Who: Jen & Rost What: snooping and meeting When: June 2015 Where: Cemetery Status: Completed
To anyone who paid any attention to her in the first place, Jen looked bored. It wasn't necessarily descriptive for her actual state of mind, but it was how she came across. 'Resting bitchface', Allison called it. It ran on the women's side in the family, or maybe Hunter just made up for it by smiling too much. Jen didn't smile much. It was an act of rebellion sometimes because she was expected to smile more than her brother. "Smile," people told her. Strangers even. "Give me a reason," she'd reply and watch most of them fail completely. So she looked bored and unhappy most of the time but she was calm and relaxed. Curious.
It was her second summer in Point Pleasant and she'd been waiting to get back all winter. Now she was finally here and it felt so different from Portland. Of course she didn't feel as watched in Portland as she did here. All the deputies knew who she was and it was a little weird to constantly get greeted with "Everything okay, Jen?" Even from people whose faces were only vaguely familiar. None of them were here at the cemetery though. It was nice and peaceful and the gate made a pleasant grating sound when she pushed it open. It was so old, she could practically feel the history coursing through the iron. She'd been here once before and that had been near the end of her stay last summer. She'd sworn to take more time to explore this year and just being there gave her a little thrill. So sure, logic dictated that there was nothing special about this place but logic could be ignored. Logic should be ignored sometimes.
Summer didn’t last long in Maine, but Rost enjoyed it immensely all the same. Except for the mosquitos, those could go burn in the deepest circles of Hell, but the rest of it was nice. Things were actually growing, so he had more groundskeeping work to do around the cemetery than just clearing out the old plastic flowers and making sure the paths stayed cleared. Not that he minded those jobs too much, he just preferred to play with machinery and smell the cut grass.
He was currently walking around with earbuds in his ears, the volume cranked loud to overpower the periodic buzz of the weed whacker in his hands. He was wearing coveralls, but he had the sleeves rolled up and the front unzipped to his navel, because it was hot out. Tiny bits of grass clung to his skin. Rost was singing, though he couldn’t hear himself well, as he walked slowly around and trimmed the growth around the old headstones. He often sang to himself while he worked. Or sang to the dead and the stone angels, more like. They seemed to stay quieter that way, more restful. They moved less, in any case. Or so he thought, and his opinion was the one that mattered within the realm of the iron fence. He was meandering his way toward the front gates, not much rhyme or reason to his path, but that was okay. The dead didn’t mind.
It didn't take long for Jen to discover that she wasn't alone. The groundskeeper was anything but subtle and she could hear him from far away. She'd kind of hoped she'd be alone but it wasn't really the most reasonable expectation when it came to public places. She had every intention of ignoring whoever was working there until she spotted him in the distance. He looked weird to say the least and weird always got Jen's attention. She wasn't one to draw attention to herself though so she watched him from afar for a bit before moving on to idly stroll around the garden. There was so much to see and she found herself looking at the graves, trying to make out the names on the oldest headstones. Old things were fascinating and so many of those engravings told her stories in such few words. There were other things around the garden that she wasn't sure what to make of. Little things, like carvings in trees and small cloth bags hanging from branches and tucked away into the folds of statues. She reached out to touch one of them but stopped short, glancing up at the statue it was tucked away in. The statue looked like it was looking right back at her and a pleasant cold shiver went down Jen's back. "You can keep it," she whispered. "I just wanted to see." She stepped back, feeling just a little stupid for talking to statues. There were things she did that didn't really feel stupid to her unless someone were to catch her doing them. Talking to statues was one of those things.
She could hear the weed whacker starting up again and that small rush of fear in her - pleasant or not - told her to go find another living human being. It helped that he was strange; strange people were easier to approach.
Oblivious to the visitor in the cemetery, Rost carried on cutting down weeds and singing. As his music reached a crescendo, he cut the weed eater off for a second to really belt the chorus out, turning in place as he did so to wander in another direction. He stopped short when he spotted someone a few rows away looking at him. A young and female someone. Rost pulled the buds out of his ears, tossing the cord over his shoulder. “Hello,” he said to the girl, loud enough to be heard. Rost armed some sweat off of his brow and squinted at her. “You are alive, yes?”
