Two Of Us in Buckeye Hollow

Clara & Dana hunt Beatles' tapes in haunted Buckeye Hollow, facing the Shadow's wrath.

The wind wailed through Buckeye Hollow, soundin' like a blackbirds cry. Something like the shadow of a scar in the Ouachita's pine-hickory heart, where the veil between realms was frayed — a worn tapestry. Clara froze on the moonlit path, her breath caught; whispers — soft, urgent — swirled, she was chanting "Girl." The voice hissed, "find it, before the Shadow does." An electric chill crawled down her spine, and the air was oppressive. Something unseen grazed her cheek, then pressed against her breast, pinning her to a gnarled buckeye tree. "Get Back, to the hollow's heart!" the voices sang, then silence. Clara's pulse raced like Helter Skelter, questions spiraling in her mind: What pushed me? What am I supposed to find, but there was No Reply.


The pines loomed, their needles sharp as Caddo arrows in the moonlight. Clara's boots sank into the damp earth, the scent of wet moss and buckeye bark thick in her nose. She remembered her mama, Lunara, braidin' buckeye leaves into her hair, hummin' songs soft as a prayer. "You listen to the hollow, Clara," she'd said once, her eyes far-off, like she saw somethin' beyond the Ouachita's ridges. Now, that memory felt like a map, but the whispers twisted it, their voices slitherin' like the Caddo River's current. "Girl, you're close," they hissed again, and Clara stumbled, her hand grazin' a pine's rough bark.


She pressed on, the hollow's chill clingin' to her skin. Buckeye Hollow wasn't just a place — it was a story, one the old Caddo folks told round fires near Petit Jean's cliffs. They spoke of a spirit trapped here, a guardian of secrets, bound by blood and song. Clara's heart thumped, wonderin' if that spirit knew her name too.

She continued through on to her sister Dana's shop. In the dawn, the morning light was breaking in hues of ash and amber. The door flew open as Clara reached for it, and Dana's silhouette filled the doorway. "Ahhh! Clara, you nearly scared me outta my britches!" Dana yelped.


"L O L!, Same, girl!" Clara gasped, her heart still racing as if she were dancing to Twist & Shout. "Dana, something's in that holler — whispers are callin' my name, a force pinned me like a bug on a board. It said Get Back, like it knows me."


Dana's eyes widened, and Clara heard a tremble in her voice. "Ghosts, Clara? That's wilder than a hog in a peach orchard. You sure it wasn't just the wind?"


"Don't play dumb!" Clara snapped. "I saw it in your eyes — you've heard 'em too. Spill it, or I'll shake it outta you!"


Dana sighed. "Alright, last spring, I was traipsin' through the holler, and whispers sang Dear Prudence, like they was beggin' me to come closer. Scared me so bad I ran home and locked the door. I didn't tell you 'cause I thought you'd call me crazy."


Clara's gaze softened. "Crazy? Dana, you shoulda told me. The whispers knew my name, pressed me to a tree. What else you hidin'? "


"Nothin', I swear," Dana said, her voice cracking. "I'm just scared, Clara. It felt like them voices were inside my bones, singin' my secrets to the world. But — if you're in, I'm in." She crossed to a trunk, pulling out a leather journal. "I found this in Mama's things. It might hold answers."


Dana hesitated, her fingers tracin' the journal's worn edges. "Clara, you remember how Mama used to sit by the window, starin' at the Ouachita's ridges? She'd hum somethin' under her breath, like it held her heart together. I found this journal tucked in her old quilt, the one she made after Daddy passed." She flipped it open, revealin' a sketch of a buckeye tree, its branches curling like a lover's hand. "Look here," Dana said, pointin' to a note in Lunara's scrawl: The hollow keeps what the heart hides. Follow the apple, but beware the Shadow's eyes.


Clara's gasped. "Mama knew somethin' was out there. Why didn't she tell us?"


