As an Old Memory

by Vic Kerry

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. He won’t say a thing out of place tonight.” Josh smiled and walked outside.

  Jessica looked up as he walked out. She grinned. As he sat down across the table from her, she reached into her backpack and took out a glossy paperback book, more the size of a thick magazine than a usual paperback.

  “Have you ever seen this?” She slid the book over to him.

  Josh recognized the brightly colored pink cover that surrounded a photograph of an old grandfather clock. The clock’s image was in negative black and white. A small ghost icon was at the top of this graphic.

  “It’s one of the Jeffrey books,” he said. “I read all of these back in elementary school.”

  “I thought I had, too, but I’ve never seen this one,” Jessica said. “I found it yesterday in the library before the fight broke out.”

  A hot flush rose up Josh’s neck. The tips of his ears burn with embarrassment. He grinned bashfully. “Sorry about knocking you down. It was a mistake.”

  She smiled a sheepish embarrassed smile. “It’s okay. I’m not mad or anything. I know you didn’t mean to. Corey blew that way out of proportion.”

  “He has a tendency to do that. You were talking about this book.”

  She pointed to the title. “It’s called Jeffrey Presents 13 Modern Southern Ghosts.”

  “They’re all Jeffrey presents thirteen ghosts.” Josh pulled the book closer to him.

  He didn’t recognize the cover either. The table of contents listed intriguing story titles like, “I. The Spook in the Clock” and “III. The Ghost U-boat of Dauphin Island”. The copyright page showed a much more recent date, the late 1980s.

  “Look at number eleven,” she said.

  Josh looked down the numbers at “XI. Hazel’s Curse and the Homecoming Dance”. He looked up at Jessica. She made a hand motion for him to read it. He had no idea what he might find but didn’t feel much like delving into that particular can of worms right then.

  “Can I keep the book?” he asked. “I’ll read it later.”

  “I’ve got it checked out all week. I’m sorry you got suspended. I went and talked with Principal Chapman and told him they provoked you.”

  “He said I beat them up so bad that he had do something more than paddle me. My punishment here isn’t that severe. No television while I’m suspended. It’s not that bad. I’ve been reading some old Stephen King.”

  “It?”

  “Christine.”

  “You should read It. You won’t sleep for a week.”

  “That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

  The kitchen door opened. Josh’s mother walked out wiping her hands on a dish cloth. She smiled.

  “You guys want some tea?” she asked. They shook their heads no. “There’s a change in menu. We’re having frozen lasagna. Your dad called and had to take a player to the hospital. He won’t make it to dinner.”

  “Who was it?” Josh asked. “It wasn’t Thomas, was it?”

  “Do you think I’d be standing here if it was?” she replied. “He didn’t tell me, but your brother will be home soon enough. He can fill you in.”

  “Lasagna sounds good, Mrs. McAdams,” Jessica said. “Anything sounds good. I’m starving. Lunch didn’t stick with me.”

  “It’ll be ready in about an hour or so. I hope Sim’s okay with it,” Josh’s mother said.

  “Probably won’t be because it’s I-talian, but beggars and choosers is the way I see it,” Josh said.

  “You’ve got some vinegar in you today,” his mother said. “I’ll tell your brother to pop out when he gets here to tell you who got hurt.”

  The door to the kitchen closed, leaving Josh and Jessica alone again in the backyard. The smell of burning leaves drifted on the air. It perfumed the moment perfectly. He stared at Jessica while she gazed into space. The sun still made her hair look fiery. She wasn’t angry with him and had all but said that Corey was a loser. Ever since Corey Aaron took on his California persona, he’d been like that. Before that, he’d been a pretty cool dude, if a bit of redneck.

  “I’m not allowed to go to the football game on Friday night because of my suspension.”

  “It applies to after-school activities too?” Jessica asked.

  “Yeah, anyway, the old movie house downtown is showing Night of the Living Dead as a lead-up to Halloween. You want to go?”

  “That Stephen King book has you in the mood for scary, doesn’t it? I would love to.”

  Excitement fluttered through Josh. They hadn’t ever been out to anything together except for football games, but that was more like a group activity.

