Thing Bailiwick Page 9

  It had been eighteen months since the accident, eighteen months which seemed more like a lifetime. His dad had been driving home drunk. Nothing unusual for him. Somehow the old truck always managed to find its way home from the sleazy bars. But not on that Sunday night. No, on that night Jack Kelsey climbed into his old pickup for the last time. And he hadn’t just killed himself. Oh no. When Jack Kelsey screwed up, he screwed up big time. When Jack Kelsey screwed up, cars exploded and people were burned alive. People on their way home from church, no less. Innocent children.

  He kept the newspaper clipping hidden, pushed way back in the bottom of his sock drawer. When the mood so struck him, he would take it out and study them—the man with the white shirt and the healthy tan, the lady with the dark hair, the little girl with the dimples and the daisies on her dress, the small boy who was smiling really big even though he was missing his front teeth. The whole happy family, right down to the shaggy black dog. He would tell them he was sorry for what his father had done…thank them for setting him free.

  He was somebody now. And there was nobody telling him different every single day of his life. He could very well become a respectable adult, somebody important, somebody who could actually make a difference in the world, help others find their own self-worth, even. A child psychologist, maybe. That way he could help all the poor kids who were screwed up because of their good-for-nothing, loser boozer parents. Like Kenny here. He was a classic example. The kid was in desperate need of a morale booster. Any good psychologist could see he would probably sell his soul into purgatory if he thought he might find a friend there. It was really sad.

  Wandering off the path about ten feet, Rick dropped down to hands and knees to crawl through some dense brush. Kenny followed him, with Ted and Snoop bringing up the rear.

  While Ted and Rick were brushing off their knees, Kenny was pushing a high breathless whistle through his teeth. “Holy cow, this is totally radical,” he breathed, spinning slowly to take everything in.

  Ted felt a rush of pride. The small clearing they stood in measured about twenty feet in diameter and was surrounded by trees and dense brush, creating a nice private sanctuary. He and Rick had collected assorted treasures from dumpsters and brought in miscellaneous items from around the house to make their fort a home. There was a leather couch situated dead center. Okay, so maybe it was vinyl, and it had a bunch of rips bulging foam, but it was like the supplest of leather as far as he was concerned. It’d taken hours of backbreaking labor to lug it in.

  Then there was the jumbo cable spool they’d rolled in from the field. With two plastic lawn chairs situated about it, it made an excellent card table. There was a tan Lazy Boy with chewed up armrests. It was locked permanently in the lounge position, its hinges rusted in place, but it was comfy as hell. There was even a small refrigerator which presently held some chocolate chip cookies and half a bag of potato chips. It smelled a little musty inside, but it kept the critters out. A dart board hanging on one of the perimeter trees made for hours of entertainment, and they’d lugged in a bunch of stones to make a nice fire-pit for roasting marshmallows and the like.

  Rick walked over and opened the drawer of a rusty, dented file-cabinet and pulled out a Playboy magazine and a book of matches. Plopping down on the couch, he propped his feet up on the bowed and peeling particle-board coffee table. “Well, Kenster, welcome to our humble abode,” he said, a smug grin on his face as he pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Lighting one up, he took a long draw and let the smoke filter out slowly, his bottom lip pushed out and his chin tilted up.

  “Hey, don’t do that!” he yelled suddenly. Picking up an empty coke bottle from the coffee table, he hurled it at Snoop who was lifting a leg to a nearby tree. “You gotta take a whiz, take it outside, you oversized rat!” he choked out past contained coughing.

  “Take it easy,” Ted said. “This is outside to him.”

  Slouching back against the couch, Rick stuck the cigarette back into his mouth and his nose into the magazine. “Teach that mutt some friggin’ manners, would ya,” he muttered as he flipped through the pages.

  Ted was used to Ricky’s temper. It didn’t really bother him anymore. Sure, some people might consider him a bully, but Ted understood why. He knew he was only masking his feelings of inadequacy behind that tough demeanor. Any good psychologist could figure that one.

