by R. D. Tarver
“So this is what a happy home looks like?” Mal asked.
Jesse smiled. “This is what a late-afternoon buzz looks like.”
“You know what I mean.” Mal wiped an isolated tear. “Whatever it is, I don’t totally hate it.”
Lately, it seemed like any mention of family brought her to tears. He put his arm around her and together they soaked up the scene. The reminiscence of the afternoon had created a celebration of life that by Jesse’s estimation would last well into the evening hours.
Before departing, Jesse and Alex seized a couple of the leftover deck planks from Randy’s pickup truck and loaded them into the van.
On their way to the church, they stopped at the local convenience store to fulfill the remainder of their plans for the evening. Rick, being the only member of the group of legal age, entered first, followed by Jesse and Mazes.
The clerk behind the counter was distracted by a pair of scantily clad coeds near the soda fountain who were dressed as fairies.
“All right, so that’s a keg of Bud and a carton of Camel Lights. Anything else, gentlemen?”
“That should do us,” answered Rick. Jesse moved in to grab the keg.
“You old enough to be handling that?”
Rick cleared his throat. “That’s my brother, who is acting as my caretaker, if you must know. As a handicapped member of society, I require certain considerations to enjoy the holiday festivities.”
“Apologies, not trying to be a downer. Cops are out in full force on Halloween—you know the drill.”
Jesse struggled to drag the keg out through the door. He was quickly assisted by Mazes who heaved the container up over his shoulder.
“Spoils to the victor,” Mazes smiled.
Mazes loaded the keg while Jesse assisted Rick up on the lift that loaded his brother and his chair through Vanzig’s side cargo door.
Once they were back in the van, Mal handed out the assortment of demonic Halloween masks to the group.
“Not too late to turn back,” Alex offered.
Jesse could sense a rising swell of apprehension behind the words. Of all his bandmates, he trusted Alex the most, and could tell the offer was genuine. And while Jesse shared in the apprehension, he dared not submit to the sweet nectar of surrender.
As in the music they shared, there was something invulnerable about the emergent power of the group—a band of heavy metal misfits up against a world at odds with every molecule of their collective being. It was only natural that, on occasion, they give as good as they got.
“Happy Halloween, motherfuckers,” said Rust. He donned his mask while helping Mazes secure the contraband.
Once Rick was situated inside the van, he passed a cassette up to Alex. “Here, man. Put this in. I made a Halloween mixtape—it’s all cued up.”
Alex shoved the cassette in the deck and pressed play as he stepped on the gas. The orchestral influenced counterpoint of “Am I Evil?” by Diamond Head, from the album Lightning to the Nations, released in 1980 on Happy Face Records, blared over the speakers as they set off towards Old Downtown.
Just after the sun went down, they pulled into the alley that ran behind the shared parking lot between the Plaza on Main strip mall and the adjacent Macomb Springs Church of Christ.
“Okay, everyone know their part?” asked Mal.
“Rick and I stay in the van and keep it running,” Alex recited. “If anything goes south, I punch it, and the rest of you jerks are on your—”
Rick interrupted with an exaggerated cough. “That part of the evac strategy was supposed to be classified.” He smiled sheepishly to the others, then furrowed his brow at Alex. “Come on, man! We talked about this."
Appearing unsure of who to look at, Alex put on his weasel eyes, swiveling his head back and forth between Rick and the others.
Jesse grabbed Alex by the shoulder. “Do not fucking move this van until we are all back inside of it, understand?” Alex nodded as Jesse continued. “Mal and I will move in first to cut the power.”
Mal nodded.
“Once the lights go out, Mazes and I will light up Beelzebub,” Rust said as he flicked open his Zippo. “Don’t forget to give us at least twenty Mississippis before you cut the power.”
“Once you light it up, you’ll have less than thirty seconds to get your asses back to the van.” Rick tapped on his watch as he spoke. “And then we get the fuck out of Dodge.”
After they made the circle of fists to seal the pact, the active participants in the plot filed out into the night.
Jesse watched as Rust and Mazes unloaded the effigy and quietly navigated towards the center of the adjacent church lot like a pair of bumbling extras in a bad heist movie.
What could go wrong?
The rest of the group waited until the effigy was positioned directly in front of the winding ramp that led to the church entrance.
Once Jesse saw that Mazes and Rust were erecting the effigy and spreading its wings, he and Mal splintered off towards the rear of the building in search of the main power switch.
It was commonly known to seasoned veterans of suburban mischief that the sole arbiter of power that transformed a lifeless edifice into one filled with electricity was governed by a single, solitary lever. Jesse was no novice. He knew that such a lever was generally found attached to the electric terminal located on the back outer wall of a given building, and made easily detectable due to its red rubber tip.
