Seventeen hills chapters 0-18 (chapters 1-3) [unedited]

0.

Seventeen Hills isn’t particularly spectacular around this time of year, but beautiful enough for the burdened heart. The sickle arrangement of hills, seventeen to be exact, wears an array of oranges and passionate reds, which rest upon the fresh, mint banks. Humbly set in the heart of this hilly arrangement is the quaint town that patches in the residents’ preferences of varying blues, purples and whites amidst the autumn selection. This is no sky scraping business capital but far from meeting the characteristic requirements of homely farm town on the outskirts of nowhere. Although our colourful town is within one hundred miles of nothing, from all directions, it has its own surviving flair without the recognition or approval of the big cities. Its residents are easily able to make their way through the town without knowing every person they pass and still finding that a car is required to reach certain destinations within. With ample new faces to discover and meet, the hustle-bustle of big city life is omitted from these parts.

Admiring such factors from my generous yard, in which my current home is melodically placed, I struggle to find reason to leave such a peaceful and welcoming habitat, or even motive to try find any. I have been spending the days of my twenty-first year of existence in a five-bedroom lodge with four other post-adolescent beings that are also trying to find their feet in a new and parentless world. With a communal kitchen, living room and two separate bathrooms, it makes for a comfortably social space with enough privacy when needed. The lavender coated outer walls complement the thatch roof and wooden framing. Inside, the décor is quite humble, like that of a log cabin. Wooden based couches with off-white cushions, half-twig blinds and heavy white curtains. Marble-top counters occupy the kitchen with varnished wooden cupboards taking on the warm red colour of a strong cup of tea. On the first floor, behind the kitchen, are two bedrooms with a shared bathroom, which is touched by pale blue tiles along the rim of the shower and the skirting, identical to the bathroom upstairs. With one room to the left of the bathroom and two to the right, the second floor is reached by means of a creaky wooden staircase based in the living room. My bedroom is the one to the left of the upstairs bathroom.

My contemplative admiration of the landscape is interrupted by a yelp from within the grass-topped building behind me. This isn’t uncommon. It cannot be expected that five all-deserving twenty-year-olds will get along smashingly one hundred percent of the time. Hell, we’d be blessed if we could call it forty percent. Alison, from whom the projection of shock and disgust was most certainly expressed, is the most self-righteous of us all and resides in the room on the opposite side of the bathroom to mine. An undeniably good-looking girl, she has long, thick brown hair, dark and dreamy eyes, all smothered by a bad attitude. It is due to this attitude that I no longer respond to her cries of distress.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” I hear, which confirms the culprit of peace disruption. I can only assume the question is aimed at Ayden. He’s a good kid really, but cannot seem to help himself from getting into trouble. His jet-black hair and cheeky grin seem to say it all. His deep, blue eyes appear to be perpetually scanning for an opportunity to create mischief or develop a prank.

“I cannot believe you thought this was even remotely okay!” I hear as the yelling continues to radiate from the deceivingly peaceful aesthetics of the house. I try to ignore the cacophony of colourful cursing, but curiosity soon devours the cat of my conscience. I lift myself from the grassy patch upon which I spent the last half hour or so and turn to the glass sliding that I had exited through earlier. I can’t help but chuckle as I make my way closer to the conflict. As I stop at the entrance to the living room, I get comfortable by leaning against a wall to begin entertaining myself with the spectacle. From what I can determine from the scenario, it seems as though Ayden has previously cut two holes in the chest region of Alison’s tight-fitting guess shirt through which her breasts and push up bra protrude confidently. Clearly not ashamed of her exposure due to this prank, she has marched down to the living room to give Ayden the eyeful he had anticipated and the earful he had expected.

“You think this is funny, you little ass?” She interrogated him as he giggled and bounced around the living room in an attempt to dodge the cushions she was catapulting at him.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed, barely getting the words out through his uncontrollable laughter and bright red face, “just calm down.” His tearful glance shifts to my position and he silently begs me for help. I give a wink that successfully lets him know that he is on his own. Besides, this wont last long before team boredom interrupt. Just as anticipated, Joshua and Reagan come flying into the living room, arms waving like epileptic birds, yelling in alternation,

“Hey!” and “What’s going on here?”