  Rick had to grow up way too fast. His father was a highly disciplined and regimented military man. An anal asshole was probably a more accurate description. Yes, sir, no, sir, whatever you say, sir. Please don’t cuff my ears, sir. Please don’t switch my rear, sir. I’ll make my bed every day, sir. I’ll rotate my clothes from left to right and arrange my shoes from short to tall, sir. I’ll scrub the toilet every day, sir, and stack my books small to large, sir.

  When Rick was ten, his mother kicked the anal asshole to the curb, leaving Rick to be “the man of the house”, quite a burden to heap upon the shoulders of a ten-year-old. But, being the oldest, he felt it was his duty to take care of his younger sister and his mom. He’d been doing a pretty decent job of it too, until his sister drowned in the drainage ditch behind the trailer after a heavy day of rain. Ricky had been watching her. Not good enough though.

  In the two years since, Ted had witnessed Rick’s slow transformation from a normal, polite, kind of quiet kid, to the loud, pushy, abrasive kid he was today. In a way, Ted felt just as sorry for Rick as he did for Kenny. He was only twelve and already burdened with so much guilt. He was just going about the wrong way of dealing with it, was all. Any good psychologist could tell you that, too.

  “This place is totally awesome,” Kenny breathed. Plopping down into the recliner, he put up his feet and laced his fingers behind his head, making himself right at home. “Man,” he groaned, his grin dropping to a frown as he crinkled his nose. “This thing smells ripe.”

  “Yeah, it rained a couple days ago,” Ted informed him. “A few sunny days, it’ll be good as new.”

  “Yeah, Miss Priss,” Rick sneered, giving a few smoky coughs before flipping to the next page.

  Pulling six darts from the dart board, Ted stood back with one eye closed and took careful aim.

  “I got a question for you guys,” Kenny said.

  “Shoot,” Ted said, letting loose his first dart and frowning when it barely caught the edge of the board.

  “How come you guys got a lamp here? It ain’t like you can plug it in or anything.”

  “It adds to the ambiance, barfbag,” Rick interjected, lifting his nose from the magazine to blow out a stream of smoke. “Anything else you wanna criticize?”

  “Ain’t criticizing. Just curious is all.”

  “Yeah, well, curiosity killed the friggin’ cat, didn’t you hear?” he asked, ending the question with curt cough.

  “Yeah, I heard. I really don’t know what the heck that means, though.”

  Pulling the cigarette from his lip, Rick slammed his magazine to his lap to glare at Kenny. “Where’s your brain again? Oh yeah. I forgot. Better get off your fat ass. Must be cutting off its oxygen.”

  “So, what’s it mean, then, O wizened one?” Kenny asked.

  “It means…” Ricky looked to the smoke spiraling up from the cigarette, and his glare softened. “Who the hell knows,” he snorted, and they both began to laugh.

  Rick’s laughter turned immediately into a stringent coughing that quickly turned to gagging. “The hell,” he choked out, his face contorting. “What the hell is in these cheap-ass things?” he asked, flicking away the butt. “They taste like rolled dick.”

  Kenny let out a snort. “How would you know what that tastes like?” he asked, and they all three commenced to laughing.

  “Okay, now I got a question for you,” Rick directed to Kenny. “How come your dad drives that nice truck when he don’t even work? And he has that nice lawnmower, and that nice bass boat that he don’t even use.”

  Kenny waved away a gnat. “He gets a check every
month from some church.”

  “How come?”

  “Something to do with my mom. She was murdered.”

  Ricky dropped the magazine to his lap. “No shit?”

  “Yep. During a robbery. She got shot.”

  “Man,” Ted said, shaking his head, “that had to be tough.”

  “I was just a baby. I don’t even remember her. But I guess the preacher feels sorry for me, or something. He knew the guy who did it, some buddy of his who got killed in a different robbery.”

  “Ain’t karma a bee-otch,” Ricky laughed.

  “Yeah, well, anyway, he set up a college fund for me, and he sends a check every now and then…just for stuff.”

  “Damn, I wish he’d feel sorry for me,” Ricky said, picking up his magazine.

  “Oh, man,” Kenny said, lounging back and crossing his ankles. “I could get used to this.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable, chubo. We’re just letting you check it out, is all. You still have to go through initiation before you’re really in.”

  “Initiation?”

