Sweet Jenny
Sparks
After community college, for
reasons I don't understand, Jenny dropped out and turned to nude dancing while I continued
onto the university. Even when she danced, she stayed in touch, calling me every other
day. Finally, she invited me to her club that night so I could meet her friend Dara. I
said sure. That was the night I met Rick Spenser, a tall, thin red-headed man with perfect
teeth and squinting eyes. Rick and I seemed to hit it off, possibly because we both liked
hockey, girls, and Irish beer. And Rick fell immediately in love with Dara. A Wyoming
girl, Dara was tall On the girls' night off at the end of June 1984, Rick and I were to meet Jenny and Dara at Denny's on Sahara just off the Strip. Having aced my college finals in the spring, I was headed for graduate school in Southern California, where I hoped to meet some gorgeous rich babe and get married. When Rick and I walked into the restaurant, we saw the girls sitting at a table near the back. Dara waved, but Jenny didn't look our way. I knew something was bothering Jenny; maybe it was me. When we sat down, Jenny gave me a cordial hello. That was it. She was normally the life of the party, but tonight, after our food came and as Rick zeroed in on Dara, Jenny drank her coffee and ate her cherry pie in silence, occasionally glancing at me. Her hair was disheveled, and she wore tight blue shorts and a blazing red T-shirt bearing the letters "Shoot Me Dead.". Perhaps, I thought, her past was catching up to her: she had been thrown out of her mother's house four years ago, she had given up on her dream of getting a college degree when her Uncle Benjamin had died two years ago, and her sister had been shot to death in a grocery store parking lot six months before. But, then again, I had my own person tragedies; everyone does. "What's wrong, Jenny?" I asked, putting my arm around her and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "I dunno," she mumbled, glancing my way and smiling weakly. "What's the matter?" I said. Dara and Rick stopped talking to listen. "Everything in general. You know?" she said. "You know, Jeff?" "Like what?" I asked. "Like this place. I'm just so sick and tired of Vegas," Jenny finally said, running her fingers through her long, stringy hair. She was near tears. "Jesus , Jeff, I'm sick of this town. Sick of this life. Is there a point?" I paused. Years ago, we had believed in God. We'd believed that for everything there was a purpose. "Maybe not, Jenny," I said. "Maybe there isn't a point." "But you got it made here, Jenny," Rick interrupted. Not given to introspection, Rick had told me he had one goal: to live with a Las Vegas stripper. Most recently, he had told me that he wanted to marry Dara, who despised him but apparently adored me. "You belong here. You were raised here. Shit, whaddya mean 'What's the point?'? You're not thinking of doin' something stupid, are you?" Ignoring Rick, Jenny fixed her eyes on me. "Y'know, Jeff, all I ever known was bars, strip joints, shit like that. My mom the bitch worked in one. Loved to dance, she said. Of course, you know that. Grandma worked in one, but I never met her. Just for once, just for one fucking time, I wanna see something different. I don't wanna go to New York. I don't want L. A. Shit, what is there? What else is there, Jeff? Sometimes I think I'm dyin' here. Jesus, I'm so fuckin' empty I could die." We sat in silence. I knew about Jenny's mom. I didn't know her dad, but neither did Jenny. Jenny and I had talked many, many times. We'd had sex on several occasions, but I'd never told her I loved her. I didn't want to talk about meaning and purpose in a universe where I was surely on the road to tremendous success. "I dunno," I mumbled. "Maybe this is as good as it gets. Maybe this is what there is. Which isn't bad. I mean, hell, Jenny, I'm goin' to grad school. And it looks like you got a career though I don't think getting your brains fucked out on the screen is your calling, and neither do you, or we wouldn't be having this conversation. Also, you're not dying, as far as I can see." Jenny took a bite of pie and drank some coffee. "Yeah, you sure are goin' to grad school, and I am honestly impressed, and the doors are openin' wide for me to become a slut queen," Jenny said, looking at a point on the ceiling. "Hell, maybe it's what I want: gettin' my brains fucked out on the screen. Still, I want somethin' different." I said nothing. It had been a mistake to come to Denny's. "Whaddya have in mind, Jenny?" asked Dara. "I dunno," Jenny sighed. "I think anything but Vegas. I'd be happy with a convent." "Maybe get outa town or somethin'?" I ventured. "Go to the mountains. Go to Mt. Charleston." Mount Charleston was about thirty miles northwest of the city. It was a favorite among locals, and Jenny and I had been there together three years before. "Mt. Charleston is nice, Jenny." "More than Mt.
