Page 3 of Twisted Solstice

Dread, thick like sludge, rolled down my spine and settled on top of the anxious knot in my stomach. For a second, I considered whether or not I should be doing this. “You’re an asshole.”

“You saw the video, right? The news crew?” Kael leaned forward and drops his voice. “I was there when it happened. I tried to warn them. They too wouldn’t listen.”

We sat there in stunned silence. If only Kael was alive. He could tell the authorities who did it. As it stood, it was all rumor and legend. Then, I saw the mischievous glint in his eye. “Good one.” I let out a shaky breath and laughed. “You’re really good at telling ghost stories.”

Again, he gives me that stupid crooked grin that makes me melt. “Well, one of us has to be.”

After Paul and Felix loaded their equipment into my vehicle, we all got in and started for the canyon. It’s not long before the terrain changes and we go from sprawling cityscapes to dry brush and hills. Every street in my town could tell you a story. Every piece of property, the same. Some of the empty lots were from earthquakes. Others from fires. After the Whittier Narrows Earthquake, the whole town changed. I mean, how could it not. People died. People lost their homes. The whole landscape of Whittier changed.

When I started researching the events surrounding the canyon, I spent some time looking through the roles of microfiche at the public library, in hopes it would shed a light on the unexplained things that happened in our town.

I mean, let’s be honest. Bad shit happened here... A lot.

If I’d been some devil’s gate conspiracy nut, I’d say the 1987 earthquake opened one under us—which, FYI, is one of the other urban legends about the area.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Only quacks talk about all that bullshit, however, two years after the earthquake, Turnbull Canyon caught on fire, destroying fourteen homes, and burned over one hundred acres. When I asked my mom about it, she said it was one of the scariest few days of her life.

“You'll never know what it's like being told to prepare to leave your home if the fire breaches the ridge,” she said. “You’ll never know what it’s like to smell the burning hillside or see the flames whipping in the wind at night.”

She’s right. Though we have seen fires all around us, there hasn’t been another major natural disaster in our neighborhood. After our conversation about the 4thof July fire, she showed me pictures from the area. She said grandma took her up there a few weeks after it had been put out and it scared the shit out of her.

She said the area looked and smelled like death. The gnarled branches of burned out brush and trees, hung from precarious places; their twisted limbs reaching up toward something unseen. The hollowed remains of houses were the stuff of nightmares she recalled. Today though, it’s as if nothing ever happened. People rebuilt their homes. The canyon’s vegetation regrew and along with it came the return of all the critters who’d made the hills their home.

When we came to the entrance of Turnbull Canyon, I pulled off into a small area known for wild, drug and sex-filled parties. From the information I could gather, it used to be a location of a house, though some, through websites and, again, legends, say it’s where the orphanage originally stood. Anyway, the only thing left from the original structure was a pool. The empty carcass became a bastion for people looking to have a good time. Graffiti covered the walls of the sixteen by twenty pool. A giant goat man dominated the back wall along with two upside-down pentagrams. The left side in big, bold letter letters proclaimed the site property of WVLS—Whittier Varrio Locos. On the other side were gang member names with each tag being unique to the person.

In the brush surrounding the area, sat an old rusted out Whittier City School District bus, along with the shell of a VW Bug.

“This is where we’ll make base camp,” I said, shutting off the Jeep. “It’s close to Uptown and has the most visibility should anything happen while we’re out here.”

“Not the best of places.” Paul peered out of the windshield. “What happened to this place?”

I didn’t know if he meant it as a rhetorical question or not. “Time? Age?”

“Stories,” Kael said, edging forward between the seats then looked at me. “Have you never heard about the drug and alcohol-infused parties out here?"

“Probably. Maybe in passing.” To me, it was too close to civilization. Too many people could see what was going on there. Better yet, the police could see it. Shouldn’t they have been deeper in the canyon?

“This was the it spot. Skaters would drop into the pool. Some found areas to have sex.” Kael wiggled his brows. Unfortunately, no one wants to be here after the murder a couple of years ago.”

“Mur-der?” Felix’s voice cracked.

“You mean the girl?” I turned in my seat. “They caught the men who did it.”

“She’s out here still,” Kael replied. “She’s scared and alone. She doesn’t know she died.”

“Wait,” Paul said. “How do you know this?”

Kael gave me that crooked grin again. “Urban legend.”

Felix laughed. “He got you.”

Paul, who sat beside me, rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Are we going to do this or sit here all night and talk shit?”

I glanced at Kael who shrugged. “Well, let’s go then.”

Chapter Two

If I haven’t learned anything in my life, it’s this: always remember to bring something to make a fire in and with. Even though it can get to eighty degrees in the winter, in Whittier, it didn’t mean the nights couldn’t get cold. So, while Felix and Paul added new batteries to all our equipment and I made sure my tablet was charged properly, Kael made a fire in a small barbeque I brought with me. I might not be a Girl Scout, but I’ve always been prepared.

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