Insidious Prophecy

by JH Terry

XI: A Visit to the Recluses

  Tom and Peter ran until they were a considerable distance away from the library. They walked along the streets towards their homes.

  “What does it matter?” asked Peter. “She was the one calling us wimps because we couldn’t stand up to that ogre. I say I feel no sympathy for her, and if she did get a pounding from that guy, it serves her right for her big mouth.”

  “But Peter, she is still your sister.”

  “I know Tom, but it doesn’t mean I have to like her.”

  After a slight pause, Tom asked, “Peter, how is it that everyone seems to know more about Reilly A. Pete, even his house, than I do?”

  “Well, because you never went to one of his schools until this year,” said Peter.

  “What do you mean? He built more than one school?”

  “Yes,” said Peter. “Even Kate’s school was built by him. He built several schools, all under his wife’s authority and all at the same time.”

  “At the same time? That doesn’t seem financially smart, all of that money lost for building those schools, whereas it would be better to build them one school at a time once the expenditure would be made up for. Besides, Pete wasn’t a millionaire at that time, but close to it. Building all of those schools at the same time must have wiped him out.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t know that he and his wife could bear any children at that time, and since he thought his fortune could never be passed down to future generations, that the use of all of his money into the project seemed good.”

  “That is why Kate’s school has the same crest that we do.”

  “Exactly. He practically made Sudbury. Before it was just a patch of marshland that everyone passed by in order to get between New York and Albany. Now, it is not a great industrial town, but it is still existent. Do you know the old saw mill?”

  “Yes.”

  “Built by him. Sudbury was to be his town of monopoly, like other textile owners had it back in those days. He was the first, but, however, it did not last as long as he would have liked it too.”

  “What happened?”

  “No one wanted their children to attend school, not when they could gain a good profit by having them work in the factories, adding more food to the table. That was when they had to make a drastic decision: have no one in the classrooms, or have no one in the mills. So, after Reilly died, his wife decided it was better to have the classrooms, since she knew nothing about the businesses that were her husband’s. That is why Sudbury High exists today, in loving memory of Mr. Pete.”

  “Which schools did he build?” asked Tom.

  “Why ours, Kate’s, Pete Primary for Boys, and Sudbury Primary for Girls.”

  “But Peter,” said Tom confused, “when together, those schools form a diamond, with my house in the middle.”

  “Perhaps distance wise, it was better.”

  “I don’t know Peter. Why Sudbury? Why was it so important this marshland between New York and Albany? Looking at the town before the 1860s one can see that is was mainly non-chartered land, considered hazardous due to its marsh and fabled creatures. Up to the 1860s most people use to travel away from this land, taking the longer route. Even up to the 1900s people were concerned over its sightings of ghosts, and other creatures unknown to man. Today these sightings are largely forgotten about, but many are still scared to venture into the bogs at night with its mists. Why would someone build a textile business here with all of its moisture, when one thing necessary for making cloth is a lack of moisture in the air?”

  “The presence of bogs would have made it cheaper to buy the land, despite having to drain them.”

  “Which does not go with Pete’s philanthropic ways concerning building all four schools. Do you see, Peter? If he was so miserly with his money, he would not have built all four schools at the same time. Also, he would not have built the schools to provide education to the children, only factories to make more money for him. It does not make any sense, Peter.”

  “You are right, Tom. This is some funny business.”

  “Let’s go,” said Tom as he turned left on the next street away from the direction to Herald Lane.

  “Where to?” asked Peter.

  “To Martin Carter’s house.”

  “Are you out of your head? His mother sees no one, doesn’t even touch her mail.”

  “The least we can do is try, come on.”

  “Do you even know where she lives?”

  “Yes, I had the pleasure of meeting her and Martin one time at a pie fair in which she was a judge in a pie contest. Mom baked one of her apple pies for the contest.”

  “Did your Mom win?”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Which pie contest was it? Your Mom has done and won so many of them I have forgotten what she bakes at each.”

  “It was the time when your mother entered two years ago.”

  “Oh, that was right, when she baked the avocado banana nut pie. It was the nastiest thing I ever tasted. I even remember that all the judges became sick and had to be in hospital for a week. Mrs. Carter was the only one who did not eat any pie because she saw the others feeling sick. It was she who made the final decision for the contest because she was not feeling ill. Mom was mad for two weeks because of that, all over the stupid recipe that Kate found over the internet.”

  “I am not surprised that Kate found the recipe.”

  “You should have seen her once she ate the cake she had found so proudly. She had a stomachache for a week, then got a cold, and then acute bronchitis. Luckily for me.”

  “Why do you say luckily?”

  “She did not bother me at all during that time, since she was too preoccupied with her own health.”

  Tom and Peter laughed at the acknowledgement that having a good time was when Kate was not around.

