Better Left Buried (Dere x Xana)

[Xanaphia]

The town of Burbury barely warranted a dot on the map. Deep into the forests of western Massachusetts, it couldn’t boast much. With a single traffic light along Main Street, there wasn’t much to stop for. But it had a small motel and a dive bar, so it was good enough for Molly and Darlene to spend the night.

It was the perfect place to get lost.

The two twenty-somethings made a spectacle of themselves as they enter Buck’s Head Tavern giggling and holding hands. They would have attracted attention anyways, with their tight tank tops and ass hugging jean shorts. After ordering a couple beers, they made their way to the pool table in the back, illuminated by a yellowish swinging light that cast long shadows over the rest of the bar patrons.

Molly waited until Darlene was bent over the pool table, lining up her shot, before grabbing a handful of her ass. Darlene, in turn, squealed, her pool stick scraping the felt of the table and then glancing off the cue.

Molly laughed –loud enough some locals looked over their way. Looking turned into gawking as Molly pressed herself into Darlene, creamy curves contrasting with dark skin. “Molly scraped one nail over the exposed skin of Darlene’s v-neck top, pulling it just enough to hint at the cleavage.

“Scratch.”

“You’re ‘bout to get us kicked outta here.” Darlene snickered, taking a long pull off her bottle of beer.

“Shit, please.” Molly laughed, and lined up her shot “We’re putting on a show over here. They oughta be paying us.” The cue ball clicked as it hit the six before slowing to a stop; the six landed in the pocket with a light thud. “If I win, you should fuck me, right here on the pool table.”

“Sure,” Darlene laughed, leaning against the back wall. “I’ll bend you over the table and shove a pool stick up your ass.”

Molly made a point of bending over in front of her lover, and sinking another ball into the pocket. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.” She finished her beer in along swig, and raised the empty bottle high over her head. Her tank top rode up, revealing the fair flesh of her taut stomach.

“Hey, Bartender! Two more beers over here!”

 

[DeRe]

If you passed through it quickly enough, Burbury was just a bucolic smear along the lonely highway. The few people who did venture this way weren't here for the scenery, being mainly loggers hauling their diesel beasts through the forest. There were no quaint cafes or faux-Colonial souvenir stops. No-one had a reason to stop there, which was for the best, because those who did would never leave.

A group of families had headed into the woods sometime around the French & Indian War; the former had fled, the latter exterminated by fever. The silent vastness of the New England woodland swallowed the newcomers whole, and they learned to survive in its black belly. They named it for a settler who had been scalped and flayed by vengeful Mohicans some years prior. It was a place build on bloody earth right from the start, and the thirsty soil would not be quenched. The traditions of Home turned rotten in the gloom, as unspeakable things fluttered at the edge of the campfire's light. Over the centuries the townspeople developed a posture of silent hostility that went far beyond the standard Yankee reticence. Trusting only their own, the group of families eventually become one, as their line turned into a circle. They knew their kind from the faint blue tinge that became common among them; it was the mark of the Lord, they said, picking them out as his chosen.

They hardly noticed when the world rolled over into the twenty-first century. The collection of severe white buildings had barely changed since the Revolution, with only the addition of a bar, truck stop and motel as grudging acknowledgements of modernity. A stark, frost-white Congregational church was still the largest structure. "Main Street" had been torn to shreds by the stream of trucks, and the stinging smoke was an occasional presence, but the people of Burbury continued on as they had always done. A few outsiders had made a home there - it was a place popular with people who didn't want to be found. But they forever remained outside the silent circle of townsfolk, and were mindful of their place.

Naturally, the arrival of Molly and Darlene was something equivalent to an avalanche. The entire town had remained off the street as the women passed through, watching from behind yellowed curtains. As they made their way to the Buck's Head, a welcoming committee was coming together. It required no co-ordination or planning; the handful of men simply knew what had to be done. Chief among when was Boss, the bartender. As the town's main connection with the outside world, he held an unspoken authority among his cousins, and was by far the most intelligent. When the outsiders called for more beer, he knew it was time to serve them the local specialty.

 

[Xanaphia]

Molly dropped the two empty bottles on the bar counter and picked up the beers set out by the bartender.

“Don’t you think that’s weird?” Darlene asked, holding her drink in her free hand, but not yet taking a sip.

Molly was mid gulp, which she managed to swallow down without choking. “Hmm?”

“He didn’t even acknowledge you.” Darlene stared at the bartender, not backing down from his gaze.

“Sure he did. He brought us more beer.” Molly motioned with her bottle and took another drink.

“He didn’t say anything. Nobody’s said anything to us since we arrived.”

Molly shrugged, before bending over to take another shot. “We haven’t been here long. Why does it matter?” Another ball clanked, and fell into the corner pocket.

“It’s fucking weird.” Finally, Darlene took a sip of her beer, not finding it to be the slightest bit relaxing. “You sure this isn’t a sundown town?”

Molly laughed, “Oh come on, nobody does that shit anymore.”

“The fuck they don’t.” Darlene took another drink, deeper this time as bitter memories boiled up. “I told you what they did to my uncle Otis, didn’t I? That was only 12 years ago.”

“Yeah, and you said that was in Mississippi. The deep south. Not New England.” Molly sunk the eight in the side pocket, and celebrated by finishing off her beer.

Darlene glance back at the bartender, certain he was still staring at them. Watching them. “That don’t matter as much as you think it does.” She took another drink, forcing herself to finish her bottle. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”