Page 11 of Can't Stop
Rayna
The start to the day was a bit later than we wanted, but it couldn’t be helped. After the incredible butt-plug sex, we slept like the dead. If Samuel hadn’t started banging on the door at ten in the morning, we’d have missed our checkout time. Thankfully, we made it, and after driving all day, we’ve finally crossed into Florida.
We turn onto a long stretch of dark road. The car bumps along pavement that buckled years ago and has now fallen further into disrepair. Despite the welcoming website that talks about the city’s rich history, it would appear they don’t exactly welcome tourism. Not unless you plan to parachute in, I guess.
I sit in the passenger seat, clutching Van Gogh to my chest as the town sign comes into view. Oak Hollow. As soon as we pass the sign, the road smooths out like butter.
Turning in my seat, I look at Samuel. “What’s up with the road? Why is it so shitty out that way, then nice once you reach town?”
“Everything has kind of . . . shifted. A fire has burned under this land for the last fifty years and will probably burn long past our deaths.”
“Beneath us?” I ask.
“All the coal mines.”
Okay, I’m very invested in this creepy town now. A fire that burns beneath it? That’s the most metal thing I’ve ever heard of. My mind races with questions. Is the ground hotter? Is there smoke? Will we die from gases or something?
We pass through the town’s main street. It looks like something out of a movie, with quaint shop signs catching the moon’s glow. To look at this place without knowing what it is, you’d never suspect these people are death obsessed. But when you look a bit closer, it’s more than apparent.
“Is that a wind chime made of bones?” I ask as we drive past a massive house with a gorgeous wraparound porch.
“It is. My father made that for my mother as a wedding gift. The two spines belonged to thieves in a remote village in the Amazon. Father worked with the tribe, taking the pieces of the dead the tribe deemed unclean. We aren’t that superstitious.”
“That was your house?” My eyes can’t possibly get any wider. I never expected the dirty man we plucked from the side of the road would also live in a southern mansion.
Samuel nods. “Well, it’s my father’s house. He’s the former mayor of Oak Hollow. My brother holds that title now, along with funeral-director-slash-coroner. Mayor, coroner, funeral director—the three go hand in hand here.”
As we near the city’s center, the road opens up, and bright lights twirl in the distance. In a green courtyard stands a carousel, but as the car creeps closer, I can see that the horses aren’t the fabricated versions I’m used to. They’re covered in fur, frozen in various death poses, and they’re undoubtedly the real deal—functional taxidermy.
“Can people ride that, or is it an art installment?” I ask.
Samuel’s smile broadens. “Of course you can ride it. It’s open every day from ten to six, but they keep it open a little later during the celebration. The kids really get a kick out of it.”
“Kids?” Dalton blurts. “You people raise children around this?”
I swat his thigh to shut him up, because how fucking rude. “Why wouldn’t they raise kids here? Nothing wrong with a little death. Don’t be a judgmental asshole like that lady at the motel.”
“Speaking of her, I felt a bit bad about leaving without dropping off our keys. Hopefully that doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass. If I see a security fee on my card, I’m coming after you two.” Samuel lets out a laugh and motions for me to turn right on the next street.
The headlights catch on houses that spread further and further apart. Eventually, we’re driving through the countryside as we cut a path up a small mountain about three miles outside of the town proper. The road eventually becomes a dirt track that dead-ends at a small wooden house.
Samuel gathers his things and opens the back door to exit the car. He pauses. “I don’t live as lavishly as my father, but you two are welcome to stay the night. The Oak Hollow Inn doesn’t staff the desk past ten, so you’re out of luck there. I have a spare bedroom, so you’d have privacy.”
Before Dalton can say no, I smile and accept his offer. “We’d appreciate it. Maybe tomorrow you could take a closer look at Van Gogh?”
“It might take a few days, but I’ll comp your room at the Inn while you’re stuck waiting.”
Dalton scoffs, and I swat his arm.
“That’s fine,” I say. “Is the hole in his side really that bad, though?”
Samuel runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. The hole won’t take more than a few minutes to patch, but if you want him cleaned up and improved, he’ll need more time.”
I look down at Van Gogh. He might be a little crusty around the edges, but do I really want to change him? His raggedy appearance is part of his charm, after all.
“Maybe just fix the ear and the hole in his side. I don’t want him to be too different.” I lick my lips and hand him to Samuel.
With the squirrel clutched in one hand and his pack slung over his other shoulder, he exits the car, and we follow him to the wooden porch. Another strange wind chime hangs from the railing, though this one appears to be made from various bacula. Aged boards creak underfoot as we ascend the steps, and insects scream from the darkness.
