Last Contact

by Geoff North

  “Come on, Weibe, you don’t have to be a dink about it.” Brian summoned as much dwindling bravado he could. “We’re coming with you. The Goon Squad sticks together—through thick and thin, through rain, snow, and whatever this shit is.”

  Stewart started down the lane and the other two followed a few moments later. Not another word was spoken as they stumbled in the dark, occasionally falling from the lane and into the deeper grass along the sides of the quarter-mile long road. They rounded a final bend and there it was. The yard light was brighter now, cutting through the wreath of fog surrounding it and casting one half of the old house in an ominous purple haze.

  “No way.” The last of Brian Bryant’s courage dried up in a choking whisper. “No way I’m taking a step closer to that place.”

  Leroy grabbed the boy by his coat sleeve and pulled him on. “Who’s the chicken-shit now? Come on, fat boy. There’s no way we’re letting Weibe the Dweeb take all the credit for this.”

  They continued further down the last bit of remaining lane, the circle of light growing stronger, the snow falling harder. Stewart’s feet kept moving forward even though his brain was screaming to turn and run. His hands were digging into the pillow case, searching for the cardboard carton. He felt cold slime in one corner, congealed yolk already starting to freeze. The smell hit him again and he gagged. He found the container already open and reached around some more, separating chocolate bars from egg shells.

  “There’s a few left. We’ll toss ‘em fast and run. Okay?” He had fully intended on doing more. He had envisioned slipping through a window and doing considerably more damage on the inside. He wanted to burn the place to the ground. But standing in the cold, beneath that grey glow of yard light, watching the fog twist about in the falling snow like silent ghosts changed his mind.

  Dad kept his mouth shut for a reason. He wasn’t a coward… To hell with revenge.

  He was about to drop the pillow case and run when Brian answered weakly. More like a squeak, a one-worded squeal to seal it. “Okay.”

  Stewart studied his friends in the colorless light for what seemed like an eternity. Leroy was supposed to be some villain from the Star Wars movies. His face was painted badly in streaks of black and red. That’s as far as the boy’s efforts had gone to dress up. The rest of his body was wrapped in a dirty yellow snowmobile-suit a size or three too big. Brian had tried a little harder. He was a four-foot-seven clown clad in a white one-piece with big red buttons down the middle. A frilly blue belt was wrapped around his belly and the size nine rubber boots almost passed for comical clown shoes. The boy’s round face was plastered with white goo and red lipstick. A wig with frizzy gold hair sticking out from the sides was placed on the top of his head. Snow was building on his fake hair and gathering at the top of the red-rubber nose he’d glued on with contact cement. Good luck getting that off tomorrow.

  Stewart began to giggle at the absurdity of it all. A fat clown, an eighty-pound Vader, and a kid pretending to be a lunatic. I’m so scared. He was more than scared. Stewart was so terrified his skin had gone numb. He looked down at his hand and saw three eggs sitting there. One of the shells had a hairline crack running through it.

  Better throw it fast before it breaks in my hand.

  He headed towards the house, the only sound coming from the soft crunch of his boots in the snow—that, and the pounding of his heart through his neck and between his ears.

  Throw them all at once. Smash them across the front door window and run like hell.

  His foot found the first front porch step and paused. There were no lights on inside the house. Everything was shrouded in black. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? No one’s home, he thought, his heart already beginning to slow.

  All this worry for nothing. They aren’t even here.

  Up another step, and another—into the pitch black where the yard light couldn’t reach.

  Piece of cake.

  He expected four or five more steps until he got to the door. His face hit something warm first. He poked at it tentatively with the hand holding the eggs. Something soft. Cloth. Even covered with his heavy jacket and acrylic toque, Stewart felt every single hair on his body stand. His heart stopped working. He forgot how to breathe.

  Someone whispered from somewhere behind him—Leroy, Brian—he didn’t know which.

  “Hurry up, Weibe—throw the frigging eggs!”