Dana's voice dropped, soft as the Caddo River's murmur. "Maybe she was protectin' us. Or maybe she was scared too.


She met Clara's eyes, a flicker of fear mixin' with resolve. "I ain't ready to face that holler again, but if you're goin', I'm with you. Just... don't let me get lost out there."


The journal's pages were brittle, and revealed Lunara Weeps' secret. In 1966, her beauty charmed her way backstage at the Beatles' Memphis concert, where George Harrison's starlit eyes met hers amidst the firecracker chaos. Letters followed, hers were inked with Things We Said Today, his were musing on A Day in the Life. In 1968, George returned to Memphis for Apple Corps, and their two-week, acid-fueled sex fling burned bright like Sol. He gifted her a personal copy of the White Album master tapes, reels of While My Guitar Gently Weeps — his heart's lament for their fleeting love. Lunara's final entry chilled: "The Shadow, a cabal hating the Beatles' light, hunts these tapes. I hid them where buckeyes fall."


Clara closed the journal, her fingers lingerin' on Lunara's words. She could almost see her mama in Memphis, young and wild, the Mississippi River's damp breath on her skin as she slipped backstage. The air must've crackled--firecracker smoke, sweat, and the hum of Yesterday spillin' from the stage. Lunara's journal didn't say it, but Clara imagined her laughin' with George under a Memphis moon, his guitar-calloused fingers brushin' hers. "He loved her, didn't he?" Clara whispered. "Enough to give her somethin' real special."


Dana nodded, her eyes misty. "Mama wrote about his eyes, said they held stars and sorrow. But this Shadow... it's like it hated their love, like it hates anything that shines." She pulled a faded photo from the journal — a young Lunara, smilin' beside a man with dark hair, an apple pin on his jacket. "This must be George. Look at her, Clara. She was alive then, not like the ghost she became."
Clara's throat tightened. "She hid those tapes to keep that light alive. We gotta find 'em, Dana. For her."


The Hollow's Call
At dusk, the sisters ventured into Buckeye Hollow, clutching the Journal tightly. Clara's voice trembled, "Mama's words are alive, Dana. She's guidin' us to somethin' big."
Dana gripped her flashlight, "Guidin' or hauntin'? This place feels like it's watchin' us, Clara. You sure we ain't chasin' a ghost story?"


"Ghosts don't leave clues," Clara said, as she scanned the shadows. "Mama hid them tapes for us. Don't chicken out now — you're tougher than that."


Dana snorted, "I'm shakin' like a leaf in a storm, but I ain't leavin' you." The whispers returned, weaving Octopus's Garden's lullaby: "We'd be safe below the storm..." A buckeye nut carved with an apple symbol rolled to their feet. The Shadow surged. "You'll never find it!" it roared. Clara clutched Dana's arm, her heart pounding like Helter Skelter.
"Run, Dana!" Clara shouted, dragging her sister. "It's real, and it's mad!"


Dana panted, "That thing's gonna eat us!" They fled, the apple-carved nut their only clue.


Clara's lungs burned, but she could still hear the whispers, now sharp as broken glass. "You can't outrun the dark," they taunted, curlin' around her like smoke. She glanced at Dana, whose face was pale. "Keep movin'," Dana gasped. "I ain't lettin' that thing win."


They ducked behind a moss-covered boulder, catchin' their breath. Clara's fingers traced the apple carving on the nut. "This is Mama's mark," she said. "She's leadin' us, but the Shadow knows it too."


}Dana's voice shook. "Then why's it so mad? What's in those tapes that's worth all this?" She clutched Clara's arm. "Clara, if we die out here, I'm blamin' you for draggin' me into this mess."


Clara's laugh was sharp, cuttin' through the fear. "Blame me? You're the one who kept Mama's journal a secret. We're in this together, Dana, like when we used to sneak blackberries from Miss Ellie's patch." She squeezed Dana's hand, her voice softenin'. "We'll make it. Mama didn't raise quitters."