Charleston," Jenny mumbled. "Besides, we been there. It's just more Las Vegas.
Let's go to that place you and your grandpa always used to go when we were younger. That
place I always used to ask you about? "Of course I remember," I said. I hadn't talked about the place for several years now. My mind was on other things. I hadn't visited the place since my grandfather had died of a brain tumor seven years before. When I was growing up in Las Vegas, every autumn, Grandpa and I would journey to one particular campground in the far northern part of the state, pitch a tent, and fish the stream adjacent to the camp. While I could always feel a brooding darkness hanging over and around the camp, I could only see the place's beauty when I was with Grandpa. The green waters of the stream were always ice-cold, the pools dark and deep and lovely. At midday, when the fish weren't biting, Grandpa and I would swim those pools with Grandpa always watching. The night Grandpa died, I had driven over to Jenny's house, and Jenny had held me all night. My own parents had died in an airplane crash when I was twelve. "It would be the perfect place," I conceded. I remembered it as a place of haunting, almost unearthly beauty. Insects sang in the trees, and coyotes howled at night. "It's way back in the mountains, up north past Wells. Some of the most beautiful country you'll ever see. Air pure and fresh. If you like to fish, there's plenty of that. Maybe it's time to go back." Jenny smiled, her eyes shining for the first time that night. "Boy, that sounds great. I'd love for us to go fishin'. I've always wondered what was up there. You and your grandpa never took me." No, I had never taken or even invited her to the place my grandpa and I had consider the most sacred place on the planet. I'm not sure why. I looked at Dara and Rick. "I been fishin' before," Rick boasted, typical of him. "My brother and I used to go to this little lake out of San Bernadino. Caught a shit-load of fish." "This place isn't the same," I said. I looked at Dara, who rolled her eyes when Rick had spoken. Dara seemed to have a dark side, and I found that intriguing. "This place, Jeff, it sounds a little more remote than San Bernadino," said Dara. "I think I know the area, but I' m not sure I wanna go to Northern Nevada." "What?" I said. "Why?" Of the four of us, Dara was the only one who had been raised in the country. "Stories," Dara replied. "What stories?" I asked. I had heard stories long ago, told by locals grandpa and I had met at the campground, but nothing bad had ever happened when my grandpa and I used to go. "Just stories. About wild black things coming out of the woods," Dara said. I felt something twist in my gut. "What?" said Rick. "That's kid stuff. Kid stuff." I glared at Rick. "How old were you when you heard the stories?" Jenny asked. "I dunno. Four or five," Dara answered, hesitantly. "Jesus," I breathed, dark images flitting through my mind like bats. "But they were just stories is all they were, Jeff," said Dara. "Well, shit," Rick burst in, "we all got stories from our childhood scare us to death. My momma used to scare me with bogey man stories until I told her to go fuck herself. I say we go." "Yeah, let's do it," said Jenny. "It's sounds like what I'm lookin' for. C'mon, Jeff. C'mon, Dara. There will be four of us. We look out for each other, have a good time." "All right," I said, resigned. "But it doesn't have to be northern Nevada. We can go somewhere else," I commented, thinking of Dara and temporarily feeling the fear that tales of northern Nevada used to awaken in me. "Dara," I said, glancing at Jenny, "what you wanna do?" Dara smiled, as she always did. "I dunno. I dunno. Shit. What do I wanna do?" "You wanna go," Jenny said, reaching across the table and taking Dara's hand in her own. "We all wanna go. To Jeff's place. Where his grandpa used to take him." I looked at Dara and smiled, and she smiled back. "I guess," said Dara, shrugging her shoulders. "Not much else to do."
