Beneath The Dirt | Ryden | Short Story Completed

Beneath The Dirt

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The small field located in the opening of several tall pine trees was completely dark, surely, by this time of night it had to be. The coniferous trees seemingly swayed back and forth heavily, although there was no breeze to push the branches in any way. Brendon felt like he was being pushed, though, pushed towards the center of the field. It wasn't in a sway, but in a hastily mumble of feet.

In the very center of the tall grassy field was a swirling black circle, omitting no sound, nor smell, barely visible in the night.

"What are you, a pussy?" The shouts of his friends, who weren't really his friends, came from behind him, taunting him. They had just left a party celebrating the end of Junior year. They were graduating in 2018 and everyone was excited, while Brendon was specified to be the designated driver, a duty he took to heart, although the other boys just didn't care much for him. Not enough to drink with him, of course he wasn't the most popular kid. He was just excited they asked him to go. "Yeah, come on, do it!"

"Yeah," the leader of the group said, stepping forward with his tall legs. His name was barely known by Brendon, and he so obviously peaked in high school. His dark hoodie wasn't even necessary, the boy was filled with muscle and tons of meat on his bones. "You said you'd do whatever we told you to do! C'mon! Jump - before I punch the daylights out of you."

Brendon backed up slowly, his heels threatening to trip him as they were constantly caught in the rough terrain covering the floor of the forest, even spreading to the field where it was, of course, slightly smoother. The moonlight did little to illuminate his path, only making the faces of his "friends" slightly more visible. He could only then see their crooked smiles.

Inhaling deeply, Brendon twisted quickly to the left, using his elbow to gain slight momentum, threw himself into the gaping black hole. His arms flailed as he descended beneath the dirt. The dark of the night grew in volumes of which Brendon didn't even know it could. Darker, darker, still, as he descended farther. He braced himself for the pain that came after every fall, and while it never came, a steadiness of his feet hitting some sort of solid ground did.

Looking downwards to inspect the damages, he found no traces of bruises or contusions, no sprains nor fractures, which he found incredibly odd. However, what startled him greatly, is the lack of clothing that covered him entirely. Immediately, he began to view his surroundings, noticing that we wasn't in the forest anymore at all. Beneath his bare feet was cold, hard and gray cement, and around him were brick walls on either side, although in front of him and behind him only lead to two roads. It was incredibly dark out, and only by squinting his eyes could Brendon sort of see that he was in a long alleyway.

The squinting and straining of his eyes also helped him make out the figure of a tall, skinny man, who had also been in the alley when Brendon appeared. It was a strange thing, one moment you were seeing a clear alley, the next there was a naked young man standing bewildered right in the middle of your vision, and you'd be surprised too, you would, for sure.

Alongside the tall, skinny man was his very own, very literal partner in crime, Spencer. A man shorter but just as scary as Ryan. Maybe scarier. Behind both of the two, sulked a rather annoyed Dallon, who dragged his feet with every hesitant step he took down the alleyway. Upon noticing the trio, Brendon had hopped behind the nearest thing he could find, which was a single, slightly large, dumpster. The shadows of the night were slightly more concentrated behind the dumpster's edge.

Dallon did not want to be here. With every step, he gained another reason as to why he did not want to be accompanying his friends. The original plan had been simple. Rob the old man down the road of them, and leave. Mr. Trioph stayed out much too late at night, and the chances of confronting him while they were taking what they needed were slim. Dallon, Ryan, and Spencer could get in easily through the backdoor he never locked, and out quickly without any issue! But, no, of course Spencer would make them act out their plan two days prior the original agreement day because Spencer was, "bored," and "really wanted to get it over with now."

Well you know what acting on their plan two days early cost them? A life. Well not necessarily them, as it was Mr. Trioph's life that was taken from him, and in no way did the boys know him prior the robbery, but still, a life was taken nonetheless.  Mr. Trioph was a son, brother, uncle, husband, and a father. But they didn't target him because of those things, no, they targeted him for - first - his money. However, secondly, they targeted him because they had followed him on multiple occasions to his mistress' house. The trio may act foolish and heartless, selfish and greedy, but they didn't target him without reason, and just because the old bastard did die, it does not mean that was there intent. Not necessarily at least. It couldn't be said that they felt as much remorse as one would assume came along with the blood of a man on their hands.

It would, however, be valuable to note that Mr. Trioph would die a day later, had it not been the days prior. Where Dallon, Ryan, and Spencer have grown up and lived their entire lives, there was always a high level of crime. It was considered normal, actually. The police only got involved if they felt like it, however on some rare occurrences, they do. Which makes it necessary to flee the scene, and hide, and other shenanigans criminals partake in.

"Dallon," Spencer said in an annoyed tone, rolling his eyes. "Stop dragging your feet, you'll fuck up your shoes and who's going to pay for them? Not me. And not you, unless you got cash somewhere we don't know about."

"Whatever," Dallon pouted back, making sure to keep his feet off of the rough cement under his old shoes. It was true, if they were to tear they might have to murder another old man and leave with half the amount they'd originally came for. This robbery was supposed to be big. It was supposed to help them all out for awhile, but that's not how it worked. Now, they would have to keep robbing people, and that's the number one way to get in trouble. By breaking the rules. They all knew that.

The three approached the dumpster, when Ryan slung his old tattered backpack off of his shoulder and declared they stop for a smoke break. Brendon, the poor seventeen year old, had never smoked before in his life. He had always listened to his mother, of course.

He shivered both from fear and from the freezing air surrounding him as he hid behind the dumpster, which he knew, just on the other side of, was three murderers, who not only murdered but were also thieves. Behind the voices of the men, as they chatted and helped light each other's cigarettes, there were the incessant honks of horns and sometimes a couple distant voices yelling, although it was rare. It must be quiet in this town. Where the hell was he? Brendon wanted to go home, and now.

Brendon made the split second decision to run from the murderers, and he forcefully pushed himself off of the wall from his sitting position, bursting into the middle of the alley. His breathing was ragged and before he could gain his footing to properly run, the first to notice him, Ryan, promptly landed a hard right hook to Brendon's right temple.

"Ryan! What the fuck!" Dallon whined, stomping the ground with his legs. "I'm tired! I want to go home!"

Brendon was knocked out cold and the inconvenience left the three men to deal with an unconscious, naked boy. "You couldn't have, like, I don't know, not knocked out a random naked dude hiding in an alley?" Spencer complained, moving towards the boy.

"Reflexes," shrugged Ryan, not much worried about the health of the boy, or the burden the boy passed onto them. Ryan began to walk through the alley as they were before the encounter until Spencer interjected.

"Oh no, you are not leaving this unconscious kid laying here. He's naked Ryan! You can't leave him here!" Spencer yelled after Ryan's slowly, leisurely retreating figure. "Ryan!"

Ryan sighed and turned around. "He's naked," he repeated, looking at Brendon who lay unconscious on the hard, cold, dirty cement.

"Way to go Sherlock, now how are we supposed to cover him up, and who's carrying him?" Spencer asks, taking charge as usual.

"Carrying him?" Ryan questions, raising one eyebrow.

"I told you. We are not leaving him here."

"You know," Dallon says, stepping over a very much still naked Brendon.

"We totally could leave him, it'd start like this: First left, then right foot, the left, then right, then left..." He continued, his voice trailing off as he walked away, along with Ryan, leaving Spencer to care for the boy. Groaning in frustration, Spencer stripped himself of his large, previously stolen, coat and wrapped the - luckily - small young man, and proceeded to throw him over his shoulder.