Peaceful Valley
Zach and Trina Ripley were both textbook workaholics. They were up every morning before the crack of dawn, eager to beat the early morning traffic to their respective places of employment. Neither of them ever stopped for lunch unless it was served during a meeting. Even when they returned to their Plymouth home after putting in a twelve-, thirteen- or even fourteen-hour workday, they did not kick back and relax. Zach, a criminal defense attorney, ate his dinner—usually take-out or frozen entrées heated in the microwave—while reading a brief whereas Trina, a detective with the Massachusetts State Police, used the time to review her case notes.
Occasionally one of them would stop what they were doing, look at the other and smile; for despite their fierce dedication to their jobs, they were genuinely in love with each other.
"We should take some time off and go away for a week or two," Zach said one night over a pepperoni pizza.
"A vacation? Sounds great! Where to?" his wife inquired.
"Someplace quiet and romantic, Hawaii maybe or one of the Caribbean islands."
"Sounds heavenly!" Trina exclaimed with a dreamy look in her eyes. "We haven't been anywhere since our honeymoon."
Moments later, however, the pleasant interlude passed and they both returned to their paperwork, and plans for a vacation were postponed until an indefinite time in the future.
It was not until Zach was rushed to the Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital with chest pains that the couple realized they could no longer take their time together for granted. Although the attending physician's diagnosis was simple dyspepsia, Trina saw the episode as a warning sign from above.
"You know," she said as they walked across the hospital parking lot toward their Subaru Forester, "maybe it's time we take that trip we're always talking about."
"Hawaii?"
"Or even Cape Cod or the Berkshires. It doesn't matter where we go, just as long as we can get away from our jobs and relax for a few days."
It was five weeks before Zach had a break in his caseload. Trina, who had a more flexible schedule than her husband since she had a partner who could cover for her, managed to get a week off at the same time. Thus, it was on a chilly October morning that the Ripleys got into their car and headed west on the Massachusetts Turnpike toward the Berkshire Mountains.
* * *
Around one o'clock, the Ripleys decided to stop for lunch. This was a vacation, after all, so why not take the time to eat? When they approached an exit with the fork-and-knife road sign, indicating there was food ahead, Zach put on his turn signal and exited the turnpike after paying the toll.
There were no signs at the end of the ramp and no buildings in sight.
"Which way?" he asked his wife.
"I don't see anything in either direction," Trina replied. "Want to flip a coin?"
"And leave our fate to blind chance? I think not. This calls for an executive decision," he laughed and turned right.
"We're really high up," Trina observed as they rounded a curve and saw a panoramic view beneath them.
After driving along winding mountain roads for more than twenty minutes, Zach concluded he should have turned left. He was about to pull over onto the shoulder and turn the Forester around when he spotted a sign up ahead. It was not the typical metal rectangle that usually welcomed drivers to a town; rather, it was a large wooden sign supported by two ornate posts, similar to the signs found outside many New England churches and town halls. Two words written in elaborate lettering identified the town ahead as Peaceful Valley.
"Maybe we can get something to eat there," Trina said optimistically.
As he made his descent down the steep, tree-lined road, Zach saw no sign of a town. There were no buildings, no cars, no people.
"How far is this place?"
"We did want to get away from it all," his wife laughingly reminded him.
No sooner did the Subaru get to the bottom of the hill than the car coasted to a standstill.
"Why are you stopping here?" Trina asked.
"I didn't mean to. The car stalled out."
Her husband turned the key in the ignition, but there was no sound.
"Oh, great! I think the alternator went."
Trina immediately got her cell phone out of her handbag to call AAA, but the phone, like the car, was dead.
"It can't be!" she exclaimed. "I just charged the battery last night."
"Let me try mine," Zach said, reaching into his shirt pocket. "No luck," he concluded and tossed the Blackberry on the dashboard. "I guess the only way we're going to get to Peaceful Valley is on foot. If you want, you can wait here in the car, and I'll go up ahead and see if I can get a tow truck."
"No, I'll go with you. It's a beautiful day, and God knows I can use the exercise."
Zach pressed the remote lock on the fob on his keychain, took his wife's hand in his and began walking.
