Deep Black Wild

By Grayson Sydney

Anyone would join a cult under the right circumstances.

What does it mean to belong to something greater, even if greater isn't necessarily good?

Remi Bell has felt restless and empty all his life.

Can't be helped when he grew up in the quiet unincorporated community of Wolfcreek, West Virginia. He has best friends Etta and Cooper, but when Cooper brings around new girlfriend, intense and insightful Fern, Remi starts to question who he is and what really makes life worth living. He and his friends soon find themselves in what they suspect is a cult hidden away in the forests of Norway. In the midst of charged fights, strange rituals, and the trade of secrets, Remi can't help but be drawn to Theo Ruud, the enigmatic man who leads the compound. Remi knows something isn't quite right, especially considering Theo's violent right hand man, Kipp.

The only problem is Remi has never felt more at home...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grayson Sydney
• Release date: May 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393350538

Book preview

Deep Black Wild

Deep Black Wild

Grayson Sydney

Contents

THE FUNERAL

SALEM

THE CABIN

THE FARM

TRAIN TRACKS

LYNNEDSLAG

THEO

SECRETS

FERN

THE MOVEMENT

A PROMISE

THE FIGHT

THE FOREST

A KISS

FIRE

KIPP

QUESTIONS

HOME

FREDRIK

CHOICE

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About the Author

Deep Black Wild by Grayson Sydney

Visit the author’s website at: https://graysonsydney.com

Copyright © 2020 by Grayson Sydney

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For permissions, contact the author at their website linked above, or email [e-mail]

Cover by Grayson Sydney

First edition: May 2020

For those looking for a place in the world. And for those this story meant something to.

THE FUNERAL

Then

---

Nobody at Peder’s funeral knew that his body was not inside its casket.

Fredrik knew. Knew too that even as he watched their father walk the fifteen steps—Fredrik counted—to his little brother’s closed casket he’d remember forever how quiet the room was, how somber in their resolute, mournful belief there was the body of a boy they had to grieve. But there was no body and no reason to have a casket, or a funeral, or the sniffling filled silence at all. A silence boxed in by grey walls and white marble floors scuffed and full under white lamps with crooked shades. The walkway stretched on forever, farther than he could run probably.

Father always did say he was the slow one in the family. Always a step behind. Not like Peder. Peder would have been able to run the stretch, with its red lament of fabric stampeded by lackadaisical ankles and leather soles. Wouldn’t have even broken a sweat. Would have laughed in his funny little stutter-stop way at the adults who never paid him any mind in life, crying over his death.

The procession was small. The guests with their beady eyes and grabby hands, their foreheads shiny as they clasped Fredrik’s smaller hands in their giant and clammy ones to offer their condolences. Small and quick assurances and eager-to-pleases that had his ears feeling stuffy for having to listen to them. One after the other they came, bending to meet him at eye level, to purse their ugly mouths and bend out words he knew they didn’t mean. An unsavory attempt at comfort for the small boy with the even smaller, more dead little brother. Fredrik accepted their meandering grief with a blank face, blank heart. His hands throbbed, feeling wet. He was angry.

Peder would have hated all of it. Peder hated being around anyone that wasn’t Fredrik or Sylvi. Even Father he seemed to favor often when he was still—alive, not dead, empty casket, cold water, missing body, never found it you know—somewhere Fredrik could see and touch and laugh with him. Favored Father even in spite of the hard slaps and sharp knuckles he was so frequently met with, happy enough to be allowed any time to play and laugh with his own father right up until Father’s fists said time’s up. Fredrik used to be the same once, until he smartened up.

Peder at least had been smart enough from the start to be wary of their father’s friends that hung around. Fredrik’s little brother would flee to his mother Sylvi’s skirts, clinging to her shins as she tried in vain to soothe him. Father is like any other polliwog, lad, Sylvi would whisper to her only child. Changing and clever despite how small he seemed, and able to make friends of anyone.

