The Hollow Hills of Nicholas County

An Entry from Scoop's Diary

Welcome to the fourteenth issue of Sketchy Scoops! Your number one source for the most spurious content on the internet.

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Scoop Reports: The Hollow Hills of Nicholas County

I couldn’t sleep. I laid in bed for another forty minutes tossing and turning to no avail. When the clock said 2:37 AM I gave up and decided to exercise the demons that had robbed me of sleep by trapping them on paper. I pulled out my diary and began to write.

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This situation with Shelly was untenable. Scratch that. It was a horrible mess, and I couldn’t live like this. Watching her have someone slaughtered for the purpose of making a point… it’s not how I wanted to spend the remainder of my days. I had to figure out a way to rid myself of the council’s control and interference in my life.

But, how?

I’d seen first-hand how easily they could track and dispose of people they see as threats. In fact, my current predicament only underscored that fact. I wondered if Bessie would be of help, but then remembered how she had sat right next to all of them. Was Bessie herself a member of the council or had she been brought there to drive home the point that there was no aspect of my life that they could not touch? I couldn’t risk going to her.

I thought about just running away. I’d have to sell the van because its bulky frame stood out as an anachronism among today’s more rounded stylings. But I could do that. Maybe. If I could find a buyer. Even if I didn’t sell the van, I could just abandon it. Walk away. Begin a new life.

Doing what? I’m old and the only profession I’ve ever had was in the writing trade. Kind of late to start over again, but I was pretty sure that I’d already hit rock bottom. Maybe a new career was my way out. The council only cared about me because I was exposing truths they wanted to keep hidden. If I got a job at Walmart or anything in a different field, would I still matter to them? Would they still see me as a threat? I wasn’t sure, but I thought that it was possible. The big question I had now was whether I should approach the council with this offer or just disappear and try to start my life anew? If I did ask it was possible that they’d say no and then I’d be stuck here. If I just left, it was possible that they’d send someone to track me down. Neither choice was entirely safe. I decided I’d just do it.

I preferred that approach because it allowed me to take back my autonomy. I wouldn’t have to scrape and beg for permission. I would seize control of my life again and live with whatever the consequences may be. It was amazing how quickly sleep came to me after I’d made a decision. I rolled over onto my side and slept until the sun woke me.

The next day I realized that I would need to plan things out before I left. Where would I go? What would I take with me? If I was ditching the van, I’d need a new car. I think best while writing so I grabbed my diary and started to continue last night’s entry, but then I realized that if I stayed at home that it would only be a matter of time before Shelly interrupted me.

I had roamed these hills with Buck when I was a child and thought I could find my way back to an old fort that we’d made. I had no hopes that the place was still standing, but there were a lot of large boulders in that part of the woods and it would be easy to find a place where I could sit and write in peace. So, I headed to the back of the house. The property had about a third of an acre that nestled on the side of the mountain. After that though, it was undeveloped wilderness for miles and miles. I made it to the edge of my property and headed deeper into the forest.

All of these mountains had been logged over a hundred years ago. I’ve heard that the logging companies brought groups of Italian workers in from New York to lay narrow gauge railroad tracks so they could get the timber off of the mountains. The rails were pulled up decades ago, but the paths still remain. If the paths didn’t follow such a deliberate path it would be easy to mistake them for game trails. To my surprise those same paths were still there. A little more overgrown, but still visible if you knew what you were looking for.

I followed this path through a young copse of pine trees, down into the valley on the backside of the mountain on which my house was built, and up the ascending face of the next one. And there it was: the series of boulders. Their faces were covered in moss and lichen.

One large boulder extended out over the rock on which it sat making a type of overhang that we had loved as children. We’d found broken shards of pottery and a couple of arrowheads in this very spot. And, even now, the underside of this rock had been stained a sooty black from the many fires that had been built under this sheltering rock. The most intriguing aspect of this area though were the petroglyph symbols that had been incised on one of the walls. The symbols themselves were random dots, slashing lines, some spirals, and a few primitive looking stars. They were arranged in sets of six and then the pattern would repeat itself again over and over. The petroglyphs had been carved into a narrow band that formed an arc on the stone. It resembled an elongated rainbow.

I’d found my spot. I sat in the empty space of that rainbow with the carvings outlining my body. When we had been children, we’d surmised that this was where some great American Indian leader had sat and shared his wisdom with the members of his small tribe.

I have no idea if that was true or not. Probably not. The one thing I can relate with a great deal of certainty is that crouching down into that cramped corner and leaning my back against the rock wall as an adult wasn’t quite as thrilling or as comfortable as it had been to the younger version of myself, but it would suffice.

I pulled out my journal and began to make a list of all of the questions and problems that I would need to resolve before I could leave. Just as I started to write, the stones began to rumble. There was a grating noise as one rock face slid against another and then suddenly there was an opening behind me, and I felt myself falling into the rock wall. I don’t know when I realized that I was being pulled under, but at some point, I became aware of several strong hands gripping my shoulders and waist. Once I had passed through, the opening closed, and I was in total darkness.

I fumbled to pull my cellphone out of my pocket. I was going to use its flashlight, but someone spoke

“He can’t see in the dark. He needs a light. Someone get a lamp.” There was something about that voice that made me uneasy, but before I could identify exactly what it was a yellow glow filled the room. I was surrounded by several short, bearded men. They sported antique mining helmets and carried pickaxes or shovels. “You’re… you’re dwarves!” I shouted.

Several of the men laughed at my consternation, but then the group parted, and a taller person stepped forward. “And I’m Snow White.” I was shocked because I immediately realized that this was the same person who had called for a light. It was Bessie. “We need to talk.”

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A Note from the Editor

Scoop’s story has managed to find yet another unexpected twist. Be sure to catch next week’s issue to learn exactly what Bessie has to say.