"I'm glad I decided to wear my Reeboks," Trina announced about ten minutes after they left the car. "If I had worn my leather sandals I would have blisters the size of golf balls by the time we finally get to Peaceful Valley."
"I wonder how much farther it is. We haven't passed anything yet that even remotely resembles civiliza—"
Zach stopped speaking and pointed to the road up ahead.
"Isn't that a fence?"
His wife put her hand to her forehead to block out the glare of the sun and squinted.
"That's what it looks like to me. Well, Hallelujah! Let's just hope the center of town isn't too far from here."
As the couple neared the black wrought iron fence, they were disappointed by the absence of any buildings.
"There must be something around here," Zach reasoned. "Nobody puts a fence in the middle of nowhere."
Moments later Trina saw the first slate headstone rising above the green grass and announced with disappointment, "It's a cemetery."
* * *
With each mile they walked, the husband and wife saw more of the same: to their left was an unbroken line of woods, and to the right was the black wrought iron fence of the cemetery.
"Remind me why we came on this vacation," Zach laughed. "Oh, yeah, right. Something about rest and relaxation."
Trina was about to give him a witty rejoinder when she was distracted by the sight of a house up ahead. Zach had seen the building, too.
"People! Maybe we can use their phone to call for help."
But with each step, the detective in Trina became more suspicious.
"Something's not right."
"What's not to be right? It's just a house."
"Where's the phone line?"
"Maybe they only use cell phones," her husband replied.
"And no cable, so why isn't there a satellite dish or a TV antenna?"
"I don't know, and frankly I don't care. Let's just see if anyone is home."
When Zach knocked, the door swung open at his touch.
"It must still be under construction," he concluded when he saw the interior of the house was void of flooring, sheetrock, plumbing and electrical wiring.
His wife stuck her head inside.
"No. This is nothing but a shell. It was meant to look like a house from the outside, but no one was meant to live inside it."
Although Zach was disappointed that they would have to keep walking to find help, he was not concerned about discovering a bogus house by the side of the road.
"Don't you find that suspicious?" his wife inquired.
"Not really. Maybe some filmmakers shot a movie here and used this house as part of the set."
"If they did, it must have been a horror movie. I can well imagine Jason Vorhees running around this area in a hockey mask."
A quarter mile up the road they found a white-steepled church that, like the house, was nothing more than a false façade.
"If this was the location of a movie," Trina conjectured, "why would the buildings be placed so far apart?"
Her husband shrugged his shoulders.
"Beats the hell outta me. Honestly, it feels like we took a detour from reality when we got off the turnpike."
"I know what you mean. I keep expecting to see Rod Serling appear, cigarette in hand, to inform us that we've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone."
It was not Rod Serling they encountered coming out of one of the many cemetery gates, however. It was a cadaverous old man dressed in the somber garments of a preacher.
"Doesn't he remind you of that guy Kane from Poltergeist II?" Zach whispered to his wife.
"Shhh! He might hear you."
Then Trina called to the stranger, "Hello! Can you tell me how much farther it is to Peaceful Valley?"
The man turned and faced them, but his eyes, like those of a blind man, stared ahead, focusing on nothing in particular.
"You're already in Peaceful Valley."
"Where is the center of town? Is there a gas station nearby? Or a diner?"
"You won't find anything like that here."
"What about a house? Is there somewhere I can go to use a phone?"
"There are no phones here."
Zach and Trina turned toward each other and exchanged looks of exasperation.
"Look, Father," Zach said, stepping in before his wife turned the conversation into an interrogation. "My wife and I were driving along the turnpike, and we took the exit, hoping to find a restaurant. When we got to the bottom of the hill, our car died. All we need to do is find a phone to call a tow truck. Can you point us in the right direction?"
The old man's eyes, which still remained unfocused, misted with tears.
"You're in Peaceful Valley now, son. You're not going to get out. No one ever leaves."
* * *
The Ripleys walked another mile in silence. Finally, Trina stopped and turned to her husband.
"Maybe we should go back to the car," she suggested.
"And do what? I'm not a mechanic; I can't fix it."
"Then why don't we walk back to the turnpike?"
"Do you have any idea how far we've come? That's a hell of a hike! And to get back to the highway, we'd have to go up that mountain road. I don't think I'm in good enough physical shape to handle such a steep climb."
