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The Distraction

Jeff Hill

    Cheryl’s the one. That’s what I keep telling myself. I’ve been in college for a few years longer than I had expected to be, but that was fine. But if I hadn’t failed so badly that first semester of school, I wouldn’t still be there. And would have never met Cheryl. She’s four years younger than me, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, because she’s the one.
    I told her that the other day.
    Bad timing on my part, because her parents were having their annual Fourth of July family extravaganza in Hickville, her hometown. I’m not really sure what the actual name is, but that’s what I call it. I’ve never actually been there, but I’m going to find it. I kind of have to. And I have less than twenty-four hours to do so. Under any other circumstances, that wouldn’t be a problem. But this is any ordinary one.
    She wants me to meet her grandma. Fine. She wants her sisters to approve of me and her brothers to have something in common with me. Great. Her mom wants to see if I’m as good looking as my pictures tell her. Sweet. But her dad wants to know that I’m not a complete jackass. Damn.
    “He’s going to be testing you the whole time you’re here, Pete. I just want you to know that before you get here.”
    Her voice sounds so far away, but I know it’s just a mixture of the crappy Midwest reception and my imagination.
    “Cheryl, I just don’t get it. Why couldn’t you have waited like another two days and just come out here with me?”
    “Because, baby.” She laughs. “This is the first test.”
    “Great. What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Daddy thinks all city boys are the same. Test one, and this should be a freebie for you, is that he thinks your directionally retarded.”
    “Right.”
    “You’ll do fine. Just use the map and my directions, but throw away the cheat sheet as soon as you get here. Eat it or something.”
    I start to laugh, but then stop, because something tells me that she isn’t joking.
    “Seriously, I think you’ll... Oh, crap! Dad’s coming. See you in a day or so!”
    “Bye, babe. I’ll...”
    And she hangs up.
    I pull into a gas station, appropriately titled “gas” and check all of my gauges and make small talk with the attendant. He tells me where Cheryl’s part of the wilderness of nothing and toothlessness is, kind of, and tries to get me to buy some bait. I tell him I’m good, thank him for his help, and pay him. When I give him a five dollar tip, he looks at me strange. I think he’s either insulted or really stupid, because he gives it back to me.
    I’ve got about a day’s drive left, so I’ll be needing to check into a motel or something in the near future. I guess I’ll drive and maybe stay at a bed and breakfast or something like that. I’ve got a good five or six hours of daylight left, so that’s quite a ways off.
    So I drive.
    Then, like thirty minutes later, I see them. Just a bunch of kids. They’re literally just sitting at a table in the middle of the road. The closer I get, the better look I get. It appears that they have a lemonade stand and they’re just typical little kids trying to make some money. Poor little guys, they’re out in the middle of nowhere. Good luck making anything.
    The weird part is that there isn’t a house in sight. They must have lugged that table and all of their supply at least a mile or two. But from where?
    I start to slow down a bit, assuming that they will try to run in front of my car and stop me. Damn it. I really don’t want to buy these hick kids’ crappy drink. The sign hanging on the table is visible now, and I can see that they’re not as dumb as they look. The lemonade that they are selling is five bucks a cup. Ha.
    Then, out of nowhere, one of them actually does run at me, but he just stares at me and screams, “Stop!”
    So I do.
    Rolling down my window, I ask the kid if he’s alright. He doesn’t say anything. Then I ask him if he needs me to use my cell phone and call someone. He doesn’t answer. Finally, I stick my head out the window and ask him what’s wrong. Still, the kid is silent.
    He walks over to my side and is panting, like he is out of breath.
    “What’s up, kid? You guys okay?”
    “Yeah,” he finally says.
    “Then what’s going on? Do you need something?”
    What he says next would creep me out if it weren’t broad daylight.
    “I’m the distraction,” he smiles.
    Then I think about it for a bit. Sure, we’re in broad daylight, but where the hell are we? Before I can even form a rational thought, all three of my other doors open and the other kids pile in. I turn to my right, as the kid in the passenger seat turns off my car and pulls the keys out of the ignition.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
    I turn to look at the ‘distraction,’ but he’s gone. The next thing I see is the back of a shotgun.
    I wake up and it’s dark. I can’t see a thing. But I can hear a few things. My head hurts, and I can feel the dried blood on my forehead and on my lip. I’m pretty sure my nose is broken. I hear footsteps on gravel, a grunting man, and some kids whispering. Then I realize I’m not blind, but blindfolded. And I hear something else. It’s weird, but it scares me. It’s some sort of squeak, like a door that needs to be oiled.
    I feel like I’m floating, but I’m not. I’m being carried. Oh, shit. Now I am flying. No. Not flying. Falling.
    I land on what feels like rocks and I feel water rushing over the dress clothes that I was wearing to impress Cheryl’s dad. I twitch around and frantically try to rub my head against something that will move the blindfold. I hear the squeaking and footsteps, and I’m pretty sure whoever threw me in here thinks I’m dead. They’re leaving.
    This is my chance! I have to see where I am, so I can look for something to cut the rope my hands are tied with. I rise to my feet and walk, but keep sinking in what I’m assuming is mud and shit and whatever is in this hole. I reach what seems like a manmade wall, and start moving my face up and down it, successfully removing the blindfold. Then I look around. It’s dark outside now, but not pitch black. I wish it was. I wish I couldn’t see what I’m seeing.
    The mud, the water, and the rocks aren’t what scare me. The weird noises and the weird kids who beat the crap out of me and did this aren’t even what scares me. It’s what I’m looking at. This pit, it’s full of bodies. Some fresh, some skeletons.
    Son of a bitch. I have to get out of here. The squeaking noise starts again, and I hear a noise that should have given it away the first time I heard it. Footsteps are matching up with every other squeak. It’s some sort of leg brace. Good, I think to myself. I grab the top of the pit and start to pull myself up. I can see the guy with the leg brace, probably the bastard that hit me in the face with his shotgun. He’s walking toward me, but I can outrun him. The question is, where the hell do I run?
    I don’t even know where I am. He sees me. Shit. I have to run. I have to just, I don’t know, use the moon or something. I have to get away from this place. I have to find a way out of here and still manage to get to Cheryl’s parents’ house. And when I do, her dad better be fucking impressed.

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