Stay Away from Daniel Creech

<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/trees.png"> (set: $honk to 0)\ "No, no, no..." The signal on (link-reveal:"Jamie's")[(dialog: "Benjamin 'Jamie' Strauss, incredibly sweaty 28-year-old and newly-minted employee of the Kentucky Forestry Division.", "got it")] phone stubbornly remains fixed at "Searching..." despite his best efforts. Efforts which include 'crossing the road' and 'jumping up and down' and now 'climbing up to the roof of his car'. "You have //got// to be kidding me." The sun, too, stubbornly remains fixed in its position, not wanting to give up even a smidgen of height in the sky no matter how long it feels like he's been out here. He taps on his phone screen all the harder in frustration. Then, when that doesn't work, either, he flops face-up on the hot metal of the roof and gives up. "So this is how it goes, huh," he groans. A dramatic arm covers his eyes. "Wasting away in the fucking (link-reveal:"Kentucky")[(dialog:"Southeastern Kentucky, to be exact. In the hottest part of spring. The time of year when milkweed floats so thick in the air it looks like snow. Once upon a time, the sun didn't beat down on the earth nearly as oppressively until, like, August.","got it")] desert heat." (more:)[|1>[He pauses.]] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")["Or maybe I'll become a mountain man. Just like they talk about... living off the land... //'Oh, whatever happened to Jamie, from high school?'"// His voice turns gruff, a bastardization of the accent. "Heard he done broke down on the mountain freeway, and ain't nobody seen him since... they say his body still haunts those lands, but t'aint a soul left inside..."(set:$honk to 1)] (event: when $honk is 1)[(t8n-delay:7s)+(t8n:"rumble")+(link-style:(text-colour:orange))[Suddenly, a honk [[jerks him out of it.]]](set:$honk to 0)]

The turns get (link-reveal:"tighter")[(dialog:"//i'm gonna die//","oh no")] and (link-reveal:"narrower")[(dialog:"//any second now//","oh god")], the trees surrounding them thicker and fuller. Jamie grips his seatbelt harder on each successive hairpin; the old man's (link-reveal:"not slowing down a bit.")[(dialog:"//who's going to feed my cat?!//","i don't know!!!")] (more:)["That's Providence for ya," he grunts. A pause, a smack of the lips. "We can getcha set right. Creech's Garage has been here for years and years... my pa owned it, I owned it, 'n' now my boy's takin' it over. Been fixin' cars since he was a kid." "Oh, wow! Smart kid!" |4>["Mmhm."]] (click:?4)+(t8n:"fade")[At the sides of the road, the margins drop off to nothing, with only a crumbling guardrail to keep them on the right track. Chunks of asphalt vibrate and topple off the edge of the mountain as the truck |1>[breezes past them].] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")["Hey, uh, no offense, but do you think we could, maybe--"(set:$honk to 1)] (event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"rumble")+(t8n-delay:2s)[Tires screech on the asphalt, the rear of the truck swinging around wide on a tight, tight turn-- |3>[//"Slow down?!"//] Jamie yelps.](set:$honk to 0)] (click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")["I know these roads like the back of my hand," laughs (link-reveal:"Mr. Creech")[(dialog: "He's fearing for his life, okay, and 'Mr. Creech' is the best title he can come up with on the fly!","yeah that's fair")], ignoring Jamie's humble and reasonable request. Well. If he's going to die up here, he doesn't wanna see it coming. So he (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[screws his eyes shut->Garage1]].]