That did get a small smile from her because it was such an odd question. She could think of a lot of answers to it but there was still a lot of noise and she didn't always voice all her thoughts anyway. She nodded at him instead, though that made her wonder how many ghosts didn't know they were dead and if they did, whether they would admit to it. He'd just have to take her word for it and hope she didn't disappear or start spewing weird ghost crap at him. Or something. "I'm Jen," she said loud enough to be heard knowing full well her dad would have an aneurysm if he knew she was out chatting with random strangers, giving out her name and all.
She looked alive. And too young to be in a cemetery all alone, but who was Rost to judge that sort of thing? Maybe she was visiting family. Or maybe she was there to vandalize and break things, but Rost didn’t think so. She didn’t look like the type. And she’d told him her name. He meandered in a bit closer, not at all in a straight line. “Hello Jen,” he said, flashing the girl a gold-toothed smile. He dipped his head in a little quasi-bow in her direction. “I am Rost, and I am also alive.” It seemed only polite to give her the same reassurance. “Is there something you are looking for? Or just out looking?” There were plenty of kids who came through the gates, some just to poke around, others to make trouble. He was usually pretty good at sussing out which was which.
"Just out looking," Jen replied, growing more intrigued by him by the second. He was definitely alive, she could smell that faint scent of working in the sun of him, sweat and tanning skin. It was nice and warm after that chill she'd gotten from the statue. "Would we know? If we were dead?" she asked a bit playfully. "Maybe you're doomed to whack weeds for eternity and you just don't know it."
Rost gave a laugh that was laced with a bit of delighted surprise, then tapped one finger against his temple. She was a smart girl, he could tell already. “If so, it is better eternity than many I could think of,” he answered. Rost leaned the weed whacker up against the back of a nearby headstone, gave the granite an appreciative pat, and stretched his back and shoulders a little. “Do you prefer to look alone? I will take a break so you can hear as well. Hearing and looking should go together in places of the dead.” Honestly, he wouldn’t mind having a beer anyway.
She appreciated that he asked, especially since it didn't sound like the usual grownup dismissal. While she liked being alone she had a feeling this guy knew stuff and she was curious about so many things. Rather than directly answer his question she looked over her shoulder back the way she came before turning back to him to study his face for a few seconds. "Do you know who put up all the little bags?" She motioned with her fingers so he knew just how small the bags she was referring to really were. If he took care of the garden he was most likely to know and she had a feeling they either came from him or he didn't care to take them down. Or maybe he did and just missed a few. They weren't exactly easy to spot and the cemetery wasn't that small.
The smile that spread across his face was slower, but Rost’s eyes were more keen on the girl. There weren’t many normal people who noticed the things he left around the graveyard, all part of his protective blanket over the place. Bags of herbs and stones, and symbols to go with them. “I do know,” he answered, tilting his head to one side a bit. “You have sharp eyes. They will serve you well here.” Rost paused for a beat, then half turned his body away and made a gesture for the girl to follow him. “Come, I will show you where they come from, if you like.” He didn’t give a second thought as to whether he was coming off as creepy or not, or if it was wise to invite a teenage girl to his trailer. She was just a person, and he meant her no harm.
If ghosts were doomed to relive their deaths then for all Jen knew this was her reliving her moment of being murdered. It was a creepy little thought that crossed her mind as she started after him but it didn't stop her from going. She didn't feel unsafe and she wanted to know more so following him was an easy decision to make. "Did you make them?" she asked, tangling her fingers together behind her back as she stalked after him. He was tall and he walked faster than she did by nature making her glad he wasn't in any actual hurry or she'd no doubt be jogging to keep up.
Rost was aware of the length of his stride, so he didn’t walk fast on purpose. He looked around and down at her, giving her another lopsided smile. “Not all of them,” he said. “Some I get from witches. Those are better than anything I make.” It was completely true, but he was used to people dismissing everything he said as bullshit. He wasn’t positive that this girl wouldn’t do the same, but the young were generally more open to the possibilities of the world, he’d found. “They help keep me safe here.” He said it matter-of-factly, not out to scare the girl, just being truthful.
It was hard to gauge whether he was being serious or not. For all she knew he was messing with her but she still felt a little rush of excitement at his words. "You know witches?" she asked and tried to keep her tone neutral. She didn't need to be falling over herself in excitement and give him a chance to laugh it up if he was just kidding. Point Pleasant had a rich history of witchcraft and other weird stuff but that didn't mean modern day people generally believed in all that. Jen did. Or at least she really wanted to believe in it, real life was just so boring.