  “But I promised Corey I’d come to the game and watch him.”

  His heart sank. Despite all her implied dislike of what Corey had done after the fight, he was still able to lure her toward him. Josh had no idea how that fakey California stuff worked.

  “All right. Maybe next week. They’re showing Blacula, I think.”

  Jessica smiled. “You’re keeping up with that dinky place’s shows, aren’t you?”

  “I think it’s cool the old place is trying to stay open. It’s like keeping history alive. There’s not many of those old places left in towns like ours.”

  “I’ve been in places like that. I know why.”

  “They’ve fixed it up. A revival of Jaws played there over the summer.”

  The kitchen door slammed open. Josh’s mother yelled something from deep inside the house. It was toward Thomas, who was the only person in the house who slammed open every single door as if he were still eight years old. Thomas hurried over to the table. He carried a tall glass of iced tea, which was mostly ice. He finished the liquid off as he sat down and sucked an ice cube into his mouth.

  “Momma said for me to come out here,” he said around the ice.

  “Who got hurt?” Jessica asked.

  “Cool,” Thomas picked up the Jeffrey ghost book. “I’ve not thought about these in years.” He looked at it. “I’ve never seen this one.”

  “That’s why Jessica brought it by,” Josh took it from his brother. “You can read it later after me.”

  “Who got hurt?” Jessica repeated.

  “Neal Otis got the wind knocked out of him pretty hard, and daddy had to take Corey to the hospital for a possible concussion. Neal knocked the living sh—crap out of Corey.”

  Thomas stopped his swear to be respectful to Jessica. He did that around girls. It was one of his more noble personality quirks.

  “Is he okay?” Jessica asked.

  “Yeah, you said possible concussion,” Josh feigned like he cared far more than he did.

  “I don’t know. Daddy hadn’t called the coach with an update before I had to walk home.” Thomas grabbed for the book again. “Momma’s making lasagna. It smells awesome.”

  “I hope that he’s okay,” Jessica sounded worried.

  “He will be,” Josh said.

  “He’ll have to sit out at tomorrow’s game,” Thomas said, “but he’ll be back next week. Unless it isn’t a concussion, he’ll play tomorrow night.”

  “I guess you might be able to go to that movie tomorrow after all,” Josh said.

  Jessica gave him a cross look. “That’s a bit insensitive don’t you think.”

  Josh turned sullen. He tried to not let it show, but Corey Aaron was like a grain of sand in his shoe. It was like his classmate had some kind of supernatural ability to make Josh look like a complete buffoon.

  Sim stood in the bathroom with the water running into the sink. His daughter-in-law woke him up from his nap, which he didn’t mean to take, to eat. Turns out that the sliced ham and mashed potato dinner he’d been promised ended up changing to some I-talian disaster. If he’d wanted frozen lasagna, he’d bought a TV dinner and eaten it at his own damn house.

  Before walking into the bathroom to wash up for his less than desirable meal, he’d seen a book one of his grandkids had left on the couch as they walked through to go
to their rooms. He flipped it open to see what it was about. A story listed in the table of contents caught his eye. It was called “Hazel’s Curse and the Homecoming Dance”. He had no idea what the whole story was about, but he knew about the witch named Hazel and her curse.

  As he ran his hands under the water, not using any soap because all his family had to offer was Dove and that made a man’s hands feel girly, he hadn’t heard the story of Hazel’s curse in a long time. It was a common story around campfires and hayrides during that time of the year when people started thinking about ghosts and goblins. The last time anyone told it was after Tommy Jones’s funeral. He’d been sitting in the barbershop at the corner of Main Street and Maple Avenue. One of the old timers was talking about how it had come true. The old man claimed Tobias Abernathy descended from that old witch.

  “Bullshit,” Sim looked into the mirror as he turned off the water.

  Caught up in his flashback, he forgot to avoid looking over his shoulder. Tobias Abernathy stared at him with a face that looked like it had been carved in stone. Sim blinked hard and shook his head. When he looked back over his shoulder, the face was an indistinct blob again.

  “Bullshit,” he repeated.

