hery
the fool
The bus had arrived at the stop in time to collect a meager two passengers, both weary-eyed boys in their late teens. It shuddered, letting out a rattling hiss upon its departure down the road covered by a liberal dusting of powdery, white snow. Rhys Celestin, most commonly known as Rio or "the boy on the right", exhibited a neutral, thoughtlessly indifferent expression. A beige winter coat wrapped around his rich, dark skin, hanging off his tall, fairly sturdy frame. The average onlooker may be fooled into a false sense of security by the way the teen boy's baggy coat swung back and forth, but the trained eye, i.e., Rhys' father, could easily tell that a coat a size too big did not make up for its rather thin makeup.
However, the cold was far off the two boys' radar this gray, snowy evening. Rhys slumped his body down on a seat in the middle of the bus, once again electing to be "the boy on the right" for the sake of a more riveting window view. He'd lived in this sleepy town nestled in the south sector of Norway for over ten years, but never had he taken such a bus route before. It was a shock that the line was still somehow running, seeing as virtually nobody with any practical sense would take a day (or, rather, night) trip to the long-neglected Hofstad Industrial Park.
Still, by some mystery of un-nature, the little bus shambled its way out of the dimly-lit corner every night, hobbling up the road and past where anybody who had anything to do would go. Nobody had any logical reason as to why the line's last stop was there, but regardless it went without much question. That's simply the way odd little towns are. Why fix what isn't broken? If public transit wanted to pay a lone bus driver to shuttle mere air to and from Hofstad, then so be it.
And thank god for that, because the last thing Rio wanted to do on the first night of his winter break was to run several 5k's in the snow to track a bunch of beeps and radio chatter. Such daunting tasks didn't usually stop the pensive boy from pursuing his goals, but the convenience was nice. That had at least saved him some time to pack a bare-bones bag of water bottles and a flashlight, because what if he got thirsty more than once? For all they knew, transients were peeing in the snow at the abandoned industrial site, tainting the frozen water source.
He stuffed a hand into the bag, fishing for his main water bottle. After struggling a little, he stuffed the drawstring bag between his legs until he finally retrieved the hard plastic container. He took a generous swig, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He cast the other boy a sideways glance, then back out the window. It felt so normal to be entrenched in silence that he didn't really have the mind to talk to the friend he'd committed to this adventure with.
Counting the street lights, then big rocks, then eventually trees just felt so serene. He could almost predict every bump in the road, which in turn caused a dull sloshing sound to be emitted from the water bottles inside his bag. The thought suddenly dawned upon him that a tumbling, cramped bag was a precariously unfit vessel for both a flashlight and cheap water bottles, but it wasn't too hard to ignore it. Much like the cold, it paled in comparison to the thoughts on Rhys' mind. He peered at his friend once more, taking comfort in the fact that they likely shared the same feelings of intrigue and morbid curiosity for the legend they sought out.
Well, natural phenomenon was a more apt description, but that didn't detract much from the dubiousness of it all, at least for Rhys. The story gave him chills every time he read it, but perhaps that was merely thanks to his increased superstition. After all, if ghosts and aliens weren't the ones sending out mysterious, garbled radio signals, then what were? And why was it specific to Jørstad, their town full of nobodies in the middle of nowhere?
Dammit... my head hertz.
Actually, that was pretty clever...
"Hey, Eddie, I thought of..." His voice trailed off, partially out of shame. He stuck his head into the aisle to get a look at the bus driver, who was clearly too tired and engrossed in his driving to care what in the hell the boys were doing or saying. It always seemed to be a question of guessing strangers' English comprehension when talking to his best friend in public. People were too nosy in Jørstad. Perhaps it was a blessing after all that the other boy's Norwegian was comparatively abysmal. "You know, if Google's right, the building we're after's gonna be huge. I hope we know what it is we're looking for."
They were definitely going to die there. Even so, the allure of the mystery frequency was too strong to ignore. The first time he heard it, it was almost as though he'd been waiting his whole life for an opportunity to delve into an investigation like this. Rhys was never exactly one with a wealth of accomplishments, but in partnering with his friend, he somehow knew it would be worth trying his intellect at. He'd practically been up all night last night with the frequency's screech in his head, working mental overtime trying to decode it himself.
Holy shit. What if they were barging in on a government conspiracy? Hofstad was practically a trove of potential evidence, being long-cited as the frequency's hotspot, rumored to originate somewhere within its dilapidated, decrepit walls. And this juvenile pair of investigators was going to be the one to make history with this revelation. Jørstad was lacking in real, local excitement anyway.
"Doesn't the Hofstad Frequency kind of freak you out too? Like, the sound doesn't sound like anything, but—" Wait. Pause. "Oh. That's probably what makes it eerie." He blushed, feeling a little stupid, even in front of Edward of all people.
