The sigh of the exhaust alerted us that the bus was on the move.  I shifted in my seat; it was a torn-up rubber mess of a seat, apparently made uncomfortable on purpose by some hotshot engineer - probably to boost sales of their "Executive Class" seats.  Images from my childhood continued to flicker in front of me like a flame in soft wind, never fully engaging me but teasing my emotions.  

This was my choice, coming here.  My wife encouraged me, and my daughter probably wanted me out of the house so she could have her boyfriend over for a few nights - so she encouraged it too.  At the time it seemed like a good idea, but visiting my childhood Virginia home near Old Cigar Road was definitely something that could have remained off my plate.  

"Yo," said the fat man sitting next to me as he tapped my knee.  I was swinging it recklessly, and it must have been driving the guy crazy.  I turned to him and smiled.  He wasn't amused.  Man, I needed a smoke at that moment.  Damn buses.

I continued to stare at the passing street lamps outside, which for some reason made me think of a butcher's freezer, each lamp a cow on a meat hook track.  The lights inside the bus suddenly came on; "Rest stop, Windmill Haven," said the driver over the p.a.. "Next stop 89 miles."

Damn.  I still had over 300 miles to go, and I needed a way to get my mind off the freakin' Cigar Road alley.  I needed to get my mind off the freakin' fat bastard next to me.  I needed to get my mind straight.  

I pulled out my lighter and started playing with the flint.  Of course, it wasn't working.  I moved the gas release valve and tried to strike a flame again, but still nothing.

As the bus pulled to the rest stop, the 35 or so passengers stood up, anxious for their turn to exit.  I stood up, too, but immediately regretted it when the sweaty son-of-a-bitch next to me decided to use the grips above the seats.  Man, he smelled like rot.  I made no attempt to hide my disgust: I coughed loudly, waved my hand in front of my face, and sat down with my face buried in the bend of my arm.  Damn fat-ass.  I'd rather ride with a buffalo carcass next to me than that asshole.  

I waited until everyone got off the bus, then walked up to the driver.

"Mitch," I said, "you got a lighter there by any chance?"

"My name's not Mitch," he replied, handing me the little red Bic he had pulled from his pocket.  I held up the lighter as a sign of gratitude and walked off into the rest stop.  

Inside, people flocked to the usual fast food restaurants or to the bathrooms.  I walked over to the services counter and asked where I could get some smokes.  

"In the bathroom - you'll see the vending machines."

Idiot.  I hated smart-asses like that guy.  Who would think to put cigarette vending machines in a public bathroom that sees tens of thousands of kids every day?  I went in and paid their ridiculous ten-dollar fee and got my pack.  Then I took advantage of the fact I was in the bathroom and took a piss.  I didn't bother to flush or wash my hands.  Kill me if I ever touch anything in a rest stop bathroom.  Other than my cigarettes - those are ok.  

I went outside to pack my smokes and enjoy that great wonder of the New World, ta-baquer, as they call it in some parts.  

"Bum one off'a ya?" said a voice from behind me.

I turned and saw some kid, maybe 20 years old, looking mighty serious.  He had long sideburns and weighed about 10 pounds.  Still, his knuckles were calloused and his nose had had a few amateur adjustments.  His relaxed posture told me he could hold his own in a fight, but I could probably still take him.  I was almost twice his size.   

I pulled out my pack and with a flick of my wrist I had a boy sticking out.  It was a trick my dad had taught me when I was a kid; it wasn't hard to do, but it impressed people.

"Thanks, man.  So where ya headed?" he asked.

I took a drag and stared at him.  I hated nosy people.  But more than that, I hated it when people talked to me while I smoked.  So I shrugged my shoulders as I slowly exhaled two days of my life.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" he asked.

"Listen," I said.  "I gave you your goddamn cigarette, now go smoke it over there or something," I added, shooing him away.

"What's your deal, man?  I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Ok, talk then."

"You're from Virginia," he stated plainly.

I tensed.  "How do you know?"