  Tom and Peter walked until they reached a makeshift dirty, yellow, two-story house with a front porch full of weeds and decaying rapidly. It looked as though no one had lived there, and if they did they had not tended to it for years. There were weeds up to three feet tall, with various microscopic and macroscopic organisms. The post box was stuffed with yellow, decaying mail and other mail was scattered near the box also decaying.

  Tom and Peter walked through the decaying wooden gate with only one extremely rusted hinge as its support. They walked through the area where there once was a stone path that was filled with spider webs and various crawling and slimy insects.

  “Tom,” said Peter.

  “What Peter?” asked Tom very preoccupied with where he was stepping.

  “Are you certain about this?” asked Peter.

  “No,” said Tom, “but we need answers.”

  “Of course,” said Peter as he looked with fear and disgust as one slimy maggot crawled on his pant leg. “Mom is going to kill me.”

  “Come on Peter,” said Tom. “We are nearly there.”

  “This is the ultimate impossible mission.”

  Soon, Tom and Peter were walking up the creaky steps of the house to the door. Before they could knock, they heard someone ask in a drunken, feminine voice, “What do you want.”

  “Good afternoon,” said Tom as Peter stood behind by two feet ready to run away. “My name is Thomas Reed. You do not know me…”

  “I already know that.”

  “But I have to ask you a very personal question.”

  “What is it?”

  “I wanted to make a trade with you.”

  “What kind of a trade?”

  “If you let me in, I will tell you,” said Tom.

  After some hesitation, the voice said, “Only you, not the other one.”

  Suddenly, the door opened, letting a most putrid smell escape the confines of the home. Tom walked inside, and when he was inside the door closed. Peter coughed and waved away the stench from where he stood. He waited outside for twenty minutes, picking from off of his clothing and legs the various creatures
that had decided to make his area of cleanliness their new home, when Tom came back outside with a book in his hand.

  “All right, Peter, let’s go,” said Tom.

  Quickly the boys retraced their path from when they entered the house. Once he reached the gate, Peter looked back to see Mrs. Carter at the window staring at them. She had mismanaged hair, yellowish skin, heavy wrinkles, and looked more like ninety than thirty-eight. She then left the window, returning to her life of being a self-imposed recluse.

  After they were a good distance away from the house, Peter asked, “What happened in there?”

  “It’s fine, Peter, we just talked.”

  “Talked, with the recluse! How were you able to do that?”

  “I traded her my mom’s Black Forest Cake. When I gave her the slice in my lunch box she stated it was the best she ever tasted. In return, I asked her for some information about her son. However, she gave me something better,” said Tom pointing to the book.

  Looking at the book, Peter could see the initials M.G. engraved in gold, “Martin’s diary.”

  “Precisely,” said Tom. I already read a bit and it has some interesting facts in it.”

  “Like what?” asked Peter.

  “Like, that Martin heard noises for a few months before his death, and that he had recurring dreams.”

  “What kinds of dreams?”

  “Dreams of a man clad in black with red eyes…. Also, one time when Martin was searching with the others around the school, he found something in the cellar that was very peculiar, spirits.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “No, are you not the one who said a moment ago he believed in witches.”

  “That is different Tom. Kate is a living example, spirits are not.”

  “But of course Peter, that is why they are called spirits, they are dead.”

  “Of course.”

  “Looking to this diary, Peter, I realized that Reilly A. Pete built these schools for one purpose in mind, and it wasn’t to help disadvantaged children or because he didn’t have any heirs. He built the school as a front for something deeper, more sinister than anything the US has ever seen.”

  “Like what?” asked Peter, scared.

  “Perhaps as a base for some project he was doing. A project so involved that he still lives today in order to complete it.”

  “But why, I do not understand.”

  “Martin was getting to close to the truth, his diary says so, that is why he was killed, frightened to death by that blackish creature. Mr. Ryanstead, the janitor, would have been cleaning the hallways and could have ventured into the secret vaults that were not meant to be toiled with, another victim due to his own curiosity and willing to do good.”

  “But what about Mrs. Purplinick, what would they want from her? She was only a cook.”

  “I don’t know about her Peter, but she could have known about it as well. Perhaps they used her and got rid of her once she wanted to disclose the truth.”

  “We cannot prove anything for certain,” said Peter. “Martin could have said those things just to make it into a story.”

  “I don’t think so Peter, especially when I have experienced the same dreams as well.”

  Surprised, Peter said, “That is what you were talking about this morning.”

  “Yes,” said Tom. “The black creature I have envisioned and Martin talks about in his diary are the same man. I think he has something to do with Reilly A. Pete.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “In my dream I saw Reilly A. Pete’s picture, the one from his portrait at Sudbury High, and after a few moments he turned around. When he turned back to face me he was the black creature with red eyes. Either they are the same man, or in league with each other. However, I feel that they are the same man.”

  “Why?”

  “That Pete changed into the black creature shows that they are not two separate individuals, but that Pete became the black creature.”

  “What does this creature want with you? Might you die as well?”