"Well, then we can spend the night in the car, and in the morning I'll walk back to the turnpike."
"And what if there's a house just down the road? You'll have made that climb for nothing."
"You heard what the old man said. There is no town. This is it!"
"Then where did he come from? Huh, Detective Ripley?"
"I suppose you're right," Trina conceded. "He must live somewhere around here."
"The old guy is probably senile. I mean he's gotta be pushing a hundred from the look of him."
Trina pursed her lips and knitted her brows. Zach recognized the look; it meant his wife's little gray cells were hard at work.
"What are you thinking?" he asked.
"You brought up an excellent point, counselor. Where did the old man come from?"
"I'm too tired and hungry to care. I just want to get out of Peaceful Valley and return to civilization."
"Well, it occurred to me," his wife continued, "that we might be heading in the wrong direction."
"I'm not going back to the car."
"I didn't mean to go back that way. I think if we want to find help, we have to go in there," she said, nodding toward the seemingly never-ending wrought iron fence.
"You think we can find a phone in the cemetery?" her husband asked with disbelief.
"No, but it occurred to me there should be a road that runs parallel with this one, on the other side of the cemetery. There might be homes there, maybe even a few businesses."
While Zach was not eager to trek through a graveyard, he had to concede that his wife might be right.
Whether the chill Trina felt when she stepped through the wrought iron gate was due to the wind that suddenly kicked up or to her emotional reaction to the environment, she was not sure. She shivered and pulled her jacket closer around her neck. Trina wanted to pick up the pace, but her husband, who was not nearly as fit as she was, lagged behind.
As far as cemeteries go, the one in Peaceful Valley was by far the largest either one of the Ripleys had ever seen, as well as one of the most beautiful. The tombstones were not lined up, row after row, like soldiers on review. They were scattered in clusters throughout the rolling lawns, placed amidst copses of trees and beside small ponds. A narrow gravel path wound its way east, eventually leading—Trina hoped—to an east-facing gate.
The wind picked up, and several times the police detective had to turn her back to its force. The autumn leaves that had fallen to the ground took flight and swirled around her. She took several steps forward and realized she was standing on dried grass.
"Wait a minute," she called to her husband. "We'd better stick to the path."
Both of them looked down, but neither could find it.
"It's got to be here beneath the leaves," Zach declared, kicking at them with his feet.
Ten minutes later, Trina turned to her husband and suggested they stop searching and just head in an easterly direction.
"We're bound to find a path again or find the gate."
They walked for two more hours. Neither one wanted to say what they were both thinking: they were hopelessly lost in the cemetery, and it was getting late.
* * *
"I can't ... keep this pace ... up," Zach said, breathing heavily. "I have to ... sit for a while."
Trina looked at her watch. She knew it was near dusk and did not relish the thought of wandering blindly through a cemetery in the darkness of night. Still, she did not want to push Zach.
Exhausted, the lawyer sat on the ground and leaned against the trunk of a tree. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep.
Why didn't I listen to my wife and head back to the car? he thought.
They could have put the seats down and slept, and there were bottles of water and snacks in the back with the luggage.
Unlike her husband, Trina could not rest. She wanted to resume the search for a way out of the cemetery and out of Peaceful Valley. She looked at her watch again and figured she would give him a ten-minute respite before urging him onward.
"Where are you ... going?" Zach asked as his wife began walking away.
"Nowhere. I'm just ...."
She stopped speaking and her eyes narrowed as she stared down at three headstones near the tree.
"That's odd. Look at the inscriptions on these grave markers."
"What's wrong with them?"
"They all have a name and a date of birth, but the date of death is missing."
"It's not unusual ... for people ... to buy cemetery plots ... while they're still alive."
"I know that, but how many people have the foresight to include a headstone?"
"Maybe the owners of the cemetery offered a package deal," he managed to say in one breath.
Trina headed toward a larger grouping of graves nearby.
"These headstones are the same: only one date on all of them."
"So? This is probably a new section of the cemetery, and no one's been buried here yet."
Every instinct the detective had developed since joining the police force told her Zach's simple, logical explanation was wrong.
