Tales from Diamond Valley

The sun was coming down hot - hotter than it had any right to for the waning days of September. It was as if Summer had kidnapped Autumn and was coyly, unapologetically flaunting herself before us. Taunting us like a criminal clearly guilty, yet protected by her rights. Innocent until proven guilty, while we were the ones being sweated under the light.

Fahr Brewery Lagers

Perfect for any occasion. No I am not sponsored by them, I just really enjoy their beer.

There were five of us that day; six if you count Timber, a juvenile and high-energy border collie. Mathieu, Timber’s lord and master; the Manders, Sarah and Stephen; our host, Jeffrey, who despite the heat was working the grill; and myself, taking what shade I could while nursing a lager.

“Alright,” Jeffrey sighed in relief. He took a step back from the grill, used the hem of his apron to wipe the sweat from his brow, shook his ginger head, then began pulling the meat onto a tray.

Burnt ends.

It was the first course, but certainly not the least, for Jeffrey was a master of meat. We tucked in greedily, just barely restraining ourselves, for we knew that the brisket, smoking since the night before, would follow shortly. Then there was the baguette and cheese, Mathieu’s ode to his country, and the assorted fruits and berries the Manders had supplied. My own humble contribution, a pumpkin pie with cream from the farmer’s market, awaited us for dessert.

A veritable feast whose proportions made you forget the evening heat for a time. We munched away merrily, making conversation and sneaking Timber bits of food when Mathieu wasn’t looking. All-in-all, things were going well.

“Hello!”

The word startled us, the voice so innocent, and the source unknown.

“What was that?” Sarah asked, and we all wondered if it had been but an imagining.

“Hello!” came the greeting again, drawing our attention to the gate.

There, peering through the hand-hole, was the grinning face of a small boy. Pale-haired, rosy-cheeked, and blue-eyed - the lad smiled at us expectantly.

“Oh, that’s weird,” Mathieu remarked in his French drawl.

We broke out laughing, the situation so bizarre and unexpected that we couldn’t help ourselves. “Hello!” I called back, and we all waved at the boy who, satisfied, withdrew from the gate.

“What the Hell is going on?” Stephen laughed. “What kind of wierd-ass town do you live in, Jeff?”

“I don’t know!” Jeffrey pleaded in mock despair.

“Bunch of feral children roaming the streets, terrorizing adults!” I joked. “What horror have you brought us to?”

“We’ll sick Timber on them,” Mathieu offered, always quick to steer the conversation to his puppy.

“Or throw barbecue at them,” I countered.

“Get out of here, you!” Jeffrey pretended to yell dramatically, fake throwing his food at the gate.

We all laughed and got back to the business of eating.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the great forested hill to the west when we all pushed our plates away and reclined in satisfaction. We murmured our appreciation to the chef, each of us picking a different dish to compliment, and nodding along as the others gave their flattery.

Jeffrey, bashful as ever, thanked us for our kind words, and then lit a joint. After a long drag, he passed it round.

“We should go for a walk,” Mathieu opined. “Let the food settle and give the monster a chance to lose some energy.” Monster was his nickname for Timber.

Being that the night held the warmth of day, the moon was bright, and none of us had any good alternatives, we set off into the quaint streets of Diamond Valley. We chatted about nothing, commented on the difference in housing prices between the city and here, and generally meandered unhurriedly towards the hill whose dark shadow loomed before us. The sky was losing its last traces of colour to the monochrome of twilight as we stepped off the pavement and began our ascent of the grassy slope.

Mathieu threw a ball, delighting in the speed of his dog as she raced after it. I was watching the trees, for little birds were still flickering about as they settled for the night.

“Good girl!” Mathieu said as Timber brought him the ball. “Anyone want to throw it and give me a break?”

Timber

She’s a good girl.

No one volunteered.

“Hello!”

We all froze in place.

Poking his head out from behind a tree not far up the hill from us, the little boy from the gate grinned down at us.

“The fuck?” Jeffrey exclaimed.

“Hello!” the boy greeted us again.

“Hello!” came the innocent voice of another child, this one appearing off to our left.