"Lucky guess," he replied.  "I'm going to Battlefield Post.  You?"

This kid somehow knew more than he was letting on.  This was a game he was playing and I didn't know who put him up to it or how he knew where I was headed, but it was pissing me off - I'm not paranoid; I can read people.  I realized  I didn't wanna be here; this was all a mistake.

"Uh-huh," I said.

"Ah!  I knew it!  Is that where you from?"

I licked the taste of smoke on my lips.  But, before I could answer, the driver called out from inside the rest stop, "First call - load up!"

I smiled at the kid, threw my cigarette out and quickly headed toward the bus.  The kid jogged to catch up.

"Hey, wait!" he said.

I would have kept going, but I saw the fat bastard waiting to get on the bus, so I stopped and turned to the kid.

"Let me ask you something," I said.  He cocked an eyebrow.  "You ever hear of Old Cigar Road?"

He smiled.  "Nah, should I know it?"

I nodded.  "Get your buddy to ride with Monte Sumo over there," I said, pointing to the fat man, who was waddling up the steps, "I'll sit with you and we can talk."

Keep your enemies Kosher, they say.  This would be good to get that smelly fat-ass away from me and to figure out who this kid was.  Had he followed me here?  Who the hell was this kid, and if he wasn't from Battlefield Post, why in the hell was he going there?  I felt like he was some kind of Satan Claus, and he was waiting to unload more darkness into my life.

We waited outside the bus until the driver peeked back outside, repeating, "Last call - load up!"

As we got on the bus, I looked the kid over; torn-up jeans, faded t-shirt.  His blonde hair was messy - it looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks.  I grabbed his arm and he turned around.  

"Give him this," I said as I slipped the kid a $20 bill.  He smiled, nodded, and clutched it tightly.

He walked over to the guy who had been sitting next to him and started whispering and pointing toward my portly neighbor.  I stood by the driver the whole time.

"Mind if I smoke another before we go, Mitch?" I asked, holding up the red Bic.  The driver pointed with his head, and didn't wince when I used the name I'd given him.  

I walked out of the bus and lit another boy while I waited for the kid's neighbor to move all his crap.  I looked north, toward Battlefield Post.  The glow of the moon created a halo around the mountainscape, reminding me of how powerless I was, and how powerful it was.  I had to go back, even though I knew it could be my undoing.  I had flashbacks of my brother running into that alley, challenging me to follow him, calling me "chicken".  I remembered it like it was still happening, running in a loop in my head.  No, I had screamed at him, don't do it, Wex!  He laughed, and I could hear it, maniacal in a way, echoing up the walls that surrounded us. 

 "Let's go, buddy," the driver's voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Alright, alright," I said as I flicked my cigarette away.  Man, I hate it when people interrupt my smoke breaks.  

I climbed into the bus and Mr. Rogers had vacated my new seat.  I took one quick look toward the back of the bus and saw that the guy was visibly regretting his decision to take the twenty.  Hell, I wouldn't do it.

Kid Kringle had a smirk on his face, no doubt anxious to hear everything about me - or, whatever he didn't know yet.  The lights went off inside, and with a squeal, the bus was back on its way north.

*    *    *

The oaks were covered with Spanish moss.  It looked like a mist from a distance, and I remember the first time I touched it; a red jumping spider, with its two big, goofy-looking eyes in the middle of its face was in the moss and I couldn't help but laugh at the creature.  Then it jumped up on my shoulder and I spent almost twenty minutes shaking my whole body, running, and removing my clothes to make sure it was off me.  That was my only memory of South Carolina.

The only other memories I had were of my younger days in Battlefield Post.  Specifically, of walking past the Old Cigar Road alley every day on my way to school.  My brother, Wex, always told me stories about the alley.  Said there'd been some strange things happening there every so often, whenever some brave idiot decided to try and walk into it. 

"Was that your only family," asked the kid.