Talk swiftly moves to less sensitive topics, and strangely enough, this is what shuts Jamie out of the conversation. He doesn't know who Beth-Ann is, or what's gotten into her tomatoes, and, crucially, he doesn't care. So he resumes eating and lets it all wash over him. The food's good. Remarkably so, given that he cooked half of it. He can't stop himself from going back for seconds on the potatoes. It would just be nicer if, you know, Daniel Creech wasn't trying to bore a hole through him with his eyes the whole time. Jamie rushes to offer to clear everything away once everyone finishes eating. At least if he's doing dishes, he's not dealing with a complete stranger's |1>[family politics.] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[The Turners and the Creeches collectively migrate to the living room, and then to the porch, shooting the shit by lantern light. All except Daniel, who remains behind. He loudly gathers up dishes behind Jamie, as if to remind him that he's there, and then (link-reveal:"sets them on the counter")[(dialog:"He isn't slamming them or anything, like Jamie half-expects him to do. Hell, if it weren't for the most uncomfortable dinner experience of his life, Jamie would think he's trying to be helpful.","weird")] next to the sink. "I got your car," he says, not looking at Jamie. "You fucked it up pretty bad." "Is that your official diagnosis?" Daniel stares at him, just as sullen as ever. "Yeah. Your (link-reveal:"tranny's shot")[(dialog:"For a brief, horrifying moment, Jamie forgets that Daniel's a mechanic.","yikes")]." He shoves his hands back in his pockets and leans against the counter. "Gonna take |2>[awhile] to get parts in."] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")["How long is... awhile?" Jamie asks slowly. A non-committal noise. "Could be a week. Could be... a few weeks." At that, Jamie sets down the sponge and dish he'd been holding so he can face Daniel properly. "No. You've gotta be kidding. A //week?"// "If I'm lucky," Daniel mutters. "Jesus, what am I gonna do, man? I've got work to do! And I don't have any way to get to this stupid motel and back without my car!" Daniel shrugs. "Not my problem. But I don't want you stickin' around any more'n you do, |3>[city boy]," he says.] (click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie groans and runs his hands back through his hair. Then he remembers that they're wet and soapy and gross and jerks them back, flicking suds at Daniel as he does. Daniel's nose wrinkles. Something about the way he goes quiet makes Jamie stop still, hands frozen uselessly in midair.(set:$honk to 1)] (event: when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)["You best behave," Daniel says at last, voice low and heated. "If anything happens to my granny while you're here..."] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:6s)[Goosebumps crawl up Jamie's skin. He doesn't so much as blink.] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:9s)["I'll show you what 'southern hospitality' //really// means."] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:12s)["Daniel, come say goodnight," Tracy beckons him from outside. That drags his attention away, and Jamie's left standing alone, hands dripping onto the kitchen floor.(set:$honk to 0)] (text-colour:orange)[<a href="https://stayaway.neocities.org/build/SAFDC_day2.html">He doesn't sleep well that night.</a>]]

"Hey, stranger," comes the voice of an (link-reveal:"old man")[(dialog: "Stout and balding, with a mustache that would make a walrus jealous. He's got sun-pocked skin with an old, faded sailor's tattoo here and there, covered only by a pair of overalls.", "weird")], bouncing up and down in the driver's seat of a rusty, seafoam-green truck. "You alive?" "Unfortunately." "C'mon, now, don't talk like that! Liketa scare me to death, lyin' there like that..." Jamie sits up straighter. "My car broke down," he says by way of apology. "And I can't get ahold of (link-reveal:"Triple-A")[(dialog: "Jamie's usual plan whenever something goes amiss on the road: beg for help from the AAA Roadside Assistance his mom's been paying for. Might as well get her money's worth out of it.", "got it")] or anything. Do you get any signal out here?" "Signal? Eh... I dunno..." The man shrugs a shoulder. His mustache twitches in thought. "But I can take ye into town, see if you can't get yer car towed in. My boy's got a garage, he'll getcha all fixed up." (click:"getcha all fixed up")+(t8n:"fade")[Half of his instincts tell him that hopping in a stranger's truck in the middle of nowhere is a very stupid idea, but the other half are sweaty and sticky and miserable and don't want to have to walk all the way to civilization. The decision doesn't take long to weigh. So Jamie slowly, clumsily slides off the roof of his car and climbs into the old man's passenger seat, bouncing just the same from the rhythmic shuddering of the engine, thumbing his keyring and tucking each key between his fingers like they're the spikes on a set of brass knuckles. (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[Just in case.->where you headed, stranger?]]]