“Uh…” Sarah started.

Timber gave a cautionary woof before hiding herself in Math’s legs.

“This is weird,” I said, and no sooner did another child step into view and greet us. “Hi,” I answered all of them suspiciously.

The three children grinned happily, emerged from behind the tree trunks, and stood stalk-still. Staring at us.

“Weee… should go,” Stephen offered, and we all readily agreed.

Turning to make our way back towards the street, we were suddenly confronted by five more children staring up at us.

“Hello!” they said in unison.

“Get out of here!” Jeffrey called down to them, this time in earnest.

This response they did not care for, and the children began to frown. “Hello,” they repeated menacingly, and as if on cue, another seen youngsters appeared out of the gloomy street.

I turned to Jeff: “Can we get back to your place another way?”

“Yeah, any street. Small town,” he answered, then led us down the hill to the adjoining road.

“Where are you going?” the children asked after us, beginning to follow at a passive walk.

We reached the street, only to be greeted on both sides of the road by large groups of wide-eyed boys and girls aged 8 - 12. As one, they locked eyes on us and let out their familiar call: “Hello!”

We broke into a jog, panic setting in. All around us came the eerie greetings, incessant in the dark, unlit street. We ran for our lives, the moon’s pale glow all that illuminated our path. Not a single light came from the flanking houses, yet the eyes of the children glistened like the wan stars above.

Up the concrete steps to burst into the house, our party crowded into Jeffrey’s living room and bolted the door. Breathless and in shock, no one spoke a word, our eyes moving from one another in search of comfort and explanation.

I moved to the window and gingerly peered out the pane.

“Good God…” I swallowed hard.

A vast and seemingly endless horde of young faces stood impassively staring at the abode. They were on all sides, filling the streets that hemmed in Jeffrey’s corner lot.

“What do we do?” Sarah squeaked. No one offered a solution.

“What do they want?” Mathieu asked, his mind searching for solutions as if it were one of his renovation projects.

“You could always ask them?” I suggested, to which Math replied by busying himself with a cowering Timber.

With the dignitas and courage of a Greek hero, Stephen stood, patted his wife’s hand reassuringly, and moved to the door.

“Stephen, no!” Sarah pleaded unhappily, but made no moves to stop him.

He stepped out, his face locked in a granite stare that bore down upon the youthful horde who happily looked back at him.

“Hello!” they greeted him.

“What do you want?” Stephen demanded, to which the children only giggled - a great, giddy mass of sound that flooded the neighbourhood. “Why are you here?” he asked again, and received the same giggling retort.

As one, the children took a step forward and, to his credit, Stephen held firm, shrinking not an inch. Would that we all had such courage! No, he only stood taller, and took a step towards them, playing a game of chicken that he didn’t quite understand.

“Go away!” he bellowed, and the children took another step forward. Stephen advanced as well.

“Hello!” they greeted him as one.

Well that was all he could take. Sucking in as much air as he could, Stephen let out a great roar, then began shouting the greeting back at them even as he advanced into their midst. “Hello!” he cried with as much vitriol as the word could manage. “Hello!” he badgered them, spittle smacking their young faces as he raged through them, meeting them greeting for greeting.

And the children loved it. They smiled happily as he leapt between them, taking satisfaction in every acknowledgement they received from this adult. It continued for close to an hour, them saying hello and Stephen returning the sentiment, and with each time it the back-and-forth happened, it seemed that another child was suddenly gone. They didn’t just blink out of existence, but slowly faded away as if crumbling to ash.

Stephen collapsed to the ground panting for air. The night was quiet now, and the moon seemed a bit brighter. Even the street lights had come on, sending a soft orange glow onto our champion as he knelt in the street. And of the children: all that remained were smouldering piles of ash.

Burnt ends.

The rest of us emerged from the house, dazed by the stillness of the mountain air. Sarah wrapped her arms around Stephen and helped him stand, while the rest of us shook his hand and offered our admiration.

Turning to his wife, Stephen looked her straight in the eye. “Sarah,” he said bluntly, “We’re never having children.”