26 Oct Remember You Must Die

Mike Gilbert paused before driving under the deer skull. Carved vines twisted along the arch at the entrance to Undergrove Salvage, with the bone-white skull centered at the top. He flicked a cigarette butt onto the road, then stepped on the gas. His Ford F-150 rumbled through the gate, following the sparks that left a trail of orange light like a falling star.

A black and white tattoo of a phoenix covered Mike’s right arm. He’d just turned twenty-six two weeks back, but his beard stubble was already spotted with gray. Most of his years had been hard ones. Beside him, in the passenger seat, Mike’s younger brother Randy stared wide-eyed out the window. Despite the circumstances that brought them here, they weren’t bad people. Sure, Mike sold a little weed, slipped dollars out of the till at the bar, and dropped off a car or two here at the salvage without asking about the title, but this was something else. All that shit before, no one had died.

He drove through the junkyard toward the squat, concrete block building that housed the office. Moonlight cast the rows of wrecked vehicles in cold gray light as they passed between them. Mike cut off the engine and climbed from the cab. His brother limped after him. Randy’s left foot turned inward, dragging and stirring up the stink of dust and used motor oil, almost overpowering the smell of East Texas pines. Despite the balmy summer heat, goosebumps raised along Mike’s arms. Together they waited, watching the metal door of the office.

Randy blew out a breath and shivered. “Someone stepped on my grave.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mike rubbed his arms and spun around, peering into the dark. “That shit sounds like something Nana would say. You’re not buried yet, and if you were, you wouldn’t know if a whole congregation tromped across the dirt.”

“This place is fucking spooky.” Randy wrapped his arms in a hug across his chest. “Why we gotta come here at night?”

“We’re here at night because we don’t have a choice.” Sal Undergrove had agreed to meet with them, but only if they came by after hours.

“I’m sorry, Mike.” Randy tucked his hands under his arms and rocked back and forth. He wore a faded red t-shirt with his favorite cartoon character, Bugs Bunny, printed on the front. Thin strands of blond hair fell over his eyes, almost covering the jagged white scar on his forehead. In the dark, he looked closer to twelve than twenty-two.

Mike waved away the apology. “Remember what we talked about? You keep quiet, you hear?” He gripped his brother’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring pat.

Randy nodded. “Uh huh. I remember.”

If Sal Undergrove wouldn’t help, Mike guessed the first thing tomorrow morning, he’d drive the truck to Mexico and dump it there. That would fix part of the problem, but wouldn’t do anything about the nightmares. He fell into a dreamless stupor after a six-pack and a couple shots of Jack, but Randy woke up every night, tangled in bedsheets that clutched like ghosts, bent on vengeance.

Mike would give anything to go back in time, to before that night. How far would be enough? How many poor decisions would he erase? To the start of that evening, before they even left the house and went to the bar? Or would going back to before that fourth or fifth round of drinks work? This whole thing was his fault. And like always, he’d be the one to fix it.

Mike bounced the truck keys in his hand, weighed climbing in and driving off. Forget dealing with Sal. He tapped the cash-filled envelope tucked in his pocket, reassuring himself it was still there.

Wind rattled through the stacks of mangled metal next to the car crusher. The office door creaked open and footsteps crunched toward them over the gravel drive. Sal approached, lighting his path with a heavy flashlight. Mike raised his arm to block the glare. “Hey. You mind turning that off?”

“Just checking.” Sal strolled over to Mike’s side of the truck, playing the light across the Ford as he went. A black knit cap covered most of his frizzy gray hair. The hand that gripped the door panel ended in thick, yellowed fingernails. “That’s some damage you got there, boys.”

Mike flinched, resisting the urge to babble out an explanation. If Sal figured out the truth, it might not even matter. The man had a reputation for making stuff disappear—mostly cars through the chop shop, but there were rumors of other things. Rumors that Sal could erase not only the physical evidence of something, but he could even take away the memories of anything you wanted gone, forever.

How nice that would be. If this worked out, maybe they would come back and get rid of a whole basket of bad shit. Like when their old man used to come home drunk and pissed, and they had to hide or risk a beating. Mike glanced at his brother, remembering. How would things have been different if only… They couldn’t go back in time, though. If he met up with dear Dad as an adult, he’d beat him like a bad habit. But the bastard had been rotting in his grave for sixteen years.