  “Yeah, it ain’t no biggy,” Ricky said, flipping through his magazine. “All you gotta do is spend the night here. Nothin’ to it.”

  “No way!” Sitting up, Kenny gaped at Ricky. “I ain’t spendin’ the night out here. You must be crazy.”

  “Told you, Ted. He’s a sissy. Baak…baak baak baak.” Tossing aside his magazine, Ricky jumped to his feet to flap his elbows and knock his knees together in a lame chicken imitation.

  “I ain’t no sissy. I just ain’t no idiot, neither. You ain’t gonna catch me out here by myself at night. No way. I ain’t that stupid.”

  “Whatcha fraid of, sissyboy, the bogeyman? Baaak, baak-baak. Let me see under here again,” Ricky said, snatching Kenny’s shirt up. “I knew it! It’s a yella flubbabelly. Baaak, baak-baaaaaak.”

  “You’re tellin’ me you spent the night here…by yourself?”

  “Well…no,” Ricky said, ceasing his infernal flapping. “Ted and me are founders. We don’t have to be initiated in, ain’t that right, Kelsey?”

  “Tell you what,” Kenny said, re-lacing his fingers behind his head and lounging back. “You spend the night out here first, and I’ll be happy to do the same.”

  “Well, excuse me, El Blimpo,” Ricky drawled, glaring down at him. “But for one minute I actually thought this was my fort and I was calling the shots. My mistake. What could I have been thinking,” he said, knocking himself on the temple. “Guess I was just delirious for a second there, ain’t that right, Kelsey?”

  Ted was impressed by Kenny. He had guts, that was for sure. He didn’t know many who could be so casual under Ricky’s rapid-fire cut-downs. Or maybe the kid was just used to it. “I don’t know,” he said as he loosed another dart. “Sounds pretty reasonable to me. We could take turns. Have our own private little camp-outs, roast some hot dogs and marshmallows. It’ll be fun.”

  “Fun! Are you nuts?” Ricky snapped.

  Kenny gave a huff. “Baak-baak.”

  “Shut up, fatass! I ain’t no chicken.” Ricky kicked at a toadstool growing in the middle of the fort, snapping its flimsy trunk and sending it hurtling through the air. It bounced, fragmenting into a hundred pieces that tumbled into the brush.

  Ted fought back a grin. Ricky was agitated. Any fool with half a brain could see that. He didn’t like the way the tables had turned. Somewhere along the line, he’d lost the upper hand. That wasn’t good. People like Ricky had to stay in total control of the situation at all times. As long as they were in control, they felt things couldn’t get out of hand.

  “Sure, Rick,” he said. “It’s only fair. Tell ya what, I’ll even go first. Break the ice.” He let another dart fly. “All right, bull’s eye!”

  “Fine. Whatever,” Ricky grumbled. “Don’t matter to me. I mean, I’ll go first if you want. Ain’t no skin off my ass.”

  “Right,” Kenny mumbled under his breath, obviously not fooled by Ricky’s bravado.

  “Shut up, fartface!”