That never seemed right to Fredrik, to call Father small or friendly. Even as Fredrik was brought forward to meet Father’s oldest and dearest and ever revolving friends, he would always have Sylvi’s words in mind, sitting not quite right. Seemed strange when those friends wore shaved heads and tight clothes with eyes that made Fredrik itch and nervous to meet them, shaky and jumpy like they were. Maybe he was just a little slow. Slow, like Father always told him he was.

Odd too, because Father was a giant. Had been a giant for as long as Fredrik could remember. Before Peder had ever come into the picture. Before Sylvi too. Father was towering with fire for eyes, set deep like angry gems on top of the sharp rocks of his mottled face. His scars were deep and crisscrossing, molding valleys to peer down and over, terrible and frightening to any he set them on. Old things, too. Fredrik thought Sylvi wondrous for being able to withstand such onslaught and persist in smiling. Fredrik always looked away when she did that. It was too strange to see her smile at his father. Like she cared. He couldn’t ever smile, not anymore. And Father always told him how odd and off-putting his staring always was. Better to leave and play with Peder in the fields by the lake. That was always more fun.

But Fredrik couldn’t do that anymore.

There was one friend of his father’s who Fredrik did like. Liked very much, actually. Arthur, claiming always to be Father’s oldest of his oldest friends, came up to Fredrik then and for the first time out of anyone the entire service, he did not crouch before Fredrik. He held a palm out instead and Fredrik looked up to see a warm smile aimed down at him. His eyes were red like he’d been crying. Fredrik had never seen a man like Arthur cry before. Arthur was bigger and stronger than Father, after all. Arthur was kinder too. Warmhearted. Fredrik decided Arthur should never have reason to cry.

I’ve never seen a man cry, Fredrik told him. His voice sounded little in a way that made his throat rasp. Don’t cry. But Fredrik was crying too and he felt silly.

Fredrik let Arthur take his hand, sniffing when he squeezed comfortingly.

Peder wants you to be brave now, Arthur rumbled in his usual way. Fredrik loved that about Arthur. His voice was deep, like a passing train. You’ve already been so brave. What’s a few hours more?

Fredrik shook his head. It was too hard to be brave. He didn’t want to be brave. He wanted Peder back. He wanted the forest and the lake. He’d even take the cabin, with its snow and its walls of pelts and bones and blood, if it meant he’d get to see Peder again. Anything at all to feel his little brother reach for his hand and pull him along on some adventure Fredrik thought was stupid or silly or any one of the things he used to tease his brother with.

It had all been in good fun.

He didn’t really think they were stupid. Truly, he didn’t. Maybe he could tell Peder that now. Peder, missing in his supposed final resting place.

There’s no one there, Fredrik whispered. Why wasn’t Arthur turning to see how the others continued to go up to his brother’s empty casket; kissing it, patting it, muttering to it with tears that never seemed to fall past their eyes. It’s empty.

Arthur nodded and Fredrik watched a tear roll down his cheek. Fredrik wanted to wipe it away for him since Arthur wasn’t doing it himself. Instead, Arthur’s smile wobbled.

It’s not for the others to know, boy. Come on, how about we go get some water for you? How does that sound?

Fredrik felt like crying all over again but he refused. Father’s friends shouldn’t see it. Father didn’t want to see it. Besides, it hurt too much to keep going on. If he cried any longer the feeling might swallow him whole. Might freeze him solid, like his little brother probably was right now, lying alone at the bottom of that lake. So he allowed Arthur to lead him away. Fredrik didn’t want to be there anymore, made to watch and wait and keep quiet as possible, like Father had instructed.

He wanted to be gone from this place.

SALEM

Now

---

Remi had two problems. He didn’t know who he was—a question no doubt brought on by the anthropology degree he was currently three years deep in—and he couldn’t tell Etta he hated going to college in Salem. No, not that one, the other one. The one sandwiched between Roanoke, also not that one, and all the rest of Appalachia. Still, Salem was not like Wolfcreek. He held a special kind of hate for Wolfcreek.

