Brown and red checker pieces surrounded a wooden chessboard. Tyler was in his comfortable chair, a smug look on his face as Papaw leaned over the board.

"Ya ready to give up?" Tyler asked. Papaw looked up at him and pointed at Tyler's nose.

"Now just ya wait, right now, Boy," he said. He kept his finger pointed at Tyler's smile until he eventually moved a red man into position. He let his finger linger on the piece for a few moments after moving it, asserting to Tyler that he had not yet finalized his move. He straightened in his chair and nodded.

He had fallen into one of Tyler's traps, and Tyler was ready to move the first man into its position of necessary sacrifice when someone knocked on the door.

They looked at each other, confusion in their expressions. The person behind the door knocked again—harder.

"I reckon I oughtta get that, huh?" Papaw was already on his feet by the end of the sentence, and he shuffled across the room to the door. He peered through one of the thin rectangle windows and immediately grinned.

"Hey there, Missy!" Papaw said after he flung the door open. Courtney immediately gave him a hug, and Papaw said, "We wasn't expectin' ya 'til later."

"The traffic wasn't too bad coming back," she said. They pulled away from their hug. Courtney looked at Tyler, staring at him for an uncomfortable length of time before finally moving. As she walked toward him, she said, "Long time, no see, Tyler!"

Her voice hardly carried an accent, and the question was lighter in tone than he was used to. Papaw was the only family member who didn't coat their words in poison; he hoped Courtney remained peachy.

"Yeah, well," Tyler said, wringing his fingers, "leavin' the family to figure yourself out does do the whole, 'long time, no see' thing." Courtney's hair was naturally blonde, but it had since been dyed black with pink strips that framed her face. "By your hair, I bet it's comin' for you too."

Papaw laughed and Courtney rolled her eyes, though a smile remained on her black lips. She tossed Tyler's keys to him. He wasn't sure how she had gotten them; he assumed he must have fallen into the water with all his nightmares involving drowning. Maybe his keys were on the deck, or... maybe they were in his quarters—the whole night was disorienting and mostly erased from memory.

"What am I going to do with these?" he asked, dangling the keys. Courtney shrugged.

"Up to you, but you've persuaded me to never ever live in my car," she said. "Also, why do you have a whole box of taxidermy books?"

"It's interesting!" he said.

"An' how many jobs have ya had?" Papaw said, shutting the door and turning back to them.

"Hey!" Tyler said, mocking hurt. "Don't y'all pile on me like that."

"Pfft, c'mon Tyler, you could have gotten in at a taxidermy studio as an apprentice," Courtney said.

It wasn't quite that simple. He had looked into becoming a taxidermist before, but apprenticeships were unpaid and required experience he simply did not have. He wondered if she had found his small collection of poorly taxidermized songbirds on top of the box of forever-overdue library books, or if they had fallen elsewhere in his car.

In his brief silence, Courtney had turned to Papaw and was asking how he was doing. They both stood in the middle of the room, Papaw towering over Courtney with a wrinkly smile on his face.

"I don't think I've ever asked," Courtney was saying. "Have you been to the beach?"

"No ma'am," Papaw said, "not th' ocean, nohow."

"Well, you should go see it when you can. It's humbling."

"Many things 'n this life are." He sounded weary.

Tyler ran his fingers along the bits of his individual keys; one, an old tractor key from his youth. Nineteen-thirties Farmall three-wheel. The bitting of the ancient key had worn down from a thumb going back-and-forth across it for twenty years.

"Sorry," Courtney said, "I didn't mean it like that."

"S'alright, Honey," Papaw said. "Y'know s'abit difficult t'realize, sometimes."

The conversation felt distant, though they were only a few feet from him.

"It'll be warm, at least," Courtney said. She gave Papaw a one-armed hug. He smiled, though just in the way to make nobody worry.

"Yer right," he said, "I ain't ever gotta worry 'bout when a snowplow will be a-comin' down my little road so I can git to th' diner."

"Exactly! And palm trees everywhere."

"Can't say I've ever seen a real'un in-person!"

"And gators."

"Always heard thems was fun huntin'."

The key was soft, like silk. The tractor had still worked when Tyler's other Papaw—Dad's dad—gave him the key. He had another key made. He always said, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." The tractor sat in Dad's yard. He hadn't moved it since Papaw Rob died.

"Yo Tyler," Courtney said, drawing his attention from the weight of the keys in his palm, "you ever been to Florida?"

"Sure have," he said. "S'pretty, but a bit... crowded for my liking."

He had worked there, on a cruise ship. There was something unsettling about the cruise ship's lights reflecting off the water—no land in sight and the abyss below. The ships always made him feel like he was on the Titanic. One mistake, and the ship would slip into the inky black waves.