"My parents weren't really around much.  My brother raised me, and when he was... well, you know.  I was sent to South Carolina.  I don't have much to tell about that either.  What about you, kid?"

"My name's Andy.  I have a brother named Frank, and we- "

"Hold on," I said.  There was no way this was a coincidence.  "Tell me who you are, really."

"I'm telling you, man.  I'm Andy.  My brother's Frank.  My parents are- "

I grabbed him by the collar.  "How do you know my name, you little prick?  Who are you and what do you want?"

I looked deep in his green eyes.  His eyes dilated, and I could see fear - true fear - deep inside them.  I was bigger than he was; I probably outweighed him by 60 pounds, and since he was probably a fighter, he could size me up and see that he couldn't take me.  I'm sure he thought I was gonna break his face just then.

"I swear those are our real names, and we grew up in Kappawa, South Carolina."

I stared just a little longer, then let him go.  "Ok, go on about your parents."

"They're just like yours.  My story's a lot like yours, man.  I swear it's just a coincidence!"

As much as I didn't want to, I actually believed him.  "So why are you going to Battlefield Post?"

"I'm gonna see this old woman.  I found her address in some of my older brother Frank's things, and I wrote to her.  She replied and told me that what she had to say could not be put in writing, she had to tell me in person."

"Weird.  What about your parents?" 

"My parents kinda just took off one day, I guess.  I don't remember much about them."

"You think the hag's related to you or something?"

"I have no idea.  Her name is Ida Naffinger.  The name means nothing to me though."

"Well, I'll be your guide.  I know the town and everyone in it."

I looked back at the fat bastard and saw Mr. Rogers sleeping against the window.  I guess that would be the only way to survive a trip next to that guy.  And, it looked like a good idea.  We had almost 5 hours left, and the best way to pass the time quickly was by sleeping.  I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the bottle of Benadryl.  I took three of them.  

"There's no better way," I said to the kid.  He smiled.

"Hey, what's the Cigar Street thing you were talking about?"

"You hear things as a kid growing up.  Most you don't believe, but Old Cigar Road has an alley, see.  Kids say there are horrors waiting at the end of the alley.  When I was a kid a few locals went missing, and all the kids said it was because of the legend."

"But what did they say was happening to the kids?"  

I shrugged.  "Someone found a wallet of one of the missing people just outside of the alley, so a local artist made a painting of the missing people.  Called it 'The Forgotten Landmarks of Old Cigar Road'.  He went missing, along with his painting, about a week later.  Some say he left to make a better living in New York, but the local kids said whatever lurked at the end of the Old Cigar Road alley came for him." 

"Whoa.  You believe the stories?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Really?  How come?"

"I have my reasons."

We both sat quietly for a few minutes and then he broke the silence.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick," he said, standing up.  

I just looked up at him and then closed my eyes.

I had some strange dreams - about some old witch luring me into her dungeon.  Some crazy crap my mind made up 'cause of the kid's questions, I thought.

I woke up to the driver calling, "Battlefield Post, one mile!"

What the hell, I slept for five hours?  I thought.  I didn't even wake up for the last two rest stops.  Then I looked over and saw that the kid wasn't next to me.  Either he'd been in the bathroom taking the longest dump in history, he had coincidentally gotten up to go again right before I awoke, or he moved seats.  I looked back and saw Monte Sumo still awake, staring straight ahead.  Mr. Rogers was still asleep - or trying to fall asleep.

I stretched and cracked my neck.  I could still taste the cigarettes on my lips.  I definitely needed one again.  

"Hey Frankie, you're up,"  said the kid's voice from behind me.  "This is our stop."

"Crap, maybe I took too many of those damned pills."

"Yeah.  Our stop's ahead," he said, pointing to the familiar terminal.  

"'Virginia's tallest city'," I said, reciting the town's slogan.         

The kid looked at me and smiled.  "Come on," he said excitedly when the bus stopped.  

"Mitch, you get a lot of people coming to this stop?" I asked.

