The Last Stop
Josh Tanner drove down the winding Red Hill Road, the eerie silence pierced only by the crunch of gravel under his tires. It had been over a decade since his last visit, a day that lingered in his memory like a persistent shadow. The road had a notorious reputation; an endless stretch that seemed to go nowhere, looping back on itself like a snake swallowing its own tail. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Josh half expected to see something besides the dust his car stirred up.
He stopped by the Gas station, dilapidated yet familiar. The attendant, a wizened old man with knowing eyes, hobbled out.
“You shouldn’t have come back, Josh Tanner,” he rasped, fixing Josh with a steady gaze.
“Why’s that?”
“The creek remembers, son. It ain’t forgiving neither.”
After fueling, as Josh drove away, the weight of the old man’s words pressed heavily upon him. Josh Tanner was a complex character, a former mill worker from Harper Creek — a town steeped in rural mystique and local superstition. About a decade ago, he had been responsible for overseeing the safety of the mill's equipment. It was a serious role.
Jake drove on, the mill looming ahead, its silhouette a jagged scar against the sky. He parked and entered the mill; his flashlight sliced through the darkness. The smell of decay and old grease was overwhelming, a stark reminder of what had happened here.
A thump from above froze Josh. He ascended the creaky stairs. “Who’s there?” Josh called out.
Silence, then a whisper, “Josh…”
At the top, a boy stood, pale, ethereal. “You can’t run forever, Josh,” the boy said, his voice chilling.
“Who are you, boy?”
“I’m what you left behind.”
The flashlight flickered off, plunging Josh into darkness. When it flickered back on, the boy was gone, replaced by a fluttering newspaper clipping on the floor. Josh picked it up; it was an old article about the accident, a reminder of his darkest day. Memories surged like a flood. Josh felt the weight of his past crushing him.
Josh stepped out of the mill, the article clenched in his hand. He looked out towards the creek, its waters murmuring softly.
“It’s time,” he whispered. “No more running.”
“Tommy?” Josh gasped, recognition dawned. The boy, Tommy, had been a fixture at the mill, a curious soul always lurking around the machines, watching, learning. Years ago, on that fateful day, Josh had overseen the safety of the mill’s equipment. A lapse in his attention — one moment of negligence — had been all it took for the machinery to malfunction, leading to a tragedy that claimed Tommy’s life.
Josh left the mill and headed to the police station, resolved to surrender. "It's time to face my actions," he declared.
As the sun pierced Harper's Creek's shadows, casting elongated silhouettes behind Josh, he steeled himself to confront the past and accept the repercussions of that decisive day.