Wolfcreek was tucked into the dark swath of forest in the mountains of West Virginia, more a long road with a few buildings tacked onto the ends of old weathered trails. Wolfcreek was dark and silent. Wolfcreek was a dog’s howl to a moon that hung low and bright, with nights so dark you could count the stars. In Wolfcreek everyone open carried if they had anything nice enough to tote around. If you didn’t carry metaphorical iron, you carried literal iron in a tool belt. Employment was, after all, the number one bragging right in Wolfcreek. Wolfcreek was a two hour drive to Welch if you knew the roads well, and most people who used to work for the mines did. His brother, Hal, could have mapped the way in his sleep he used to drive those roads so often.

Salem proper was a real city, bigger than any Remi had ever seen. Not even Alderson compared, with its Subway and Dollar General. Growing up, Remi had thought Alderson sprawling and busy, but as soon as he followed Etta to Salem he realized how wrong he was. Then again, anything held next to Wolfcreek was big in comparison. When he thought back to his hometown he thought of the old stretch of Wayside Creamery and the bend of Belleview toward the old Community Center. He’d spent a lot of time there inside its drafty walls as a kid, cold and tired.

He thought next of the neat little compartmentalization he had perfected shortly after moving down to Salem; Wolfcreek, a long string of Sundays and nights spent wandering unwalked trails. Wolfcreek, the place he spent a lot of years until he decided he didn’t have to spend a lot more. Easier to sum it up if anyone asked, which hardly anyone did.

A lot of good, hardworking people in those parts. Some not so much.

It still sat ugly in him, Wolfcreek. Even after almost six years. Ugly like the coal that stained his father’s angry hands when he was a kid. Just how it was.

Hey man. Cooper flicked his elbow hard, and Remi turned to see his friend peering intently. He could already tell there would be some new adventure his friend wanted to pitch. You busy?

And there it was. Remi was reminded of the first time he ever met Cooper. The freshman in his thirties, sandy-haired and funny. The guy who rode a motorcycle down from the Welch mines to push to the front of the line, bullying his way in front of Remi to drop a wad of money at the cashier’s office to declare he wanted to register. He’d been saving for five years, he’d said. Remi had been impressed and just mildly insulted enough to let him through. They were two of a kind, three with Etta. They knew how hard it was to get out of the mountains coming from the kind of people that raised them.

Depends. Do you mean am I busy tonight, or busy next month? Are we talking a bar night or a repeat of last year’s trip to Tijuana?

Cooper tutted. That trip was fun.

You got sick on the plane.

You did too.

Well, Remi told him under his breath, We’d never been on a plane before, had we?

Cooper’s tongue peeked behind his teeth in a grin.

Tonight, Remi. You have any plans for tonight?

Would you stop talking if I said I did? Remi already knew the answer.

No. Cooper grinned big and happy like he always did when Remi pretended to be uninterested in whatever plans he cooked up.

The truth was that Cooper’s schemes were easily the best part of going to class. Always more fun to while away tedious study hours planning to do something else. Something better. Something that wasn’t school.

Tell me, then.

Cooper leaned in close, stretching his neck across the short distance between their desks. The lecture they were supposed to be paying attention to was currently on a slide titled: Death and Dying: Why the Macabre Manipulates Sales. He’d already only been half paying attention, so he slid his gaze to his friend instead.

Fern wants to meet you and Etta.

Remi looked back to the slide. Hell no.

Come on, man. I really— He lowered his voice after receiving a glare from the girl in front of them. I really like her. Cooper tugged on his wrist and Remi relented. His friend gave him a look. The kind of look reserved for moments when he thought Remi was giving him shit about something that didn’t deserve it. This definitely deserved it, and more. They’d already had this conversation.

I’ve practically already met her.

Okay, so I talk about her a lot. Can you blame me?

Remi flipped his pen over, twirling it over his knuckles like a trick coin. Fern the dancer, the farmer, the girl who can shoot a target a football field away then do seven shots without taking a breath.

Fern, Cooper muttered, insistent. The girl I’m gonna marry.

That’s part of what hung over Remi so heavily. That Cooper would so easily go and tie himself to someone he met not even a month ago.

The same Fern, the girl who can fool a lie detector test?

Hey.

You got it off Amazon for a bargain, yeah I remember.

Cooper smiled, managing somehow to look both smitten and fond, and downright lascivious."

