Dark Forces

1.

In the endless miles of desert surrounding Paradise Valley, Nevada, there is silence now. The rustling of the sagebrush, the distant howling of the coyotes on the long, lonely evenings, the tan and green colors and the distant peaks. I had been here a week now, at my grandmother's old house, just me and Mom. We are working on tidying the place up. Perhaps we can sell it, I don't know. Not many people want to move to Paradise Valley. It is too remote from anywhere to really be called a "paradise," and the empty desert surrounding the town might not seem like paradise to very many people. Come to think of it, there aren't really very many people here now, as it is. In the old section of town, the ancient wood and clay-brick buildings are all empty now, and slowly fading into the desert.

Occasionally I would feel like taking a walk, just walking outside the back door and out into the desert. You can do that here; because once you pass the outer edge of the property line, it's just an endless expanse of empty unfenced land. There isn't really much else to do here, really, but for now, that's okay. When I would take my daily wanderings, I would pick up strange things from time to time- chunks of strange black glass, interesting and colorful banded rhyolite, clear agate nodules, and pieces of wood that have calcified all the way through into stone mockeries of organic matter.

One day I got home from one of these short walks, and was in the old spare bedroom- which I had picked as my guest bedroom while staying out here, just examining my finds. I had found a strange yellowish glassy rounded rock; that was different from the usual jet- black volcanic glass chunks you typically find out here in the desert. But when I examined it closely, I realized it was a man-made object. Deep inside the glass was a white square label, with a bar code and some numbers that looked as if they were printed with an ancient dot-matrix printer. It somehow gave me a chill. I began to wonder what sinister secret it had.

"Did you see, there were bunch of government jeeps, and all of these unmarked vehicles on Main Street today when I went to pick up food for supper" Mom was saying from the other room, as she was loading the washing machine. "I wonder what is going on?"

"Probably just a BLM fire crew or something," I replied, thinking nothing of it. "Maybe a range fire somewhere, or a wild horse roundup, I dunno."

I walked out to the back door and stared out across the brush covered back acreage. Glancing eastward, I saw that the sky had turned pitch black. A storm was moving in. A brief white branch of lightning flashed over the distant mesa.

Under the mesa, the screams of the tortured prisoners in their sterile tombs can never be heard.

2.

Later that afternoon, I had just finished repairing a section of roofing. Mom had done more of the supervising than the actual grunt work, as was the usual deal, however I was fine with that. I had taken a break and had gone for another short walk. As I wandered down the street, I was thinking to myself about school, Mom, Erin, and the work on the house. There weren't many streets in this town and you didn't usually have to walk very far to get where you were going. There also weren't many people in this town, but yet there was one in particular who I had already met. At a whim, I decided to stop by and see him.

College had been fun, but after graduating just a month ago with my bachelor's degree, I began to experience an existential crisis of "Now What." I had no career real plans, other than a certain dread of being stuck at my dead-end job changing oil at the Quick-E-Loob I worked at. So after grandma passed away and Mom came out here, I figured, why not come out with her, spend some time, reconnect with the family past and re-charge my mind. Maybe I'll get inspired about a new career idea or something. At least Erin didn't have to worry about that kind of thing yet. She still had two more years of fun and parties left. Being a senior wasn't all it was cracked up to be, I'd tell her sometimes. Plus, I was still reeling from the loss of my father. As hard as that had been, it had brought me and my mom closer, which may have been part of the reason I had decided to come out here with her.

The house was a three bedroom single story ranch house. Although Grandma had lived in it alone, she had kept it relatively well maintained, which thankfully had made our job easier. Because it was a single story with few stairs her advanced age had allowed her to stay in it nearly to the end. And the extra rooms were nice for visitors. In the two times I had visited here previously with Mom and Dad, it had been nice to have room for our whole family to stay under one roof. The yard had gone to seed long ago, but that actually didn't seem to matter; "Native Landscaping" they called it. It somehow didn't even look that unsightly, rather it was merely part of the greater landscape. The cheatgrass, rabbitbrush and sage had gradually taken over, but the raised rock beds were still in place.

3.