He had lasted three months before fleeing to the next place. The water didn't reflect light on the Ohio—dark, like a void, sucking all light inward. The barge swayed; the water was calm. Tyler was splashed; the water clung to his clothes, sticky like a slug trail.

"Hey, Ground Control to Major Tom," Courtney said, waving her hand in front of Tyler's face. He opened his eyes wide, then shook his head.

"Sorry," he said. "The leg kept me up most o' the night. I'm pretty tired." His leg didn't hurt—not as bad as the day before, anyway—but it felt uncomfortable in the cast, which was moist from sweat. He hadn't moved much since he read the newspaper the night before; he just hobbled back to his chair and fell into a nightmare-filled sleep.

"Did ya want to come to th' diner wi' us?" Papaw asked.

Left alone, he would only ruminate about water. It was an odd fixation; the night before, he found himself pouring water into glassware. It was just to stare at them; at the water. There was no sleep. If he nodded off, a nightmare would startle him back awake. His eyes were sunken and dark.

"Uh, yeah, that would be good," he finally said. "I gotta see the sights whilst I'm here, right?"

He had an easier time getting up onto his crutches than before, though Courtney stood by if he needed help. When he was upright, a feeling of pins-and-needles ran down his leg, amplifying the bearable dull ache into an ache that made him want to sit back down.

"You don't need to come," Courtney said. Tyler was bowed over his crutches.

"I'll get used to it," he said, winded. "By the time we get to the diner, I'll be okay."

He glanced at her through his long hair. Her lips were a thin, black frown and her squinted eyes were framed with pink and black.

"Papaw's got the car going," Tyler said. "We best get out there."

Courtney begrudgingly agreed, and she spotted Tyler as he made his way—wobbly—out of the house and onto the porch. She closed and locked the door behind her.

Why does she have a key? Before Tyler could voice his question, she was ushering him down the precarious steps and toward Papaw's old Crown Victoria.

Tyler was given the front passenger seat, pushed all the way back to accommodate his leg. He was distracted by the mountains, the trees going up-and-up. Courtney brought him to reality, putting his crutches on top of him to hold before closing the door.

"There's something 'bout the mountains," Tyler said to Papaw.

"Ancient stuff, here," Papaw said.

"Can't keep myself from staring."

"They're more ancient then God 'imself. Yer s'posed ta stare."

Courtney got in behind Papaw, cutting the commentary short.

More ancient than God Himself. He leaned against the door and stared out the window. Courtney was talking about her new job at the drive-in, and Papaw talked about how he loved to go to the drive-in when he was younger and could see in the dark to drive.

The mountains towered around Meadow Bridge, all covered in trees that gradually darkened into a sinister forest with the setting sun. The town itself was mostly devoid of trees in its cozy valley spot. The diner was beyond the crumbling red-brick building in downtown, toward the end of town where the trees grew. A gravel parking lot was next to the wooden diner, shaded by the old shade-trees. Papaw stopped right in front of the diner so Tyler could get out.

He forgot he had a hard time with gravel. He thanked Papaw and carefully got out of the car. Courtney did too, to help him. Together they hobbled up the ramp on one side of the diner's covered porch. Papaw parked nearby.

They all entered at once, and the waitress at the "Please Wait To Be Seated" podium scowled when she saw Tyler. She didn't seem familiar, but Papaw moved in front of Tyler and Courtney, saying something to the waitress that made her turn her heel and walk away.

The inside of the diner was dark: dark wood walls, dark wood floors, dark wood tables. A single TV played sports in the corner of the dining area. There was a taxidermy deer head over the exit. The booths were upholstered with faux maroon leather.

Another waitress showed up moments later and escorted them to their table. They were left menus after their drink orders were taken.

"I didn't recognize the first waitress," Tyler said. "Why was she so angry to see me?"

Courtney and Papaw shared a glance. Papaw went to reading his menu, and Courtney tapped her fingers on the table.

"You know how superstitious people are here," she finally said, clearly choosing her words carefully by the slow way she spoke. "They think... They think you, uh—that you're going to bring ruin to the town."

"Ah." Tyler nodded.

Did it have to do with Moonshiners'? He had never heard the superstition in his time in Meadow Bridge. He hid himself behind his menu; the few patrons were staring at him, some more obvious than others. The waitress returned and took their orders, as well as the menu that Tyler was using to hide his face.

"So, what's your plan for turning eighteen?" Tyler asked, hoping conversation would calm his nerves. Papaw looked toward Courtney, clearly interested in the same question.

