My Brother Disappeared Along The Oregon Coast, And I Think Whatever Took Him Is After My Whole Family

I cracked a smoke and internally decided we would hit the track as soon as it was done. It was too cold to just sit there sipping beer anyway. I could already feel some frost forming on the outer crust of my red beard.

I looked over at Calvin and saw him shivering in dad’s old Carhartt jacket. The bad news was I wasn’t sure if he was shivering because of the frigid wind coming off the ocean, or because he had been kicking heroin ever since we picked him up at his friend’s house in the afternoon.

I killed my smoke early, couldn’t take it anymore.

“Alright,” I said as soon as I took the smoke out of my mouth and flicked it into the sand in front of dad’s cross which was still moist from Calvin’s beer. “Let’s do this.”

I walked past Calvin and Roger and headed over to our trio of four wheelers which rested at the start of the dunes’ best track.

“Why you wearing that miner’s helmet again?” I heard Roger ask Calvin about his GoPro again condescendingly.

I hopped up onto my four wheeler and shot a look over to Roger and Calvin.

“I told you man, it’s not a miner’s helmet. I don’t even know what the fuck that means. It’s a GoPro. Takes video of what I see then I can share it on Facebook and stuff,” Calvin explained before he climbed onto his four wheeler.

About the author

Jack Follman

Jack has written professionally as a journalist, fiction writer, and ghost writer. For more information, visit his website.

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