There's no A/C in the truck, Jamie learns pretty quickly. The bare stone walls of the exposed mountain whip past his head as he lolls it out the open window. It's all the nicer when they follow the the curve of the road, spiraling up and around, those walls coming to shield them from the worst of the sun. There's a cough at his left. "So, eh... |1>[where you from?]" (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[A complicated question. The answer he gives is the simple one: he came down from (link-reveal:"Louisville")[(dialog: "Louis-ville, Looey-ville, Loo-a-vul... Whatever you want to call it, it's the Big City, the Jewel of the River, the Land of a Thousand Unpronounceable Names. Like somebody excised a little chunk of the Pacific Northwest and grafted it onto Kentucky's body. Now it shambles around with this strange flesh embedded in its skin, and all anybody wants to talk about anymore is 'oh, that lump looks weird', 'why would you want that', and never 'wow, it has a lot of great restaurants, I bet you're having so much fun with your lump'.","okay")] on a business trip. It gets a grunt, a mutter of "the city, huh", like it explains a lot to him. But it's not like he's //from// there. (link-reveal:"The locals")[(dialog:"Like anybody cares where you went to high school in the real world. He's got a //master's degree//, okay.","mhmm")] sure won't let him fucking forget it. He's a transplant, just like every other guy he meets back in the city; he just happens to be from further up (link-reveal:"the river")[(dialog: "It's called the Ohio River for a reason.","got it")]. And being "the new guy" in the state's forestry division, he's had the luck of being shunted off to Bingham Creek, some backwater spit deep in coal country, nestled in the crook of an ancient valley long ago and left there to ferment. Look where that got him. Jamie knows better that to bother saying all that out loud, though. What he actually says is, "Yeah, I was (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[heading out this way->Into the mountains]], anyway."]

The bent of their trajectory veers upwards... (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:2s)[...then downwards.] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:4s)[Then back up again, but slower this time, trundling along the road until the truck rattles to a stop. When the purr of the engine dies out beneath him, Jamie |2>[cracks his eyes open.]] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/mtns1.png"> Mr. Creech has taken him into the valley proper, up a steep side road dug into the very hills themselves. At the top, sitting astride the lip of a broad, hilly, densely-forested expanse, lies a weathered building, all ash-brown wood and corrugated steel, with a squat old house bolted onto the side of a garage that could swallow it whole. There's a sign mounted to the eaves, where grey-and-blue paint spells out "CREECH GARAGE" in worn, clustered letters. Were it not for the view out behind the truck, (link-reveal:"behind the road")[(dialog:"From here, he can see into the town below... a cluster of businesses here, a small neighborhood there, and the throughline of its old rails, all of it tucked snugly into the bowl of the valley. An untouched jungle of temperate forest blankets the mountains from ground to sky, with nary a gap to be found in its cover, occluding all else from sight but this: the entire community of Bingham Creek, laid bare before him. Like he's got a top-down view in a strategy game.","got it")], Jamie could believe he was miles away from anything resembling civilization. That and the tiny, glowing Domino's sign in the distance. "Daniel," Mr. Creech hollers, as he steps out of the truck on shaky feet. "Got work for ya, |1>[Daniel]!"] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")+(link-style:(text-colour:orange))[No answer. Daniel, it seems, is [[not here]].]

