Ed Newman Copyright 2000
4042 Sandberg Road First Rights
Duluth, MN 55810 54,000 words
158-44-2549
ennyman@cpinternet.com
"When you get right down to it, there is one fundamental question: What is Real and what is Not?"
-Brad Sculley, The Dragon's Tale
CHAPTER ONE: BOYS WILL BE BOYS
The scarlet-stained rag bandage would have fooled almost anyone and Brandon Greene grinned as his brother Dusty practiced one last time the anguished expression they hoped would bring a reaction from their Aunt Meredith.
"You look great," Brandon said as he inserted his finger through a hole they cut from the bottom of the small cardboard box he was cradling.
"This fake blood is awesome," said Dusty, referring to the concoction of cocoa and red food coloring they had prepared. "Here, let me put a little around your finger."
"I think you should go in first," Brandon said. "That will shake her up and the finger in the box will be more believable."
The two brothers stood at the bottom of the basement stairs looking up toward the kitchen, listening to make sure Aunt Meredith was alone.
"You're probably right. Mom would never fall for it, though," Dusty giggled. "O.K. Look serious." Then, after straightening his face Dusty gave the command, "Let's go," and they bounded up the stairs in three leaps.
Dusty burst into the kitchen first, groaning, his hand wrapped in a bloodied rag. Aunt Meredith, who was rinsing a cup in the sink, turned, caught sight of the wrapped hand and gasped. "Dusty, are you all right?"
Brandon rushed in from behind and exclaimed, "Dusty cut off his finger on the band saw. I've got it here in this box."
Aunt Meredith was supposed to step forward and look at the finger. It was Brandon's finger, of course. Brandon intended for it to quiver a little for effect. But Aunt Meredith didn't follow the plan. The cup she'd been washing dropped from her hand to the floor and shattered.
"Quick. Put it in the freezer," she commanded. Brandon
obeyed, grimly but gently placing the box alongside the ice cube
maker.
"Dusty, go in the bathroom. I'll be right there." Aunt
Meredith, bordering hysteria, grappled with the phone, lifted
the receiver and punched three numbers. "Hello, Nine-One-One?
We have an emergency."
Dusty remained in the kitchen, frozen, not knowing what to do. He looked at Brandon who in turn stared back at him. Suddenly, it wasn't funny any more.
"Aunt Meredith, wait. It isn't that bad." Dusty stepped toward her in the hallway and began unwrapping the makeshift bandage. "See?"
Dusty held out his hand, the five fingers fanned like a peacock's plume. Aunt Meredith's face stared in disbelief. She glanced at Brandon, who averted his eyes, then back to the healthy hand. Slowly her eyes glazed over and she looked down at the broken fragments of porcelain on the linoleum floor.
At supper that evening Michael Greene, Dusty's father, concealed his amusement at the terror the boys must have evoked in his wife's sister from California. "Can you explain to me what's so funny about frightening people half out of their wits? Dustin? Brandon?"
For a long time neither boy spoke.
"More potatoes, Mike? Brandon, you've hardly touched your plate."
"Not hungry, Mom"
"I'll have seconds," Dusty said, his plate clean as a whistle.
Mr. Greene pressed his question a second time and Dusty, chewing a bite of ham, said, "We didn't mean any harm in it. It's just fun to see how people are going to react. I don't know why, but it is."
"Some day someone's going to scare you, and you'll find out what it's like to have the shoe on the other foot," Mrs. Greene warned.
"I think people like being scared," Dusty replied. "Why else would they go to horror shows and read ghost stories?"
"I don't go to horror shows," Mrs. Greene snapped. And with that, she stood up and abruptly left the room.
Mr. Greene followed her with his eyes, then returned to the boys. He was easy going by nature and found it difficult to be stern when boys were just being boys. Still, he felt it important to make a point and not let the matter be taken too lightly. "You boys better go up to your rooms and think about what you did. I'll be up later and we'll talk about it."
"But I'm going to a movie with the Daltons tonight," Dusty protested. The Dalton twins, Devon and Damon, lived up the street.
"Since when did you get keen on the Daltons?" Mr. Greene tilted his head back, staring down through his bifocals.