The forest was as dark as it had always been; trees grew so tall and thick that you couldn't see the sky. Creatures who lived in the forest-chipmunks and bats, I guess-made constant sound flitting through the tops of trees. The creek on other side of this dark wood was as I remembered it, ice-cold water exploding over rocks and boulders down to the valley miles and miles below. Cool mist mixed with the fresh scent of pine. As we stood on the trail looking down at the stream, I observed that the water was still high enough to form the deep pools. I remembered if you could get your line near the bottom, you could catch trout will over a foot long. I cast a sideways glance at Jenny, who stood next to me. She looked enraptured. "Whaddya think?" I said. "Holy Mother of God, Jeff, " exclaimed Jenny, breathless. She was dressed in a flimsy gray halter top and tiny tight shorts and wasn't wearing a bra. "Is this what I been missin'? Where you and your grandpa came? This is wonderful. Shoulda taken me here years ago, Jeff." I looked at Rick and Dara, who stood on my other side. Dara hadn't said two words to Rick all day. "Jesus, this is somethin', " said Rick. Originally from LA, Rick had probably never seen a stream like this. The four of us stood, surrounded by thick dark pines on both sides of the creek, felt the mist against our skin, and let the thundering water drown thought. I closed my eyes and imagined my grandfather next to me. For an instant, I could almost feel his presence. Then I opened my eyes, slowly, and looked at Jenny, who was looking at me. She held out her hand, and I took it in mine. I think I was just being nice. "It's like what you want heaven to look like, if you believe in that shit," Dara finally said, standing next to me. Dara wore a red T-shirt and blue jeans. Her hands were stuffed into back pockets. "I guess this won't be so bad after all." In my mind's eye, I could see Grandpa telling me to throw my line into the water. Then I thought of Jenny, of how good it felt to be in this sacred place with someone I had grown up with. "Let's fish," I said. "God, yes, let's do some fishing," Jenny said. In a file, holding our fishing poles, we walked down to the creek. When we got to the water, I said that we'd need to spread out a bit. Dara didn't need any help. I watched her as she walked upstream a bit and expertly cast her line across the stream. I turned to Jenny, who was holding her pole and smiling at me. I took Jenny downstream and showed her what to do, what kind of pools to look for, how to bait her hook, weight her line and cast across a pool. We were like kids again, and she learned quickly and enthusiastically. Across one pool that we fished, I noticed something dark hanging from a tree across the stream. My heart missing a beat and my ears ringing, I avoided looking at the thing and concentrated on Jenny. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw Rick walking up the path we had just come down and moving upstream. "Hey, Rick!" Iexclaimed. Rick turned on the trail and looked back at us. "Let's stay together. I mean, we came up here to be together." "I'll be right back," Rick yelled. "Just going up the stream a bit." "I think we should all stay together, Rick," Jenny said, holding her pole over the water and looking at me. "Good riddance, you son-of-a-bitch," Dara muttered as she crouched and fished along the shore. Dara's response surprised me, and I smiled. "Jesus, why not let him go?" I mumbled. Rick got on my nerves. Anyway, I figured that Rick would be fine. In all years my grandfather and I had come to this place, nothing unusual had ever happened. Even I had wandered upstream where Rick was going. "If he follows the stream up," I said, "then he has to follow the stream back. Don't worry. I been up here dozens of times." That, of course, was something of a lie; for reasons he never revealed, Grandpa had never let me go up the stream and out of his sight. While Rick moved upstream and disappeared from view, the girls and I fished for at least two hours, moving together downstream to the part of the river that had the pools. By the time the air began to cool and darkness slowly began to fall, I had caught three, Dara five, and Jenny two. Dara had done all her fishing upstream while Jenny and I had fished the pools downstream. I looked at Jenny, who seemed
happier than I'd seen her for years, and I realized that for the first time in years I had