Mr. Creech mutters under his breath, clearly disgruntled. God knows what he's actually //saying,// though. From where Jamie's standing, the accent is impenetrable. A wave, beckoning Jamie to |1>[follow him inside], gets through to him where words don't. (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[They step past the skeletons of easily fifty years' worth of broken cars, spilling out from the property like a hoarder's wet dream. Some look fairly new, with functional interiors and smatterings of replacement parts laid out by their sides, all lined up in surgical order. Others have laid here so long that they've practically become a part of the forest themselves, \ (link-reveal:"saplings")[(dialog:"//Juglans nigra//, or your ordinary black walnut. It can't be more than a few years old, but it's already come into its distinctive scent, a spicy, pungent thing that bleeds from its leaves. They'll grow just about anywhere up here. Their fruits aren't as appealing as your conventional walnuts - the shells are thicker, the nutmeat wedded more thoroughly to the interior, and they stain like nothing else. Jamie once tried to extract a dye from those dark natural compounds, but only ended up making a huge mess.","got it")] \ boring through windshields, \ (link-reveal:"kudzu")[(dialog:"//Pueraria montana//, among other subspecies. More commonly known as 'the plant that swallowed the South'. A hairy, leafy vine, lush and green and trifoliate in nature. It flowers late in the summer, burgeoning with reddish-purple buds, but for now, they lie dormant. The stunning biodiversity of the Appalachians is threatened in part by its insidious runners, which are hardy and patient enough to engulf entire buildings if left to their own devices.","got it")] \ choking the life out of antique Cadillacs and returning their various metals and polymers to the soil. The house itself is similarly cluttered. A creaky screen door swings out to reveal a living room and a small kitchen, wood-paneled, every square inch of vertical real estate occupied by a family photo, an old motor oil advertisement, or a quaint little cross-stitched psalm. Jamie can't help but shrink in the face of it all - he's terrified to take up too much space and accidentally knock over some rickety end table full of tchotchkes. At the left, armchairs cluster around a small TV - flatscreen, even. Fascinatingly out of place. And at the right, a heavyset woman with steel-grey hair and an airbrushed Garfield t-shirt sits at the kitchen table, chattering on a |4>[cordless phone.]] (click:?4)+(t8n:"fade")["Oh, I got to go, Sharon. J.D.'s done dragged somebody in, lookin' like he's about to keel over, |5>[bless his heart."]] (click:?5)+(t8n:"fade")[She barely gives Jamie the chance to catch his breath before she introduces them: Tracy and J.D. Creech, proprietors - every syllable belabored - of the Creech Garage. "Well, we used to be," she tells him, "but ever since J.D.'s come down with the arthritis, it's just our boy |6>[Daniel]. There ain't nothin' he can't fix!"] (click:?6)+(t8n:"fade")["Daniel. Gotcha. Do you, uh... You got any idea when |7>[he'll be back]? Or if I can get my car towed up here? I don't like the idea of it sitting out on the road." Jamie chuckles awkwardly, trying to smooth over the mood.] (click:?7)+(t8n:"fade")["He'll be out at the Caldwell's," Tracy says. "Won't be but... half an hour, knowin' him. Come on in, (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[sit awhile!]] Not like your car's goin' anywhere."]

Jamie surreptitiously checks his phone again. //Fuck.// Nothing up here, either. His heart starts to (link-reveal:"pound faster in his chest.")[(dialog:"For once, he's pretty sure it's not just the anxiety disorder talking. He's got no signal, no GPS, no way to get out of this fucking place, and no idea what to make of these suspiciously-friendly locals. Oh, God. Every other horror movie starts off this way, doesn't it? Stupid. Stupid!","this was a bad idea huh")] (more:)[He scans the room for... something. Anything. Preferably something big and blunt, though. On the stove - a cast-iron pan, not in use. Yet. "Weird question. Would you mind if I used your phone? To make a |1>[phone call]?"] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[She gives him a funny look, then snorts. "Well, what else would ya use it for?" "Ha! Great point!" His voice cracks. Sweat beads on his forehead. "So, is that a yes, or--" "Go on ahead," Tracy says, handing him the phone. "Can't get no signal in the valley, honey. We don't even bother with 'em." From where J.D.'s settled himself in his (link-reveal:"armchair")[(dialog:"Threadbare tartan, and clearly well-used. It practically wraps itself around him, like he's sat in the same place ever since he was born.","okay")], his gruff voice cuts in, "Ain't no point. Somebody wants to call me, it can wait 'til I git home." Jamie fumbles the number and puts in something with altogether too many digits, but the |2>[third time's the charm.]] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")+(link-style:(text-colour:orange))[Ring. Ring. [[Click.]]]