For years whenever the boys mentioned the Daltons it was in an unflattering light. Disruptive school bus behavior, vandalism, foul language, intimidating other students at school -- these were the images that came to mind when Mr. Greene heard the name Dalton. Dusty and Brandon went through stages where they consciously avoided the three Dalton brothers, especially the oldest. But now Dusty had become friends with Mace, one of the toughest kids in the school. Dusty got to know Mace through a tutoring program where advanced students helped failing students lift their grade point average. A relationship developed and Dusty was welcomed to hang out with a new circle that occasionally included the Dalton twins.
"You'll have to call and tell them you can't make it."
"Da-ad," he started to say, but then bit his lip.
Brandon was already heading up the stairs when Dusty at last conceded
and accepted his father's command.
CHAPTER TWO: A LITTLE FOOD FOR THOUGHT
Dusty had just turned sixteen. His sand-colored hair had pretty much lost the rich reddish hue it once reflected. His brown eyes remained perceptive and alert. He enjoyed school primarily because it came easy for him. His favorite classes were computer science and history, and he looked forward to the new logic class that he had signed up for starting fall of his senior year.
Brandon, his black haired younger sibling, seemed so different from Dusty that people were surprised when they discovered they were brothers. Brandon liked working on motors and fiddling with small engines when he wasn't slogging aliens in 3-D computer games like Crushed Earth and Death Meister. Otherwise he did poorly in school, daydreaming incessantly, and his parents were regularly reminded that he was not performing "up to his potential."
Whereas Dusty tended to be a thinker, Brandon was a doer. Ever the optimist, Dusty attacked every problem as if it could be conquered. Brandon's pessimistic approach to life led him to avoid those conflicts where angels likewise feared to tread. Dusty loved books and caramels; Brandon hated reading and preferred chocolates.
"You want the computer?" Dusty asked, in case Brandon planned to play Death Meister.
"Think Aunt Meredith was upset with us?" Brandon asked.
Dusty, who was already logging on, didn't respond. The computer shrieked through its connection paces and made a connection to the outside world.
"Mom seemed a little bothered," Brandon said. He clambered to his feet and walked to the window.
"They'll get over it. Parents always do," Dusty said in his sage and wizened way. Brandon looked and saw the confidence in Dusty's shining face.
"Now whatcha cooking up?" Brandon said.
"You know, we haven't been to the haunted house yet this summer," Dusty said without looking away from his monitor. He was referring to the abandoned farmhouse at the end of Maple Road.
"So?" said Brandon.
"It would be a great place to scare somebody, I was thinking, like, maybe the Daltons." Then, complaining to himself, "This thing is so slow." The web page he wanted had a lot of graphics and was taking forever to download.
Dusty now turned his chair to explain the plan. Brandon could hide between the walls somewhere upstairs before they all got there. Dusty would suggest some kind of seance or something to set the mood. When everything was dark and at just the right moment, Brandon would scratch at the walls or moan and frighten everyone.
"Sounds pretty cool to me." Brandon said eagerly. "But what if something goes wrong?"
"You always say that. What if this. What if that."
"Just kinda thinking out loud, that's all," Brandon replied.
Dusty was unlacing his shoes when their father entered the room, knocking lightly on the door first before intruding. "Hi, boys. Have you been giving it any more thought?"
"You mean about Aunt Meredith? Sure, dad. We feel real bad about it," Dusty piped up. Brandon remained sullen.
Suddenly the computer chimed and a mechanical voice chirped, "Hiya Dad!"
Mr. Greene's eyes bored directly into the face of his eldest son. "I don't like saying this, but unless you change your ways, you're cruisin' for a bruisin' young man."
"You haven't spanked me in eight years," Dusty said. "Not that I don't deserve it sometimes, but--"
His father cut him off. "I'm not talking about spankings, son. I mean, one day you are going to get more than you bargained for. All this scaring people stuff is funny when you're a kid, but keep it up and I'm telling you, you'll be sorry." Mr. Greene studied his boys carefully. He could see that Dusty was unmoved, and it left him disappointed but not surprised. Brandon fidgeted, twisting his face away toward the wall.