Jesse and Mal ran down the narrow alley towards the back of the church. As they neared the perimeter of the church building, the muffled singing of a modern Christian hymnal resonated from inside.
“Gah. Why does everything they do have to suck so bad?” Mal asked.
“At least they’re consistent.”
Jesse pulled out his lighter once they were within sight of the main power console. There within the small radius of light, he saw the rubber red handle protruding from a grey utility box. The box read “on/off,” with arrows pointing in either direction.
Jesse counted to twenty under his breath as Mal kept a lookout.
“I wish I could see Anderson’s face,” said Mal. The words were followed by a grey mist as they exited her mask and struck against the chill night air.
Jesse finished his count. “That’s it, I’m killing it.” He put his full weight on the switch and pulled it down.
The lever didn’t budge.
“What the fuck? Is it locked?”
“I’m pulling it as hard as I fucking can—it’s not moving.”
Mal added her weight to the lever, which finally snapped down with a loud crack that echoed down the alley, causing the two to drop to the ground.
“run!” shouted Mal as she grabbed Jesse by the arm.
Jesse’s mask had fallen over his eyes. He fought to fix it as they rounded the corner of the church. Through the narrow eye slits of his mask he saw the billowing flames shoot up into the night. The reflection of the orange-yellow glow on the hoods of the cars lit up the parking lot in front of the church.
As they neared the van, he could see Rust’s legs floundering from inside the opened rear doors. Just as the reverse lights illuminated the alley, Jesse heard the screams coming from the entrance to the church.
“go! go! go!” shouted Mal as they leapt through the open rear doors. Mazes pulled them up into the van and slammed the doors shut as Alex tore out of the lot and sped off towards Main Street, heading away from Old Downtown.
Jesse ripped off his mask and gulped down a breath of fresh air. The others had their faces pressed against the windows, fogging up the glass. They watched in silence as the nearly eight foot-tall, wire-framed demon burst with unholy flames.
“Goddammit, man! How much lighter fluid did you use?” Rust pointed to his right eyebrow, which had been singed off, replaced by a boiling red blister. “That shit almost took my fuckin’ face off.”
As they turned onto Main Street, Jesse could see the crowd of pajama-clad teens that had gathe
red near the front entrance to the church. In the middle of the parking lot, a handful of adult chaperones were attempting to fight back the flames spewing from the demonic effigy with blankets and a fire extinguisher.
“Holy fucking shit!” Mal shouted the words in ever-increasing volume as the van sped off into the night.
4
Mazes, Alex, and Rust were standing at the bottom of the concrete retaining wall that sloped down to the entrance of the Hell Hole, bracing for the receiving end of their delivery.
“You can do it, man. Just tuck your legs up,” said Rust.
“If I could move my legs, I wouldn’t be in this fucking thing in the first place, Einstein.”
Jesse and Mal stood at the top of the incline where they held back Rick in his wheelchair over the lip of the makeshift ramp. Randy’s leftover deck planks were laid out end to end along the steep gradient.
“I don’t know how you assholes talked me into this.”
The flickering candlelight rom inside the Hell Hole created ominous shadows over the features of the awaiting party below.
“You can do it, man!” shouted Rust.
“On my word, I will not allow any physical harm to befall you, Master Rick.”
Jesse whispered into his brother’s ear. “Don’t worry—going down is the easy part.”
“You would know,” Rick imparted as he drew breath. “Fucking do it.”
Free from its anchor, the chair quickly gained momentum as it rolled down the incline, careening over the wooden planks like a loose train car that had just pitched from the tracks. As Rick crashed into the awaiting assembly, Mazes moved forward to catch the brunt of the impact.
The large youth absorbed the momentum by sidestepping the chair at the last minute as he grabbed the handles, leading it into a circular re-entry to slow its inertia. The force of the collision caused the great lummox to knock Rust and Alex on top of each other near the stone archway.
Upon landing, Rick shot up devil horns in both hands and let out an ear-piercing howl into the night.
5
As the festivities gravitated towards the control room, Mal had already sketched out a pentagram on the floor in white chalk. At the terminus of each of the five points she placed a lit black candle, followed by a border of salt that ran around the radius of the pentagram.
“Trying to keep the slugs out?” asked Alex, cradling the boombox in his lap.
“It’s for protection. As long as we stay inside the circle, no evil spirits can harm us.”
“Evil spirits?” Alex rifled through a half-dozen cassette tapes portioned out among the pockets of his jean jacket. “I think I have just the thing.”
Mal finished pouring the salt and lit a stick of incense. “A lot of people died down here—tragically, I might add.” She gestured towards the lit candles. “And I’m sure some of them are pissed off about it.”
Alex looked around the control room as though suddenly aware of his surroundings.
