'Five', by Brandon James Cook.

Five, by Brandon James Cook.

The woods were dark and lonely, woefully sparse of all wildlife one would typically presume would swarm its depths in a frenzied scurry. Davis had known the journey would be long, but he hadn’t the slightest clue prior that he would be travelling so far from home. All that he knew was that he trusted the man in front of him, whom led him through the brush and scrub, a guiding light as the night began to mask their surroundings in a haze, a distinct jingling in his pockets as the front man carried on, echoing into the night.

            Davis watched as the man in front of him – Billy – trekked on through the thick woodland, carrying on his shoulders two rifles. Remington 220 Swifts – his guns, his hunting grounds, with bullets made to kill a fox clean and without a fuss, or whatever your game was. Billy told Davis that hunting helped ease his nerves, but Davis hadn’t the heart to tell him that the notion scared him a little bit. Two men out there in the thick brush with guns - what if they lost their cool? They were not the types of men you would want sweated out and nervous. This was a day of firsts for Davis, and despite his concerns, he was not about to turn around and reject Billy’s offer of a hunt, his extended hand of friendship.

            Billy was, in Davis’ eyes, a particularly special person – the kind of man who he might never have thought would wind up meeting Davis under such tedious and tragic circumstances. In fact, Davis thought, Billy seemed like the kind of man who had it all figured out. He was definitely not the sort of person Davis would think might end up attending an addicts anonymous meeting – definitely not the type to suffer fools, let alone a crippling addiction so painfully known to the ladies and gentleman of the gathering they so often shared. The gathering known as The Promise Group.

            When Davis had finally entered the building where the tormented souls wracked with foul habits congregated, he originally thought Billy was the head of the group, the lead organizer. He thought that this man, with his old eyes and warm smile, could not possibly have a tragic tale to tell. It seemed a scorn against all the good in the world that this kindhearted gentleman could suffer a heroin addiction – one so great he lost his family to it. One so great his wife fell to the floor in a fatal overdose, after being tugged along on Billy’s rickety ferry down the river Styx. It seemed true to Davis then more than ever, that even the gentlest of those in all of our stead can hide the most unbearable of secrets, as if there’s one thing that Davis knew, it was that addiction took no prisoners, and gave no thought nor care to the kind of man or woman you were.

            No, Billy was definitely among the worst tainted, as Davis soon found out. At his best, Billy could be sure to provide a warm word, a loving embrace, to whoever entered the circle of ailed kinship. They would sit in a ring, a circle of addicts, and share their stories dealing with their dependency issues - and Billy could always be trusted to congratulate each and every one of them on their openness – sometimes even more so than the actual organizer of the group, the trained drug and alcohol counselor. At his worst, however, Billy was a shivering wreck, his once-old eyes wide open in juvenile fear and frustration, his claws digging deep into his arms as he tried to rend imaginary insects from his bones, and sores from his flesh. He would scream, cry, and scratch until he bled. There was no love to be seen in that man when he reached his worst.

            But Billy would always find his way back, however. The monsters would silence, and they would always find him back in the circle a week later, devoid of any twitches or manic gaze, his affectionate smile resumed. He carried with him a bag full of thick and old coins, coins encased in a bag made of mesh, like the kind young children bought from the milk bar, the ones which peeled back their covers to reveal a chocolate treat. And like those delicious snacks wild young children ate, he said they made him feel better. He said they were his good luck charms, and Davis hadn’t the slightest intention of questioning what got Billy through his day.

            A while into the darkening wood, Davis stopped the pair.

            “Billy, I’m worried. Do you really think we should be doing this?”

            Billy turned around confused. “What do you mean, Davis?”

            “We’re just going a little far out, is all… and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried.”

            Billy smiled, and gave a little laugh. “You have to trust me, Davis. I know it seems like we’re going quite a way – but I’m following a trail.”

            “A trail?” Davis asked inquisitively.

            “Some animals have recently come through here. They’re our game. We’re following them.”

            Davis’ eyes widened. “Really? I had no idea.”

            “Yes,” Billy grinned, a wide, toothy grin. “And once we catch up to them, we’ll back them into a corner. They’ll have nowhere to go from there. So trust me, Davis. Everything is just fine.

            The pair carried on, Billy’s coins jangling in his pockets, as they marched through the thickening scrub.