A few final words were exchanged, along with some small talk about plans for the weekend. Before departing, Mr. Greene made the boys promise to never deliberately frighten Aunt Meredith again. This pledge would help Aunt Meredith sleep a little easier, he said. To Dusty and Brandon it seemed a fairly reasonable request to consent to.
"Maybe dad's right," Brandon said as soon as their father had left the room.
"About what?"
"You know."
"Guess I don't," Dusty said.
"Well think about it. Did you see how white her face got? What if she passed out cause all the blood rushed out of her brain. If she had passed out on all that broken glass we'd have been in big trouble."
"When you put it that way, she could have even had a heart attack and died."
There was a long silence.
"I was afraid dad was going to ground us," Brandon said. "Why didn't dad ground us?"
"Didn't you see," Dusty answered. "Dad thought it was funny, too. Mom left the table cause she was mad at dad, not us."
"Huh," Brandon grunted. "Guess I missed that
one."
·
CHAPTER THREE: ONE DARK AND STORMY NIGHT
The plan was set for Saturday at dusk. It seemed like the longest week they'd ever known, but the fateful, frightful day arrived at last.
The haunted house was actually a long-abandoned farmhouse with semi-collapsed outbuildings and a broken down old barn.
Dusty commented on the "perfect weather" they'd gotten. Storm clouds and a gusty breeze from the north provided an eeriness that would set the mood.
"What if it starts to rain," Brandon asked.
"It's not going to rain," his brother replied, the eternal optimist.
"It's a long ride home," said Brandon, but Dusty acted like he didn't hear.
"Hide your bike behind one of those sheds," Dusty instructed. "I'll leave mine here so they see it when they come."
Dusty pulled out a small flashlight, one of those five inch halogens, and he entered the dilapidated house. It was a typical farmhouse, built near the end of the last century. Two stories, lots of rooms, hardwood floors, gables. The glass from all the windows had been shattered and the floors were warped from water damage. Layers of wrinkled wallpaper had pulled away from the plaster in many of the rooms. Kids had spray painted slogans and other graffiti in several areas of the house. Its glory days were long gone.
Dusty didn't hear Brandon creep up behind him and he almost left the ground when his brother said, "Kinda gives you the creeps, don't it?"
"Don't sneak up on me like that," Dusty snapped.
"Did I scare you?" Brandon laughed. He couldn't believe how easy it was to scare his big brother.
"You didn't scare me. Just startled me, that's all." Dusty quickly recovered his cool. "You better get hiding. They'll be here any minute."
Brandon said, "Here, let me have your flashlight."
"You don't have a flashlight? I told you to bring a flashlight," Dusty scolded.
"The batteries were dead and I didn't have time to find new ones." Brandon didn't want to say outright that he forgot so he made up a little story.
It was starting to get quite dark inside the house. Dusty tested the stairs to make sure they were safe for climbing. "We want to go upstairs, not to the basement," he said.
On the second floor there were some nifty crawl spaces under the eaves and around the chimney. Brandon found a very comfortable space between two walls alongside the face of the chimney. "This is a good spot. I can sort of stand if my knees start to hurt, and I can squat or kneel if I want."
"Good," Dusty said, stepping back to withdraw.
"Leave me the flashlight."
"I'll come back and get you as soon as it's over," Dusty said.
"I don't want to be left in here without a flashlight," Brandon pleaded.
"Shhh! I hear them coming," Dusty said, and he quickly slipped out of the hiding place and crept downstairs.
The Daltons had come with a friend, Jose Martinez, a boy Dusty didn't know too well.
"Dusty?" Damon called as he got off his bike. He was taller and lankier than his brother Wolf, which made it easy for Dusty to tell the platinum blonde twins apart. Up close Damon had more freckles, and a crude set of tattoos across the knuckles of his right hand. When bared to the waist Wolf was recognizable by the scars and stitchwork on his shoulder from two surgeries after a nasty snowmobile accident the previous year. His fearlessness nearly cost him his arm.
"Dusty? You in there?" Damon called.
"He's got to be here," Wolf rasped. "There's his bike. Dusty!"
Dusty stayed hidden just inside the door.
