The Spring will Always Come

         The rain pounded on the tin roof of the green shed outside. Ping, Ping, Ping. James looked out on the night of black pitch. He was still in shock from the news he had just heard about Natalie, his girlfriend of almost three years. He missed her more than ever now. Ping, Ping, Ping.

         “That was her favorite sound,” he whispered to the window. He had been about to propose to her when she went missing. He looked out on the familiar shed. She would spend hours on end out there, whether she was reading, painting, or just sitting, listening to the rain sing its distinctive song on the tin roof.

         It was a modest shed, painted bright green, to remind her and James that no matter how harsh the Michigan winters became, the spring would always come like a welcoming hug from a loved one you see very little of.

         The shed was a dull, washed out lime now. The paint chipped here and there as if protesting the absence of its care-taker. Or, as James liked to think of it, it was mourning her loss.

         “This would be one of those nights were she would be out there, sitting in the dark, listening,” he breathed, closing his eyes to recall one of the many times he had found her out there.

         “They still haven’t found her, James. Let it go. The authorities found the crash three months ago. You know they can’t search forever, and besides, the trail’s gone cold. You can’t blame them,” a familiar voice sounded behind him.

         “You talk as though she was just any old person,” James said as he turned to face his friend, Mark. “I thought I told you not to bother yourself; I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, turning and fixing his eyes once again on the green shed.

         “James, you know I can’t leave you alone,” Mark said after a pause, placing his hand gently on his shoulder as James turned again to face him. Mark had been his best friend since grade school; only he knew what James was capable of. If not for Mark, James would have long been cold, rotting flesh in the ground.

         “I’m having Sam bring some of our stuff over, so you’re not alone.”

         “You know you don’t-“

         “You of all people know I do. I was there when your dog vanished in fourth grade. I would hate to see what you would do now.” Mark sighed as he sat down on the lumpy, gray couch. “Come on, watch some football. The Patriots are playing the Lions. I know how you like the Patriots, and it doesn’t hurt that the Lions are playing; gives me something to watch.”

         James plopped down. She used to hate it when you plopped on the couch, he thought. He loathed how he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

         The doorbell rang, bringing James from his thoughts. “It’s me!” sang Sam’s familiar high voice from behind the front door.

         “Coming,” Mark yelled, getting up and jogging towards the door. Sam, Mark’s long standing girlfriend, appeared moments later, arms laden with bags, blankets, and her and Mark’s beagle, Digger. “I hope it’s ok that I brought the dog,” Sam asked apologetically as she let him go. “Everyone who would watch him is out of town and the kennels are full.”

         “It’s fine,” James replied, petting Digger apprehensively. He looked again towards the window, although it was too fogged up to see the shed beyond, and sighed.

*~*~*

         

         James awoke, sweating. He heard the back door open with a creak and dog’s claws clicking out onto the patio. He jumped up and sprinted to the door, where he found Sam, looking out on the storm that had slowed to a light drizzle.

         “What are you doing?” James all but shouted.

         “I’m letting Digger out,” Sam replied, shrinking away from him. “Is there something wrong with that?”

         “Just make sure he doesn’t get near…” James stopped short, seeing Digger take off towards the shed. James made a bee line for the dog, who was now scratching and whining at the peeling paint.

         James dived, grabbing the dog and flinging it across the yard in one fell swoop. It yelped, peeling off to hide behind Sam, who was now half way across the yard.

         “What is your problem?” she screamed as Mark appeared at the back door.

         James ignored her, yanking the necklace that held an emerald green key on it from his neck and shoving it into the lock on the shed.

         Mark was sprinting now, having realized what James was about to do. He shoved his way past Sam, tripping over Digger in the process. He leaped for the door handle as James ducked behind it. The lock gave a deafening click.

         “Let me in James!” Mark screamed, pulling on the handle and pounding on the door. "Damn it, James, open this God forsaken door!”

         “Mark, maybe he just needs sometime alone. This is probably really hard for him,” Sam said quietly, rubbing Mark’s shoulder.

         “I can’t Sam, you don’t understand him. You don’t know what he is capable of!” Mark choked out frantically, continuing to tug on the locked door. “Call the police.”

*~*~*

         Mark was eerily silent when the lock on the shed finally broke. The police lights flashed behind him as he rushed inside. He had to see to James before the police came and got him.

         He recoiled, taken aback by the putrid smell that exuded from the depths of the shed. It smelled as though something had long since died in there. He recovered, pushing further inside. He looked down as he trod upon rose petals that covered the wood floor. He watched as he passed burnt stubs of candles, wax dripping inharmoniously over shelves and onto picture frames, all of which contained a picture of Natalie.

         What Mark saw next horrified him. There lay Natalie, her skin flaking off of her muscles, which crawled with maggots, her crystal blue eyes gazing unseeingly up into his. Her brunette hair hung limply around her face, surprisingly well groomed. Flies buzzed haphazardly in the air. Her bones projected grotesquely from her neck; congealed blood staining her white blouse.

         He pulled his eyes away from the molted flesh to James’ lifeless face. He sat next to Natalie, his arm draped lovingly around her rotting shoulders, his head leaning on hers. He looked alright, but only from a distance. As Mark got closer, he saw that James’ throat was slit, blood covering every surface around. Some still dribbled lazily from the gaping wound on his neck.

         Mark turned to leave, feeling sick to his stomach. However, as the police light revolved around, something glistened sickly on James’ arm, catching Mark’s eye. Holding his breath, Mark approached his friend for the last time.

         He leaned down over his friend, seeing only the boy he had known as a child. As he approached, he recoiled, seeing clearly what his childhood friend had done.

         Etched crudely into James’ arm was a message meant for the long dead woman beside him.

“Love will keep us alive.”