The Dream's Warning
In Dana's shop, Clara traced the apple symbol. "This is Mama's map to the tapes. You feel her in this, don't you?"
Dana's hands shook, she was almost in Tears. "Feel her? What if the Shadow's right? What if we ain't meant to find it?"


Clara knelt, her eyes looking fierce. "You're scared. I'm shakin' too. But Mama chose us — just the Two of Us against this dark whatever it is. You're my rock, Dana, even though you're stubborn like a mule."


Dana's laugh was half-sob. "Stubborn? You're the one chasin' ghosts like a hound dog on a scent. But fine, I'm with you. Promise me we'll get out alive." That night, Dana's dreams brought whispers: "Dear Prudence, greet the brand-new day... find the apple." Dana woke, clutching Clara's hand. "I saw it too," she whispered, her voice steadier. "A cave, apple-carved at the entrance. Mama's callin' us. Let's do this."


Clara stirred, her own dream lingerin'--Lunara's voice, singin' Blackbird by the Caddo River, her hands braidin' buckeye leaves. "You saw the cave too?" Clara asked, her voice low. "Mama's in there, Dana, but so's the Shadow. You still in?"


Dana's eyes glinted, fierce as a hawk's. "I said I'm with you, didn't I? But if that thing comes for us, I'm throwin' you at it first." She grinned, but her hand trembled as she tucked the journal into her pack. "Mama's countin' on us. Let's not let her down."


The Cave's Secret
By moonlight's guide, they reached the cave, its mouth surely etched with an apple. Clara whispered, "This is it, Dana. Mama's tapes, her love for George -- it's all here."


Dana's flashlight flickered. "Love? More like trouble. If that Shadow catches us, we're done for. You sure these tapes are worth dyin' for?"


"Worth livin' for," Clara said, her voice soundin' like a While My Guitar Gently Weeps lament. "Mama hid 'em for us, to keep the Beatles' light alive. We're her legacy, Dana." The whispers swelled, a chorus of A Day in the Life's surreal lament. The Shadow materialized -- a collective of shattered voices, greed's echo. — chanting, "Get Back! Leave the tapes!" It pressed them against damp walls, the air thick with Something's dread. Clara's hand found an Apple Records box in a recess in the cave wall, the tapes seemingly humming While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Dana's light caught a second carving, a star beside the apple, hinting at more treasures.


The Shadow's wail grew, a distorted cry that clawed at their ears. Clara's voice broke through, singin' While My Guitar Gently Weeps, raw and steady. Dana joined, her voice tremblin' but fierce. "Keep singin', Clara!" Dana shouted. "It's backin' off!"


Clara's heart pounded, but she held Dana's gaze. "You feel that? Mama's with us, Dana. Her song's stronger than this dark."


Dana's voice cracked, but she kept singin', her hand grippin' Clara's. "Stronger? I'm just tryin' not to pee my pants. But yeah, I feel her. Keep goin'." Their voices rose, a shield of melody, and the Shadow shrank, its wail fadin' like a storm leavin' the Ouachita's ridges.


They clutched the tapes, the Apple Records box cold against their skin. The star carving gleamed, a promise of more secrets. "What's this star mean?" Dana whispered, her breath foggin' in the cave's chill.


Clara's fingers traced it, her voice soft. "Mama's not done with us. There's more out there, Dana, and we're gonna find it."


The Shadow lunged, its wail sounding like a distorted cry. Clara sang While My Guitar Gently Weeps, Dana's voice joining her's, raw and fierce. "Keep singin', Clara!" Dana shouted. The darkness recoiled, and they ran, tapes in hand.


At the hollow's edge, a whisper lingered: "Seek on..." The sisters held the tapes, the star-carving a promise of more in Buckeye Hollow's veiled depths, the Shadow's hunger not yet satisfied.


2000 Words in the story above.


— Noisy Wren, '25 — For Week 2 of The Beatles Musical Extravaganza