As Sal circled the truck, Mike followed, motioning Randy to do the same. Together, they met at the front of the Ford. While Sal inspected the truck’s grill, Mike held his breath, hoping he’d washed away all the blood.

“We hit a deer,” Randy said. He clapped a hand over his mouth and slipped behind Mike.

Sal whistled. “Front bumper, quarter panel, headlamp…” He clicked off his flashlight. “That must have been a hell of a deer. Question is, why bring it here? This truck been involved in something I should know about? Can’t have the cops sniffing around.”

Mike scuffed a foot in the gravel. “Gotta pay cash, and I thought you might give us a break. Old time’s sake, you know.”

“Old times is right. What’s it been, over a year since you brought me anything?”

“We were out of town, working the rigs.” Mike ducked his head, grateful for the dark, glad Sal didn’t see the nervous tic at the corner of his eye.

Randy had wandered over to the car crusher. He stared up at the top of the tower of flattened cars next to it. “Mike! There’s a red Mustang, like you used to have. This one’s a pancake, though.”

“Get the hell back over here!” Heat rose in Mike’s face as he turned to Sal. Christ almighty, if they didn’t get out of here before a car fell on Randy. “Look, can you fix it or not?”

Sal spread one large hand across the hood of the truck. He bent close to the grill and tilted his head as though listening for something. “I might take the Ford off your hands. Cash money right now.”

“Truck’s only two years old. I still owe on the loan.” Mike stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I want everything back the way it was, before the accident.” Mike paused. If he said the next part out loud, there would be no going back. He was desperate enough to believe in black magic, voodoo, wizards—hell, anything if it would take away the guilt from that night.

Mike lowered his voice and leaned closer to the older man. “I heard you could erase things like it never happened. That’s what I want. Whatever it cost, I’ll pay it.”

Sal hawked and spit on the ground. “You’ve got yourself into a mess, haven’t you? A truck, now that I can fix. I might help you with the other, but there’s always something left on the scale, and you got to square that debt yourself.” Sal’s eyes glinted yellow, like a cat’s. “What’s dead is dead. No bringing that back. But the recollection of it…” Sal paused, staring at Mike. At last, he nodded. “All right, let’s go inside.” He waved toward the office with his light.

Hesitating, Mike waited for Randy to catch up. Something about the way the wrecked cars looked at night, as though each one carried the memory of whatever mishap had fallen on them, gave Mike chills. Heading to Sal’s office, where they’d be alone with the man, didn’t make him feel any better.

A tired window unit air conditioner rattled and wheezed musty air inside the concrete building. Sal left them standing next to a battered wooden desk as he slipped through the opening at the back of the space, into a storage area where grease-stained car parts hung from hooks on the walls.

“You wait here,” Mike told Randy, before following Sal. Metal shelves sagging with repair manuals circled the room. Scattered among the dusty books were dozens of bell jars. The curved glass reflected the light, concealing their contents until Mike stood close enough for his breath to fog the surface. Each jar held moss, twigs, and stone chips—arranged like scenes from the fairy tales their grandmother used to read to them. The old stories, where starving children wandered lost in the woods and maidens had their hearts cut out by jealous witches. Dried butterflies with tattered wings clung like fairies to miniature branches. Tossed within the greenery of one were the delicate, yellowed bones of a small animal.

“You like my little collection?” Sal’s voice startled him, and Mike jumped back from the display.

“Well, it’s interesting, that’s for sure,” Mike said. He glanced at the shelves, and without thinking, crossed himself. If Nana were here, she’d probably lay down a salt circle before the whole weird mess.

“Cool!” Randy shuffled into the room and reached toward a jar. Sal grabbed his hand, drawing it back.

“Careful. Those old ones are delicate.” Sal lifted a jar from one of the higher shelves and dusted off the cover before handing it to Randy. “Here’s a good one.”

Mike protested, afraid his brother might drop the damn thing. Inside the bell jar, a tiny red car rested upside down next to a stone bridge fashioned from pebbles. A metal tag fastened on the wooden base had the words “Memento mori” engraved across the front.

“Is this supposed to be that Mustang out there? The one Randy said looked like my old car?” Mike took the jar from Randy as it began vibrating in his hands. A faint noise, a high-pitched scream, sounded from the jar. Randy clapped his hands over his ears.

Mike thrust the glass back at Sal. “Jesus! What the fuck was that?” He shook his shoulders at the ominous feeling that ran down his back, like a ghost running their fingers across his spine. Like Randy had said earlier, like someone had stepped on his grave.

