Wayne, Michael, Jenna, Jaylyn. For immeasurable inspiration.
Welcome to Corpus. A Quaint Town with Country Charm. Speed Limit 45.
A man and his wife had just driven seven hours from Orange, Virginia. They made their way through the Carolinas, North and South, and finally hit their destination state, the professed buckle of the Bible Belt the great Peach State of Georgia. It would take another ninety minutes before they finally crossed that Welcome to Corpus sign.
Never heard of a Corpus, Georgia, the wife said.
Nor have I, her husband responded through yawns, his hands on the wheel.
How much longer until we reach Savannah?
Bout thirty-forty miles, I reckon. The drive through this tiny little dump shouldnt take long.
I swear I dont recall seeing it on the GPS, his wife said spuriously.
Nor have I, he repeated.
It was dark out now. Very dark. After five minutes riding through Corpus, Georgia, the paved road itself seemed to have vanished in favor of a dirt stretch. But it wasnt the dirt road that bothered them, it was the blanket of fog that covered everything around them. Their sights were limited only to the view allowed by the headlights.
Dammit, I cant see a thing. Never been in a town so foggy, the man said as he clutched the steering wheel and leaned in.
Nor have I, his wife shot back ironically.
Another wheel clutching mile or so went by until the husband told his wife to turn the damned GPS back on.
Are you lost? she asked as she turned her phone on.
Just wonna confirm were going in the right direction. To hell with these detours.
There it was, the luck of the draw. The moment her GPS turned on, the engine of their beat-up old Volvo sputtered to a climatic end.
Oh, not now. What did you do!? she asked.
Me? It was your idea to make the drive when we could have flown, he mumbled.
Dont you roll your eyes at me. Get out and do something!
The wife quickly snapped her head to side. She went wide-eyed upon hearing a loud horrific screech from outside their vehicle. Her husband could see her trembling.
Its nothing, he said as he opened his driver door, slammed it shut, and lumbered toward the front of the car. Up went the hood and down went his head.
So what is it? the wife signed as she rolled down her passenger window.
Might not be the engine. Might be the carburetor, he said as he closed the hood after a quick inspection. Either way, call Triple A. I dont wonna be out here all ni
Before he could finish his sentence, a dark winged figure swooped upon him. His wife screamed as the black shadowy demonic figure slammed him onto the hood of the car. The wifes deafening screams matched the screech of the demon as it pulled her now bloodied husband into the dark of night. His screaming stopped as he faded out of sight and into the fog.
Panicked. Sweating. Fearful. The wife rolled her up window at once, fumbled for her phone, dropped it under her feet, and fumbled for it again. With a panic attack on the rise, she dialed three numbers on her phone.
911, what is your emergency?
SOMETHING JUST GOT MY HUSBAND! SOMETHING IN THE FOG! WHERES HE AT? WHERES HE AT? she screamed.
Maam, calm down. Tell us your location and well have assistance respond to your emergency as soon as possible.
Corpus, Georgia. Our car stopped. Something got him! Oh God! Something got him! she screamed through tears. Nerves frayed. She couldnt quite understand what else the operator was asking her.
A giant thud was accompanied by an immediately dent made upon the roof of her car. Its back! she screamed into the phone.
Dont end the call, maam. Help is on the way, the operator responded.
But there would be no help for the couple that drove seven hours from Orange, Virginia and intended to make a pilgrimage to Savannah, Georgia. The unintended stop they made in the tiny town of Corpus would be their last.
The operator asked the wife if she was still on the line. Before she could answer, her window was shattered into a million pieces. A hooked arm as black as the night itself, that could only be described as belonging to no human on earth, swooped into the car and impaled the wife. And everything went black.
2254 Roosevelt Road, Corpus, GA.
This was the address of a house that sat squarely in a lower-middle class neighborhood well, if lower-middle class was a distinction that could be made in Corpus, Georgia. But it was not. There was no distinction of classes in the rural town of Corpus. Everything and everyone was very same-y. You either lived in a double wide or a small house.
Every adult in this community took pride in making ends meet. They took pride in not allowing their tiny town to be overwhelmed by too many 21st century advances. In fact, the entire town itself looked as if it were stuck in many decades past only with more wear and tear.
No one ever left Corpus, Georgia. And no one sure as hell ever moved there with very few exceptions. And the occupants of this particular house in this particular neighborhood were exceptions.
Eighty-seven-year-old African-American Denise Lane spent her entire life in Corpus. Shea always lived there. And three months ago she died there. The house was inherited by her middle-aged daughter, Mel.
To my only daughter, Melanie, I bequeath the only home Ive ever owned in addition to any further assets I may have at the time of my passing, those assets included a savings account with $5000 and some change. The deed took a month to change hands and soon enough Mel was now a proud homeowner.
It couldnt have come at a sooner time. Mel was a jobless widow with two kids. Her children were biracial a Corpus rarity, to be sure.
The kids had spent summers in Corpus but this was their first time being true dyed-in-the-wool Corpus residents.
Mel had enjoyed the picturesque city of Charlottesville but there was surely no one in North Carolina who would leave her a free house. So Mel and the kids packed up and headed to Corpus.
Over two months passed.
The house itself was one of the only larger dwellings in Corpus. It was two stories, four bedrooms, three baths, and even had a basement. To be sure, every bit of furniture looked as if it were from the Civil War-era. But that was neither here nor there. Like Mel told her kids, a free house was a free house.
Mom, my bathrooms leaking again, Mason told his mother.
Then youll just have to share your sisters bathroom until I can get it fixed, mom said as she darted into her bedroom.
Mason let out an exasperated sigh. He was thirteen years old, shorter than most of his new classmates, hadnt had a haircut in years, and the kind of boyish boy who would never change out of his favorite camouflage pants. He rotated only through a half dozen t-shirts, each featuring a favorite horror character.
You hear that, Hailey?! Mason yelled down the hall.
If he was looking for an answer, one never arrived.
Tell her, mom! Mason said.
I dont have time! You two just share, his moms voice called from her bedroom.
What do you mean you dont have time? Its not like you do anything all day, mom, Mason said.
She stuck her head in her doorway.
A little FYI Mason Im going on a job interview today, his mom smirked in a manner that told him aha!
Cool, where at?
You know that little diner a few blocks down.
Hell, everythings a few blocks down in this town, mom.
Watch your language, she snapped.
All I said was hell!
They exchanged glances and mom darted back into her bedroom.
You two just learn to share! she called out again. That means stop calling me, Ive gotta look good for my interview.