"He's just trying to scare us. Come on," said Wolf and the three boys lay their bikes down to go inside. Damon was in the lead, Wolf behind and Jose third, like three little tin soldiers in a row. As soon as Damon's hand pushed on the door, Dusty released a deep guttural groan. Damon arched backward into Wolf who likewise stumbled into Jose, sending the last boy sprawling off the porch.
Dusty laughed out loud, and the Dalton's leaped forward to pound him playfully until Dusty wriggled free. "Greene, you scuzz apple."
Between the four of them they had only two flashlights, but that seemed enough if they stayed in pairs.
"How long you been here, dude?" Damon asked. Dusty told them he had arrived only minutes beforehand.
"What a creepy night," Jose said, grinning.
As the boys sized each other up the Daltons realized introductions were in order.
"Jose, this is Dusty," Wolf said. "He's real smart and a superfine soccer player." Jose nodded. "Jose is a great soccer player. You guys should go at it sometime."
"Say, where's your brother, Dusty?" Mark said.
"He got grounded for mouthing off at mom," Dusty said without skipping a beat.
Brandon, who had been standing alone in the attic space, at last decided to kneel causing a board to creak. The Daltons jumped. "What was that?"
"Probably the wind," Dusty said ominously.
"It's getting cold out. Should have worn jackets," Jose said as he rubbed his biceps with his palms.
Wolf's flashlight was one of those big monster size lights that can practically light an airplane hangar. "Let's see what's here," he said, pointing the beam toward a half opened door.
It was the master bedroom on the main floor, wallpaper bristling with the wind. Dusty remained in the living room.
"Whatcha doing, Greene?" a voice called.
"Standing here."
The three returned. "What's upstairs?" Wolf asked.
"I was just going to check when you guys showed up."
"I'm getting chilled, guys," Jose said. "What if we start a fire in that fireplace."
"What can we burn?" Damon said, but Dusty was already headed out the door.
"There are some old buildings out behind. I'll go fetch us a few boards." Dusty didn't want anyone to accidental find Brandon's bicycle. In a few minutes he returned with an armload of short pieces almost perfect for the job. Wolf and Damon began tearing off some of the curled wallpaper while Jose dug around in his pocket for a book of matches. The fire was soon underway.
"I'll bet bears hibernate in old houses like this," Dusty said, trying to ignite a few frightful images in his friends' imaginations. "Snakes, too, no doubt."
"But not this time of year," one of the Daltons said. "Maybe out in all those woodpiles there's snakes though."
"If someone died here, maybe there's even a ghost," Dusty said.
"How do we find out?" Jose asked.
Dusty presented his readymade answer. "A seance. You know. We sit in a circle and call on the spirits."
There was electricity in the sky, flashes of lightning without thunder. A board creaked again, but this time from another part of the house, and even Dusty himself began to get uneasy.
"Don't you need candles for a seance?" Jose said and they looked at one another with uncertain expressions.
The wood, now burning with vigor, crackled, spit and popped. The boys edged over to draw warmth. Unfortunately, over the years a generation of squirrels built nests in this chimney, considerably restricting its usefulness as a vent. When the fire got going, smoke soon began to billow forward into the room.
The effects of the fire were soon felt in the attic crawl space as well. First, there was smoke seepage. The chimney had suffered as much as the house over the years and there were numerous cracks in the tile, brick and mortar. Worse, however, were the spiders. Hundreds of spiders. As the chimney got hot, they began to escape through the cracks.
Brandon was squatting to avoid the accumulating smoke. He kept his balance with his knuckles on the floor. When the first spider crawled into the palm of his hand he shook it off with a shiver. When a second crawled up the leg of his pants, he sprang to his feet only to bang the crown of his head on a rafter. The pain in his head distracted him so that he failed to notice the army of insects and spiders climbing his jeans. When he reached down to find the one inside his pants, his fingers found a dozen more on the outside and that was it. Brandon went berserk.
"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!"
Down in the living room the dancing flames cast strange shadows on the walls as the four boys, eyes wide with terror, scrambled for the door, fleeing for their lives.
Upstairs, the wild shrieking continued. Jose and the Daltons never even looked back. But Dusty had to stop. He knew it was Brandon. Only he didn't know what was happening. His heart beat triple time as he ran around to the back of the house.