            There were many poor souls present at the weekly meetings; some whose stories would make yours feel like a blissful cakewalk. There was Bertha, the mother, whose coke addiction would make it plausible for her to get up in the morning – to care for her kids, no less. For some, she said, coffee simply does not suffice, and once you’ve taken that hit of energy straight up your nose, there can be no alternative for a morning pick-me-up. When her nasal lining fell apart, however, and she was forced to pursue surgery, she found she could not bring herself to part from her powdered lover. Thus, The Promise Group.

            There was the young schoolgirl, Alyssa, no older than seventeen, who came to handle an addiction to meth, one that saw her through her final years of high school. It started as a party, and eventually progressed as a way to lose weight. Then, she did it every other day – until after a while she could not manage a day without the drug. She abused the fortunes her wealthy parents blessed her with, until she suffered a near-fatal heart attack. A day after her recovery, she picked up the pipe once more, hospital wristband still strapped around her wrist. Her time with The Promise Group was court-ordered.

There were more – Kieran, the nightclub owner, with an addiction to ketamine. Jerome, the speed freak festival lover – but none quite so tender and loving as Billy, the hapless older gentleman, who quashed his inner turmoil by smoking heroin.

            At the sixth session of the groups’ weekly meetings, the session focused on Davis, for the very first time. Davis had insisted with the group that he remain a mere listener until he felt comfortable enough to broach the subject of his hardship. So on that day he told his story, and began a path of recovery that soothed his ailed soul.

            Davis was, like Alyssa the schoolgirl, addicted to meth. He could not recall for the life of him how a once simple trial through a friend turned into week after week of struggle, but before he knew it the substance had a hold over him, a substance so potent and addictive that he found it hard to go a mere day without it. Days without sleep gave way to rest in excess, until he lost his job, and his family, and his life, and his friends. ‘Til there he was – in the circle at The Promise Group.

            A circle that throughout the weeks had steadily begun to shrink. The members had slowly begun to drop off. Davis’ illusion was shattered. This sudden emptiness in the room suggested the worst – the rest of the group had gone back to drugs. All that was left were Billy, the group organizer, and Davis himself. Three in a crowd that used to be so much more plentiful. The contrast was shocking.

            One day, Billy took it upon himself to accost Davis after the session had ended – water cooler chatter, as it were. He asked Davis if he’d ever gone hunting, asked if he might want to go for a trek with him sometime. Hunting was Billy’s favorite pastime, as he’d said before. It helped him fight off his inner demons.

            And so they found themselves, wandering through the forest, Davis wrought with exhaustion and confusion.

            “We’re almost there!” – An unnamed location, no doubt, as Billy had repeatedly professed throughout the journey that they would soon find some form of solace.

            “Almost where, Billy? And it’s getting quite a bit darker than I’d like…” David replied.

            Billy turned around and gave Davis a thumbs up, the jingling in his pockets growing louder with the movement.

            That’s when Davis saw it – the twitch in Billy’s eye. The glassy film over each round surface. The familiar pangs of chemical dread.

            “Billy, are… are you okay?” Davis asked the question with sensitivity. He did not want to tread too heavily in Billy’s tender moment.

            “I’m fine, Davis,” Billy responded in a murmur, his usually affectionate and warm tone a thing of the past.

            The pair continued to trek through the woods; up and up steady ascents, through trees and thick scrub, each footstep punctuated by the distinct jangling from the pouch in Billy’s pocket; his collection of ‘lucky charms’, the tokens he so often carried.

            Finally, the pair reached a clearing.

            “That’s weird,” Davis said. “The trail ends here.”

            Davis looked around. Tall, grim-looking trees seemed to stretch outwards, once flourishing branches now sparse and deadened. He looked forward – and saw a strange formation. A rock formation, a wall, that the trees seemed to rush away from, and in the centre was a great divide, large enough to fit a person, but covered from top to bottom in branches and vines, cascading up and around it in a frenzied mess. The divide was dark and ominous. Davis heard a wind seem to whisper through it, soft and tender, almost beckoning him within its walls.

            “Do you think the animals went through there?” Davis asked, pointing towards the scrub-covered divide.

            “They may have. We might need to follow them.” Billy responded, and began to set down his possessions, including the two Remington rifles.

            Davis stepped forward, and neared the divide on the edge of the clearing, standing almost directly in front of it. The emptiness of the rocky divide, the grey and lifeless trees rustling all around him. The blackness of the divide seemed to call to him, tempting him within… the whistling wind gently whispering...

            Suddenly, Davis caught himself staring, and the lull vanished. “I don’t know if I want to go in there, Billy.”