performed a good deed. I looked at Jenny, and as I did, it was as if I caught a glimpse of her soul. With me, out in these woods, by this stream, she felt reborn. "Sure is beautiful," Dara replied, crouched along the back land holding her line with her left hand and using the other to drag the hook through a pool. "Back in Vegas, we'd be dancin' and drinkin' and gettin' screwed up for one more evening. And maybe gettin' screwed, who knows. " She paused. "It's good to get away from the shit." Events, even those bringing the greatest happiness, turn on the slightest twist. I was one the verge of telling the girls about the afternoon when grandpa caught twelve fish when the whole universe seemed to go dead silent and I heard some sounds: a cracking of dry wood mixed with laughter and the baying and barking of hounds. At first, they seemed to come from far away, perhaps half a mile upstream, but the more I listened, the closer the sounds seemed. Then, suddenly, all sounds stopped. "Oh, sweet Jesus," I breathed. "Jeff," Jenny said,
"what the fuck was that? I thought there was no one else up here." Jenny looked
up stream in the direction of the sounds. I struggled to find an explanation. "Probably Rick coming back," I commented. "Sound really travels in the forest, particularly near a stream like this. It's because the air is thinner, I think." "Yeah, maybe so," said Jenny, "but deer don't bark." As we waited for Rick to appear, we heard the sound again, only much, much louder this time: the sharp, hollow snapping of dried and dead wood, the sound indicating someone or something heading our way. An image of dark wings and pounding feet filled my brain, and I felt chilled. I heard the sound again and again, always increasing. "Sounds like a bunch of 'em," said Dara, pulling her line out of the water and wrapping it around her pole. "That's it," she said and walked toward me. "A bunch of what?" I began, just as low, subdued howling began from all points directly in front of us. The sounds were almost on top of us. I had not counted on this. Wishing Grandpa were here, I said, calmly, "I think we need to head back. This isn't Rick coming. He's probably way, way up stream." I looked at Dara, who in turn looked at me. Her eyes were wide with fear and anger. "I think that's a good idea," said Dara, also trying to maintain calm. "Let's do that, Jeff. Let's start now." I looked at Jenny, who stood
motionless. She radiated fear. When we heard the cracking again,
followed by low throaty snarling, this time just beyond the creek, Jenny began to panic.
"Jesus, that sounds fucked up. I don't wanna be here. Please, Jeff, let's hurry and
get outa here." Jenny sounded like the frightened little girl I used to know in grade While Dara waited, I pulled my line out of the water and wrapped it around my pole. Dara and I turned and headed up the path when we both heard the loud cracking of wood just across the stream but this time no barking, no howling. We stopped, looked across the stream, and then looked at each other. We heard it again, then an explosion of sounds, like quick shots, coming from a wide span on the other side of the creek. Cold, dark fear coursed through me. The presence of something else became tangible as mud. "Feel it?" Dara asked me. "Yes, I feel it," I said, "but I didn't expect this." My voice sounded hollow. We knew that we were being watched, so we turned and ran. In less than a minute, we had caught Jenny, walking pole in hand, hook and line dangling wildly in space. We all ran back to the camp. In front of our tent, we looked at each other. Dara and Jenny were sweating profusely and were still afraid. I looked back towards the woods, expecting to see something emerge. Waiting and waiting, I saw nothing and slowly began to relax. Remembering words of bravery my grandfather had spoken to me years ago, I was ashamed of myself for allowing myself to be spooked by some sounds in the forest. Too, I felt guilt and foolish for ever agreeing to bring anyone up here. To get a grip, we decided to pop open some beer and light a fire as we waited for Rick to return. As we drank, I kept watching the forest separating us from the stream. Perhaps, I tried to assure myself the sounds had been nothing at all. The woods grew darker. "Maybe I should go back and get Rick," I said, looking at the girls. "It's getting late." "What about the sounds, Jeff?" Jenny asked, still a bit shaken. "What about those crazy damned sounds?" "I dunno," I said. "The forest is a funny place. It's filled with sounds you never heard before. Wait until tonight when we're in the tent." "He's right," Dara commented. "I remember camping when I was little. There's all sort of sounds in the woods at night. It can get creepy." Like me, Dara was trying to reason away her fears. "Well, those sounds were pretty fuckin' creepy," Jenny said. We were all drinking beer from cans. We drank some more. "Well, then, I guess that settles it," Dara finally said. "Settles what?" I asked. I could feel the darkness falling, the night air cooling. "That