He hummed in the affirmative and nodded his head, shooting the girl an amused glance. She might know witches too and just not know that she did. It was even likely, in this town. Rost figured he didn’t know all the witches, but he knew a few of them. Some of them took weed in trade for talismans and blessings, some of them he paid in cash. None of them did any favors for free, but Rost couldn’t really blame them. Everybody had to eat. They were coming up on Rost’s trailer, and there were bags and wind chimes and various stick sculptures hanging out of the few trees that surrounded it. The outside of the single-wide was painted here and there with runes and symbols, all of the mismatched and in different colors. A couple of plastic chairs sat outside the front steps with a large up-ended cable spool for a table between them. “You are thirsty?” he asked the girl. “I have lemonade.”
Her dad would kill her - or more likely Rost - if he saw her here but he didn't have to know what she was up to. She already loved Rost's trailer and all the strange things on and around it. She wasn't thirsty so her dad might breathe a sigh of relief when she politely declined, busying herself with taking a closer look at the painted things. Some looked familiar, protective runes she'd seen in books, others looked like nothing at all. "I know there were witches like... Hundreds of years ago," she said softly and gently nudged a wind chime to make it chime. "Didn't know there were any anymore."
“You would be surprised what is still here,” he told her with a faint chuckle. “Wait here.” Rost tromped up the wooden steps that led to the trailer door and pulled it open. He disappeared inside for a moment. The girl might not be thirsty, but he was. It was probably just as well that she stay outside, he belatedly realized. He didn’t need to gain a worse reputation than he already had. Rost was many things, but certainly not an abuser of children. He got a beer can from his small fridge and popped the top on it with one hand as he headed back outside. Rost went to one of the plastic chairs and plopped down into it, motioning for the girl to join him. “What else do you know about witches, curious girl?”
"Uhm," Jen murmured, side stepping to look at some more of the painted things. "I know a lot of them were just herbalists and doctors who were too smart for the patriarchy," she said with a little smirk because it made her feel clever. She was also curious to see if that would make him roll his eyes. Some guys got all hissy-fitty over feminist theories and it could be a quick way to weed out the assholes. "But I think a lot of them were real and that magic only really works if you really believe in it." She wondered if all this stuff actually kept him safe and who the local witches were, maybe he'd tell her.
Rost didn’t roll his eyes, just nodded slowly to what she said. Jen was correct, as far as he was concerned. Wise women had been getting the shaft for centuries, all over the world. That wasn’t the only truth, but it was one of them. “I could see you were smart,” he said with a crooked smile. Rost took a swig from his beer can, still looking Jen over as she examined his trailer. “And so there are people who still believe, and there is still magic.” Some of them lived much closer than most people thought, but Rost couldn’t blame them. They deserved to stay safe, just like anyone else.
He passed that little test with flying colors and flattered her immensely in the same beat so Jen already liked him even more. She smiled despite herself because being told she was smart was a rare compliment and one she savored above any other, maybe because it was one of the few she really believed. She gave his beer a sidelong glance and while most people wouldn't give a fifteen year old girl alcohol, Rost seemed pretty cool so far. "Can I have one of those?" It was worth testing it at least, it wouldn't be her first beer but people still clung to this idea that she was an innocent child and it was annoying.
Rost chuckled, liking her back even more. He knew a lot of young people, word tended to get around that he had pot and occasionally a few pills to sell, but this one looked young-young. Maybe on the Too Young side. Of course some bloomed later or earlier than others. He tilted his head at her, tapping his fingers against the aluminum. “How old are you, Jen?” he asked. It wasn’t an accusatory question, just an informative one. Giving a teen girl a beer wouldn’t be his worst crime by far, but he didn’t want to be getting some thirteen year old drunk by accident.
Jen considered lying. What was a couple of more years between friends? But he might find out easily in a town this small and not want to talk to her again. Lying was a lot easier in Portland. "Fifteen," she said as she moved over to take the empty chair, sitting down and pulling her feet up on the seat. "It wouldn't be my first beer though." That might make a difference, people had qualms with corrupting kids but it wasn't as bad if they were already corrupt.