  “I don’t know,” said Tom. “The least we can do is try to be as careful as possible. If he knows that you are seeking the truth as well he might harm you too.”

  “Today is just a bad day,” said Peter.

  “For me as well,” said Tom. “Especially for me.”

  As they walked upon Herald Lane, they heard, from behind them, shouts such as “Hey Reed”; “Peed-Reed” and “Your faintness.” Looking behind, they saw that it was Ric, Sean, and Harold on the opposite side of the street a few yards behind them. Even though the three were a great distance behind, people in houses in front of Tom and Peter were already closing their windows from the stench of rotten cheese and potatoes the three had on their clothing.

  “Hey Peter, how is your friend with his ‘fainting spells,’” said Ric, “I didn’t even know a guy could have those kinds of things. Must be he is reaching his feminine side as we speak guys!"” Suddenly, all three laughed.

  “His name shouldn’t be Tom, it should be Tammy!” said Harold as if he had a speech impediment.

  “Yeah,” said Sean trying to regain some of the dignity he lost in the morning, “next time he should wear a ballerina tutu to school!”

  “What?” exclaimed Ric. “Did you sniff that rotten cheese into your brains or something? That fall made your head stupid.”

  “He already was stupid, it just took us time to realize,” said Harold.

  “What do you mean by ‘us’?” said Ric. “I knew he was stupid the minute I laid eyes on him. Even his walk is stupid.” Ric and Harold began to laugh, “He needs his mom to show him how to use the bathroom still.”

  “What does he do at school then?” asked Harold.

  “Dummy, he wears those adult diapers, that’s what I’ve been smelling all day!” Ric and Harold laughed with Sean’s protestations of maltreatment as they turned a corner, out of view.

  Seeing that they were gone, Peter said, “Good that they are gone.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Tom. “Even when they are here there is nothing worth mentioning happening.”

  As they were near their homes, Tom said of Peter with a questioning look upon his face as he looked at all of the houses on Herald Lane, “Peter.”

  “Yes, Tom?”

  “Have you ever noticed that my house is the only one made of red brick, the only house that is even red on this street before?”

  Looking, Peter noticed that what Tom said was true. “No,” said Peter. “That is strange, I think I would have noticed something like that before for sure.”

  “Do you think that was on purpose?”

  “It does seem strange, especially due to the mass production of houses in the suburbs during the 1950s. If anything it should look like all of the other ones on this street as well.”

  “Anyway, I have an idea. Let’s try to dig and find a way into that basement under my house. There must be a secret passage into there somewhere. Whatever is there is highly guarded and a big part of Pete’s plan. We must get into there to find out what it is.”

  “Are you joking? There are hundreds of yards of dirt around your house, Tom. It would take forever to do. Tomorrow we have school, I don’t want to anger Mr. Popperbridge by not doing my homework.”

  “I have an idea, just believe me, it will work. Just meet me at my house at midnight, with a shovel.”

  “How about two o’clock? I will be at least slightly rested by then.”

  “All right, two o’clock, in the morning.”

  “You’ll never change,” said Peter as he and Tom reached Peter’s house.

  “What are you two talking about?” asked Sergeant Wilson as he was rocking back and forth in a rocking chair on the Wilsons’ front lawn.

  “Dad, what are you doing?” asked Peter.

  “Just waiting for the newspaper,” said Sergeant Wilson.

  “But, Dad, the paper comes at eleven.�
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  After a moment of pondering, Sergeant Wilson said, “The postman always comes at three in the afternoon. My mother always told me.”

  “But, Dad, it is almost five.”

  “Do not back talk me young man, if mom says that it is three, then it is three. Who is that with you?” asked Sergeant Wilson as he looked to Tom without recognition.

  “But that is Tom,” said Peter slightly puzzled.

  “You mean Tom Philips? My old pal has come to see me at last? Tom, do you remember those days that we were in Nam2, shooting those clips? That was something else. The emotions we evoked were phenomenal. Remember when I was running for that prize and I only got second place, to you of course. I could have really hurt you then, taking my prize when I was the one who got you most of your coverage. However, I have changed in time and I am glad you have gotten over me shooting you in the legs. See you are standing though, did you get some of those prosthetics that they talk about? I remember last time I saw you that you were in a wheelchair hurting insults at me.”

  “Sergeant Wilson, it is me, Tom, your godson,” said Tom slightly concerned.

  After a moment’s pause, Sergeant Wilson replied, “Of course, almost forgot, silly old me, the who’s who personality game you started at camp. You sly one, I should have known that you would try to blind me with that one, but you chose a bad example. Tom, my godson, left for Norway a few days ago.”

  “I think I will go now,” said Tom. To Peter, Tom said, “Remember, two o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  As Peter was entering his house, Tom walked over to his own home. However, as he walked he felt a strange urge to look at a large birch tree across the street. He could see in the distance, within the shadows of the large tree, the same red eyes he had seem that morning at assembly. After a moment, the red eyes receded into their darkness.