His face hardened, and he put on a persona of seriousness as he paged through the crinkled notes they'd taken together. "I never thought I'd find myself actually boarding the bus to Hofstad Industrial. They always say there are plans to rework the bus routes, but it never happens." He sighed the same sigh his best friend had already heard a million times over. "I need to get out of this place..."
However, the cold was far off the two boys' radar this gray, snowy evening. Rhys slumped his body down on a seat in the middle of the bus, once again electing to be "the boy on the right" for the sake of a more riveting window view. He'd lived in this sleepy town nestled in the south sector of Norway for over ten years, but never had he taken such a bus route before. It was a shock that the line was still somehow running, seeing as virtually nobody with any practical sense would take a day (or, rather, night) trip to the long-neglected Hofstad Industrial Park.
Still, by some mystery of un-nature, the little bus shambled its way out of the dimly-lit corner every night, hobbling up the road and past where anybody who had anything to do would go. Nobody had any logical reason as to why the line's last stop was there, but regardless it went without much question. That's simply the way odd little towns are. Why fix what isn't broken? If public transit wanted to pay a lone bus driver to shuttle mere air to and from Hofstad, then so be it.
And thank god for that, because the last thing Rio wanted to do on the first night of his winter break was to run several 5k's in the snow to track a bunch of beeps and radio chatter. Such daunting tasks didn't usually stop the pensive boy from pursuing his goals, but the convenience was nice. That had at least saved him some time to pack a bare-bones bag of water bottles and a flashlight, because what if he got thirsty more than once? For all they knew, transients were peeing in the snow at the abandoned industrial site, tainting the frozen water source.
He stuffed a hand into the bag, fishing for his main water bottle. After struggling a little, he stuffed the drawstring bag between his legs until he finally retrieved the hard plastic container. He took a generous swig, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He cast the other boy a sideways glance, then back out the window. It felt so normal to be entrenched in silence that he didn't really have the mind to talk to the friend he'd committed to this adventure with.
Counting the street lights, then big rocks, then eventually trees just felt so serene. He could almost predict every bump in the road, which in turn caused a dull sloshing sound to be emitted from the water bottles inside his bag. The thought suddenly dawned upon him that a tumbling, cramped bag was a precariously unfit vessel for both a flashlight and cheap water bottles, but it wasn't too hard to ignore it. Much like the cold, it paled in comparison to the thoughts on Rhys' mind. He peered at his friend once more, taking comfort in the fact that they likely shared the same feelings of intrigue and morbid curiosity for the legend they sought out.
Well, natural phenomenon was a more apt description, but that didn't detract much from the dubiousness of it all, at least for Rhys. The story gave him chills every time he read it, but perhaps that was merely thanks to his increased superstition. After all, if ghosts and aliens weren't the ones sending out mysterious, garbled radio signals, then what were? And why was it specific to Jørstad, their town full of nobodies in the middle of nowhere?
Dammit... my head hertz.
Actually, that was pretty clever...
"Hey, Eddie, I thought of..." His voice trailed off, partially out of shame. He stuck his head into the aisle to get a look at the bus driver, who was clearly too tired and engrossed in his driving to care what in the hell the boys were doing or saying. It always seemed to be a question of guessing strangers' English comprehension when talking to his best friend in public. People were too nosy in Jørstad. Perhaps it was a blessing after all that the other boy's Norwegian was comparatively abysmal. "You know, if Google's right, the building we're after's gonna be huge. I hope we know what it is we're looking for."
They were definitely going to die there. Even so, the allure of the mystery frequency was too strong to ignore. The first time he heard it, it was almost as though he'd been waiting his whole life for an opportunity to delve into an investigation like this. Rhys was never exactly one with a wealth of accomplishments, but in partnering with his friend, he somehow knew it would be worth trying his intellect at. He'd practically been up all night last night with the frequency's screech in his head, working mental overtime trying to decode it himself.
Holy shit. What if they were barging in on a government conspiracy? Hofstad was practically a trove of potential evidence, being long-cited as the frequency's hotspot, rumored to originate somewhere within its dilapidated, decrepit walls. And this juvenile pair of investigators was going to be the one to make history with this revelation. Jørstad was lacking in real, local excitement anyway.
"Doesn't the Hofstad Frequency kind of freak you out too? Like, the sound doesn't sound like anything, but—" Wait. Pause. "Oh. That's probably what makes it eerie." He blushed, feeling a little stupid, even in front of Edward of all people.
His face hardened, and he put on a persona of seriousness as he paged through the crinkled notes they'd taken together. "I never thought I'd find myself actually boarding the bus to Hofstad Industrial. They always say there are plans to rework the bus routes, but it never happens." He sighed the same sigh his best friend had already heard a million times over. "I need to get out of this place..."
coded by weldherwings.