Fifteen was practically grown in some parts of the world. Rost had been in many countries with low age limits for alcohol, and it wasn’t like she was twelve or anything. “Only one,” he said, arching a serious brow at her for a second. Who knew who her parents were, or how well she could keep a secret, after all. Then he stood and walked back into the trailer to get another beer. Rost offered it out to Jen as he returned and circled back around to his chair. “No promises you will like it. It is cheap piss beer, but it works.”
She smiled again though it in no way revealed just how giddy this made her. Cheap piss beer or not, it was still beer and most people wouldn't let her touch it. "I'm sure I've had worse," she reassured him as she accepted the cold can, tapping the aluminum lightly with her finger nail before popping it open. "Do you do any magic?" she asked before drinking and god he was right, it was cheap piss beer and not even a little bit good but that didn't stop her from taking another sip.
Rost sat down again and stretched his long legs out as he slouched. He glanced over at Jen as he took another pull from his beer, and shook his head slightly. “Not magic,” he said. “Besides ... some words I was taught. But I see many things, some others do not.” He gave her an assessing sort of look. Most people wrote him off as crazy within the first few minutes of talking to him, but if anyone was inclined to believe him, it would be a girl like this. Curious and open and not a mocking vibe to be found so far.
She could imagine he would, working in a place like this. Cemeteries were full of strange energy and Jen absolutely believed that some people lingered after death. Whether they were sentient spirits or simple echoes from the past Jen didn't know, but she knew she wasn't the only one who wondered. "Tell me," she said quietly, hopefully, clutching her can of beer with both hands as she looked at him expectantly.
Rost gazed back at her for a beat, then chuckled. He wasn’t laughing at her, just the eager way she was looking at him, like he held the secrets of the universe or something. Hell, maybe he did. He just wasn’t used to such rapt attention. He pursed his lips in thought for a second -- there were so many things he could tell her -- then his expression turned shrewd and smirky. “I will tell you one thing at a time, otherwise we will sit all day and your parents will worry,” he said, gesturing to her with the can. “But you must come back to visit and hear more. Deal?”
She wasn't staying for that long she thought regretfully but nodded anyway. Yes, she could come back, she didn't have a whole lot else going on. It also meant he didn't mind her company which was a good thing to know. "Deal," she said and took another sip of her gross beer. It did sound like he had a lot to say but she wasn't oblivious to the fact he might just be talking a big game. It was a risk she was willing to take, he seemed fun either way. "Starting today, yeah?"
It was a good deal. Not many people liked to listen to Rost, especially not on a regular basis, so he wasn’t above bribing someone into coming to see him more than once. Even if it was just a curious teenager who wanted to sneak a beer in under her parents’ noses. “Starting today,” Rost confirmed with a deep chuckle. He leaned over a bit, his expression turning furtive and one skinny tanned arm leaning on the wood between them. “You know the angels out there?” he said, motioning outward toward the cemetery. “The stone ones? They are maybe not as made of stone as they appear.”
There was that little chill again, crawling up her back. She absolutely believed him, not necessarily because he was the most reliable source but because she felt it. "They're creepy as fuck," she whispered as if speaking up might let them hear her and she'd for sure get into trouble. "Is that why you put those bags there? To keep them... Still?" Images of statues slowly moving across the cemetery to creep closer to his trailer crossed her mind and she was pretty sure she did not want to be near this place after dark.
Rost looked amused but also nodded his agreement that they were creepy as fuck. They were, and that was a succinct way of phrasing it. She was a smart girl. “Nothing keeps them still,” he told her, shaking his head a bit. “But the bags help. Most people, if you stay too close for too long ... they take something from you. Makes you tired, angry, not well. The bags help me work. I do not think they are my friends, but perhaps they do not see me as lunch as much as others.” He tipped his can up for another long swallow.
He had a funny way of putting it but there was nothing funny about what he was saying. Jen usually had a healthy amount of scepticism going for her and she usually knew when people were fucking with her but she didn't think he was. He sounded like he believed what he was saying and she believed it too. Maybe it was because he was telling her things she wanted to hear and not rolling his eyes at her fancy for the strange and uncanny. She realized she was biting her nails, transfixed on him as he spoke. His accent only made the words scarier and it was probably messed up that it didn't make her want to leave this place and never come back - quite the contrary. "How long have you lived here?" If he'd been here a long time and didn't feel affected then the magic was no doubt working.