we go into get Rick. He's an asshole, though," she said. I looked at Jenny, who reluctantly nodded. Jenny was slightly buzzed from the beer. "All right," I said, "let's go." It was maybe fifty yards from our campground to the forest. We began the walk across the field. As I looked ahead at the point where we would enter the forest, I saw something in the shadows. I could tell it was a man. He had been watching us and was telling us not to come, and now he was turning back into the forest. It couldn't have been Rick. Rick was much taller than the shape I saw. Telling myself that I was imagining things, I pushed forward. The girls could not know I was afraid. We walked, the day turning to night, the forest looming in front of us. About fifty feet from the entrance to the forest, we stopped. "Did you see him, Jeff?" Dara whispered. "See what?" Jenny asked. "See what, Dara?" "We saw something," I said as we all stopped. "Maybe a man. Maybe a ranger." It was just as Jenny turned to me, surely to demand an explanation, that we heard the cracking of wood, the rapid padding of heavy feet on the ground as of something running, and low growling directly in front of us. Standing in the clearing just before the forest began, we watched large black shapes slowly emerge from the woods. It was like watching darkness giving birth to darkness. There were six of them: huge black dogs, slinking out of the forest, silently forming a semi-circle in front of us. I looked back at the campground and noticed that the fire was still going. I grabbed the two girls by their arms and pulled them to me. I'd been around forest animals before. "We have to stay close," I said, trying to control the terror in my own voice. "They're less liable to attack if three become one." I took my knife out of the sheath I always wore while fishing. Holding the girls next to me, I watched the great black dogs position themselves, their yellow eyes fixed upon us. The hair on their necks bristle, and I could hear the low throaty growl that told me attack was likely. Terrified, I wondered if I was dreaming and, for an instant, felt sure that I was. It was then that Jenny struggled to break free of my grip and shouted, "This is stupid, Jeff!! This is stupid, stupid, stupid. " She began crying. "I didn't ask for this. I don't wanna die." "You're not gonna die," I assured her, fighting to maintain my grip on Jenny's arm. "No one's gonna die. Just stay with me." I kept my eyes on the dogs as they cautiously crept closer. "Jenny, please," Dara implored, "he's right, Stay close. They won't attack...." "But they're coming..." she sobbed. The huge beasts continued to slowly creep towards us. With a strength I didn't realize she had, Jenny suddenly jerked her arm away, turned, and broke towards the tent. "Jenny!" I shouted. I'll never forget this: Jenny sprinting in the twilight, crying hysterically; one animal separating itself from the pack immediately and catching Jenny in seconds; Jenny screaming and falling as the beast grabbed her ankle in its teeth; two other dogs springing forth and attacking Jenny as she fell, all the while yelling for me; one dog biting her face and seizing her cheek, another seizing her arm in its mouth, the third taking her leg; the blood from the wounds as the dogs tore into her; Jenny screaming for me and for God, screaming, screaming. We watched as the three dogs dragged Jenny, her face, arms and legs bloodied and her clothes torn from her, back in the direction of the forest. Two grabbed her left arm and one her right as they dragged Jenny into darkness. As Jenny disappeared, the three dogs who had been watching us turned and trotted back into the forest. I felt like lead. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't think. I had just stood and watched. I had often wondered how I would react in a life-and-death situation, and know I knew, and Dara knew. Dara broke the spell. "We gotta get Jenny!" she yelled at me. "Jeff, goddamn it, Jeff, we gotta do something!" She yanked my arm as she set off to the woods and I followed. At that moment, I wanted to die. My mind blank, I moved with Dara into the forest. It was almost dark. Pretty soon it would be impossible to walk in the forest without a flashlight. So, guided by the sound of the stream, we moved down the path to the stream. Scaling a small rise just before the water, I noticed that small shafts of sunlight still filtered through the trees, allowing us to see the dark, glistening stream. Without saying a word, Dara and I first walked about fifty yards up stream, and then came back down the stream, always staying close together. I didn't care if the dogs attacked. It was Dara who spotted Jenny, face down in shallow water, her body half in and