(set: $honk to 0)"What do you want?" "Uh, hey? (link-reveal:"Lance?")[(dialog:"Lance Turner, Jamie's direct superior in the forestry division. He's ruddy and sturdy, grey hairs belying a man who could probably out-bike Jamie if he put his mind to it. He's usually, uh, nicer. Less cold. Did he fuck up last week's report that badly?","oh god. maybe")] It's me, Jamie... D-Did I do something?" His boss' voice immediately brightens. "Jamie! No, No, I just... What a... pleasant surprise. Why in the world are you |1>[calling me?"] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Jamie licks his lips, caught off guard. "Well, ha ha, that's a great question! I, uh..." He scans the room before he continues. Both of the Creeches are straining to look like they're not listening. "I had a //liiittle// bit of an accident." "I hope you're not about to ask me for a fresh pair of pants." "What?! No!" Jamie bursts out laughing. "No, it's - it's my car. It broke down about half an hour from Bingham Creek. So I am... here. At the Creech Garage." He sucks in a breath through his teeth. Maybe he hasn't done something wrong //yet//, but he doesn't think Lance is gonna love |2>[this one], either.] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")["And I don't know if I have enough cash to get it fixed. I'm kind of stuck." There's a rustling in the background. Then a sigh. "So you took the van... on your first long-distance assignment... and you wrecked it." "Hey, it wasn't wrecked! When you put it like that, it sounds, uh, not good," Jamie says, voice high and strained. "It's //not// good, Jamie." Lance pauses to think. "At least you're in good hands. I'll have to get ahold of my director... have you fill out some forms... but we'll get it taken care of. You'll have to explain this one yourself when you get back, though, 'cause //I'm// sure not gonna do it." |3>[Jamie's stomach sinks.]] (click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")["How long's it gonna be out of commission?" "I don't know," groans Jamie. "The actual mechanic's not even here yet. What am I gonna do? I was supposed to be at a motel on the other side of the fu-- frickin' valley!" "Relax, would ya? It's not the end of the world. I've got |4>[family] in the area, they might let you |5>[stay the night]."] (click:?4)+(t8n:"fade")[Gears turn slowly in Jamie's head. Then, when they whir up to full speed, he asks, "If you've got family up here... then why aren't //you// on this project?" Lance scoffs. "Take a look around. You'll get it."(set: $honk to $honk+1)] (click:?5)+(t8n:"fade")["Okay, and what if they don't let me stay? Do you expect me to just, like, rough it out in the woods?" Lance makes a sound that's the verbal equivalent of a shrug. "Yeah. You'll have to watch out for bears, though." "Hey... hey, that's not funny," Jamie laughs weakly. "Seriously, that's not funny, what do you mean //bears//--" "I'd never joke about bears, bud," Lance says. He's worryingly serious.(set: $honk to $honk+1)] (event: when $honk is 2)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[With that, Lance lets him go, promising to call around. While Jamie... sits here and stews in it. A mild bitterness seeps into him. Of course his boss gets the nicer assignments, the more prestigious ones. And, most importantly, the ones closer to home, where he doesn't have to have awkward conversations with distant family members. Or whatever. That's Jamie's job, apparently. He returns the phone to its cradle.(set:$honk to 3)]] (event: when $honk is 3)[(t8n:"shudder")+(t8n-delay:3s)[A loud //bang// to his right makes him (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[fumble it to the ground]].(set: $honk to 0)]]

<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/daniel.png"> A dark figure stands at the mouth of the door, the harsh light of the sun behind him. Jamie squints against it; from here, crouched on the floor, he can see nothing of the man's gaze, no warmth or flicker of light in his eyes, just a flat, featureless shadow under the brim of his trucker hat. For a heartbeat, |1>[Jamie's blood runs cold.] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Then he steps inside, staring down at Jamie, and Jamie hurriedly rights himself to find that the guy's... short. That blank stare is less intimidating when he's having to tilt his head up for it. "Who's this?" "Feller from out of town," J.D. croaks from the corner. He coughs. "Wrecked his car." "I didn't wreck my car," Jamie starts, defensive, before thinking better of it. "It just - it broke down. I've been waiting on a guy to get back here, who I am guessing is... you?" The man grunts and steps clear past him. Like he's not even there. "|2>[Daniel]," Tracy says, like a warning.] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[(link-reveal:"Daniel")[(dialog:"Daniel Creech. Dark hair and dark eyes ringed with dark circles, all hidden under a Vols cap. There's a black smudge on his face that matches those on his jeans - motor oil, probably. His shoulders are perpetually hitched up to his ears, his face is frozen in a flat scowl, and his hands are jammed deep in his jacket pockets, as if he is forever shrinking away from some unseen observer.","whoa")] stops still, then stiffly turns back around. "You must be Daniel Creech," Jamie says. He musters up a polite smile. "I'm Jamie. Jamie Strauss. And I would really like your help fixing my car so I can go home." He extends a hand that Daniel just... stares at. Like he's confused. Then, after entirely too long of a pause, Daniel blinks, takes it at last, and gives it a firm shake. "He says he's from //Looey-ville//," Tracy beams, thrilled to have something to gossip about. "He's doin' a-- What'd you call it? An ecological whatsit--" "A survey," supplies Jamie. "I'm supposed to be out surveying the railroad tracks right now. (link-reveal:"There's this thing")[(dialog:"Commonly known as rails-to-trails. Railways in this part of Kentucky often fall into disuse once the mines shut down, and many areas that have opted to pivot from coal mining to tourism will reclaim those tracks to rebrand themselves as a trail town. It's a great idea, but also incredibly legally complicated to execute. Jamie's job in this regard is simple: he's just there to get an idea of the ecological health of the area.","uh, sure")], I don't know if you've |3>[heard of it], where we're trying to get old coal railways turned into hiking trails--"] (click:?3)+(t8n:"flicker")+(link-style:(text-colour:orange))["[[Oh]]," says Daniel.]

