Verna
By J. L. Young

August Seventh, 1965: Everett Jay Sloane 25 and Verna Faye Cobb 24 were out on a date. Witnesses last saw them leaving a small gathering after a drive-in double feature had been rained out. During an investigation, friends of the couple reported they were easy-going. Cobb had insisted Sloane take her for a ride after the storm passed. The friends also reported Cobb’s penchant for wandering.

Verna lifted her head and coughed the water from her lungs and nostrils. The tips of her bow pumps barely scraped the bottom. She swam to the shoulder and sunk her thin fingers into the thick mud. After gaining purchase, she climbed free of the muck.

The rain still fell on her as she looked around and called out, “Everett?” Only a clap of thunder responded. She hoped to hear the familiar drone of a car engine, alas there was nothing but the driving rain and the clapping of thunder in the distance.

Enough defused light from the full moon penetrated the mammatus clouds. It made seeing less fraught with uncertainty. As she walked, the mud and water squeezed from her pumps. Cobb realized the road was old and poorly maintained.

The faint glow of light could be seen over a high hill. It was work managing the slippery road, but she climbed it to the summit. Beyond was a barn. The light leaked from between panels in the walls. She approached with caution. She could hear strange music that relied heavily on percussion and distorted electric guitar. Her curiosity begged her to peek between the panels to see what was within, but she thought better of it and slogged to the door. She feared who might be inside.

After overcoming the fear, Verna raised her fist and rapped several times on the old wood and peeled paint. She paused, waiting to see if whoever was inside heard her. It seemed they had not. Again, she rapped. Again, the music and work continued within. A gentle pull and the door slid on the overhead rail. She peeked her head in and apprehensively called into the noise, “Hello?!”

Her call remained unanswered.

Further in, the young woman dared. Her eyes saw light leaking from a partition, so she approached. The sound of machinery could be heard over the music. Verna rapped on the partition and called out again, “Hello?!”

Alas, her call remained unanswered.

The still wet mud on her hands transferred to the edge of the partition as she took hold. She pulled it aside and peered into the well-lit work area. The piercing crescendo found her ear as metal touched her temple. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Pardon my intrusion.”

“Who are you?” A voice came from beside her.

Again, apprehension found home in the woman’s voice. “I’m Verna, Verna Faye Cobb.”

“Why are you here?” The voice demanded. Verna couldn’t differentiate whether it was feminine or masculine.

“I don’t know where here is. I was hoping someone here could help me.” Verna tried to turn her gaze.”
“Eyes front!” the voice exclaimed then fell to the previous level, “you’re getting mud on my floor.”

Her eyes snapped forward, “I… I can clean that.”

“Take yourself back outside and use the hose to wash yourself off. My robot will deal with the floor.”

“Robot? You have a robot?”

“Out! And don’t come back until you’re clean.”

“Yes, yes. I will.”

Several minutes later, Verna stashed her bow pumps just inside the outer door to dry and returned to the partition. The puck-shaped robot had finished cleaning the muddy footprints and drove away. Still wet, she entered and walked passed a workbench. Beside it was a large cage on wheels. Inside, was a rat. She internalized the anxiety when her curiosity was piqued. The rat was lathering itself. Oddly, the movements were human-like.

“Cute, isn’t he?” A nasal, deadpan, and a noticeably female voice came from behind. Verna turned. A woman appeared, raven-haired with dark lips. She wore heavy work boots and black coveralls rolled to the elbow revealing intricately drawn tattoos. She carried clothes and put them on a stool in front of the workbench.

“You’re dressed like my mom did during the war.”

“What war?”

“World War Two.”

The woman’s eyebrows raised, “Ok, crazy person, that war ended a hundred and twenty-some years ago. What’s with the dress? Going to a sock hop, whatever that is? C’mon give me the inside story on this, I’m dying to hear it.”