FORTY
We stood, in silence, stunned. Surely Steve couldn’t be right. Mark had seemed like such a nice guy when we met him days before and inviting us over to shoot beer cans with him only ensured our admiration for him. We knew that Steve wouldn’t lie to us, especially about something like that. But why would Mark threaten to kill Steve’s family or us for that matter, unless he was hiding some dark secret?
The thoughts going through my mind at that time were: Could he really be the one that killed those girls? Could the guy next door really be the Sesame Street Killer? That sort of thing wouldn’t, couldn’t happen in our city, let alone in our own neighborhood.
But then again, of course it could. And it was. There was someone out there killing children, killing little girls and what better person to be doing it than the new stranger on the block.
Cory, said, “Well, shit, Steve, what are we gonna do? Shouldn’t we call the cops or something?”
“I don’t know,” Steve answered, after a moment. He bent back down and finished bagging up the pile of dead grass at his feet.
“Yeah,” Jason added. “He did threaten your life, man. And your family. And ours. I mean maybe Cory’s right. Maybe we should call the cops on him.”
Steve tied off his bag and shook open another. “Okay, say we do call the cops. What do we tell them, that the guy next door threatened to kill my family cause I wouldn’t jerk-off in front of him? Oh, and by the way he might be the serial killer you’re looking for.”
A massive, billowy cloud drifted in front of the sun, bathing us in cool shadow. It was almost a hundred by now and this small reprieve from the heat was a blessing.
“Yeah, but he’s got all those magazines over there,” Cory reminded him. “You said they were probably illegal. What if we tell them what he showed you? Maybe they could arrest him for that at least.”
Steve began bagging up another pile and Jason and I went back to the one we’d started. Cory stood where he was, hands on the rake.
“You don’t think he would have hidden or gotten rid of that box of filth by now, Cory?” Steve asked. “Hell, he could have burned them last night for all we know. Besides, he’s an adult. We’re just kids. You think the cop’s are gonna take our word over his?”
“But you also said that he could be the killer,” I rang in.
He looked over at me, exasperated. “I know. I said that but we don’t know. Just because I got this crazy idea that he’s the one that murdered those girls doesn’t mean that he is. I was just saying. We have no proof that he’s done anything. He may be a pervert but it doesn’t make him a killer.”
And Steve was right. We had proof of nothing. It was just a silly theory thought up by a group of children.
“Well, what do you think we should do then?” Jason asked.
After tying off another bag of yard waste, Steve said, “I don’t know. Nothing for right now, I guess. I think what we do need to do is keep an eye on him, though. See if we notice anything suspicious about him. But,” he added, “I still want us all to stay away from him. Don’t even go near that house. Got it? If he’s not a killer, he’s still a sick pervert. So we’ll just keep our distance, okay.”
We all made a silent vow that we wouldn’t go anywhere near Mark Payne again.
“Now, let’s get the rest of these piles cleaned up,” Steve ordered. “I’ve got someplace I want us to go.”
For the next half hour or so we worked in pairs, one guy holding a bag and the other filling it. Frisbee milled about, still getting used to Steve’s backyard. Every so often one of us would toss the tennis ball for him and he’d fetch it and bring it back to someone different each time. Just before noon, we had seven bags filled, tied off and placed on the side of the house next to the trash cans. They’d have to wait until next week to go out to the curb with the trash truck.
Steve’s backyard didn’t look spectacular but it was a major improvement from what we started with. The grass, though dead, was cut short and had a neater appearance to it. With enough time and water it might even come back to life. The trash and weeds had been plucked form the fence line and disposed of as well. His mom would be pleasantly surprised when she came home.
When Steve said there was someplace that he wanted to take us, we hadn’t asked where. Sometimes his surprises where worth the wait. But fifteen minutes after we left his house we found ourselves, once again, standing in front of the abandoned house on the corner of Fullerton and Magnolia.
We had brought Frisbee along with us and instead of walking up Cottonwood to Fullerton; the five of us had taken the path through Dead Grove. None of us had worried about going through the alley that ran next to the Maherrin’s house, though. Mark’s Mustang wasn’t parked at the curb which meant he was out somewhere and we wouldn’t run into him sneaking past the house.
Frisbee kept up with us as we traveled the dirt path, running off twice to chase squirrels. At the end, we crossed Magnolia and walked through the dead field until we reached our destination: the abandoned house.
Or as local kid legend had it, the haunted house.