That syllable drops with all the gravity of a door slamming shut. (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[Jamie's smile strains itself, pulling wider as part of some maladjusted coping mechanism for the sudden icy chill. "Yeaaah," he says, drawing it out to fill the silence.] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:6s)[A pendulum clock ticks. And tocks. And ticks again.] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:9s)["So," he tries again, "the car? Are we good? I'm not trying to be a bother, I can find |1>[a different guy] if you're not--"] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")["Where's it at," Daniel cuts him off. Oh. To be honest, he figured he was getting a 'no' from this whole conversation. But Jamie leaps on the opportunity anyway, telling Daniel everything he needs to know (and then some) before he has the chance to change his mind. Daniel then leaves without a word, slamming the door shut behind him. A wooden plaque inscribed with a (link-reveal:"proverb")[(dialog:"'God teaches us about Love by giving us Difficult people to Deal with!', replete with a tiny, woodburned cartoon of a child praying.","got it")] rattles above the doorframe. Jamie can do little but watch, eyes wide. The only sound in his wake is the slow whine of the screen door settling into place, the faint tinkle of a windchime on the porch set into motion.(set:$honk to 1)] (event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:6s)[And then (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[the phone rings.]](set:$honk to 0)]]

It's (link-reveal:"Lance again")[(dialog:"It's not like Jamie just answered a total stranger's phone out of nowhere. They've got Caller ID. He asked!","okay calm down")]. He says (link-reveal:"his grandma's")[(dialog:"Ruth Turner. (And that's 'Mrs. Turner' to him. None of that first-name shit with his granny.) Head down the hill, make a right at the stop sign, keep going past the sno-cone stand, and turn onto... what was it, Oak Street? Christ, he's never gonna remember that, but Lance swears you can't miss it.","good luck with that")] in town, she'll let him stay awhile. None of this seems very professional, if you ask him. But nobody's actually asking him. Jamie's just being buffeted along by the current, and if this is how things get done in the sticks, well, at least it's better than sleeping in the fucking woods. With bears. //When in Rome//, he supposes. (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:8s)[Tracy (link-reveal:"returns")[(dialog:"//When did she even leave?//","you were a little preoccupied, man")] from the back of the house, saying, "You get it |1>[sorted out]?"] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")["Oh, yeah. I think so? I've got somewhere to stay for the night, so. Sorry for all of, uh..." He gestures around himself. "This. The inconvenience." "Ain't no thing," she smiles at him. She busies herself straightening papers on the counters - bills, old invoices, things which have clearly been there long enough that they don't warrant the sudden organization. "So, you gonna be in town long? For your study?" Jamie rubs the back of his head. "III'm not sure," he says (link-reveal:"cautiously")[(dialog:"//Why is everybody here so goddamn nosy?!//","it's kind of weird")]. "I'll get out of your hair, though. Before it gets dark. |2>[Thanks for all the help."]] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")[With that, Jamie hurriedly makes his escape, though not before having to double back and get the Creech's phone number. Which is embarrassing. And tiring, too - the walk down the hill isn't quite so bad as the walk back up. Now, what did he say? Down the hill, (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[make a right...]]]

