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Looking back at when I lived in Sandcastle, California I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t frightened. I had moved there when my parents died in a horrible freak car accident on the way to visit my grandparents in Sandcastle. I wasn’t with them at the time and had I been I wouldn’t be here today.
Before my parents had died, they used to laugh about how they escaped Sandcastle and moved on to better things. My dad took a job at a computer company in San Jose in the 80s when he was 18 and my mom, who was only 17 at the time, followed him. I guess they got lucky because he quickly became the CEO of this huge company and life was nice for all of us. Mom didn’t have to work and I went to a local private school which was really hard to get into.
I had never been to Sandcastle to visit my extended family. My parents told me they never wanted to go back there because it was an evil place. Bad things happened there. They wouldn’t even bring me to visit or meet my grandparents on either side. They weren’t superstitious or anything, they just hated it in the old beach town. Many of their friends died while they were growing up–too many for such a small area it seemed–and as the people died, more people showed up. It was like a quota had to be filled and released. With every death, a new life was born or new faces moved in.
Then it happened. My maternal grandmother passed away. Mom was in shambles. She still loved her mother, but after her friend Sandy died she never wanted to go back. Ever. The accident was still vivid in her mind. It was Homecoming 1984. Sandy was supposed to be the homecoming queen, but she didn’t show up for the football float. They continued anyway and the homecoming king stood next to the empty throne until the screaming in the stands started. There was Sandy, dragging on the back of the homecoming float with a rope around her neck.
The tires of the small truck had already smashed part of her face. The drivers of the float claimed they thought she was the speed bump until they actually went over the real one. It was hard to see with all of the mascot feathers and paper decoration around the window of the truck. They kept on driving until they heard the crowd screaming stop.
Sandy’s head caved in with brain matter stuck to the tires, but there was still enough left of her chin and head to keep the rope intact as the pulled the body across the track around the football field. Tom, the homecoming king, noticed the blood first then looked down at the float and rope until he saw the body of his queen. His scream started first until he involuntarily let out all of the delicious steak dinner and too much beer they consumed at the local Sandcastle steak house for the homecoming dinner.
That was the story my grandmother wrote to me. Mom found the letter and burnt it in the fireplace. She told me I was never to speak to my grandmother again. I admit, it was a really insane story for a person to send to their granddaughter, but she said it was for my own good to know the dangers of the town if I ever cared to visit. What I didn’t get is why my grandmother made it so explicit and gory. Until now.
I got the call at 3 in the morning. The local police had called me and said my parents were in a terrible accident and someone would come to my house and bring me to my grandparents’ house in Sandcastle if I had nowhere else to go. I found that odd the police station would send someone, but I really had no choice as a minor. I was only 13 at the time and couldn’t stay by myself by choice. It was either that or go spend some time in a foster home in San Jose which I wasn’t about to do.
My grandfather had prepared a bedroom for me. He was still in shock at the loss of his wife and was very sullen. He just showed me to my room without a word and then went straight to bed. The house seemed as old as the town. It bordered the forest and a small river. I didn’t like that my new bedroom window faced the woods as it was dark and sometimes I swear there were noises and I felt like there were many eyes upon me as I slept. Sometimes, late in the night, a dim light would cast a glow in the trees. I had no idea what the glow was and decided to explore in the daylight.
Sporting a pair of ripped jeans and tennis shoes, I figured it was perfect for the trek out to wherever the light had started glowing in the trees. As I walked deeper into the forest, I could hear the old redwood trees calling to me. These large trunks were old with centuries of stories to tell and I would be willing to listen if they could just speak in my language. I imagined they could and actually heard them whispering. “Come this way,” they seemed to beckon.
I finally arrived at a lake and the voices of the trees stopped. This must be where they wanted me to travel. There, right in front of me, was an old bloodstained tree stump. A chill ran up my spine as I heard laughter rustle through the leaves of the redwoods.
“Go away! Go home.” A woman’s voice spoke from the lake. I walked closer to the shore where I could see the water faintly glowing below.
“She will kill you or find someone who will. Maybe even me,” the voice continued, closer.
I whipped around to find a young woman with long red hair standing before me. She was naked except for the stains of blood draining down from the deep cut on her neck. Tears were running down her cheeks as she covered her breasts and hips with her arms.
“Are you ok?” I asked.
“Leave this place, or you will die. Don’t let my father find you.”
“Who are you?” I managed. My throat felt like it was closing up.
A curdled screamed came from her gaping mouth as her head fell off her body. Blood spurted high in the air from the veins on her neck–some of it landing on my arms and face. I forced my eyes shut and then wiped my cheek with my fingertips finding fresh crimson blood around my mouth and lips.
When I opened my eyes, I saw the blood all over my hands and body then her head lying there before me. LEAVE! It screamed and I ran all the way home to my grandfather’s house until I reached the bathroom and when I looked in the mirror, there was no blood anywhere. Not a single drop, but I know what I saw and my grandfather confirmed it with his words.
“Stay out of those cursed woods,” he grunted as he brought me a glass of ice water. “It will do you no good to go there.”
That was 30 years ago and I have never been back to the woods. The town of Sandcastle, the place where I live, is haunted. I’ve been warned by many forces that I can never leave or I will just be replaced by someone else. My parents left me a lot of money. I bought an AM radio station KSND we call “The Sound of the Sea” where I’m the night DJ so I can look over the woods and make sure nothing is out to get me. Sometimes it glows, and sometimes it screams.