Joshua glares at the two culprits with his auburn eyes through the blonde hair that hangs at level with them. Josh is a well-mannered and clear spoken guy, just very uptight. He clearly struggles to relax and let things take its course. It is easily seen that he is constantly over analyzing every situation and planning out his next moves. He is paired up nicely with Reagan who is your typical be-perfect-or-be-nothing kind of girl. She is not incredibly beautiful, but easy on the eyes. She has light, mouse-brown hair and pale blue eyes. Her nose is noticeably pronounced on her milky face and she is sprinkled with light freckles. It is a surprise that the two are not yet married, let alone dating.

“Look!” Alison exclaimed whilst gesturing toward her exposed chest. Turning bright red at first, Joshua sighs and turns away to avoid blushing a second time before saying,

“When are you going to stop letting him get to you?” Alison looks at him, first in surprise before her expression sours once again,

“When he stops fucking around!” she roars.

“I am not dealing with this again.” Joshua says turning to Reagan who seems to be making sure he is not looking at Alison’s black, lacey bra. Alison turns to the staircase and stomps heavily on each one as she grunts and expresses how sick of this place she is.

“Hailey.” I hear Joshua say with a somewhat concerned tone as he looks directly into my eyes. “We have to talk.”

I look at Ayden to let him know that it is time for him to leave. He looks around frantically as if trying to find a smooth way to make his exit.

“Oh, would you look at that!” he yelled, pointing out the glass doors before scurrying out into the back yard. I don’t bother to get rid of Reagan, she and Josh are technically one person and there is no way she would leave him alone with another female.

“I know what this is about – “ I begin as I try to explain myself before being interrupted.

“Hailey, we can’t hold this off any longer. Your rent is already two weeks late and the next bill is coming soon.” Joshua says with a great deal of worry. He sorts out the admin in the house: Paying bills, getting facilities fixed, the works.

“I know. I am working on it.” I say as I avoid eye contact, half ashamed and half scared. “I will have the money for both months before the next bill.” I left without saying any more or allowing for them to get another word in. I did not come from a particularly wealthy upbringing, so while my fellow housemates have mommies and daddies helping out with rent, I have been working three jobs. Today, Saturday, is my only day off every 2 weeks. And lets just say it’s been a tough month. The restaurant at which I waitress hasn’t had very good business and might be closing down due to bankruptcy, so you can imagine what that means for me. I look after a kind family’s children during weekdays while they are at work. This involves educational games with the two-year-old boy, and carpooling the twin, preschooler girls. But the parents took their two-week leave from work and the whole family has gone on holiday to the Bahamas. As for my third job, well, it is the only one bringing any money, and it’s not a lot. I help a local drug dealer transport the goods to different locations and get ten percent of the profit. While barely eating, barely using my car and barely breathing, I still cannot afford the rent this month.

2.

The crispness of the Thursday morning air casts a faint blue tint over the autumn coverings. A melody of delicate whistles floats through from the fluted beaks of small birds, happily gathering in the seasonally stripped branches. The brick paving of central Dolmier Road takes on a grey hue in this lighting as the town’s residents walk dumb-footed to their work places. I watch this as I sit at the closed doors of the restaurant that once paid me for my time there, and now seems to beckon in emptiness for the presence of anyone. I drove myself here this morning, in autopilot, completely forgetting that I was let off just yesterday, and the restaurant was closed for good. I began to feel a sense of displacement as the coolness from the ground seeped through my jeans to my buttocks, and so, I decided it was time to go somewhere and do something.

Standing up from my sad display of protest, I slide two fingers into my jacket pocket, find my car keys, and hook the key ring over my middle finger to remove the bundle from my pocket. I allow them jingle against my thigh as I walk around the left of the building to employee parking where my car sits alone. As I reach the door of my car, my mind seems to play a trick on me, or so I think it was my mind. Three walls surround the employee parking, and in the corner where the walls adjacent and opposite to myself meet, it seems as though light struggles to reflect the once-upon-a-time-white paint. As I take note of this, each surrounding wall appears grow dull. I feel a desperate sense of burden and disgust grow in my stomach as these darkening walls begin to sag, bulge and groan in despair. Becoming evidently light headed, I place a hand on the roof of my car, which made a far louder thump than I had anticipated, and with this sound, the walls turned rigid. My consciousness is once again stable, and each wall appears to be cast in logical light. I take three deep breaths and fumble my car keys with the intense vibration of a severe earthquake. After finally locating the unlock button, I hastily throw myself into the driver’s seat and start the car. Building up courage, I manage to look once more at the illusionary corner. Still normal. Refusing to spend any more time around here, I put the car in reverse and drove home in a blank, my mind flying from Antarctica to Brazil and back to my car. I stopped for a moment outside the front door to collect composure. The first thing I see as I step into the communal lounge is nothing particularly shocking. Josh and Reagan attempting to sort the household bills and Alison complaining that there is no space on the table for her to paint her toenails.