<img src="https://stayaway.neocities.org/images/trees3.png"> The sun has sunk below the mountains, leaving the sky above a vivid orange-red, but casting all else in the bowl of the valley into shadow. Jamie stays as far off the side of the road as he can - sure, there may not be much traffic, given that there's maybe a thousand people total in the surrounding area, but on the other hand nobody here seems too keen on investing in things like "street lights". So he crosses his fingers and hopes he doesn't get hit by one of these jackasses in their (link-reveal:"ATVs")[(dialog:"For some reason, he's seen more four-wheelers than actual cars on the road. They like to travel in packs.","got it")]. Lance's directions take him past a small river, the town's namesake. The banks are steep here, where he crosses over a bridge to the other side of town, but further downstream they're tempered and softened until the (link-reveal:"buildings")[(dialog:"'Buildings' implies a level of permanence that those structures just don't have. They're mostly trailers, mobile homes, empty lots that have fallen into disrepair. Kudzu crawls over their surfaces, both warning and threat.","got it")] are nearly level with the river's edge. Jamie slaps at an insect that's nibbling on his arm. He misses. Then swears at himself. He follows the road to the forest's edge, Oak Street branching off a much-longer way down than Lance had suggested. Here, past the clusters of abandoned storefronts and trailers surrounded by impromptu junkyards, the houses are sturdier. Bigger. Crammed into a tight-knit pocket. And Jamie's destination - a modest two-story house, with mottled white siding and a porch wrapped around the front and a yard that opens into the yawning woods - looms just around the corner, a warm light |1>[beckoning] from the kitchen. (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[Hesitantly, Jamie knocks on the door.(set: $honk to 1)] (event: when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[A crack emerges in the blinds on the front door. A single, enormous eye peers at him. Then he hears, "|2>[Come on in, honey]," as it retreats.]] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")["Uh, hi," he says, uncertain, as he enters the house. "I'm assuming this is Ruth Turner's house? Because, um, if it's not, this is going to be extremely weird and embarrassing--" "My grandson told me you was coming by," says the woman in question - Mrs. Turner herself, slight and withered, her voice trembling and her eyes magnified by a truly enormous pair of glasses. Her whole body trembles, actually, as she clutches her walker. She |3>[says something] that goes right in one of Jamie's ears and out the other.] (click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")["I'm sorry, can you (link-reveal:"repeat that")[(dialog:"Her accent is so thick, and her voice so raspy and shriveled, that Jamie can't parse it without a concerted effort.","wow")]?" "Lance's friend, Jamie." She hobbles toward (link-reveal:"her kitchen")[(dialog:"Less packed to the gills than the Creech house, but only just. Lacy curtains hang over the windows, cloyingly-sweet sculptures of cherubs pepper the walls, and fine china rests in a solid oak cupboard, its glass panels showcasing the most garish depictions of guardian angels he's ever seen painted on a porcelain plate.","impressive")], where a multitude of pots and pans bubble on the stove. "I'm Ruth, but everybody calls me Mrs. Turner." "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Turner," he says. "I'm Jamie. And you... already knew that. Right. Anyway, thank you so much for letting me stay the night. I know it's really short notice and--" She waves him off like it's nothing. "All's I ask is some (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[help with dinner]], honey."]

In short order, Jamie finds himself peeling potatoes. And chopping onions. He does it by rote, like he's not even there in his own body. In a way, he isn't. This isn't something that happens to him. This isn't //real life//. Real life, to him, is breaking down on the highway and being ignored by the tow truck guy and having his parents passive-aggressively suggest that they //expected// him to fuck something up again. And, most importantly, it involves a hell of a lot less people up in his business. When he's out in the world, nobody knows him, and he doesn't know them, and he likes it that way, thanks. It's easier. For everybody. He's not sure how much longer he can stand it. He's only been here but five minutes and, instead of passing out in a cheap motel bed, he's helping Lance's fucking grandmother make (link-reveal:"Sunday dinner")[(dialog:"It's not Sunday. Nothing would be open on Sunday, even back home.","got it")] for a family that he knew literally nothing about this time last week. You don't talk about your family with your boss! Or anything more serious than, like, the latest (link-reveal:"Marvel movie!")[(dialog:"Somehow, their work relationship has managed to survive the fact that Lance Turner loves them and Jamie Strauss will kill somebody if he has to hear about another one.","okay")] Ultimately, though, he reckons he can deal with it. There's worse things in the world than having some kind of cult invite you to dinner. It's just all the parts that come after that don't seem so great. But, you know, if push comes to shove, he's pretty sure he could take an old lady in a walker. |1>[No problem.] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")[After fumbling his way through Mrs. Turner's instructions (and narrowly avoiding disaster), they're left with a hearty spread: green beans, hominy, a plate of sliced and dressed cucumbers, slow-cooked beans and ham, mashed potatoes with a tureen of mushroom gravy on the side, and the //piece de resistance//, a cast iron skillet of fresh, warm cornbread. He arranges it all on the table, which is set to host 8, and looks back upon his work with a strange sense of pride. "Is that everything?" "Just about," Mrs. Turner tells him. There's a crooked smile on her face as she says, "I'm surprised you didn't chop your finger off, young man." "Ha! Yeah." He laughs out of politeness more than anything. "I've never cut peeled potatoes before. I didn't think they'd be so... slippery." "Reckon we got done early. Why don't you... come on and sit. Tell me how my grandson's doing." She's already headed to the living room before he has a chance to (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[politely decline]].]