Brandon's shrieks soon gave way to intermittent moans as he stumbled about in the dark seeking an exit. Next thing he knew he was sprawling head over heels down a staircase. The beam from Dusty's flashlight captured Brandon's dazed and confused face as his body tumbled into the hallway below.
"My God! Brandon! Are you all right?" Dusty said.
"Ow ow ow!" Brandon cried as he wriggled to his feet holding his wrist. "It's broken. I know it's broken."
Dusty ran around to the side door and rushed to Brandon's side. "It'll be all right."
"You always say that," Brandon snapped. Suddenly
a great thunderboomer shook the house and a mighty flood fell
from the sky.
·
CHAPTER FOUR: EMERGENCY ROOM
Dusty and Brandon hoped that by waiting in the house the storm would let up and they wouldn't have to get too drenched. It was a long ride home. But the rain kept coming, and they knew their father would be mighty unhappy if they stayed out too late. Finally they killed the fire, clambered onto their bikes and took off.
Brandon found that gripping the handlebars caused his throbbing wrist to hurt badly, so he held the hand against his stomach. Dusty noticed the way his brother avoided putting any strain on it, but didn't needle him.
When the boys got home they were soaked clean through. And chilled, too.
"Where have you been?" Mrs. Greene said. "Mike, come in here and look at these kids."
Mr. Greene put down the book he was reading and walked to the back porch.
"Trying to catch pneumonia?" he said. "Better get some dry clothes on."
When the two boys started into the house, Mrs. Greene suggested they leave their wet things at the door. Which turned out to be everything. She was already fetching towels so they could maintain a measure of modesty.
Brandon, however, was having some difficulty with his right
hand. The wrist had swelled and become discolored, chiefly reddish
purple with an ugly greenish-yellow streak near the base of the
thumb. Simultaneously, his parents caught sight of it.
"Brandon, what did you do to your arm?" Mrs. Greene
gasped. She stepped forward and brought her son toward her into
the light.
"Gosh, I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know," Mr. Greene said. "Where have you boys been?"
"One of us had better take Brandon to the emergency room,"
Mrs. Greene said before Dusty could answer. Then, as if speaking
more to herself than to anyone around her, she said, "Why
do these things always happen on weekends?"
·
Dusty was not invited, but he came along anyway. Mr. Greene and
Brandon sat in the front seat while Dusty sat in the back. The
emergency room was busy, this being midnight on a Saturday night.
Two car accident victims, a slit wrist and two ear infections
filled all the available rooms so that Brandon had to wait his
turn before getting the attention he needed. After X-rays were
taken the Greenes were ushered to a waiting room. The attending
doctor had no doubt about the probability of a fracture. The only
question was how to set it. The X-rays would help determine the
treatment.
There were at least a half dozen other people in the waiting room, most of them keeping to themselves, reading magazines. One old man, sitting with his eyes closed, held special interest. Brandon stared at him, pondering the long thin nose, the deep creases around his eyes, the wispy strands of hair that sprayed off his temples, the furrowed forehead, the blotchy skin that seemed to hang off his arms like loose-fitting clothes.
The old man puckered his lips and began to smile. Suddenly
he opened one eye and stared back at the impudent young stranger.
"Whatcha looking at, pard?" the old man teased.
Mr. Greene had gone off to find a rest room so that only Brandon and Dusty were sitting there. Brandon hardly knew what to say.
The old man noticed Brandon's wrist. "That doesn't look too good," he said. "How'd you do that?"
Dusty told him about the dilapidated farm house and how they wanted to scare their buddies and how the spiders came out of the chimney and Brandon got all covered and was running around in the dark and fell down the stairs.
"So you like haunted houses and scaring people, eh?"
The old man smiled. "There's a real haunted house out near
Clover Valley." The man struggled to his feet and took hold
of his cane as if to leave. He was standing there leaning forward,
facing the boys. "Used to be a Bed & Breakfast. Can't
remember what it was called. On County Road Seven." Finally,
he turned to leave, still mumbling about the house as he left
the room. "Not hard to find. When you know where to look."
Mr. Greene returned a second later and saw that something had
happened while he was gone.
"O.K. What's up?"
"Oh, nothing," Dusty said.