"This may be radioactive" Pete Threebears was saying, holding the strange dark yellow glass globe in his hand. "I know they sometimes would encase their radioactive waste in glass, down at Yucca Mountain."

"Well, how would it just be lying out in the desert like that? How did it get here?"

"Did you find it around here, nearby?" he asked.

"Yeah, off in the brush over by that dry creek bed, about half a mile west of Main Street."

"Well, I don't know; but I do know there have been some strange things going on around here lately. I heard some rumor that they have been doing a bunch of excavating out east of town somewhere, but I'm not sure where. Some kind of government project. Maybe they are transporting some nuclear waste up there; I don't know. I never trust what the government is up to out here. It's Nevada. So much empty wide open space, they figure they can probably do anything they want out here and nobody will notice."

Peter Threebears lived at the last house at the end of the road. It was a small, one bedroom place, little more than a cottage, but it was well kept and tidy. I had met Pete that first evening when I went out for a walk, and just started chatting with him. He had a friendly easy going manner and I had liked him immediately. He had lived in the area almost his whole life and had knowledge of pretty much everything that went on in that part of Nevada. Except, that is, for the secret things the government did, behind the "No Trespassing!" signs and the mysterious compounds. He figured it was best not to know about those things.

So I had stopped on over there that evening, after the storm had blown through, to show him some of the odds and ends I had found in the desert. I had even offered him a beer, but Pete told me he didn't drink- and that was fine with me. The smell of the desert sagebrush was always stronger, almost overpowering in a good way, right after a storm, he told me. I could tell he was right. It permeated the air, and was a good smell.

"So you think they are transporting waste out there? You would think that would be in the news, there would be some controversy."

"Yeah but it's pretty quiet around here. Everyone here knows everyone else, but very few outsiders care what goes on around here. It wouldn't even register on their radar," he replied. "There are so few people in this part of the state that if they were up to something shady like that, they probably figure nobody would notice."

I thought about that for a minute- just the remoteness of this quaint oasis surrounded by rugged mountain ranges and endless desert scrublands for at least sixty miles in all directions.

"Do you ever get, I dunno, bored living out way here like this? I mean, it is pretty peaceful, quiet, but I would think I would miss the bigger towns, and all."

Pete replied, "Sometimes quiet is good. Good for the spirit. I mean, it's simple and uncluttered. Here, people look after each other, there is none of the urban crap, East side-west side gangsta bullshit. I mean, sure some people around here are into the booze and into the drugs or whatever, but even if they are, they leave other people alone, and people stay out of their way. Like me, heck I don't even drink no more."

He went on, "Look, I just try to live simply. I have traveled all over the world and seen some incredible and beautiful things you cannot imagine. But I choose to stay here because I believe that even if we cannot fix all the evil in the world, we can each work to make our own place, our own community the best it can possibly be. And this is my place, my community."

"Well, I admit, it is a nice spot. Paradise valley. I guess it's what you make of it." I replied. "I mean, my grandma lived out here for 35 years. She stuck around even after grampa died 15 years ago. She always liked it. Hopefully we can fix up her house and sell it- I don't know who will want it, but I hope someone does."

"I knew your grandma. Wonderful lady. I could tell right away you were her grandson. Just the way you have, I can see a little of her in you. She went to mass every Sunday; I saw here there even when she started to get sick, always helped out with the church picnics and activities, and would help anyone out who asked it of her. And your grampa, Roger, he would give you the shirt off his back if you asked it of him; he did all the upkeep on the buildings down on the old Main street, a lot of 'em have been empty for decades, but he was always trying to keep everything fixed up and looking good. He'd do that for his neighbors too. Heck, one time he came down and fixed my old Dodge over there (waving an arm at his truck) and even went into Winnemucca and got the parts, didn't even charge me for him or nothing."

"That's how we look after each other here. I try to do the same."

I asked, "So, you've been all over the area here. Do you know of any cool spots, I mean, to check out?"

Pete grew thoughtful. "Well, there are the old ghost towns of Rhyolite and Pioche- about an hour drive, those are pretty neat spots. If you like picking up rocks, you can find some cool old copper ore, bright green rocks, at the old Delmar mine over to the east."