            He heard the sound before he knew what was going on. The click of the safety on a rifle - turned off.

            “But you have to, Billy.”

            Davis slowly began to turn around – and saw that which he feared. Billy standing there, eyes wide with panic and madness, pointing the Remington rifle square at Davis’ face. The good Billy was no more, replaced with a madman.

            “Billy, what are you doing?” Davis whispered. Sweat fell from his brow. He took a step backwards, unsure of Billy’s state.

            Billy made a noise – something like a giggle, but far more ominous. “It’s important, Davis. You’ve gotta do it. C’mon, Davis. Do it for me. Do it for your friend.”

            My friend? Davis thought.

            “Billy, put the gun down.” Davis murmured sternly, . “C’mon, let’s go hunt them together.”

            “No, no, Davis.” Billy whispered, and Davis’ eyes lit up. “Only you must go through it.”

            Davis looked down away from Billy’s eyes, at the Remington pointed towards him.

            “Billy, I…” He whispered, “I don’t understand what you’re doing.”

            “You don’t need to understand. You just need…” Billy’s voice cracked. “You need to go through the gap in the wall, Davis. You have to do it. Do it for your friend. Just like the rest of them.”

            Billy shook his gun at Davis, causing Davis to jump back with a fright. His eyes widened. The tall and dead trees seemed to leer forward, observing the scene. Not only the gun being pointed at him disturbed Davis, but so too did the clearing. Dead and grey – like a cemetery.

            In Davis’ mind, the cogs began to turn.

            “Billy…” He murmured, “There was never a trail, was there?”

            His words were met with low giggling.

            “How many people have you brought here?” Davis asked.

            Billy’s giggling grew louder and louder, until he stopped, staring Davis straight in the face.

            “Four.”

            The word felt like pinpricks against Davis’ skin, climbing up his back, along his spine and into the base of his skull. His throat became blocked, and he could not utter another word. He stepped back once more, staring at Billy with wide, horrified eyes.

            Four.

“I need them, Davis. You can never understand the need.”

            Davis suddenly felt something on either side of him. He realized that he had neared the very edge of the rocky divide. He stood directly in front of it – and in that moment, he felt a strange entity all around him, like a translucent fog. He slowly turned around – and saw that he was standing in the centre of the opening to the mysterious divide.

            The pinpricks on his skin stung him fiercely then, when he realized just how empty the passage was. Black and impenetrable. An endless mist of darkness.

            Then, he felt a strange wind blow through the trees all around them. He heard the corpses of the trees rustle, and an almost inaudible gale picked up, blowing deep into the passage. Davis felt a light thrust upon his chest – and then a violent shove, as he was pushed inches further into the crevasse. Davis turned around slightly, expecting the worst – and saw that Billy had dropped his weapon to the floor. There had been no gunshot.

His heart seemed to stop when he heard it - a voice murmuring somewhere near to him, in words cold and unknown. His eyes grew wide with fear as he whipped back around to face the dark passage. He ceased to breathe. Sweat fell from his brow. He felt the strange voice whisper in his ear as he gazed into the boundless inky corridor. A strange and unseen force lurched forward from the perpetual blackness.

Five.

He was suddenly pushed back.

Davis disappeared within the passage, falling into the eerie crevasse like a pebble into water. The desolate trees all around gave a gentle rustle.

            Moments passed. Billy stood, his gun on the floor, eyes wide, face sweaty, mouth panting and frothed.           

            Then, as though coughed from the mouth of a dark demon, a small object rolled forth from within the divide. It rolled along the ground from the centre of it, out from the dark abyss, and came to a stop meters in front of Billy, at the centre of the clearing.

            Billy rushed forward, lunging and clawing at the mysterious object. He got up, and held it in his hand, looking down upon it with eyes wide and manic.

            A broad and ancient-looking coin.

            Billy reached into his pocket, suddenly calm as a midnight pond, and pulled out his mesh bag filled with his special coins - of which there were four. He pulled the bag apart – and dropping his newfound coin in with the others, they made five.

            “My good luck charms.” He whispered.

A room full of people sat in a circle, in a room somewhere far away. Each person seemed frail, all of different ages, yet they all shared the same kind of woeful ailment.

            “Alright, everyone. We’ve got a new member who will be joining our weekly meetings – someone who really needs our support. Billy, would you care to introduce yourself?”

            A man in one of the chairs stood up.

As he did, there was the sound of jingling.

Something in his pocket…