"That old guy told us about a haunted house in Clover
Valley," Brandon said. "That's on the other side of
Hastings, isn't it?"
Mr. Greene rolled his eyes. "Haven't you had enough haunted
houses for one summer?"
·
CHAPTER FIVE: A DRIVE IN THE COUNTRY
The doctor wrapped Brandon's wrist in a neon orange cast. It was an attention getter and Brandon drank it up. He was accustomed to tagging around in Dusty's shadow. Now, for a short time at least, he hoped to be the hot banana.
Monday afternoon, when Curt Mace drove up in his "new" Dodge Coronet, he barely looked at the cast and immediately set about asking Dusty to help him "fix 'er up." It wasn't exactly a new car. His dad bought it used from a dealer who said the engine was in good shape even though she was banged up some.
"Hey, Mace!" Dusty shouted across the yard. Everybody called him Mace, as if he owned no first or middle name and that were the only name he was born with. "Where'd you get the wheels?"
In tenth grade Curt Mace was in Dusty's biology class and strangely enough they became fast friends. Mace was a trouble maker who had stayed back a year. He'd missed so much school from fighting that he got behind in everything. He liked biology, and Mr. Septimus, who was also a guidance counselor and, believing that Dusty might be a good influence, made Curt Mace and Dusty lab partners for the year.
When Mace got his new car with the banged up front end, Dusty's house was the first stop.
"You want to give me a hand?" Mace said when Dusty got up near enough to hear.
The car's previous owner had slammed it into a wall. The right front headlights were smashed and the fender crumpled like an accordion.
"Hop in," Mace said, ignoring Brandon.
Two seconds and Dusty was in. With a screech, the car shot
backward into the street. A moment later, the black coronet was
clean outtasight. Brandon, feeling crummy about being left behind,
went into the house to find something to eat.
A mile to the west a series of housing developments that had been
erected over the past ten years. The first of these was called
Cedar Lane Estates. It had been named for the cedar trees which
had been prominent on that particular bluff. Mace turned in at
the sign and cruised down Cedar Lane to a cul de sac, slowing
and finally parking with the nose of his car almost touching a
telephone pole.
"Haven't mastered parallel parking yet, I see," said Dusty with a smirk.
"Funny, Greene," Mace said as he stepped out of the car. Mace opened the trunk and pulled out a six foot length of heavy chain. His aim was to chain the front bumper to the telephone pole and back up so as to pull it out.
"What's with the chain? Is this a street fight? I shoulda brought my numchucks."
"You are Mister Wise Guy today," Mace laughed. Then he walked to the front of the car and proceeded to thread the chain through the bumper.
"Oh, I see," said Dusty when he began to get the picture.
"You stand here and motion when it looks about as pulled out as it can get."
"Don't pull too hard. Can this thing come down?" Dusty said, pointing to the pole.
"It better not. It might do some damage to the top of my car." Mace got the engine started up and slowly backed away. Once the chain was taut Dusty stepped back a couple feet just in case it snapped.
The pole trembled, but that's about it. "Whoa!" Dusty shouted, and Mace pulled forward a foot so that Dusty could unhook it. Dusty threw the chain into the trunk and hopped back into the car. "You know anything about a place called Clover Valley?"
"You mean, do I know where it is? It's a little south of here, past Farmingdale. Near Little Fork," Mace said. "Why?"
"Some old man told us there was a haunted house there."
"I heard how you and your brother scared Martinez and the Daltons half to death. You're something else, Greene. Must've been a blast."
"This one's a real haunted house."
"Sure," Mace said, tossing back his head to flip his hair up out of his eyes.
They drove about a half mile in silence. Finally Mace said, "You want to check it out?"
"If we can find it. I don't know exactly where it is. The old geezer said out on County Road Seven."
Mace pasted his foot to the floor and smiled. "Let's go."
County Road Seven was an exit off the highway about three miles past Highway 13. With the sun high in the sky the two believed the day was theirs as the road rambled through a series of small hills and valleys. A few patches of brown leaves in the trees showed that summer had already begun to fade, though it was still early for the rich hues of autumn to make their appearance. These were images that had no special significance for either Dusty or Mace.
The road came to an end at a tee shaped intersection with no sign as to which way County Seven headed and Mace pulled the car to the shoulder.