"Nah, just a couple of people get off here about once a year.  The company doesn't want to close the stop, but we only stop here when we have passengers who bought tickets to Battlefield." 

I grabbed my bag and the kid and I stepped out into the sunlight.

*    *    *

The smell of unmolested forestland was all around us, but it didn't bring back any memories; and the whole town seemed different somehow.  The streets were empty - there was no sign of life.  The buildings and horizon seemed sad still, looking a little more weathered than I remembered.    

"Whoa.  Nothing here, huh," said the Kid.  

"Something's gotta be going on at the center square.  Let's go there and see."

We walked to the center of town and found that most of the townspeople were there, celebrating the town's anniversary.  A flash of memory came back to me - it was on the day of the anniversary that Wex had disappeared.

There were people cooking all types of stuff - birds, woodrats, and webworms.  The mayor of the town was probably there, but I wouldn't recognize him.  We walked down the hill and when the first person spotted me, she screamed and ran up to me to give me a hug.

"Frankie, you're here!  I can't believe it - you look so good," she said without letting go of the embrace.  I had no idea who this bitch was, so I just held her without a word.  Kid Kringle kicked some dirt around, waiting for an introduction.  

"Is this your brother?" she asked after she released me.

"Ah, no.  This is Andy," I said.

"Nice to meet you," he said, waving.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then hugged the kid.

"We've been waiting to see you for such a long time," she said while embracing Andy.

"Yeah.  I've been kinda reluctant to - since the incident."

The image of Wex running, laughing into the alley while I called to him flashed in my head, as if it had just happened the year before.  This time Wex had a beard; scruffy like the one I had now, not a full-grown one - but he wasn't old enough to... ah, my mind was playing tricks again.

"Oh, let's forget about that for now and have a good time," she segued, "Come on, everyone wants to meet you."

She led us down to the town center and everyone we passed became excited to see me and Andy - a stark contrast to the drab feeling of the rest of the town's dècor.  I didn't recognize any of the people we met.  But why would I?  It'd been so long.  Everyone recounted memories of me as a kid, but I couldn't recall any of the stories they told; I just played it off by smiling and nodding.  And everyone kept mentioning that Andy was my brother.  I couldn't understand how they would be confused, since the kid was obviously younger than me. 

We met everyone including the mayor, Mr. Brinkley, and had some of the unusual food.  I didn't remember ever eating those things, but apparently they were the town's staples.  I wanted to die with every bite I took of the food.  It was disgusting.  As night fell, I realized I had to find a place to stay.  I asked about my old house, and the mayor was happy to inform me that it had been recently vacated, but was still fully furnished.

"What happened to the owners," I asked Mr. Brinkley, who was a slender middle-aged man. 

"The last owner, Mrs. Lovington, passed away last year.  I kept it well-maintained because I knew you'd be back," he replied.

"Wow, thanks.  And sorry about the bag," I said.

"What?"

"Lovington.  We call them old bags in South Carolina."

 "Oh, that's a strange term.  Well, here are the keys.  Nothing's changed, it's still a two-bedroom, so you and Andy can fit comfortably in it."

I looked at Kid Kringle and shrugged.  "Better than staying on the street," I said.

"Timberley's place is closed for renovations anyway," added the mayor.  I assumed Timberley's was some kind of inn.

"Hey, while we're at it, is there a lady named Ida Somethingorother who lives here in town?" I asked.

"Naffinger," Kid Kringle corrected.  

"Yeah, better leave that for the morning," said the mayor, adding, "she's really old and sleeps as soon as the sun goes down."

We finished mingling with the townsfolk and found out where my old house was located and headed straight there.  I had only brought a backpack and so had the kid, so we could easily climb all the hills throughout town.  It was an interesting layout, one that I hadn't noticed as a kid.  The town square was at the valley point of several hills that surrounded it; each street converged into the center that looked like a bowl.  