You’re crazy, Remi told him. And we have class.

Please, bud, Cooper pleaded. This is important to me. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s been asking about you two for so long.

Three weeks is long?

Cooper set his jaw. You always do that.

Do what?

Piss on something you don’t get. Just because you’ve not had anyone you wanted to marry doesn’t mean you get to dismiss me and mine.

It stung. It wasn’t his fault nothing ever worked out for him. And Harrison had been a long time ago now. Cooper was wrong about him and how he—he pissed on things. He didn’t.

It chased out the fear of nothing, nothing, nothing, and so he bit his tongue and decided he’d surprise Cooper for all his trouble.

Remi set his pen down. Forced a tiny smile.

Where are we meeting her?

Billy’s Barn was big, red, and looked to be a short replica of its namesake. A squat place with decent music, good food, and better drinks. It was loud, too loud for Remi. Filled with bickering parents trailed by their matching children, screeching and weeping and bubbling with laughter in turns. The concerts he’d been there to witness had so far been rock blaring loud enough to shake the rafters, and occasional bluegrass. Thankfully tonight it wasn’t to capacity, but there were two waiters working to clear a space for the inevitable line dancing.

The table Cooper chose was sticky with old Pepsi and mustard stains, but he fell into a chair and propped his bare elbows on its surface anyway. Remi sat down carefully, trying to avoid the mess, and looked around for any sign of the red hair he’d been hearing Cooper gush over.

Instead he saw Etta’s wild hair, her dark eyes bob in the doorway, She spotted them and headed over, flinging her bag on the floor before crashing into the seat beside Remi.

God, traffic was fucking awful. Sorry I’m late.

You didn’t miss anything, Remi told her matter-of-fact. It feels like I haven’t seen you in days.

It was new, not seeing much of each other. Growing up there had been stretches where Remi was forced to stay back home while Etta got to go to school like a normal kid. But these days they were always together.

The first time Cooper met Etta, he’d half fallen in love with her. Her quickfire, no time for bullshit personality lined up too well with Cooper’s manic need for change of pace. The two of them were always raring to start fires knowing Remi was always there to put them out before they began. It was almost too easy to suddenly go from two to three, like nothing had changed. Thick as thieves, the three of them.

Because you haven’t! I’ve been living in the library trying to get my thesis done, she said, running a quick hand through her hair. I can’t believe it’s already here.

When Etta’s engineering courses started keeping her really busy, they had all made a vow—by way of a very overdramatic and not entirely unlike a call to battle using a paring knife Cooper coveted—that they would always make time for one or two nights a week where they could go out to drink and vent.

You’ve been writing it for the last two semesters.

I know, but the final proof is due in two weeks. It’s not enough time. I’ll have to overload again on credits as it is. She huffed out a weary sigh and waved a hand. Subject change immediately. Where’s the star of the evening?

Cooper was still eyeing the doorway, looking ready to bolt at any moment he was so anxious. Whenever Fern was involved he became immediately useless. Etta slapped a palm on the table before making a face in disgust, then pushed herself to make her way to the Saloon for their usual order. Porter for Cooper, rum and Coke for Etta, and the cheapest whiskey available for Remi. He didn’t like the fuss of brand name anything.

Things were about to change. He knew that. It had been coming ever since Etta started sleeping somewhere, anywhere, besides her and Remi’s apartment. It wasn’t normal, and didn’t sit well in him to be alone at night. He didn’t used to be like that.

And now Fern. She was about to change everything. Again.

Remi had tried with Cooper. Had laid it on a little thick even. Before he ever met Etta, Cooper was his. His in a way that Harrison used to be. His in the way that kids who snuck off to neck below the bleachers, crawling over each other on freezing mornings. People who belonged to each other.

But Cooper wasn’t into guys, and Remi was. So when Cooper called him pretty one night after a few shots he’d bought them, Remi just leered at him in the way he knew would get Cooper’s pretty eyes to roll. He learned all of Remi’s tricks soon enough, and it became like a game for them. Harmless fun, flirting. And Remi felt about Cooper how he felt about Etta for playing along. He got it.