"Did we miss it?" Dusty said.
"What is this, a joke? Who was this old man that --"
Dusty cut him off. "Maybe we went the wrong way when we got off the highway."
"Clover Valley is this side of the highway. The other way takes you down to the Mississippi." Mace looked hard at his companion. He was licking his lip and snorting. "Look, I don't mind just driving around. Let's see if we can find an auto parts store. I need a headlight."
"Let's go back that way," Dusty said, pointing back the way they had come.
Mace's tires blistered the asphalt as he spun it around. The car careened back toward the highway.
"Slow down. I don't want to miss anything," Dusty commanded, but Mace ignored him.
About half way back, a stream ran beneath the road and cut a swath through the trees which allowed Dusty to catch sight of the corner of a large grey house on an overgrown hillside.
"Stop! Stop stop stop!" Dusty screamed.
"What? What? What?" Mace shouted back, slowing some, but continuing.
"Turn here!" Dusty said when the gravel driveway came into view. They had just rounded a bend and Mace was unable to execute the turn. He slammed on the brakes as the car skidded off the shoulder into the weeds. It was level there, so there was no damage other than frayed nerves.
"There better be something or this is gonna be Mr. Greene's last ride."
Mace backed the black dodge onto the road, and kept backing up into the gravel drive that led up to the house. He wouldn't own up to it, but he was a bit scared and decided it would be easier to get away if the car was facing out and they didn't have to turn around. Dusty noticed Mace's edginess but didn't comment on it.
As the car cleared the trees, the abandoned house took shape before their widened eyes. No one had to say a word. Just by looking, you could tell there was something ominous about the place. It had been abandoned, boarded up and left desolate for a reason.
"This is definitely a haunted house," Mace said with
authority.
·
CHAPTER SIX: WANTED MAN
"Lisa called while you were out," Mrs. Green said as Dusty walked in the door.
Dusty's head bobbed up, eyebrows lifted. "Did she say what it was about?"
"It's not too late to call her."
Dusty scooted up the stairs to his room and grabbed the phone.
"Hi, Lisa. What's up?"
"Hi, Dusty. I was hoping we could talk about some things."
"What kind of things?" He was cradling the phone on his shoulder while unlacing his shoes.
"I'd rather talk in person. You doing anything tomorrow?"
"Why can't we talk now. You're gonna make me lay awake all night wondering what it's all about."
"I'm sorry, but I'd rather talk tomorrow. We'll have more time that way."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Dusty, that's how I feel and that's that. You free tomorrow morning? Maybe we can run to Moiker's Malt Shop around elevenish."
"Whatever. See you there."
"I'll pick you up. Daddy got me a car!"
"Cool. See you in the morning."
Dusty was confused. But then, his friendship with Lisa had always been confusing. She was the new girl at school last year, from Maryland. Even though she seemed shy at first, Dusty and Lisa became fast friends. He wasn't sure how it happened. Over the winter they were in the Ski Club together and he soon asked her to a movie. It was a stupid movie and they both felt the same way about it. For some reason, after that night she kept saying no when he asked her out again. She said she liked being with him and hoped they would always be friends.
At first Dusty was hurt and angry, but he got over it. Eventually he realized they really could be "just friends." They shared a lot of time together talking about everything under the sun reactions to movies they'd seen, books they were reading, places they'd gone during study hall, lunch, and on the bus. Even though he hadn't seen her more than a handful of times during the summer, at the beach or the mall, he thought of her quite a few times when he didn't expect it. He had been looking forward to seeing her when school started. This was the first time she had called him in ages, though, and Dusty was mystified. He walked back downstairs.
"Looking for something?" his mother asked as he rooted around in the chest freezer.
"Where's the Cookie Dough Ice Cream?"
"Your brother must have finished it. What did Lisa want?"
"I don't know. She said she can't tell me unless it's in person. Guess I'll find out tomorrow."
"Must be important," his mother said.
"Think so? Maybe she just wants to show off her new wheels,"
Dusty said as the lid dropped with a slam.
·
The gray morning sky hung low over everything. The humid air was
stifling. Dusty could hear a lawn mower running outside when he
woke. Still tired he stumbled downstairs to the bathroom to wash
the sleep from his eyes.