I was sad to realize that I really didn't know much about the history of my hometown.  I made a mental note to look into that.  We walked up the paved hill road and I noticed what the townsfolk had said was my old house in the distance.  It was in very good shape, especially when compared to the other houses in town.  

"So which way is this infamous alley?" asked the kid.

"I don't remember.  We'll find out in the morning.  Why, you wanna see it?"

"Sure."

"I don't really care to.  Too many bad memories - but I guess I have to do it.  I'm here to face all that crap."  I looked around the house, and it chilled me to think why the mayor would keep this house for my return.  The walls were clean, and I swear I could smell cleaning solvent.  It was as if they knew I was coming today. 

Suddenly the image of Wex running into the dark alley, laughing while I stood by, teary-eyed, begging him to stop ran through my head.  I could hear a voice whispering to me, telling me to wait; my turn would come.  I remembered the alley looking like a dark, misty hand beckoning, but then stopping, as if taunting me.  

"You gonna open that door?" he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Oh, sorry," I replied pulling the key out of my pocket.  

I opened the door and looked inside before walking in.  It felt odd to walk into a stranger's house as if it were my own, even if I had grown up here.  The place was well taken-care of, and the furnishings were clean and tidy.  The kid and I took a look around the place.  It wasn't very large, but it accommodated two people very nicely.  I walked into the kitchen, which was clean, although a bit dated.  There were no appliances, but at least we had electricity.

"You take that room, and I'll take this one," I delegated to the kid.  "We should go to bed now so we can be up early and get all this stuff out of the way and get the hell out of here."

"Yeah, I agree," he said.

Neither one of us said it, but the whole town was odd, I didn't really feel at home and there was something not right about the people.  I pulled out my bottle of Benadryl and popped four into my mouth.  The cold feeling on the nape of my neck was not gonna keep me up tonight.

*    *    *

"What the hell do you mean you haven't seen the old lady in over a year, and what do you mean you have never investigated the disappearances?" I demanded of Mr. Brinkley, my finger inches from his face.

I wanted this smart-ass to know I was no one to mess with.

"Like I said, we just assumed those few who went missing had decided, like you, to go on to bigger and better things," he replied.

My fists, now white with tension, were shaking.  My breathing was audibly labored.  My mouth was watering.

The kid put a hand on my shoulder and walked closer to the mayor.  "So what do you think, is there someone else living with the old lady who might be doing something to these people?"

"I can't speculate that any of that is true.  The alley leads to her house, but it opens to the forest beyond, so who knows if these people went into the alley and saw the forest, then decided to explore, or maybe they found another town nearby and decided to stay there.  Anything could have happened.  That's if it's even true that the missing people left through the alley."

"You're full of it, you a-" the kid pulled me back before I could curse at the mayor.

"There's always been a witness that each of the missing was last seen walking into the alley," he said.

"Not credible witnesses.  They've all been children, and you know how that goes.  They hear an old wives' tale and make anything into proof of its existence."

We left the mayor's house toward the town center.  I realized the layout of the town was not very convenient.  Everyone had to go to the town center to catch all the other roads.  It would be a pain to visit a friend's house, so everyone always gathered at the town center.  I was so pissed off I ignored everyone who greeted us as we passed by.  I wanted to get to the damn alley, look quickly, and shed the nightmare forever - and then leave this hell.

We found Old Cigar Road and headed up the paved hill, past several homes.  All of them were worn like the first ones we'd seen when we got off at the bus stop, or maybe a little worse.  This must have been the less affluent part of the town.  The mayor had said Old Cigar Road was the first road of the town, which was originally built where the old lady lived - but they found the valley, and it seemed more strategic to build the town around that instead.  The old lady's ancestors had refused to move with the rest of the town's youth.  Eventually all of the older founders died off and their homes were condemned, but the old lady's family did not want to move so far.    

"What are you thinkin'?" I asked the kid.

"I don't know.  I got goosebumps when the mayor said the old lady's house was at the end of the Cigar Road Alley."

"I wanted to punch the guy."