After spending some time in my room, I stare at the page full of doodles drawn to prevent over thinking of today’s earlier incident. Although I cannot help but wonder if I may be losing my marbles. Doodling no longer working, I turn on the small television, which sits against the dark blue wall opposite my bed. I enjoy the colour blue and attempt to surround myself with it as much as possible. It is calm and tranquil, all that I aspire to be. There is not much on television, so I indulge in cartoons, allowing my mind to be completely drawn in. I fall into a deep sleep.

I wake up in a feeling of utter chaos. The cartoons seem to be so much louder than I had left them. Flashing images, laughing, faces. I desperately reach for remote, but no matter how hard I jam the power button, the television wont switch off. The cartoons growing more daunting, the images seeming to pull toward me, I grab my duvet and bury my face. Suddenly my door swings open, sending me to the ceiling in fright and the remote to the floor, which, on impact, kills the television.

“Calm down,” Ayden laughs, “is this a bad time? Should I come back when you’re, uh, finished?” he suggests with a naughty grin, “although I really do suggest you find yourself a boyfriend, does the job much better.”

“You better have a better reason for coming in here than checking on my masturbation schedule.” I snap.

“Meeting in the living room, seems serious.” He raises his arms in question and leaves the doorway. I sigh. They better have a good reason for calling a meeting at this time. I throw my duvet aside and drag myself out of bed and down into the living room where everyone is already seated, most of them yawning. I sit in the only spot left which is on the couch next to Alison and look around to suggest full attention.

“Alright everyone,” Josh begins, “I have recently finished watching the late night local news and it was certainly shocking.” He looks at each of us as if to telepathically prepare us for what he is about to say. “We all know Ms. Sanders from next door, and it has been most unfortunately reported that her youngest daughter and said daughter’s best friend were found dead due to suspicious cause.” We all flinch in shock and sadness as we try to process this news. “I think it is important that we, over the next few days, do our best to pay our respects and help show the family our care and concern. We will discuss the details tomorrow, but I would like to set up a small fund to organize flowers and you may write letters if you like.”

“Where? When? How?” Alison exclaims, nearing a frantic state of shock.

“How and when has not yet been released to the public, although the bodies were found in the parking lot of La Principessa, where you used to work, Hailey.” Josh gestures toward me and in remembering my earlier mind trick, a swarm of chills is sent through my body.

18.

After six more people were found dead of ‘suspicious cause’, Josh begged us to stay home. I am uncertain as to whether this is because he genuinely cares for our lives, or because he fears he may be unable to cover the rent on his own. He has been all over the place since the first deaths four days ago. We are all a little freaked. Things this exciting don’t happen in a city this plain. There have been two deaths per day since Ms. Sanders’ daughter had died, bringing the death toll to a total of eight, in just four days. I cannot stress how impeccable these numbers are. Yes, people die, as they do everywhere else, but here it is usually the elderly deciding they are sick of this earth or bored kids overdosing on their entertainment. There has never been anything nearly as freaky as this, and honestly, I am rather thrilled.

A man who stumbled upon on one of the bodies made some rather absurd claims of what he found. He stated in a news report that when he first saw the body, he immediately rushed over to check if the person, identified as 56-year-old Bryan Hirst, was okay and more importantly, alive. What he described suggested undoubtedly that Mr. Hirst was not okay. Whether he was dead or not, well, that seems to be questionable. This witness spoke of the body sweating excessively, maintaining what seemed to be a mild fever and a subtle, vibrating tremor. What he did claim, that seems to defy all possibility of being alive, is the idea that when the body first came into full sight, it seemed to lack a skeletal system. A supposedly frightful, shapeless bag of organs. The police hastily ensured the media that the man was being sent for drug tests.