"What'd Lisa want?" Brandon asked, standing in the bathroom doorway as Dusty combed his hair.
"None of your business."
"Oooh, Mister Tough Guy."
Dusty pushed his brother backward with a forearm to the sternum. Brandon's cast thunked the wall.
"Dusty! What's gotten into you?" his mother said, startling them both. She had been standing in the hall.
"Hey, it's cool, Mom. He's just beating me up because I'm his little brother," Brandon joked.
Dusty bounded back up the stairs and slammed the door.
"Touchy, touchy," Brandon quipped. Mrs. Greene took a deep breath, returned to the kitchen.
At precisely eleven Lisa Kendall pulled into the driveway in her red '92 Firebird. Dusty, sliding the curtain aside, watched as she stepped out onto the asphalt. Tall and slender, she looked sharp to him in her red sleeveless blouse and jet black jeans. He opened the window and shouted to her. "I'll be right down."
He told his mom they were going to the malt shop. Mrs. Greene said he should finish mowing the lawn when they got back.
"Do you mind if we go to the park instead?" Lisa asked after Dusty finished bubbling on about the car. "I'm not that hungry. I just want to talk."
"Sure," Dusty said, suddenly gloomy like the sky. "It's supposed to rain though." If he had been in a better mood about all this, he would have commented on what a nice tan she had. Her arms were smooth and bronze all the way up. Her wavy blonde hair was tied back with an ivory barrette, exposing her delicate tanned neck as well.
"It won't rain," she said matter-of-factly, as if she knew better than the weatherman.
She parked near the picnic tables and they began walking on one of the bike trails that cut through the woods down to the river. Without looking at him she began to tell him how worried she was. "The Daltons are talking about you. They're still mad about the way you scared them," she said.
"Oh, they just talk big. Boys like to get scared. It's a rush."
"I don't know. They're talking about getting even somehow."
"I was with Wolf just last week."
"Maybe so, but that doesn't mean they're not out to get you."
"I'm not scared, Lisa."
"You think that's brave? Sometimes it's good to be scared."
Dusty chewed on his lip, looked down at the ground. "Listen, Mace is the toughest kid in school and no one is going to mess with me if I'm with him." He lifted his head and looked straight into Lisa's face which at that moment was turned toward him.
She returned his stare with a glare, her blue eyes almost ashen with pain. "That's another thing that bothers me, Dusty. You used to hang out with the nice kids. Now you're chumming with the school's biggest troublemakers."
"They're just guys," Dusty said, "like me. I know that maybe they do some things that aren't so good "
"Like shoplifting," she said, cutting him off.
"He's not from a family with money like you and me," he countered.
"That doesn't it make it right to steal," she said quickly.
"If he didn't steal his clothes he'd be wearing Salvation Army hand-me-downs."
"So you're sticking up for him?"
"No. Yes. No, I mean... I just think he's had a tough life and if I grew up in his shoes maybe I'd be different, too." Dusty squeezed his palms together and avoided her eyes.
"What's gotten into you, Dusty. I suppose you're going to say the Daltons are just a couple of nice boys who broke all those windows at the bike shop because their dad was mean to them."
"Hey, did I say I'm best buds with the Daltons. Quite honestly, their big brother Derrick kinda freaks me out a bit."
"Oh, so you are scared, then?"
"Well... I keep my distance. I'll admit, they're not a very nice "
"They're mean to everybody," Lisa interrupted again. "They're bullies. They even terrorize little kids. One of them ripped the legs off Billy Fischer's toad. He laughed and said it was a science experiment. They're sick."
"Listen, Lisa, I'll be careful, all right?" Dusty rubbed his face with his fingertips, then looked into Lisa's eyes. "And what makes you care so much about me all of a sudden?"
Without flinching Lisa replied, "I've always cared about you, Dusty. You're a good kid. You were the first person to make me feel welcome at school. I'll always be grateful for that. One day you'll grow up a little and see that the world isn't such a safe place and there really are things to be afraid of."
"Do you live in fear all the time? Is that what you're saying? Seems creepy to me."
"That's not what I'm saying, Dustin."
· · ·