Then like a tsunami, chaos rushing forward to drown everything in its path, came Fern.

And Cooper liked Fern. He liked her a whole lot.

Fern was all poise. Fern was patient, spoke steady and calm. Fern had a weightlessness about her. Fern was from Southern California. Fern was teased for her red hair until she was fifteen. Fern could dance; ballet, waltz, swing. Fern could sing. Fern liked to make soap but wasn’t very good at it. Fern knew how to shoot a gun. Fern knew how to lie.

That’s what Cooper told him the first day after he met her, hair a mess and smelling like her perfume after spending the night. The second time, Remi got a clearer picture.

Fern wasn’t enrolled in classes at Roanoke college. From what Remi could tell, she wasn’t enrolled in college at all. She was a slinky little thing that rolled into the bar one night in a red dress, ordered a round, and had Cooper practically shoving his nose to the floor to catch her scent within the hour. She’d smiled, in some clever wicked way, and cupped Cooper’s chin and Remi knew even secondhand that he’d likely lose his other friend to the burden of a busy life before the semester was out.

He hadn’t been far off. He mostly only saw Cooper in their shared anthropology courses these days. It was still more often than he saw Etta.

Remi hadn’t understood before. Why Fern was such an eye catcher. He couldn’t remember anyone having caught his friend’s eye like that before.

But now, turning to see what was making Cooper beam like he was, Remi kind of got it. If he was any other way than the way he was, he might have fallen in love with her, easy. Just like Cooper had.

Fern was beautiful. A small thing, hair red like late afternoon sun with pale and freckled skin that didn’t shout California. She had her arms around Cooper’s neck in a second and the way he pressed his mouth to her cheek in hello made Remi want to look away. Maybe he should stand. Maybe he should just up and leave and save everyone the trouble of having to deal with him.

Fern turned blue eyes on him, a shimmer that rooted him in his seat.

Etta came back with their drinks and saved Remi from whatever awkward meeting he was guaranteed to bungle with Cooper’s new girlfriend. She wouldn’t stick around. They never did.

The night went on. Fern was a talker and never let a silence stretch. Remi was grateful for that much, because there were plenty of silences. He tried to make an effort but when Etta’s questions started petering off, a contemplative look replacing her invasive nature as she listened to Fern talk, he couldn’t find the energy. Something about the way Fern stared at him made him want to shut his mouth and look at the floor.

You won’t believe how many books I’ve checked out this week already. She reads like six at a time.

Fern tilted her neck in a slow arch, red lips pursed up. I read fast, Coop. Thank you for the last set again.

Of course, babe.

Remi couldn’t stand it.

You could just enroll. It would be easier to declare a major and you can check out all the books you want.

It was a mistake. All throughout the night Fern had seemed to be waiting for a chance to catch Remi in conversation. He hadn’t said much, after all. And now that he had, Remi felt stuck in the crosshairs as she fixed her shining eyes to his.

Why are you even here? he couldn’t keep himself from snapping. He sounded mean even to himself.

Etta let out a warning hum beside him.

Cooper was surely glaring his way but it was like being hooked, looking at Fern. Fern commanded not only the room but everyone inside it, and Remi felt all that power concentrated solely on him. Kind of felt like being stuck in a tunnel. A butterfly on a board.

I’m here for a lot of reasons, she said, eyes dark. She grabbed his hand like a shot and held on tight. He fought not to jerk away. He needed to stop doing that. It was normal for people to touch like this. What reason do you want me to be here for?

Something about the way she said it had Remi immediately on edge. His skin erupted in gooseflesh, a righteous shiver delivered from his knuckles to his toes.

He needed to get out of there.

She’s going to see. She’s going to know.

Remi shot up, chair tipping back in his hurry. Etta caught it before it could fall, but all he could think about was getting out, getting home.

I’m—I’m sorry, he gasped out. I’ve gotta—I forgot I had—

You feeling okay, bud? Cooper asked him and to Remi’s surprise he wasn’t glaring for how he spoke to Fern. Concern was clear there, Remi could tell. He looked away, down at the floor.

Our project, Etta answered for him. "Totally slipped the idiot’s brain.