“Yeah, Ma. The fog always rolls in this time of year.” He gritted his jaw. She would pluck at straws until she got her way.
“Not like this, son. The air is dry. There’s no reason for the fog. Mae’s coming, son. I’m telling you. I don’t like this at all.”
“Ma, come on. You know as well as I do Mae White is just some old wives’ tales your parents used to keep you from leaving town. I can’t believe you still fall for it.”
“No, son. You’re wrong.”
“How am I wrong, Ma? You were born here. You’ve always lived here. Why didn’t you leave when my dad did?”
“No, Caleb, I wasn’t born here. I was four when we moved here. It’s not an old wives’ tale. It is real, and it’s beginning earlier than anyone expected. That fog rolling in is proof. Please don’t leave town. Please don’t even go anywhere near the bridge. Not even during the day. Please?” Jennifer watched the fog thicken from her window. She didn’t need to live near the bridge to know what it meant.
“Ma, I’m a mechanic. If someone breaks down near the bridge, I can’t tell them no. And I won’t have my job long if I refuse to help.”
“Then you’ll get another one.”
Caleb scoffed. “Right, Ma. There’s only one auto shop in this town. It’s what I’m trained for. What else would I do?”
Jennifer knew he was right. She couldn’t keep him away from the bridge, but she’d do her best to try. “Fine, but don’t go alone. She won’t mess with you if you aren’t alone.”
Caleb scoffed again. “She won’t mess with me at all, Ma, because she doesn’t exist. You know I love you, but this whole Mae White thing...I just don’t like it. You’re better than urban legends, Ma. I really don’t know why you believe in this stuff.”
Jennifer bit her lip. They’d gone over it so many times, and she hoped it would never matter, but it did. It’s been thirty years since Mae White appeared, sixty years since her suicide. She was thirty years old, a mother of two, when she died. No one knew why she killed herself, and for a while they suspected foul play, but when they found no motive and no perpetrator, they dropped it and let the coroner’s word stand. Thirty years later, on the anniversary of her death, rumors swirled around the small town about a lady in white wandering the road along the bridge—the same bridge where she’d leapt to her death—looking for a ride home. Jennifer’s best friend stopped to pick Mae up one night and drove her to a long, abandoned house. Kacie’s voice filled her head.
“It was so weird, Jen. The woman was adamant that was her house, and her babies were inside and needed her. When she got out, it was like she just disappeared. She certainly seemed real enough when she got in the car. She had real tears on her face. A few of the twigs in her hair fell out as she got in. They were still there on the floorboard when she got out. The seat had an impression from her sitting in it. It wasn’t warm like I thought it would be, but it wasn’t cold like an empty seat would be, either.”
“I believe it because I lived it, Caleb. I was here thirty years ago when she first appeared.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. And Aunt Kaci gave her a ride, and then dad disappeared around the same time. Ma, I hate to tell you, but I honestly believe dad skipped out on you. He used Mae White as an excuse. That’s all. I’m sorry, Ma.”
“And what about all the other young men who went missing, too?”
“I don’t know, Ma. Maybe they left with him. Rickdale is-” Caleb paused. Rickdale was nice enough for a small town. Everyone knew everyone (and their business, too). Everyone waved at everyone, whether you lived there or not. They had everything they needed in Rickdale, all businesses owned by locals. The community thrived without the need of the big corporations, and for most folks who lived there, that suited them just fine. For the younger generation—Caleb’s generation—a general sense of entrapment filled them with a lust to explore the world beyond the bridge. “Rickdale is a typical small town. Everyone wants to get out.”
He could hear his mother’s frustration in her groan.
“I don’t know how to get through to you, anymore. I know what really happened, even if no one in town likes to talk about it anymore. I just need you to be that two-year-old boy, who trusted everything his mommy said about this. It’s just one week of your life.” Jennifer tried a different tactic. “You know, it’s actually a good thing Duke is stuck in Texas. He won’t be around to get lured in by Mae. You should be happy to make him wait to come home.”
“Yeah, except you forget his boss will fire him if he’s absent one more time.”
“Caleb, you can’t save him all the time. He made his own mess by calling out so much. It’s not your job to rescue him now.”
“Actually, it is. I’m his best friend, his only friend. He has no one else. If he can’t depend on me, what’s the point of our friendship? If the shoe was reversed, he would already be gone, not arguing with his mother on the phone. And you know it. I gotta go. I need to concentrate on the road. Love you, Ma.” Caleb disconnected the call as he always did when he was done with the conversation.
Duke was the one argument Jennifer never won. A young drifter who found his way into town, Caleb had connected with him instantly. Duke was a few years older than Caleb, but it had never mattered. They were into the same things, both good with their hands, and sometimes Jennifer wondered if Duke was a substitute for Caleb’s absent father, despite their close age. It bothered her that no one knew where he came from, and he never talked about his past. He would go to great lengths to change the subject if anyone asked him. Caleb worshipped the ground Duke walked on, and that bothered Jennifer more than anything else. She said nothing because she knew the moment she spoke against Duke, it would push Caleb toward Duke even more. The biggest problem was Duke seemed to be a genuinely nice guy with a long patch of bad luck. He never got Caleb into trouble and rarely got into trouble himself. Jennifer had no real reason to dislike him, she just did.
“I’m going to go find my rope,” Jennifer said out loud. “I warned him. I’ll kidnap my own son if it keeps him safe. Mark my words.”
Chapter Three
“Shit. Ma wasn’t lying. This fog is thicker than molasses on a waffle. Doesn’t mean anything,” Caleb said, dismissively. He was nowhere near the bridge anyway, so the sudden crawl of his skin made no sense to him. His mother’s voice filled his head, and he shivered. He could never tell her she got in his head. It was just fog rolling in off Ricker’s Creek, just like any other night in Rickdale.
Something shot out of fog, and he slammed on his brakes, his head flying forward and smacking into the windshield. If the steering wheel hadn’t been there, he would have gone through the window. His hand trembled as he called 9-1-1 on his cellphone and blacked out.
“THIS FOG IS NEVER GOOD.”
Caleb opened an eye slowly. His mother spoke with a man in a white coat, a stethoscope around his neck, and a clipboard in his hand.
“Fortunately, Caleb has no serious injuries. Watch his concussion for 24 hours. His ribs will be sore for a couple of weeks. I suggest light duty for him the rest of the week and plenty of bedrest,” the doctor said.