The Party’s Collapse

Chapter Ten, (Spring, 1978)

(2.8k words; ~10 min read)

In twenty minutes all but two emergency vehicles in all of Winton had parked outside the Butterfield’s house. Bathrobed neighbors stood anxiously on porches giving muddled descriptions of what they heard and saw.

When Ryan and the officer arrived at the scene, they found Chase Thrush passed out on the Butterfield’s driveway and everything else seemed quiet. They checked on Chase and made their way to the forest. Ryan cowered behind Officer Penny who had her gun and flashlight drawn.

It only took them a few seconds of walking in the woods to find their first body.

The flashlight beam browsed and revealed more which seemed to disappear in the darkness and reappear as the flashlight moved over them. As quiet and dead as a scrapped locomotive.

Ryan heaved and vomited. He knew these people and had gone to school with them for years. Now they were here torn to pieces, bags of blood emptied onto the forest floor.

Several minutes later, more flashing lights arrived and by that time, half of Winton’s police force was barreling out into southwest Winton where in the woods were innumerable bodies of highschool students.

Ryan was given a blanket on his shoulders and sat in the back of Officer Penny’s car as she helped Chase Thrush into the ambulance. He was the first survivor they had found.

“Chase, we’re having trouble knowing what you’re talking about when you say what murdered….” Officer Penny gestured to a working list of Winton High students they had found so far. She didn’t want to say something crass.

“It was a monster. Black skin like a lizard and…huge teeth. Its teeth were longer than my arm. It… it didn’t have eyes. Its head was just like…dry. Like bone.” Chase’s voice shook as he said this. “I watched it tear Brent to shreds. Ripped his chest up and, ug-” He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, the memory of innards sliding out of a body.

“Chase,” she said again, more to keep him awake than keep his attention. Would she stop treating him like he was insane? He knew what happened.

“Did they check the house?”

She sighed, “No, they did not.”

“They shouldn’t. Those…monsters came from it,” Chase managed.

“Hey, Penny,” A voice from the side of the ambulance said.

“Murl.”

A younger officer walked to the open back doors of the ambulance.

“Found the Butterfield kid. We-”

“Can I see him?” Chase asked quickly.

Penny and the man who had just walked over, his shirt patch spelling ‘Baker’, looked at Chase.

“Ah. Um…” The new officer said, holding several polaroids in his hand.

“Are you sure you’re ready to see these?” Penny asked. “They’re messy.”

Chase nodded, “I want to be sure.”

Baker showed him two photos. The first was a closeup of Brent with a small yellow card next to him labeled with a ‘3’. His guts were squeezing their way out from under his stomach. He was looking down his left shoulder, his mouth and eyes wide open. The polaroid’s flash offered a sickening brilliant emphasis. Chase took a few long blinks.

The second photo of Brent was shot further away, with a better look at the rest of the clearing.

There was no house.

“Brent died only a couple yards from the front step.” Chase said, “You didn’t move him, did you?”

Baker shook his head.

“Well, where’s the house?” Chase handed the photos back, looking the cops in the eyes.

“That’s the thing,” Baker said, taking the photos back. “The house you guys said you were in… there isn’t a house. We’re still looking in the woods for whatever made these tracks…but we haven’t found anything about them either.”

No house?

“We can’t have imagined it,” Chase said, suddenly thinking clearly.

“We’re thinking a bear or even a non-carnivorous animal caused this.” Baker said.

“Non-carnivorous? This thing tore my friends to pieces!” Chase boiled.

“We’re thinking maybe an animal was there at the wrong time and went crazy. Whatever it was, it didn’t kill to eat,” Baker said. “It left the bodies mangled but uneaten after they were killed.”

Chase looked out of the ambulance to Ryan White being questioned by some other cop. “Something demonic or supernatural. Whatever you want to call it. The…things…that attacked and killed us were something that shouldn’t exist. I’m telling you. They came from a house in the woods. That’s where we were partying. We were doing a keg…” He didn’t mean to say that, but figured he may as well go on. “…like two feet from the front porch. It was a house.”

Penny reached for her belt and produced a notebook. “Tell me about this house.”

Chase described the House and what it looked like in the daytime as best he could. He left out the part where they broke the lock and entered and instead told them how there was no road or driveway connecting it. How the windows and doors were mostly boarded up to discourage visitors. How it looked like it was built a hundred years ago, not just because it was worn, but the style and the dumbwaiters and where the rooms were positioned. Tall ceilings, everything was covered in sheets, wooden accents…

The nightly police patrol in Winton. On the radio was EJ, the hippie broadcaster from Wilkes-Barre and his stories (it was just that way he told them that was interesting.) He read many frightening books, and the officers and gas stations and donut shops that still had their lights on at three in the morning would tune in to 100.1FM and listen in to a scary story or book. 