"Yeah, well I like hunting for interesting rocks. I found a few just outside town, that banded rhyolite, stuff like that. That should cool. Plus, I kind of dig old ghost towns. It can be kind of interesting, the history. Feeling like, what was it like living in those places?" I said, intrigued at the thought of wandering through these old historic spots.

"Well, a lot of them could be pretty violent, back in the old days. Different factions, and what not, and white settlers- your ancestors- fighting with my ancestors; hey that was a long time ago, I mean, no hard feelings you understand- but that was some of the violent history."

"Well I'm glad it's peaceful now. There isn't any of that stuff going on now though is there?" I replied.

"Not really here, everyone gets along; but out in some places, things can be a bit segregated still. And some places, the spirits are still at unrest."

"What do you mean, like actual ghosts?"

"Well, you might not believe in that, but out here, where you are close to nature and in tune with things, there is a different energy, if you will. It's hard to explain, but you can just feel it sometimes in the air. The energy. You just learn to tune into it."

"I know what you're talking about." I replied. "In Santa Rosa, there is this old cemetery, where you just get these creepy vibes, even if it's the middle of the day. Just eerie. It's like, there is this low frequency rumble that you could sense and feel, but not quite hear."

"Yeah, it's like that." He took another swig of water and wet his lips. "But what's weird is, it seems like the energy around here is changing. I can't quite explain it, but I can feel it, just in the last couple weeks, before you got here. Like you were talking about, feels like a low frequency rumble. Only worse, like it's playing clashing chords, some disharmonic frequency. It's weird. I don't like it."

"Do you think it's related to what's going on? That weird stuff the government is doing out there?"

"I hope not, but I don't know. Hard to explain what would be causing it. But it has the feeling that the spirits are just not at rest. It's just in the air, the angry spirits. You say you can feel these kind of things, like you feel them in that cemetery you were talking about, but not everyone can. Sometimes that's a gift. If there is anything I can impart on you, be careful what you walk into when you are exploring out there. Not every old place is necessarily a good place."

"Are there, like, scary rednecks out there, meth cookers, people like that around here, or anything I should beware of?"

"Well, stay away from the Dunnigans place. Those guys are kind of crazy. They come into town now and again, but pretty much keep to themselves, and everyone else just avoids them. They live in a shack out by the mesa, and yeah, they are meth cookers. Basically, if you see a "no trespassing" sign or any seedy looking dwelling out by itself out there, you might want to think twice about fucking with it. Around here, people are pretty good about posting their property though, so it's not like you're likely to accidently stumble into a place where they don't want you."

"Yeah, cool, thanks! That's good to know," I replied. We chatted for a while, watching the shadows grow longer and the sun start to get lower over the mountains. Eventually I politely said I better go check in on Mom. "I don't wanna miss out on another home cooked meal," I said.

"Yeah, well, Take care of your mother. You know, family, friends- people come out here looking for treasures and riches, but those are the only real riches that matter." Pete said.

4.

His words echoed in my head and I thought of my own treasure, the girl who I had met at the on-campus coffee house during the fall of my junior year. It was one of those deals where I almost instantly felt like I had to get to know her, and (after working up the nerve) I had finally, nervously approached her, and to my delight, we had hit it off even better than I had ever hoped we would. Even after all this time I still get those butterflies when I see her. And she knows it, but yet there was an almost instant connection, and by the end of the year we were inseparable. The next morning, I gave her a call. She was on her summer break like me, but unlike me, had a couple years left to finish. I had talked to her just three days ago, and told her I missed her. Tell you the truth, as much as I loved her and wanted to be with her, it was nice to have this last week to just clear my head. The dry sagebrush desert air has that effect, I noticed.

After the semester, Erin had stayed over in Roseville near her family and was working at a daycare, with kids, as that was always what she liked to do. It was about two hours from me in Santa Rosa, a bit further than I would have liked, but still close enough so that we could see each other fairly often. Besides, it wouldn't be that long. We had talked about both moving back to Sacramento and moving in together, as soon as I could find a decent job there, as we both liked it there. To tell you the truth, I felt a lot more stuck in Santa Rosa, living with Mom, a dead end job, a bunch of dead beat friends, and no idea of career plans, than I did out here in Paradise Valley.