Grinning, Sal took the jar from Mike. “Don’t get your tits in a twist. This ain’t yours, not anywhere close, is it? The folks who gave that one paid dearly.” Smiling, Sal caressed the glass, then set it back where it belonged. After, he rummaged in a pile of folders and crumpled papers crammed on top of a rusty metal filing cabinet. “Here it is.” Sal held up a receipt book, and they followed him back into the main office area. Sal stopped at the desk, bending to fill out the boxes on the form. Finished, he swiveled the book to Mike for his signature, and afterwards, he closed the book and dropped it into a drawer. “You bring the cash?”

“Yeah. Two grand, what you told me.” Mike set the money in front of Sal. “Does that cover everything?”

“No. That’s your down payment.” Sal picked up the bills. “It takes care of the truck. You’ll settle up the rest after.”

What choice did he have? Mike nodded and dropped the truck key into Sal’s palm.

***

Two weeks later, Sal called. “Got it fixed up for you, good as new,” he said. “You can pick it up tonight, after ten.”

It was closer to midnight by the time the brothers got a ride to the salvage yard. Mike begged a ride from Justine, one of the waitresses at the bar. They had to wait until after her shift. And when they got to the salvage yard, Justine refused to drive through the gate.
“No way, dude. That’s some creepy ass voodoo shit.” She pointed at the deer skull hanging over the center of the entrance. “This is the kind of place you drive in, you might not make it out. Ya’ll can walk from here.” She stopped her car in the road and left the motor running while Mike and Randy climbed out.

The brothers trudged through the maze of wrecks to the junkyard’s office. As they approached, the door swung open. Sal stood there, outlined in the yellow light. Parked at the side of the building was Mike’s truck. The Ford’s pearl white finish gleamed in the moonlight—showroom perfect. Like Sal had promised, good as new.

“Look Mike! It’s all fixed!” Randy danced an awkward loop around the Ford.

Mike smiled, watching his brother. Sal hadn’t mentioned the cost for the rest, the forgetting. Maybe, Mike thought, they would do without it, save the money. It had been a month already, and no cops were snooping around. That had been his biggest worry. What would Randy have said to them? It was an accident, but how could they explain it? With the truck repaired, all evidence gone, they might finally move on.

You couldn’t change the past. You could only do your best to forget it.

“Glad to see you made it!” Sal called out.

“We had to find a ride, took…” Randy started before Sal interrupted.

“No time for chitchat. We got things to settle.” He motioned them into the office.

Inside, the weak fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, setting Mike’s teeth on edge. Sal took the Ford’s keys from a rack behind his desk. He set them down beside a basketball sized object hidden under black cloth. Mike reached to pick up the keys, but Sal grasped his wrist.

“Just a minute,” he said. “Things got a little complicated when we did the repairs. We found blood crusted on the rocker panel. You still saying that was a deer you hit?”

“Yeah. Came out of nowhere.” Mike peered at the dusty floor. Anything to keep from meeting Sal’s gaze. He tried to change the conversation. “It sure looks good now, like nothing happened.”

“That was my promise, wasn’t it?” Sal rested his hand on the black cloth. “Now for the second part…” Sal whisked the covering away, revealing a glass dome. Inside the bell jar was a miniature scene—a toy-sized white truck on a gray ribbon of clay, meant to represent a road. Bits of straw sprang up from the roadside and tiny green pine trees leaned toward the truck.

“What the fuck?” Randy gasped as Mike spotted the tiny figure tucked into the grass-filled ditch beside the road.

“No! God dammit!” Mike snatched up the cloth and dropped it over the jar. “What the hell is this supposed to be? This is supposed to make us forget what happened? I didn’t want this, this…” He waved at the cloth. “I don’t want anything to do with that.”

Sal took out the receipt book and flipped the pages to the one Mike had signed. “It’s right here. You signed a contract—one memento for—”

Mike interrupted. “I’m not paying for that. We never discussed this. You didn’t tell me what I was signing.”

For a moment, Sal’s gaze darkened. “I didn’t think you were one to argue the cost of things.” He lowered his eyebrows and frowned. With a shake of his head, he pasted on a smile. “You don’t want the memory?” He patted the jar. “But I do. I’ll keep it here for you, safe and sound. Remember, our deal isn’t finished until it’s time for the last payment.”