  Chapter Ten

  1956

  A week until Homecoming

  The air bore a crispness that Charlotte found delicious. She loved this time of the year. With everything going on in her life, she needed something she loved. As the light, cool breeze played with wisps of hair that had come free from her ponytail, the rumors and innuendoes about her seemed to drift away on the wind. Despite all the scuttlebutt she heard in whispers about her and Tobias, she still had to focus on getting the gym ready for the Homecoming dance. Connie was the teacher sponsor and wouldn’t let her quit when she’d asked. Her brother’s girlfriend assured her that if Charlotte quit the committee, the bigot kids would win. She also told her that they might even start rumors as to why she quit. Those rumors might get Charlotte sent away to an all-girls school in Mobile, something she didn’t want.

  Charlotte walked from the back door of the school toward the parking lot near the football field. Her friend Sheila DeLeon had promised her a ride home with her boyfriend, Ben Harris. Charlotte planned to use the short drive to convince Ben to help decorate the gym. The committee needed guys to do the heavy lifting and high work. So far she’d only talked Tommy into helping out. Tobias said he would help too, but she wasn’t sure how her friends would treat him, so she’d put him off.

  Sheila sat on the hood of Ben’s mint green ’48 Pontiac. He called it Lucille Balls—a crude joke that Charlotte didn’t like, for despite all the talk, she was still a lady. Ben leaned close to his girl with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. The smoke blew toward Charlotte on the wind. It was some cheap brand that the boys smoked because they couldn’t afford the good ones. Sim complained about how all the teenage guys stunk up Cardinal Drive-in with their cheap smokes.

  “Look who it is,” Ben said when he spied her.

  “About time,” Sheila said. “I thought we were going to have to leave you behind. Ben’s got to get to work at the lumber mill by four.”

  “Wood ain’t going to stack itself,” he said.

  “Sorry, but Ms. Dearborn stopped me at my locker. She wanted me to get some more guys to help out with the decorating committee,” Charlotte said. “I couldn’t get away.”

  “She’s your brother’s girlfriend. Couldn’t she have told you that at dinner or something?” Sheila asked.

  “I guess not,” Charlotte replied. “Speaking of the committee, would you be interested in helping us out, Ben?”

  He took a drag off his cigarette and smiled. “Stringing up crepe paper ain’t much my style.”

  The football team rushed on the field. Ben watched them. The smile on his face fell to a frown. He dropped his cigarette and crushed it out with his foot. Sheila slid off the hood of the car as Ben walked to the driver’s side. He got in, slamming the heavy door. The engine roared to life with a burst of gasoline-smelling exhaust.

  “He’s ready to go,” Sheila said. “Better get in, or he’ll leave us.”

  “That was sudden,” Charlotte said.

  Sheila turned so that her boyfriend could see her lips. “He gets that way when the team takes the field. His chance to get out of this town was football. He can’t play anymore.”

  “He can’t help that his leg was broken,” Charlotte said.

  “It wasn’t an accident,” Sheila confessed. “Johnny House broke it with a baseball bat.”

  “Why?”

  “Johnny was drunk, and Ben fumbled a football in the game, which caused us to lose. Johnny lost money on the game, a lot of money.”

  “Why didn’t he turn him in?” Charlotte asked.

  “Johnny threatened to do worse, but he also got Ben the job at the sawmill.”

  “Little consolation,” Charlotte said.

  Ben blew the car horn. Charlotte’s skeleton tried to leap out of her skin. Sheila waved at him.

  “He swears he’s going to get Johnny back,” Sheila said. “We better get in. He will leave us.” She opened the door and pulled the seat forward so Charlotte could crawl into the back. “Don’t worry—I’ll talk him into helping us with the decorations.”