half out of the stream just on this side of the large boulder marking the pool where I had caught my fish. I ran to her, knelt in the water, put my arms around Jenny, and turned the body over. Her face and body were a spider web of cuts and gashes, and her halter top had been torn to shreds. Her wounds continued to bleed into the water, onto the rock on the shore, and onto me. "Jesus," I whispered. Jenny's eyes were wide open, staring imploringly at me. "Is she still alive?" Dara asked. "I dunno," I answered. I looked into Jenny's eyes, saw life, and knew Jenny was trying to communicate with me. "I think so." If her eyes were still good, I thought to myself, then her brain is functioning. "Please forgive me, Sweet Jenny Sparks," I whispered. We both knelt as I held Jenny. As she bled, her eyes pleading with me, she slowly died, giving one last sigh. After closing Jenny's eyes, I stood, holding the limp body, and Dara stood with me. There was still enough light in the sky to enable us to return to camp. "Let's get outa here," I said. Dara and I said nothing as we walked back to the campground. I can't remember how I felt as I walked through the darkening forest and across the field to the campground, carrying the limp body of Jenny Sparks. Maybe I didn't feel anything. I did know that Dara hated me. I hated myself. When we arrived at the campground, Dara moved over to my car, thirty feet away, opened the back door of my car, and I lay Jenny inside. "What the hell we gonna do about Rick?" Dara asked. Her tone was hostile. I didn't want to think about Rick. At that moment, I didn't care about Rick. "Forget Rick, " I mumbled. "Let's get Jenny back." I looked at Dara, who stared at me in disgust. "We can't just leave Rick, you asshole," she said. "Besides, Jenny's dead." "I can," I said. "Get in the car. We're going down to Wells." "You miserable, fucking little creep," Dara said. "You knew about these things." "You did, too. Now, get in the fuckin' car," I said. There was nothing else Dara could do since I had the keys. When Dara opened the door and slumped onto the passenger seat, I walked around to the other side of the car, praying that God bring Jenny back to life, opened my door, got in, and started the car. Reaching eighty at times, I sped out of the campground, down the mountain, and hit the highway in half the time it took us to get up to the campsite. In Wells, when the police came to the hospital, we gave our story, emphasizing that one of our party was still up on the mountain. The officer questioning me gave me a chilling look, reminding me of my failure, and then walked out to his car and called in his report. Local police and highway patrol began searching for Rick the next morning, and for two weeks combed every inch of the land for one hundred square miles. In the middle of the third week, towards the end of August, the hunt was called off, and Rick was pronounced missing and probably dead. That November, a farmer and
his son found a body wedged in between to large boulders in a river that ran one hundred
miles to the north of where we had last seen Rick. The corpse was badly decomposed, parts
of it completely
We both live in Las Vegas, where I have taken a job as a substitute English and math teach in junior high and Dara owns and runs a spare-ribs restaurant on Summerlin Parkway. Several times a year, I phone Dara to talk to her, but if she's there, she never picks up. When I leave a message, she never returns my calls. Since the weekend of Jenny's
death, I have read everything I could find related to that area in northern Nevada. Years
after the event, last week, in fact, I did read one article about a group of huge black
dogs that roamed with a solitary man through another campground near by for seven straight
nights before finally attacking a mother and her three daughters, who were on a summer
vacation nature hike. A witness reported that the mother and two of the girls were mauled
beyond recognition. The body of the third girl was never found. In moments of inebriation,
I find myself Maybe later on today I'll drive down to Western Ribs, hang around for a while, order some food, and see if Dara will speak to me. I suspect that Dara will look right through me and pretend I'm not there. She's done that before. I don't know what I'd say to her anyway. Would I say, "I'm sorry"? Would I say, "How've you been?" Or would I get to the point and ask, "Do you ever think about Jenny Sparks?" Would I ask the question that has haunted me for years: "What do you think Jenny was trying to say to me when she was dying?" I like to imagine that Dara thinks about Jenny Sparks every night, just like I do. But, then again, maybe it's better not to think about anything. ©2000 Rich Logsdon |