“Whatever.” Mike scooped up the keys to the Ford. “We’re leaving. I paid you already for the repairs, fair and square.” He waved a hand at the jar. “You can keep that, whatever it’s supposed to be.”

As they hustled to the Ford, Mike thought about handing the keys to Randy, let him have the first drive in the repaired truck. But looking at his brother’s pale face, he reconsidered. It would take some time to exorcise all the ghosts, purge those horrible memories.

At first, after they left the junkyard, they traveled down the familiar, smooth blacktop of the county road. By the third turn, however, the route turned to a rough hardpan covered in crushed rock. Pine trees loomed along the narrow lane, their branches meeting overhead in spots, making a tunnel of the route. This wasn’t the way home, but it looked familiar somehow.

Mike tossed his phone to Randy. “See if you can get Google maps to load. I don’t know how the hell it happened, but I must have missed a turn somewhere.”

The pale green glow of the dashboard lit Randy’s face. He blew out a breath and dropped the phone into the truck’s console, then gazed out the window. “No signal. Was that a pond? Did we pass a pond?” Randy asked.

“It’s pitch dark out. We wouldn’t have seen a pond unless we drove straight into it.” Mike blew out a breath and accelerated, trying to put more of the road behind them. The moon shone through a gap in the trees, revealing a weathered gray farmhouse. Had they passed that earlier?

Randy’s foot tapped a quick beat on the floorboard. Outside, the pines rushed past in a blur. Mike reached over and tapped his brother’s leg. “It’s okay.”

Ahead, the road curved and disappeared into the black forest. Randy sat up, peering out the windshield. “No! Slow down!”

Mike glanced from the road for only a second. When he looked up, a horned figure, draped in white and gray cloth, stood revealed in the headlights. Too late, he twisted the steering wheel. The truck passed through the figure like it was a cloud of dust. Mike stomped the brake.

“What the hell!” He jerked against his seatbelt as they slid sideways. The Ford thumped and slid through the loose rock as it slowed and finally stopped.

“What was that?” Randy clutched his arm, fingers digging into the muscle.

Mike shook him off. “An animal, probably.” What else was outside this late at night? Better stay calm, get the truck back on the road. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

Mike shut down the truck and turned on the flashers. He took a deep breath, counting to ten before climbing out. The Ford rested at an angle across a narrow ditch, headlights barely piercing the black woods. He circled the truck to grab a flashlight from the glove box. Randy whimpered and pressed a hand to his mouth. Mike’s knees shook as adrenaline flooded his body. Jesus. It happened so fast. Like that other time. But now, they hadn’t even felt a bump, so what the hell had been in the road? He shone the light over the truck, looking for damage. Nothing, not a dent, not a scratch.

Mike crept down the road, shining the light ahead. Tire marks dug into the gravel and led to a path of flattened weeds, as though something large had dragged itself there. Dark, wet blotches dotted the grass.

A noise behind him made Mike turn. Randy stood in front of the open passenger door. His blond hair looked like a halo in the square of light spilling from the Ford’s interior. “Mike! Did you see it?”

He drew a breath before answering. “There’s nothing there. I’m gonna check a little ways back.”

“Was it a dog? A deer?” Randy followed him. “It wasn’t…”

“Get back in the damn truck.” As Mike reached for him, Randy flinched, twisting away. Mike walked him back to the truck and stood there until his brother climbed in and buckled his seatbelt.

“I didn’t do anything, Mike. Not this time.” Randy folded his hands in his lap and stared out the windshield. His shoulders slumped like a wounded child.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s getting lost, that crazy shit at Sal’s, the road, and now this accident.” Mike waved a hand at the trees leaning over the road. “It’s not like before. I promise you that.” Except the more he thought about the place—the trees, the road, the farmhouse—the more it brought back that other memory.

“It was an animal,” Mike muttered. No way in hell would the same thing happen twice. His mind recalled the pale moon of a face frozen in the light, right before the impact. No. This thing had two twisted horns sprouting from its head. A deer. Wouldn’t a person have cried out? Holding up his light, he stepped closer to the edge of the road. Wind whispered through the trees. The scent of pine and damp leaves hung in the air, along with a hint of something foul, like meat gone bad.