  Charlotte crawled into the back seat. Ben gunned the engine before Sheila got the door closed. Gravel flew into the air, and Charlotte was slung hard against the back seat. She closed her eyes after that, because she couldn’t bear to see where they were going.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alan drove down the street toward the school. It was well after eight p.m., and he’d waited at the emergency room with Corey the whole time. The boy refused to call anyone in his family, even his brother. He said that his brother would bring his mother along and that meant she would make a scene. Alan agreed to his wishes against his better judgment. Had the injuries been bad, he could have gotten in a lot of trouble for not including the family. Fortunately, Corey didn’t have a concussion. The X-rays and CAT scan showed nothing. The emergency room doctor said Corey had gotten his bell rung good and hard and should probably take it easy for a few days.

  The marquee sign for the school shone in the distance. It was still too far away for Alan to read the black removable letters, but they announced the time of the next ball game and the opponent.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go by McDonald’s and get you something to eat?” he asked Corey.

  “No, thank you, Coach McAdams. I try not to eat that garbage unless it’s absolutely necessary,” he answered with his cool California-surfer-dude accent fully back in place.

  Alan wished that the blow to the head might have changed that particular characteristic he’d acquired. “I wish you’d let me call your mother when we left the hospital. She’s got to be worried about you since you’re late.”

  Corey looked at him. “Late? I’ll be home early tonight. I don’t blow back into the house until around 10.”

  “What are you doing until then?”

  For a moment when Corey rolled his eyes, he looked like the adolescent he was instead of the persona he adopted to try to make everyone believe he was better than a kid from a trailer park.

  “Weren’t you ever young?” Corey asked.

  “A long time ago. Back then there was nothing to do in this town after the sun set, except on the weekend, and it was the drive-in or the picture house downtown.”

  “Things haven’t changed that much,” Corey said. “Before the days got shorter, I’d go to the park and swing. Sometimes I’d go fishing, but the mosquitos are bad. Lately, I’ve been helping plan the dance.”

  “The Homecoming dance?” Alan pulled up beside the only vehicle left in the student parking lot, an old Jeep that looked reminiscent of the one Daisy Duke drove, eagle on the hood and all.

  “Not the school-sanctioned one,” He stopped and looked Alan over. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Alan put his car into par
k and turned to Corey. The dashboard lights of his Pontiac Grand Am glowed an orange-red color. It always gave the passenger a slightly ghoulish appearance. Corey looked absolutely horrific. The kid was too skinny. The lights caught in all the sunken in places on his face. It was skull-like.

  “You don’t mean the Massacre dance, do you?” Alan asked.

  “I’ve already said too much. I guess I forgot you were a teacher since you’ve been cool about everything this evening.”

  “You can’t think that’s a good idea. You usually talk about how stuff that might offend people is wrong. Granola power and all that.”

  “Things that save Mother Earth are great. Parties are great too.”

  Corey got out of the car. He slammed the door. It peeved Alan a little bit, but after seeing the hunk of metal the boy drove, he realized that Corey must be used to having to put some muscle behind closing his vehicle’s door and meant nothing by it. He pushed the button, and the passenger window slid down.

  “Were you up at the old gym a few nights ago fooling around inside?” Alan yelled through the window.

  “No, and that’s the truth,” Corey answered.

  Alan nodded at him and tossed his hand up to say goodbye. He shifted the car into drive, rolled up the window, and headed out of the parking lot. Nothing came up or down the street. It seemed strange for the town to be dead that early in the evening. Pinehurst had grown a lot since he was a kid. The interstate coming through less than fifteen miles from town helped the most. Still with all the growth, the sidewalks in this part of town rolled up at sundown. Out near the bypass, things still hopped. Walmart stayed opened a full twenty-four/seven. McDonald’s, Burger King, and Taco Bell kept a brisk business until nearly midnight. Still, this part of town might as well have been twenty-five or forty years in the past.

  Alan stopped and looked all the ways at the four-way stop at Maple Avenue and Raiders Street. Headlights glared at him coming up fast from Maple Street. The driver didn’t dim them, and by the pace of the high beams’ approach, the car wasn’t slowing down. It shot through the intersection faster than any car should be able to drive on that street. Alan looked at the driver as he passed. The red cherry of a cigarette glowed in the dark cabin of the car. The driver flipped him off. Alan thought he’d seen him before. The car flew past so quickly, he wasn’t sure what he’d seen, or how he’d even been able to make out a face in the darkness.