“Okay, what gives, Steve? We were just up here the other day. We’ve already explored around the house,” Jason reminded him.
“I know,” Steve said. “But I don’t want to explore around it again.”
We waited in silence for a second and I said, “Then what are we here for?”
He looked at me with a mischievous grin and then at Jason and Cory. “Gentlemen, today we go inside.”
Whoa. Hey. Hold on just a minute. Bad idea.
At eight I didn’t necessarily believe all the stories about that place, but it still had a creepy effect once you got near it, like it was somehow too empty and too quiet, if that makes sense.
The house had been sitting on that corner for years, dormant, falling into disarray, silent. But I always got the feeling that if someone entered inside, it would somehow come alive like a monster waking from a deep sleep and swallow them into oblivion. I knew it was just childish to think that way, but I was still just a child and ghosts and goblins hadn’t become entirely myth to me at that time.
“How do you suppose we’re going to get in?” Cory asked.
“Yeah, I mean, look at the door, Steve,” I said.
All the windows around the house had been sealed off with thick planks of plywood so anyone without a screw gun wouldn’t be able to gain access. The door on the other hand, looked like most front doors do; one big solid piece of crafted wood and one door knob. Only on this one there was a metal latch bolted to the frame and a padlock to keep out intruders.
“Oh, well,” I exclaimed. “Locked up like Fort Knox. I guess we better go on back.”
“Hold it,” Steve chided. “I brought my own key.”
We all looked at one another, confused.
From his back pocket, Steve extracted a small, six-inch adjustable wrench. The kind with a wheel set in the middle to lengthen or shorten the size of the jaws. He held it out for us to see, as if it were a trophy.
“What good’s that going to do?” Cory asked. “You can’t pick a lock with that.”
Steve, rolling his eyes, said, “No shit. But look close at the latch.”
We did. Whoever had boarded up the house had done an excellent job with the windows, but they were just a bit clumsy with the door.
One part of the hasp’s latch was a flat piece of metal with a ring in it, the other part had a hinge and was folded over the ring and the padlock was snapped into place there. Of course it should have kept people out, but on close inspection any idiot could see its flaw. It was the part of the hasp with the hinge that whoever had locked the place had overlooked.
The bolts holding it to the door were exposed.
Steve put the wrench’s mouth up to the first bolt head and turned the wheel, clamping it tight. “I noticed this when we came up here last time. I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure if I even had this wrench at home. But I found it this morning in a tool bo
x my dad left behind in the garage.” At first it didn’t seem like it was going to budge, but he grunted and put some muscle into it and the bolt turned with a slight squeak. “There we go.”
The door wasn’t visible from the street so we didn’t have to worry about someone seeing us breaking in. Still, I said, “Hey, I don’t know if we should be doing this. What if someone catches us? I mean look at all the signs.”
There were official looking NO TRESSPASSING signs tack hammered around the house. One was even nailed dead center to the door where we stood. And just in case anyone was to miss those, someone had spray-painted the plywood windows with the same warning.
“I don’t see any signs. Do you, Jason? “Steve said.
“Nope,” Jason replied. “Do you Cory?”
Cory reached over Steve and tore the sign from the door, leaving part of the N from the word NO where it had been affixed to the wood. He stepped back and flung it like a disk out into the tall brown grass. Frisbee watched it sail away but like the previous day took no interest in the flying object.
“I didn’t see nothing.”
Steve, done with the first bolt, pulled it out and put it in his front pocket. “Besides, no one can see us where we’re at,” he said, as he began work on the second bolt.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Ricky,” Jason assured me.
“I’m not afraid,” I shot back, I little too quickly.
“Yeah, don’t worry,” Cory added. “We’re all going to be together. Plus we got Frisbee here to protect us.”
He was right about the dog. Knowing that he would be by our side was a comfort. I knew he wouldn’t let any harm come to us. He sat at our feet, and with his beautiful golden eyes, watched Steve work. A fly buzzed his head and he snapped at it.
Steve put the wrench away into his back pocket and twisted the last bolt out with his fingers and put it in his front pocket with the other. He swung the now useless latch away from the door where it met its other half at the jamb. “Alright,” he said. “You guys ready for this?”
“Yeah. Open her up,” Cory said.
“Let’s see what’s inside,” Jason told him.
“I guess,” I added.
With that, he nodded to us, grabbed the doorknob and pushed but the door didn’t budge.
Frisbee Page 48