I still have not told anyone about my experience in the parking lot, or that it occurred moments before the first two deaths. Too be honest, I probably won’t. No one in this town truly believes in the occult. The closest we come to believing in such is a myth that is passed on from generation to generation. This myth involves the Hokaai temple that watches mysteriously from the ninth hill, right in the middle of the arrangement. Most of the year, the moon will rise directly behind it, giving it a spooky glow in the falling darkness. To be honest, I am not entirely certain of the history of this temple. There are many claims as to who had built it and why it was built. The only thing that all the stories share, it’s the idea that a dark, and angry energy is trapped in there.

I wanted to go there with my friends in senior year but we all chickened a little. With all this crazy stuff going on, I can’t help but think it might be the perfect time to go visit it. I know things dealing with that realm are dangerous, and frightening as hell, but this burning fascination is impossible to ignore. Lets just hope it doesn’t get me killed.

My phone lets out a melody of fairy bells from my pocket and, being so deep in thought, it makes me jump as if they were my own funeral bells. I reach into the warm pocket or my pale-brown, knitted coat and drag my iPhone 5s out by its edges. The message brings me great joy.

Hailey, I’ve got a bite. Gonna need some more bait. Can you drop? - Lollipop

I find myself laughing, once again, at Laurence’s use of code. He can be pretty creative for such a hard-skinned drug dealer. This message, simply, means that he has a client and “Bait” means cocaine. I let him know that I am on my way and slip my phone back into my pocket.

This autumn morning is a wonderfully crisp one. The air is fresh and the breeze is easy. I fill my lungs with this delightful oxygen as I walk to my small, blue car. I get to Laurence in good time and pick up 10 grams of cocaine. He waits in the same place for me every time I make a delivery. It is a dingy little bar on the rightmost outskirts of town. It is mostly bikers, druggies and metal heads that hang out here, so making a swap isn’t too difficult. The name isn’t particularly creative – The Sailor’s Clam. After I made the drop off, I decided to stop by the music store for a look at new releases.

The air conditioner sends splinters of ice to my bones as I walk in through the entrance. The store is uncomfortably empty. I walk through the isles and glance over the different categories. Once I reach the New Releases, an interesting album cover catches my eye. I pick up the CD case and take a closer look. The album is titled Omen, and the band seems to call itself Unknown. The cover art is a grayscale photograph of Seventeen Hills – obviously a local band – and a drawing of human skin hanging from a hook is super imposed over it. I don’t know when they decided on this cover, but considering the recent events, I highly doubt the public will find it very amusing. Naturally, I am compelled to buy it.

Turning to the check out, I am stopped dead in my tracks by the sudden realization of a man’s presence to my fore. When my heart returns to my chest, I meet his eyes with mine. His pale grey eyes look worn and tired. His mouth reeks of sin so heavy it weighs the rest of his face down. His malicious smile parts,

“Everything alright?” he asks, blatantly assessing my appearance.

“Just fine thanks.” I say with haste as I pass beside him and continue to the check out. I can feel his eyes scanning me and as I reach the teller, I glance over my shoulder. His sickly eyes still fixated on me, I turn back to the lady behind the counter.

“Would you like a bag?” she asks me with a sweet smile.

“No, that’s quite alright, thanks.” I mumble, my nerves slightly dominating my words.

“That’ll be twenty dollars.”

I hand her the money and grab the CD, quickly turning to the exit. I feel much calmer once I turn out the doorway, although I can still se the man staring at me through my peripherals. I keep walking and eventually look down at the CD. Omen, I wonder if this is any good. As I look up, a car comes flying through the parking lot, tires screaming from the friction, and leaps onto the walkway a metre ahead of me. I stumble backward as people soar left and right to avoid the cars impact with the glass window of the shop ahead. I stare dumbly as I sit on the pavement where I have fallen and watch as the glass shatters, throwing shards this way and that. One of the shards is flung right past me and into the neck of a man who was running desperately away from the chaos. In shock, my eyes fixate on him as he drops to his knees, spluttering as he clutches his throat. He attempts to remove the glass with his last spark of energy as he falls face first to the ground. The impact forces the glass out the back of his neck, followed by small fountain of blood, which levels out into a steady flow, quickly surrounding the man in a pool of maroon.