And, I told her this now, on the phone, promising that as soon as we finished up here and I got back home, I'd move out to Sacramento, just a hop skip away from her family in Roseville, and I'd get a job and we'd get an apartment together.

"That would be awesome! I miss you. It's like, all my friends just want to do is just party and hang out at boring clubs and smoke weed and, you know, that's so boring!" she said.

"Well, my friends, all they want to do is drink, play video games, get drunk and either get in fights and vandalize stuff and get in trouble. I've kind of outgrown that stuff. Who needs that drama? I feel like I've totally grown apart from them, but yet... I could get a job at a garage, and maybe with a degree, I could move up and eventually manage the place, it might not be a career, but it would be a start, you know."

"How much longer are you going to be up in Nevada?"

"I think, maybe ten days, a couple weeks tops. I could come down though and see you this weekend; I think Mom will let me get away. It's only a seven hour..."

"...still tied to mommy huh?" she said jokingly. "Did she ground you for saying out late? Don't worry."

"Hey, how about I come up and see YOU?" she asked suddenly. "I could spend the weekend. No day care, just the two of us, like a frontier family. You and I and..."

"...and Mom would be our frontier granny. Watch out, she might put you to work though."

"That's fine. I'd love to help you guys. Speaking of granny, I'd like to see your grandma's place out there. Just check it out."

"That would be awesome!" I was beaming at the thought of seeing her again, spending time with her in this house. I'd stopped in Roseville on the way out here, naturally, and had spent the night with her. But after a week, it was like I was going through withdrawals. I missed her sweet yet playful 'tough chick' attitude, her long red hair, perfect skin, deep sparkling blue eyes, her athletic, sexy body... sheesh, I thought to myself, after not having sex for over a week, my pent up arousal was in overdrive.

"So yeah! Come on up here this weekend! That would be awesome!"

"I will! I can totally get away. It will be fun! Let's do it. Can you give me directions?"

"Okay so, yeah, just hop on 80, head into Nevada and on up to Winnemucca, then take the turn-off east off of 95 about 30 miles outside Winnemucca and you'll end up in town. Should take you about six, seven hours tops. We are in the big white house right where Bridge Street turns into Martin Creek Road. There's only a few streets, so you shouldn't have too much trouble finding the place."

We talked, on and on, and I never grew tired of hearing her voice. And before she hung up, she told me once again that she loved me. Just like each and every time I heard those words, it nearly brought tears to my eyes. Perhaps, one day, we could both live in a little town like this, in a little house like, together with our family. We both shared this dream. And perhaps, once she finished school, or if not before, I would propose all of this to her and more.

5.

I had called Erin again that Friday morning to finalize plans, and she was to arrive in Paradise Valley late the next day, Saturday evening.

As the sun rose higher over the sage desert, it grew hot, and I was glad that we had finished up the roofing job. I was helping Mom sort through some papers and other miscellaneous chores, indoors, avoiding the heat. It was going to be a hot one today. I remembered that cleaning out the air conditioning unit and replacing the filter had, thankfully, been our first completed job. But as the morning wore on, Mom had said that with all the paperwork and miscellaneous small items to sort through, I was welcome to relax for a bit. So I decided, with one day left of "just me" time, I may as well explore the countryside. Maybe I'll find some cool spots to go show Erin when she gets out here. I vaguely remembered that Pete had told me about a couple old ghost towns away to the northeast. So with a day's adventure in mind, I hopped into the Cherokee and headed out Martin Creek road and on into the hills east of town.

But before I left town, I made a quick pit stop at the store, to pick up a couple bottles of water and a wrapped sandwich for the trip. There was a DeLorme topographical atlas of Nevada that looked useful, so I picked one of those up too. The woman at the counter was friendly and chatty. In my brief experience of travels, I'd learned that some people from these little backcountry towns are like that, while others seemed decidedly unfriendly toward outsiders. This woman was, thankfully, the former.