“Hello?” Mike held still, listening. A strangled half moan, half growl, sounded. He froze. If he didn’t look, he wouldn’t know. But if they’d hit someone, they couldn’t just drive away. Not again. Stepping from the road, he kept clear of the damp trail that led toward the woods. About ten yards in, a flattened circle lay swirled into the long grasses. Whatever had rested there was gone. Nothing stirred in the beam from the flashlight. Silence fell, as though the woods held its breath.

The tree trunks at the edge of the forest had strange symbols carved into their bark. Runes scratched into the pale inner wood. The hair rose on Mike’s arms. He stumbled back as his foot landed on a dry branch with a snap loud as a shot. The flashlight’s beam danced across the ground, lighting up an object half-buried in the grass. Mike kicked it into the light—a child’s red sneaker. “No. This can’t be happening.” Mike flung the shoe into the woods, then rushed back to the truck, his shoulders hunched as though he expected a blow to land across them any second.

Mike ran onto the empty road, now covered in thick fog. No sign of the Ford. Had he gotten turned around in there? “Randy!” he called, and spun in the middle of the lane, listening. Suddenly, light blazed in the darkness. Headlights, a hundred yards ahead. The truck! Something, or someone, crouched in front, below the Ford’s bumper. He jogged toward them.

Ten feet away from the truck, Mike froze. At last, he saw what waited for him. He rubbed his eyes, as though that would clear the vision. In front of the Ford, Sal Undergrove stood clutching the back of Randy’s shirt. In his other hand, he balanced the glass jar with the recreated memory of the accident. Mike’s brother knelt in the dirt, a crown of antlers on his head. Blood painted red streamers down his face.

“No!” Mike stumbled toward Sal. “What are you doing?”

“It’s time to pay up.” Sal lifted the jar. “The cost of guilt, the price of forgetting. An eye for an eye, a death for a death.”

For a moment, Mike considered knocking the glass jar from his hands. As though Sal knew his thoughts, he stepped back, hugging the glass to his chest. Fog swirled around his feet and wrapped the man in a gray cloak. Instead of flesh and blood, he clutched the jar with skeletal hands. His face melted away, revealing a skull with glowing yellow eyes. Horns sprouted from either side of the skull. The figure pointed a bony finger toward the road.

Bent double, Mike pulled at his hair and screamed. “Let him go!”

Randy crawled forward and wrapped his arms around Mike’s legs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Mike.”

“It’s not his fault,” Mike pleaded with Sal. “I should have been the one driving, but I was too drunk that night.”

Sal’s bony hand landed on Mike’s shoulder. Impossibly, his voice boomed from the skull that had replaced his flesh and blood. “You made the decision, but your brother owes the debt. It must be paid. Guilt is like acid. It eats away until there’s nothing left.”

Mike shook his head. The horrible scene replayed in his mind. The bar, drinking, then tossing Randy the keys. But if not Randy, then he would have been behind the wheel. Would he have seen the kid in time to stop? Probably not. “You just need a sacrifice, right?” Mike pulled Randy to his feet. “Can you make him forget all of it—about that night and this one?”

Sal nodded. “He should follow the road to the curve. You stay, but your brother will find his way home once the payment is made.”

“Don’t do it! I’ll go to the cops, I’ll tell them what happened.” Randy clutched Mike’s hand.

“Too late for that,” Sal said. “I have the memento mori, and it must be completed. Those were our terms.”

Mike lifted the deer antlers from Randy and placed them on his own head. The pines shook in the wind with a sound like a thousand whispers. The woods echoed with a child’s laughter. Mike grabbed his brother’s hand and pulled him into a hug. “You got to go. Follow the road and don’t look back, no matter what you hear.”

“I’m not gonna leave you. I don’t want to forget you.” Randy wiped his sleeve across his eyes.

“Nana needs you.” Mike pushed him away. “Take the truck and get on home now, and I’ll be along later.” The lie, he figured, was a small sin to add to his guilt. But if it made Randy leave, so he’d be safe, then Mike would tell a thousand lies.

Randy climbed into the truck and it inched forward, gradually picking up speed as it pulled away from Mike. He watched until the tail lights faded into the darkness, then stumbled back toward the place marked with tire tracks and crushed weeds.

Mike turned around as the growl of a large motor approached. It burst from the fog. Not a white truck like his Ford, but a truck from hell–midnight black, ten feet tall with a chrome grill that grinned with metal teeth. No one was behind the wheel.

Caught in the blazing light, Mike spread his hands and closed his eyes. He hoped it would be quick. Right before the end, cold fingers traced down his back. Like someone stepping on his grave.