Deputy Yale and Officer Baker were moseying around their patrol. After about ten in the evening, the roads became desolate and since Baker was new to both the force and town, he thanked heaven he wasn’t alone for his first few nights.

“Nights get real boring,” Yale was explaining to Baker. “Great way to get extra hours though. Only two radio stations playing good stuff at this hour: One is a scary story talkshow thing and the other is music. Latest hits.

“Since the patrol is so slow most nights, we just jump between the two places that stay open through the night: Bryce’s Donuts and the Exxon up in the northeast corner. Coffee at both places and they both usually give ‘em out free. Dustin usually slings the donuts and some highschooler is on Exxon duty. I think they really only make coffee for the cops. Some places are open way late, but not 24/7.” Yale spoke on autopilot; he seemed miles away.

“So you’re real new. Any questions about the patrol or anything else?” Yale went on.

Baker did have one, “Have there ever been any murders or big-time cases here? What’s the most exciting thing that’s happened?”

Yale grinned, “Most exciting thing?” He chuckled, thinking. “We did have a homicide way back in the day. Forget where and who… I wasn’t on the force then. Guy killed himself afterward anyway. Guy he killed was a nobody. More of a spat between them two.”

“Nothing else, huh? Pretty boring?” Baker said.

Yale thought for a second. “Pretty boring. Sometimes we’re called to break up parties. Sometimes calls on a street where the one crackhouse is. We’d arrest the whole damned building, but we don’t have enough cells. I mean, once they all got out, they’d go right back anyway. They haven’t done much to anything or hurt anyone.”

Yale snapped his fingers, “Nah, you know what? We’ve had some weird stories about kids going missing near the woods on Beck’s Creek bend where all the old guys go fishing. We suspect some kind of kidnapper. Everyone knows now. I mean, it’s easier to target people who live out in the boonies… unless they’re armed, which…most people here aren’t. That’s one weird thing about Winton: not a lot of armed people. It’s smart to have at least a rifle over the door or something. Can’t be too safe in a small town. Weird shit happens. Something about the small town… I don’t know. You know? Stephen King and all that.”

Baker didn’t know, “Interesting, certainly.”

“Maybe I’m listening too much to ‘DJ EJ’.”

Baker was still lost in the conversation, but kept quiet.

The patrol car drove through the dark roads, swishing from side to side. The trees shot up on both sides of them and obscured most of the night sky. The headlights’ yellow range was limited.

“Roads aren’t bad once you’ve driven ‘em a few times. If someone were to break down out here, I’d not want them to be stuck. On my way to Bryce’s Donuts, I take this route. Gotta do your job at least partially, right?” Yale chuckled.

Lazyass, Baker thought.

The winding road didn’t seem to end.

Yale read his mind. “Crazy how long a mile on this road feels, right? Feels like we’re in Ohio about now, huh?”

“You said it,” Baker agreed.

Five minutes later, but what felt like twenty minutes, Baker and Yale rolled up to Bryce’s Donuts on the other side of town.

Yale shut his door and said as they walked in: “We took the scenic route; usually it doesn’t take more than five minutes to get anywhere in town. And hey, after this stop, you’re going to do the driving. Yeah? Get a feel for the roads.”

Baker grinned, “Hell yeah.” He opened the door for Yale who thanked him and began to step through, but heard the radio in the car crackle with a voice. He couldn’t understand the words, but it sounded like Officer Penny. “Wait, Yale, the radio.” Their personal walkies weren’t switched on.

Yale turned around. “Hear something?”

Baker left the door and half-walked-half-jogged back to the car. The windows were left open just for this sort of occasion. Made the mosquitoes a bitch and a half, but these were peoples’ lives on the line.

“-bodies on Bushkill Avenue or this kid’s really tripping on something. Requesting backup, over.”

Yale grabbed the mic through the window. “We’re coming, Penny. What were the streets again?”

“Fourthy-fifth and Thirfy- dammit. Forty-fifth. and thirty-fourth.”

“Copy. Heading to Forty-fifth and thirty fourth.” Yale said and tossed the mic back into the car as both officers climbed into the car again.

“No, go right to Butterfield’s,” Said Penny. “That’s up on Bushkill; heading there now. Over and out.”

Yale didn’t touch the radio again. He threw the car backward and sped off, switching on the lights and siren.

Baker and Yale were the first to arrive at the scene.

The two young officers aimed their guns and flashlights (flashlight arm over the gun arm, both weapons pointing forward, to block the recoil was how they were trained) into the woods.

This was new to Baker: Bodies lay everywhere, exposed by the flashlight. Junior and senior highschoolers had painted the forest. There was blood all over his shoes in only a few minutes as he and Yale poked through the forest, ensuring the area was safe.

They taped off the forest from the Butterfield’s to the end of the trail of dead bodies.

