, stuffing the money into her pocket. “Man, like, one hundred percent screw you, buddy.” She made an extremely rude gesture and marched back up the stairs, internally griping about having to sit around and wait for food.

A horrible scream froze Mae in her tracks. The noise echoed throughout the tunnel, followed by a heavy crash and some rapidly retreating footsteps. Mae stumbled back down the steps. The cook wasn’t at his post, and several crates of vegetables that had been neatly stacked up against the wall were knocked over, potatoes strewn all about the floor. The employee door into the small kitchen was ajar, and Mae took a breath before opening the door carefully.

“H-Holy shit.”

The cook lay on the ground, slumped over against an overturned crate of onions. His jaw hung agape and his one visible eye rolled backwards until the pupil disappeared into its socket, bits of onion clinging to his face. A trickle of blood leaked from a small puncture at the very top of his skull, dripping rhythmically onto a growing puddle.

Mae felt herself grow woozy as she saw another note, the text highlighted in green, resting beside the body of the cook.

“He had not expected to have a hole in his head at this event. It was the slow black music that had put it there and though most of the music had stopped outside, there was still a little of it in the hole, going deeper and moving around in his thoughts, letting the words he heard into the dark places of his brain.”

“Holy SHIT!” Mae scrambled away, up the stairs and out into the summer night, yelling for somebody to help.