Jen looked enraptured, which was really the best reaction a storyteller could hope for out of someone. They weren’t fictional stories, but they were stories nonetheless. Rost had grown up on tales of the supernatural and the weird, so he would never think someone was odd for having an interest. There was always more to life than met the eye, most people just wanted to ignore that. It was safer that way. “Ahh, about ... three years now,” he answered with a thoughtful squint. Rost sipped his beer again. “Long enough to see. This place is special.” And he didn’t mean just the cemetery; the whole of Point Pleasant was different than other places. Like it was more somehow. Or the veil between what Was and what Wasn’t was thinner. “What about you? How long?”
Jen's excitement faded a bit at that question. "Oh, I don't live here," she said and it was clear that it was not by choice. "I'm just here for a few weeks, visiting my dad. Me and Hunter, that's my brother, we come here in the summer and sometimes holidays." She took a sip of her beer again, much preferring the topic of supernatural creepy crawlies than her boring family situation. "If you've lived here that long and you're okay, you must be doing something right. Maybe I should get one of those bags too, make sure they don't snack on me when I come visit you."
Rost’s brow arched a bit at the first part, then he hummed and nodded his understanding. Families were complicated, he got that as well as anybody. Maybe better. Rost didn’t pry for details, just drained the last of his beer and crunched the can in one hand before setting it on the makeshift end table between them. “If you return often, perhaps next time I will have something for you,” he said, glad he could manage not to sound like a predator when he said it. There were real things to protect the girl from, and he tried to ensure his guests in the cemetery were protected. “Meantime, just do not linger around them, Jen. And do not look too often.”
It always amazed Jen how fast guys seemed to drink their beers. She wasn't even halfway through hers but men in general seemed to gulp it down in such few sips. She nodded at his advice, a little giddy that he might be giving her something. Maybe it should have rang some alarms but it didn't, he just didn't strike her as predatory. A girl got a sense about those things, it was a lizard brain thing, micro expressions or some shit. His gaze didn't linger on her breasts and he didn't leer at her bare legs. She got the sense that she was just a kid to him and it was both reassuring and a little frustrating. "I'm here for another couple of weeks," she told him. "Can I come see you tomorrow?"
Rost enjoyed the sight of women just as much as any other man, he supposed, but he only enjoyed them when they were just that -- women. Jen was on her way to being so, he supposed, but she wasn’t there yet, and Rost was pushing forty. She was just a kid to him, and he’d never taken advantage of kids in any way and wasn’t about to start now. “Of course,” he told her with a crooked gold-toothed smile. “I will be here. And I will have another thing to tell you.” Perhaps he would give her a song too; there were plenty of creepy ballads from his childhood that he still knew and could roughly translate and sing.
"I might have stuff to ask you," Jen told him and there was a bit of challenge in her voice and expression. She wasn't going to be quizzing him on the supernatural but still, she expected him to have answers. "Do you want to finish my beer?" That wasn't one of The Questions and that much was obvious as she held out the can to him. "It really is bad. You should get better beer." Especially if she was going to be mooching it off him.
He laughed a bit and accepted the can from her, giving it a tiny shake to gauge how full it still was. Probably just as well that his teenage visitor didn’t even drink enough to get a buzz before she went on her way. “I will keep this in mind, thank you for the advice,” Rost said, clearly amused at her feedback. He tipped his head back to drain what was left of Jen’s drink, then set the can down beside the first one as he swallowed. Rost stood up, arching a brow at her. “You remember the way out?” He’d enjoyed her company, but he did still have work to get done.
"Yes," Jen said as she got up, his amusement not bothering her one bit. "And I won't look at the angels." She stuck her hand out expectantly. "Thank you for the beer and your time. It was nice to meet you." She meant it, even if it came off as odd and formal perhaps. He'd know she meant it when she came back so that was okay.
Charmed, Rost swiped his hand against his pantleg -- not that it did much good, his coveralls were dirty too -- and shook Jen’s hand. It was a firm, respectful shake, and he looked pleased to give it. “It was nice to meet you as well, curious Jen. I look forward to our next meeting.” He inclined his head toward her in a tiny bowing gesture before he released her hand. “Stay safe until then.”
"You too," Jen said and moved to leave. "Don't let them get you." She wished it was just a tease, but there was nothing to joke about. Not to her. She had no doubt he could take care of himself and he obviously had help. She just hoped she was right about that.