As they secured the area, more cop cars arrived and Officer Penny provided more details and described the situation which was clearly a great emergency. 

At some point, Baker was handed a camera and while Yale staked different bodies’ locations or possibly important footprints, Baker took photos. They continued following the trail of pounding footsteps and every once in a while they would find another body.

Snap went the camera and splick went the stake into the soft soil.

Baker’s latex gloves were getting sticky from the sweat as he gripped the camera.

Finally, they came back to the clearing absent of trees and leaves where a collection of bodies rested.

“Je-sus have mercy,” Yale breathed into the warm air.

Blood washed the ground in a dark, sticky mess.

Snap went the camera. 

“All of it seems to have started in this clearing,” Yale said, tromping around with a flashlight.

“What the hell did all of this? These kids were shredded to pieces.” Baker covered his mouth. It had been a while since he’d seen a dead body at all. Yale’s calm demeanor put him at ease.

“Wasn’t a person, unless that person changes on a full moon.”

That wasn’t funny. “A bear?” Baker guessed.

Yale put his hands on his hips and let his flashlight shine around. “Must have been rabid if it was. If it was a bear.”

“What…” Baker couldn’t take it anymore. He held the camera out of the way and vomited air. Then bile. He kept spewing and spitting until he felt very empty and at peace. Felt he could stomach a lot more. He spat his mouth clean once more and wiped his lips dry.

“What were you saying?” Yale said.

“Just… what do you mean, ‘if’?”

Yale sighed. “I’ve heard weird stuff about these woods. That things come out of it. Did you know the whole street moved away a few years ago because of some ‘pupilless, sharp-toothed men’ that came out of these woods? Wouldn’t have come out here alone if you weren’t with me. I think this is it, Baker.”

Baker spat once more away from the crime scene. “What’s ‘it’?”

“I’m leaving. This bloodbath of a bunch of highschoolers… I’m done with this.”

“Not… right now?” Baker asked. He liked Deputy Yale.

“Two weeks, I’m outta here. It’s not sudden, either. I’ve been planning this a long time. And I’d say that kid,” He pointed to a boy who lay on his stomach doused with a large helping of blood. “Was the first to go. Trail starts here, and it looks like…” Yale stepped carefully to the boy. Didn’t touch him, but looked at his face with the flashlight. “…Butterfield. Got his stomach and rib cage ripped right off of him.” Yale removed his hat.

Baker tried to process the number of dead kids. He wanted to cry; He felt he was going into shock. His first week on the force, this wasn’t fair to him.

“You wanna cry, this is the place.” Yale’s own voice was breaking. “Can’t believe this mess. I knew Brent.” He pointed at the body he had just identified. “Threw insane parties. Probably had a bad relationship with his dad, but he wasn’t a bad kid. Didn’t deserve this.”

Baker put down the camera and, so as not to contaminate his latex gloves, cried into the sleeves of his uniform.

Sniff.

Yale huffed out another breath which cleared out any emotion he had. He looked away from Baker as he said, “Most exciting thing to happen to Winton? Looks like we’re living it.”

The investigation whooshed by. Police sketches were mocked up: A strange creature with huge teeth, a large house in the woods where they found Butterfield, and flashing lights. Talking to neighbors, telling them everything was okay. Reporters asking him questions that he waved off. He remembered being quite calm and eventually indifferent to the moods and emotions surrounding the scene. The feeling frightened him.

By four in the morning, half of Winton knew of the Bushkill Massacre.

The presses for the Winton Daily were hot at that time, changing the headline, ready to print the slaughter of over twenty highschoolers. The headline was to be two big words.

Baker stayed with the force, determined more than ever to keep the town safe.

Deputy Yale transferred two weeks later with honorable mentions and a sendoff party at the station.

The highschoolers’ detailed, specific descriptions of a house and monsters only baffled the police further.

A sketch artist created several mockups of the house after questioning Ryan White, Chase Thrush, and Jenny Prismine. The sketches were just about identical. The house wasn’t just made up. But that was overlooked since there was only their word of a house. The phrase ‘group hallucination’ was spoken and few detectives or police looked further into it after.

Next year, only eight of the survivors still lived in Winton.

The following two years, all had moved out and by then half of the police force had transferred.

The years passed and Bushkill Avenue lore both died and grew. There was no mistake that kids were killed there (property values fell to all-time lows). The street became a site of legend, of sinister happenings. The stories surrounding it sprouted into unrealistic tales until eventually, nobody feared the Avenue since it all sounded so impossible.

The official police case eventually shed its fantastical layer and metamorphosed into a story about a rabid bear causing a party to go wrong. But one local officer, Officer Baker, never left the Winton Police Force nor forgot what he saw and heard from the terrified victims of the Bushkill Massacre.