(set:$honk to 0)Small talk isn't exactly his thing. And he doesn't know what to say other than, "yeah, that's my boss" and "I guess he's doing fine" and "we don't really talk much, sorry". Mrs. Turner makes a noise that he can only interpret as 'disappointed'. "'Least he's alive," she mutters, leaning back in her armchair and resting her eyes. "Don't know why he never calls back home. 'Less he needs somethin'..." Jamie fidgets, suddenly uncomfortable. (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)[Thankfully, a knock on the door gives him an excuse to |1>[get out of it].] (click:?1)+(t8n:"fade")["Come on in," she shouts as best she can. It's more of a warble, but it gets the point across. And in files a band of family members, one by one, strangers all, each carrying their own contribution - a bowl of potato salad here, a tray of baked goods there - until, at the tail end, there stands J.D. Creech. Beshirted. And accompanied by his loving wife and his wide-eyed son, who stares at Jamie like he's found something distasteful on the underside of his ratty-ass sneakers. |2>["Hey," Jamie squeaks uselessly.]] (click:?2)+(t8n:"fade")["You didn't tell us you knew //our// Lance," Tracy gasps. Behind her, Daniel maintains firm eye contact, as if he's a great big cat and Jamie's the hapless bug in his sights. Jamie's compelled to meet it, even as he tries to talk to somebody else entirely. "I didn't think he'd be related to //everybody// down here!" That was a mistake. Not because they're offended, no, but because the whole family must have been waiting for a moment just like this to tell somebody about the ins and outs of the Turners and the Creeches. Tracy married into the Creeches, of course, given that they've been here since Abraham fucking Lincoln's time, and naturally he's squashed next to Lance's mom and Lance's sister and //Lance's fucking cousin//, who's glaring daggers at Jamie as he spears a green bean. Jamie doesn't shrink away, though. In fact, the longer Daniel (link-reveal:"cops an attitude")[(dialog:"What's his problem? Jamie hasn't even //done// anything to this guy! Being awkward and vehicularly-incompetent isn't a crime!","for real")] with him, the more |3>[Jamie glares back.]] (click:?3)+(t8n:"fade")["You work with Lance, Jamie?" cuts in (link-reveal:"his dad's")[(dialog:"Not Jamie's dad. Jamie's dad would not give even the remotest of shits.","got it")] voice, snapping Jamie out of it. "Yeah. He's my direct superior, but I've only been working with him for a couple of months," Jamie tells him. "I-I really don't know a whole lot about him. I didn't even know he had family out here. That's not really, uh, my business--"(set:$honk to 1)] (event:when $honk is 1)[(t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:3s)["Figures."] (t8n:"fade")+(t8n-delay:5s)[Daniel grunts this through a mouthful of potatoes. When his mom hisses, "Manners," he swallows hard and wipes his mouth. "When was the last time he's been home, momma?" asks another relative. Mrs. Turner hums thoughtfully. "Oh, |4>[it's been awhile...]"(set:$honk to 0)]] (click:?4)+(t8n:"fade")["5 years." Daniel sullenly stabs another green bean. There's a chorus of quiet noises of agreement. Jamie shoves a chunk of cornbread in his mouth to avoid having to (link-style:(text-colour:orange))[[follow that one up.->goodbye daniel]]]