"Yeah, I know," he said.  "I'm glad you didn't.  Maybe it's all just a coincidence.  From what the mayor said, she's a really sweet old lady - but I'm not so sure.  It sounds a little creepy to me."

"Well, from what I remember the place is creepy even during the day," I said.  "And she has to know something about the missing people.  She must know the rumors surrounding her home."

As we got to the outskirts of the inhabited area the ground leveled, so we were at the top of the hill; the road continued nevertheless.  The walk on Old Cigar Road was excruciatingly tense.  My heart was pounding so heavily I could feel the veins on my temples throbbing.  We passed several ruined houses.  

The kid and I were silent the entire walk; he was probably thinking who this Ida lady could be to live in the alley, and I was going through all possible explanations as to Wex's disappearance after going in there.  After all, if it led into the old bag's house, what could have possibly happened?

Then, I could see it in the distance.  Without a word, I pointed at the two large buildings, the abandoned church and post office, the ones that played borders to the alley.  It was the end of Old Cigar Road, which then became an alley before ending at Ida Naffinger's house.

"Holy crap," said the kid.  The color drained from his face and I could see that he has shaking.  I didn't know what had the kid so spooked.  Ok, so the buildings were now abandoned, and there was a dark alley with a ghostly history.  But it was just regular buildings and a regular, seemingly deserted alley.  This was nothing like my memory of the place, which made me think it was some twisted, ungodly aberration.  

I felt suddenly relaxed; here I was, a man forty-two years old, scared of a stupid alley.  I looked on, and although it was long and dark, it was not menacing.  I started toward the alley, but the kid grabbed my arm.  He gave me an intense stare, like a warning.  I shook his arm off mine and we walked toward the dark walkway. 

Kid Kringle stopped at the mouth of the alley.  I turned and called out, "Come on, kid.  You only live once."

He shook his head.  I could see the fear in his eyes.  "Trust me, I lived my whole life scared of this alley, and now I know there's nothing to be scared of."

He continued to shake his head.  Tears began to well up in his eyes.

"Don't tell me you're gonna be a chicken at your age," I said.  

"Please," he whispered.  I could only see him mouth the words.  I shook my head and turned back toward the alley.  

"Fine," I said, before I started running down Old Cigar Road.

"No," he called out to me, "don't do it!"  But I laughed.  I could hear my laughter echo up the walls that surrounded me, as the darkness of the alley engulfed me. 

*    *    *

The old woman was naked, dancing around the flame.  Every fold of skin, every wrinkle, danced along with the flame, as if they were her partners in a ballroom ballad.  I was naked, too, sitting on the floor.  Next to me was my brother, Wex.  He sat, motionless, as if he was a stuffed animal, or some kind of sick decoration.  But I couldn't remember anything about him.  It was then that I realized he wasn't ever really my brother.  There were others, too.  All motionless, sitting around the fire - no doubt lured here the way I was.  Tricked by a bitch hag.  And I couldn't see their eyes.  They, like Wex, seemed to be there as decorations.  

My eyes turned and watched the flame; I couldn't resist.  I could feel the old woman around me, hear her footsteps in the grass.  

The hag spat on me every time she danced past me.  She smelled like the fat guy on the bus, but I couldn't avoid it.  

Then, more footsteps in the grass, and children came out of the woods, surrounding me.  They giggled and danced around me.  All I could do was laugh: cackling hysterically as they danced; laughing like a madman as the lamia grabbed my hand and cut off my thumb; laughing like a hyena until one of them shoved a bunch of leaves into my mouth.  Then I just sat there like the others; a stuffed decoration.

The kid probably ran out of town quicker than a sparrow - but he'll be back soon enough to join us, he'll come looking for his past - a past she will take from him like she did to me.  He'll remember growing up here, remember me as his brother, come back looking for answers.  And he'll find them, alright.  The cycle will continue each year to keep this lamia alive.  The only thing real for me now is this nightmare I live, sitting by the fire every night, a forgotten landmark of Old Cigar Road.