Courtney screwed her lips to the side and tapped a finger against the table. She said, "I'm not sure." Silence. "Mother wants me to take care of you while you're healing, though."

"It's okay with me if you don't want to do that," Tyler said. Papaw nodded.

Courtney seemed confused by the response; she was quiet for a long moment, then, "I don't have good enough grades to go to college, not that I want to go; I like it here, I just don't know where I fall in."

"It comes w'time," Papaw said. He looked at both Courtney and Tyler. Tyler looked away. There was nothing he could say to Courtney, no advice. He felt as though he had been everywhere yet belonged nowhere despite the pseudo-hospitality from his family.

The patrons kept looking at him when he was reminded of the animosity Kat and Dad had toward him. He huddled over the table, as though looking smaller would somehow keep people from staring.

"You alright, Ty?" Courtney asked.

Tyler looked at her. He wanted to say "no," that he was frightened in the diner like some small child. Instead, he said, "I think they're lookin' at me."

Courtney and Papaw looked around the room. Courtney frowned. Papaw shook his head.

"Don't let'em git t'ya," Papaw said. "Jus' an old wives' tale. They'll warm up t'ya again." He didn't look at Tyler. He was lying.

What was there to lie about? Why would Papaw not recite the tale? Tyler looked up to Courtney. She tapped her phone, Tyler shook his head—he hadn't brought his with him.

Soon, Courtney mouthed.

Their food was speedy. They ate quickly, few words exchanged as it became clear as more people filed in that Tyler was not welcome. Snippets Tyler could hear from tables called him the Antichrist; others said he was trouble; others, still: "the False Prophet."

Between the three of them, they left the waitress a large tip before they left the diner wordlessly. Papaw drove the car over to the front of the diner and Courtney helped Tyler in quickly, running around the car to get into the back seat.

"Papaw..." Tyler said, hesitant. "Do you know the tale?"

Papaw grumbled something incoherent as they turned onto the road back to his home.

"People hate me," Tyler said. "Did I do somethin' wrong? Was I framed fer something? Or is their meanness just 'cause of some ol' tale?"

"No one made ya a bad name." That was reassuring, but Papaw continued, "Th' tale did. Not people. Th' tale."

The "Oh" that came from Tyler was part exhalation. He looked in the rear-view at Courtney. She offered nothing. They drove along in silence. The bump getting into Papaw's driveway sent agony down Tyler's leg, and then they all got out.

Rain was imminent, he could smell all the foliage of the mountains opening up for water. Chorus frogs sang in their high-pitched calls. Papaw made his way inside, and Tyler and Courtney stood on the porch.

"What's the story?" Tyler asked, careful to keep his voice down. He leaned against the house, relieving his good leg of strain.

"You heard about the Hollow, yeah?" Courtney asked, matching Tyler's low tones.

"Read 'bout it in the newspaper. I'unno more than what that said."

"Cops think it's a homicide, but they were a part of some cult. The way they died..." she trailed off, wringing her hands. "There were no injuries. Just blood. Bled out everywhere—all at supper."

"A cult? Since when?"

"Always. Did you never know someone from there?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

Tyler felt like he should have been more focused on the gore of the crime, but a cult, in the holler? It was dangerous to be a non-Christian in rural West Virginia.

"If everyone knew about the 'cult' thing..." Tyler started, "was it the moonshine that kept 'em from bein' slaughtered?"

"Yup," Courtney said. "And the superstition—all the old people know it, apparently—is that a prophecy the folks down in the holle—" she cleared her throat "—hollow were all going to be mass-killed one day for not appeasing whatever it is they worshipped down there." She tapped her nose while she talked. "Then, 'A man shall return to his roots tied in the soil,' and something about, 'destroy it all."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Courtney shrugged and said, "I don't know."

Tyler sighed. "Well, my timin' is apparently terrible."

"Uh-huh. You're the only one that fits the ticket right now."

Tyler raised his head, looking at the sagging wood of the soffit above him. A man shall return to his roots tied in the soil. He knew it wasn't literal but thinking about it made something in his mind click, and, with his eyes closed for too long, a shadow loomed on a tree before him in his dream. The roots of the tree were a knotted mess.

"Yo, Major Tom," Courtney said. She tapped him incessantly in the forearm and he looked down at her.

Right. Sleep. He needed sleep.

Papaw was out in the shed, tinkering with a small project he had. Tyler hobbled into the spare room and, with Courtney's help, turned down the covers so he could properly lie down.

His dreams were haunted by the black water and the silhouette of the lynching tree. Its roots shot out toward Tyler, and he couldn't run. It choked him slowly until he woke up gasping for breath. He gathered the blankets about him, hoping that the comfort they brought would ward off the bad dreams.