"Look at this one: ALLISON WHITEHALL, BORN MAY 18, 2009. Why would someone so young have a cemetery plot?"
"Maybe she's got some incurable disease. What's all this concern about the headstones anyway?"
"I don't know," Trina replied, still scanning the names and dates on the markers. "It just seems really weird. I've never known anyone who ...."
Since graduating from the police academy, Trina had seen traffic accidents and crime scenes that would have made most people vomit or plague their sleep with nightmares. She had grown accustomed to life's tragedies and learned to react in a cool, professional manner. Thus, when she screamed, she took Zach by surprise. He jumped up from his spot beside the tree and ran to her side.
"What is it?"
Unable to speak, she pointed at two headstones bearing the names Zach and Trina Ripley. Her husband wanted to deny the evidence of his own eyes, to brush it aside with a rational explanation, but he was unable to. If it had only been their names, it might have been a bizarre coincidence, but their birthdates had been engraved in the stones, too.
"I'm getting the hell out of here," Trina cried. "I don't care if I have to climb over the fence, walk back to the car and crawl up the hill in the dark until I find the turnpike. I'm not staying in Peaceful Valley one second longer than I have to."
* * *
Despite his renewed shortness of breath, Zach managed to keep up with his wife, trailing her by just a few steps.
"There it is!" Trina cried, spotting the black wrought iron fence up ahead.
Once at the fence, the Ripleys hurried in a southerly direction, searching for a gate or any opening they could squeeze through. Thankfully there was a full moon that cast enough light for them to see through the darkness.
"Look!" the frantic woman called forty minutes later. "Doesn't that look like a gate to you?"
As they neared the exit, a figure stepped through from the other side and startled them. It was the cadaverous old man in the preacher's clothes, the only person they had encountered since leaving the turnpike.
"It won't do you any good to try to find a way out," he declared. "I told you before; you can't leave here alive."
"Listen to me, whoever you are," Trina cried, reaching under her jacket for her service revolver. "I'm a detective with the Massachusetts State Police. I've faced armed bank robbers, desperate drug dealers and cold-blooded murderers. So, don't think you can scare me."
It was true she had faced death many times in the past, but now she was out of her element. This was not Boston; it was the middle of nowhere, and she suffered from the same weakness that affected most people: the fear of the unknown.
The old man stepped aside but not because he was facing a loaded gun. As an angel, he was impervious to bullets.
"If you want to try to escape, go ahead. I won't stop you."
"Let's go, Zach," the detective called, but when she turned around, she noticed her husband was sitting on the ground, gasping for breath.
"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want."
Trina's head shot up when she heard the old man begin to recite the twenty-third psalm.
"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters."
"Get up, Zach," she urged her husband. "The gate is right over there, only a few steps away."
"He restoreth my soul. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake."
"I don't ... know ... if I can ...," Zach said, feeling his chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."
The angel's soft-spoken words terrified the detective more than any serial killer or mob boss ever had.
"For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."
Trina yanked on her husband's arm. She would drag him through the gate if need be.
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies."
Zach summoned every ounce of strength he possessed and stood up.
"It ... hurts. Oh, God ... it hurts."
"Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over."
Trina's instincts told her if they did not make it through the gate by the end of the old man's recital, they would never leave the cemetery alive.
"Come on, Zach. Hurry! We've got to get going NOW!"
"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life ...."
They did it! The gate was only inches away. But as Trina stepped through, her husband stopped and grabbed his chest.
"... and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever."
* * *
When the angel's words died, a fierce wind blew, and Trina found herself in a veritable tornado of autumn leaves. She closed her eyes momentarily, and when she opened them again, she found herself sitting in the front passenger seat of the Subaru.
"I must have fallen asleep," she cried. "What a dream I had! It was so real!"
Her husband did not answer.
"I dreamt we were lost in a cemetery, and ...."
When Trina Ripley looked at her husband sitting behind the wheel, she realized it had not been a dream after all. Zach was dead; he had suffered a fatal heart attack only moments after they had reached the bottom of the mountain road.
Trina tried desperately to save the man she loved but was unable to do so. In the end, she had come out of Peaceful Valley, the Valley of the Shadow of Death, alone.
With Salem around, the valley won't be peaceful much longer.