  “I’ve got this, Rick,” Ted insisted. “Really. I don’t mind.”

  ~~~~

  Later that night as he lie in bed listening to the light breeze rustling the trees outside, Ted began to rethink his rash proposal. Perhaps he’d spoken a bit prematurely.

  It wasn’t that he was afraid. No, not at all. He was much too pragmatic for that, as any good psychologist should be. He was used to being on his own at night. His mom worked the night shift, after all. And he’d never been afraid of the dark. Didn’t believe in ghosts or bogeymen or anything as irrational as that. It was just…well…the thought of being in the woods alone at night didn’t seem as appealing at the present as it had in broad daylight. As a matter of fact, it sounded downright spooky.

  But he couldn’t back out now. He’d committed himself. And he’d never hear the end of it if he did. The yella-bellied, sissy-girl, chicken-shit, wimp-ass jokes would be flying. God no! He couldn’t back out. He’d never be able to live it down. Out of the question. No way, José, as Mr. Mireles liked to say—which never failed to make the class laugh because his name was José—that along with “no problemo, amigo” and “si si, señor”.

  The thought of his Spanish teacher made him smile. He was the coolest teacher ever.

  What was the big deal anyway? It was only one lousy night, right? He could handle that. Snoop would be there to keep him company, and he had a nice comfy couch to lounge on. He’d bring a flashlight and some of his classic comics. The night would probably fly by.

  He looked toward the window. It was open a few inches, and the light breeze was lifting the curtains. A dark moonless night lie beyond the panes.

  Man. He should have waited until there was a moon, at least. A full moon. A huge full moon that lit up the night like a giant lantern.

  No! Not a full moon. Werewolves come out when the moon is full.

  Whoa! Where did that zany thought come from? Werewolves? That was ridiculous. Crazy.

  Jeez, you’re driving yourself nuts, Kelsey. Just don’t think about it. Don’t dwell on it.

  Tomorrow he’d tell his mom he was spending the night at Ricky’s, and instead he’d hang out at the fort for a few hours, read a few magazines, play some darts, maybe build a fire and roast some marshmallows or something. And then he’d fall asleep on the couch and dream the night away. Wake up a new, refreshed, and totally initiated member of the freshest damn fort in Rutherford County. Nothin’ to it. No problem. No problemo, amigo. Piece of cake. Piece of chocolate cake with fluffy chocolate icing and sprinkles on top. Chocolate sprinkles.

  No, rainbow sprinkles. Add a little color. Don’t want it to be too dark. All dark. Dark, dark, dark. Blackout cake. Dark as midnight. Midnight. Witching hour. Stringy-haired, wart-faced, claw-fingered, boy-eating—

  “Whoa, hold up. What’s going on here?”

  Pulling the covers to his chin, he looked back to the fluttering curtains. Something about the window being open was giving him the major creepazoids.

  Slipping from the bed, he padded to the window and slammed it down, giving it a couple of tugs to make certain it was latched.

  Hopping back into bed, he gave his pillow a good fluff and punch, before plopping his head into the fresh indentation. “Come here, Snoop. Here, boy,” he whispered, patting the bed beside him, and Snoop obediently jumped up to join him. He knew he’d be in a heap of trouble if his mom caught him with Snoop on his waterbed. She was afraid his nails would puncture it. But at the moment, he was willing to face the wrath of mom if need be. Pulling the covers to his chin, he peered at the ceiling.

  Slowly, his eyes were drawn back to the window.

  Tomorrow there won’t be a window between me and the dark, moonless night.

  Oh, man! There he went again. Getting all worked up over nothing. Nothing at all. Who needed a moon anyway? Just a few hours under the stars, fresh air, the slightest of breezes…carrying in a variety of winged creatures—


  Damn, Kelsey! What the heck are you doing?

  He was out of control. All these bizarre thoughts popping into his head of their own accord. Absolutely no invitation whatsoever.

  He rolled to his side, putting his arm around Snoop and peering at the darkness on the other side of the lacy curtains.

  What lurked beyond those curtains, roaming through the darkness? What hollow-eyed, pointy-nosed, blood-sucking—

  Crap!

  Rolling to his stomach, he buried his face into his pillow.

  It wasn’t like him to let his imagination run wild. At the present, it was sliding down a vertical snowbank at lightning speed. On a greased sled. Yes siree. Greased up with something super-duper slick. Slippery. Slimy…like giant leeches. Man-eating monstrosities that slithered around under damp, dead leaves and snuck up on unsuspecting kids who had no business whatsoever being out in the middle of the woods at midnight lounging on ripped vinyl couches. They would latch onto his neck at his jugulars, draining him dry within seconds while he bucked and clawed and lurched and kicked and flailed. And as he lie on the ground, spasming during the final moments of his existence, they would slither down his throat and wriggle their way through his intestines to his stomach to munch out on not-yet-fully-digested, gooey, burnt marshmallows.

  “Wow! That’s really gross. Disgusting. Totally vulgar, not to mention completely irrational.”

  Snoop’s tail gave a few half-hearted thumps at the sound of his voice.

  If he was going to make a good psychologist someday, he couldn’t make a habit of thinking irrationally. No way. He had to think logically at all times. This was a totally unacceptable line of thought processes. What kind of psychologist was afraid of giant man-eating leeches? That was absurd. Ludicrous. Could it be any more far-fetched?