“Relax. Long as you stay inside the circle, everything will be fine.”
He switched tapes on the boombox’s cassette player and pressed play.
A chorus-tinged bass line volleyed off the walls of the control room as “Lucretia My Reflection” by The Sisters of Mercy, from the album Floodland, released in 1987 on Merciful Release filled the room.
“Right, relax,” Alex chuckled to himself as he rolled a joint on the am/fm tuner panel that ran the length of the boombox. “I’m on it.”
The lure of the music brought in the others. Mazes carried in the keg while Rust helped Rick relieve himself outside.
Jesse and Alex passed the joint back and forth while Mal produced a hand-carved Ouija board from the duffel bag and laid the planchette on the ground next to it, ensuring that it did not come in contact with the board.
Next she pulled out a Manila envelope, spilling out the contents on the board like she was pouring a bowl of cereal. An assortment of obituary clippings and various newspaper articles from the Macomb Springs Chronicle surrounded the board; each referenced the historical mine collapse that occurred over a half-century ago.
“Don’t forget to tune in next time, on Scrap Booking with Satan,” Rust said, wheeling in Rick.
Mal selected a newspaper clipping which included obituaries of the mine workers. “Who wants to talk to the dead?”
“I’m in,” Jesse called out as he helped Rust navigate Rick into the control room.
Mal had drawn the pentagram wide enough to accommodate the entire group, including Rick’s wheelchair. Once seated, they took turns passing around Alex’s joint before they settled into the séance as dictated by Mal.
“Man, this place has seen better days,” said Rick.
“This place is starting to kill my buzz,” said Alex. He brushed a daddy longlegs off his sleeve as he hit the joint.
Mal placed the planchette on the board.
“Okay everyone, shut up. Jesse, Alex, and Rust, I need you three to put your hands on the planchette here with me.”
Alex turned down the volume on the boombox and set it on the ground as he moved in closer to the inner circle.
Mal placed her hands around the little glass window in the center of the hand-carved, heart-shaped piece. “The rest of you will be the battery that charges the circle with energy, so that the dead can hear us on the other side.” Once the other three joined their fingertips with hers on the planchette, she moved it in a figure-eight pattern. “We’ll trace the infinity symbol to warm up the board.”
Mal took command of the room as the others fell in line to enact the ritual.
“We come as vessels of peace, seeking visitation with those who have passed beyond this mortal coil. Are there any spirits among us who would like to commune with the living?”
The room turned still and silent save for the flickering of candlelight.
Mal repeated the invitation once more, but received only silence in response, aside from the snickering produced by Rick, who had been nursing the joint by himself. Mal opened one eye to quell the outburst.
“Sometimes it takes a minute,” she said.
Jesse brushed his fingertips against hers as she repositioned the planchette. She gave him a sly wink before she composed herself and read the names from the obituaries.
“I call upon your ethereal forms. Are there any spirits here that would like to speak with us?”
The room maintained a silent vigil until the candles began to flicker in unison.
“What the fuck was that?” asked Alex.
The planchette responded by gliding across the board, seemingly of its own volition. It deviated from the figure-eight pattern before spelling out the letters p-e-n-i...
“Very funny,” started Mal. “Which one of you dickwads—”
Her words were interrupted by another outburst, this one coming from outside the control room.
A loud, low frequency rumble rose from the depths of the mine. The sound grew louder in intensity as it reached the control room, snuffing out the candlelight as a wave of foul air washed over the central tunnel.
“Fuck this,” Alex whimpered as he pulled his hands from the planchette. He grabbed his boombox and headed towards the door just as another horn blast sounded.
Unlike the first rumbling barrage of sound, the crescendo of the second blast was accompanied by a low guttural growl.
“Cute Halloween sound effects, Mal. How long did you guys spend setting that up?” asked Rick. He wheeled up to the control room doors next to Mazes, who had already leapt into action.
Something scurried near the door.
The jarring sound of groaning metal echoed out from the central tunnel just beyond the control room doors. Mazes stuck his head outside the room while gesturing for the others to stay back.
“Everyone keep quiet,” Rust whispered. “I think there’s somethin’ out there.”
Click.
The side of the cassette tape had ended, causing the playback head to engage th
e brake shoe as the auto-rewind function was triggered on the boombox’s cassette player.
whirrrrrrrrr.
Jesse could hear Alex trying to muffle the sound in the darkness. The noise from the cassette deck had silenced the scuttling and scratching sounds coming from just outside the control room doors.
The others gathered behind Mazes.
“Probably just a stray dog or something,” said Rick.
The shuffling of footsteps resounded from down the central tunnel, drawing nearer with each step. Jesse began to tremble despite himself as the somber wail of a young girl echoed off the walls of the central tunnel.