1: Fat Tompkins

"So why the Mountain?" wondered Fat Tompkins aloud.

The Mountain, as the north end rich kids of Birch Crossing knew, referred to the old, never ending dirt pathway named "Cherry Mountain Road." Its given identity's only proof of origin was amongst the red leafed branches of Kansas' native oak trees. A rusty yellow sign stood hidden, overgrown with age and decay, more than likely untouched since the 1950s, nearly 80 years past.

"You know Deacon Gerald's son from Theology class?" questioned David.

When the younger and more timid of the two nodded, David continued.

"Well he lives somewhere up here, in one of the communities, ya know? Says the neighbors are all quiet-like, keep to their big yards and shit."

The two of them had been sitting in the Dodge Caravan of David's parents for what felt like an eternity to Fat Tompkins. All of the boys of Brady High tended to call one another by their surname, as was the protocol of this particular private school. But for one reason or another, David had been the exception to the rule, always remaining "David" to the rest of the classmates. On the first day of high school, the fate bestowed upon Fat Tompkins was far more cruel an experience than the welcoming received by the rest of the incoming freshman class. Growing up, Tompkins had always been the largest of his friends. Born big of bones his mother used to tell him. But lack of exercise and a preferred interest in book reading as opposed to basketball or soccer or whatever else would pop up as the popular sports trend of the season did the meek boy no favors. From the moment those upperclassmen stood by to glance at Tompkins step foot off that yellow bus, he was greeted with chants that took aim at his rotund figure. The jokes rarely missed their mark as if readied with the precision that came from the deft hands of a gunslinger. From that moment forward, Adam Michael Tompkins, was dubbed "Fat Tompkins." The very least that Brady High could do was to include his surname. And now, months later and on the first night of summer vacation, here he sat within the darkness of the Caravan and next to David. Just waiting for this time to come, seemed to him a lifetime.

Fat Tompkins' stare hadn't left the beginnings of where the dirt road started, but it continued deeply into the unanswering twilight.

No streetlights he thought.

David started the car back up, "So soak in the atmosphere, Tommy Boy. Tomorrow night, when we're with the others, there's no turning back."

But David's words might as well have been spoken to a wall, because Fat Tompkins wasn't thinking about the other boys or even the stupid prank he had agreed to. He kept thinking about how dark the Mountain looked. It was more than just the look. Since they parked near the top of the hill and outside the only gated community on Cherry Mountain, he stomached this feeling of dread. This was the same fright you might recall having as a child when waking up from a nightmare, even more similar to the experience of feeling trapped and alone as if your mother were dropping you off at daycare for the first yet final time. As they drove back down the road and away from the unfamiliar dark hill, Fat Tompkins had a chill.



(c) Jonathan Higgins 2011 blah blah blah