The Hill

Chapter One

A Trip to Uncle Rylan's

    Tony Warrick watched the gravel on the side of the road flash by in blue and grey streaks. The hot sun tried to put him to sleep, but he was too bitter for rest. He gave his mother another sharp look, why'd he have to go stay at crazy old Rylan's? He was thirteen, he'd be okay alone. His mother would be gone for a week to see his aunt in Germany, who had a minor stroke.

    He suspected that she wasn't too concerned about her sister, she really just wanted to go to Germany. Tony couldn't go because he didn't fly. Ever. Under any circumstances. He'd been on a plane once to see his father in Seattle, but that didn't exactly work out. He vomited for nearly the entire trip, the rest of the trip he was either dry heaving, or screaming about the plane spiraling into the face of the Earth and bursting into flames.

    Heights were never kind to Tony, but he'd almost rather fly across the ocean than spend the week with Rylan. His uncle was a strange man, to say the least. He had written thirteen best selling novels, at which point he retired because he liked the number. Now Tony was berated by his friend's parents, who desperately wanted autographs, pens, scraps of paper, or dates. Even worse, they raved about his books, freakish horror novels that made Tony want to vomit just from reading the synopsis. Apparently, they found it strange that he had never actually read a single one of them.

    Just as Tony was about to fall asleep, the car hit a bump, his head smacked against the windshield. He rubbed the sore spot, a bump was already welling up. "You alright, sweety?" his mother asked, she looked away from the road for a moment and gingerly touched his head.

    Tony recoiled, "I'm fine, eyes on the road please." He stared at his knee, trying not to forgive his mother for abonding him at Rylan's. He was about to ask his mother how much longer the ride would go on when the car hit another pot hole, or possibly an animal. There was a sickening sound, like a baseball bat striking a jaw, but Tony didn't catch a glimpse of what they hit.

    "Oh God, I hope I didn't kill it." Susan said, she covered her mouth with her hand, her face was flushed. She pulled over about a hundred yards from the impact. "I know I just ran over some poor guys dog. It's what I get you know, for leaving you here alone while I go parading around in Germany."

    "Stay in the car," she said, locking the doors. Tony glanced back, but whatever they had hit was gone. He watched his mother look around, hands on her hips. She whistled for whatever it was, but before long, she was walking back towards the car.

    "See anything?"

    "Nope. It was probably just a pot hole or something, you know what they say in the south, the roads only get paved during election years." She cranked the car and Tony reached for the radio. It took a while to tune it into a station, but eventually he picked up a Spanish station, he just stuck with it to kill the silence.

    After a while, the expanse of Appalachian woodland began to give way to gas stations and farmland in more frequency. This was when Tony knew they were getting close to Willowcreek, the cow population was starting to outnumber the people population. He saw a sign that read, "Willowcreek, 8 miles, Jefferson, 40 miles".

    Five minutes later, they were pulling through Willowcreek. The town was pretty small, there was a grocery story, three pawnshops, two gas stations on either end of town, and a drive in theater and bowling alley combo. Tony hadn't been to the alley in years, frankly, that was a relief. The last time he went, Rylan got wasted and started trying to convince Tony to go "sock bowling". He wasn't exactly sure how it worked, but he was glad they were thrown out.

    They pulled about three miles out of town, passing farmland and pastors. They finally reached Rylan's scenic cabin. The cabin was two stories tall, the front wall was mostly glass, which yielded a nice view of the lake across from the highway. The east and west ends of the cabin were flanked by woods. Around back there was another treeline, and just beyond that was a hilly pastor.

    Tony and Susan hopped out of the car, stretching their limbs. "We'll bring the bags in later, let's go see Rylan," Susan said excitedly. They walked up the porch and knocked on the door. Tony noticed through the glass panes that a lamp post had toppled over in the living room.

    "Wonder what's keeping him," Susan said, she tapped on the door one more time, then she reached under the mat and grabbed the key. "I hope he's okay," she said. Tony followed her inside through the living room. He almost slipped on something slick, but he managed to catch himself.

    He kneeled down and noticed what he had slipped in. It was a glistening crimson fluid, "Mom, I don't think Rylan's okay." Tony showed his mother the blood on the tips of his fingers. The two followed the trail as silently as they could. It led into the kitchen.

    Tony heard a rasping sound, the trail of blood led him around the bar between the living room and the kitchen. They found Rylan on the ground, covered in red stains, a knife blade stuck in his chest. "Help me," Rylan gasped, blood gurgling from his mouth.

    "Oh my God! Rylan, what happened?" Susan kneeled over Rylan, who clutched her shoulder and drew her closer, Susan cried out in pain as Rylan cackled. Reacting instinctively, Tony grabbed a plate from off the counter and smashed it into Rylans head.

    His mother was on the floor, clutching her abdomen and convulsing. Rylan was still cackling, but he'd stopped thrusting the blad into Susan. Tony realized the plate he had smashed into his uncles head was plastic. "Oh Tony, this is gonna be a fun visit, don't you think?"