  One of them produced a flashlight and flicked it on. Where the hell was that when we needed it walking in the fog? Stewart could see what was blocking him from the door. A sheet. A white bed sheet. His head craned up slowly and he saw two black eyes cut out from the cloth staring down at him.

  The ghost leaned forward.

  “Boo.”

  Chapter 14

  The ghost didn’t have to command Stewart to stay where he was. Weibe the Dweeb forgot he had limbs that worked and did stuff. Leroy and Brian remembered, however. The flashlight Leroy’s mother had given him before setting out was tossed aside. They dropped their pillowcases and ran as fast they could back the way they’d come.

  The ghost watched for a few seconds as they retreated from the sphere of dull yard light, and Stewart thought he heard it chuckle as Brian tripped over his boots and landed hard on his fat gut. Leroy abandoned him and kept running into foggy darkness.

  “Stop.” The ghost called out. “Come back here.”

  Leroy appeared in the light again and stood beside Brian who had only managed to make it back to his knees.

  “Come up onto the porch, both of you. Come join your friend.”

  Leroy and Brian stepped onto the porch and stood on either side of Stewart, blubbering hard through snotty nostrils. “Please, mister,” Brian managed. “We didn’t wanna come here. Please just let us go home and I swear you’ll never see us again.”

  A hand enveloped in white linen patted Brian’s snow-covered wig. “Why are you crying? That painted-on smile you’re wearing means you should be a happy, fat clown. You’re making me sad. You don’t want to make the ghost sad do you, little fat clown?” A light went on inside the house.

  “Smile, clown,” the ghost said.

  The boy’s eyes were two pink rings of wet horror. Tears beaded down the white makeup and cracked on either cheek as his lips drew back in a wide, yellow-toothed grin that chilled Stewart to the bone.

  “Much, much better.” The black eye holes shifted slowly towards Leroy. “And what’re you supposed to be?”

  Leroy swallowed hard and answered. “D-D-Darth Maul… from the Star Wars movie.”

  The ghost nodded. “I see… Well you look like an idiot. Go wipe that crap on your face off in the snow.” Leroy trotted off the porch, sunk to his knees, and started grinding snowflakes mixed with gravel against his face.

  “Your buddy might be a minute,” the ghost said. “You two come inside and warm up.”

  Stewart and Brian followed the bed sheet into the house. Stewart was hit with a stench worse than the smell of the rotten egg yolks in his candy bag. Something was dead. Maybe a lot of somethings.

  A hand slipped out from under the sheet, palm up. Stewart wondered dumbly how it could be even whiter than the cloth. The wrist was narrow and hairless with a frenzy of little purple-green veins running just beneath the tissue-paper thin skin. “The eggs. Give me your eggs.” The long fingers wagged up and down expectantly, the tips wrinkled as if they’d been submerged under water for too long. Like little white prunes. “Give… me… the eggs.”

  Stewart plopped them gently down into the hand and it disappeared back under the sheet. “Good boy. What, or who you supposed to be tonight?”

  “Jack Nicholson—One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

  “Before or after the lobotomy?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Never mind. Go sit on the couch with your freaky-grinning fat clown friend. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  The ghost vanished down a dark hallway leaving the children to navigate through a
pile of garbage littered in places over a foot high to the couch. They cleared more from the cushions and sat on the fake leather.

  “Jeshush, Sheward,” Brian said through clenched teeth. The forced grin was still locked in place. “Whash haffening? I cank shop shialing. Hel ee! Mafe ick shof!”

  What’s happening? I can’t stop smiling. Help me! Make it stop!

  “I-I don’t know what’s happening. I want to go. I want to run out that door and run all the way home… I can’t. I just can’t!”

  Saliva was shooting out from between the gaps of Brian’s teeth. He was making an awful hissing noise. Tears were still streaming down his white-streaked face. “Cank reave! Cank reave!” Can’t breathe! Can’t breathe!

  “Yes you can. Just relax. He’s going to give us hell… maybe try and scare us some more, but he’ll let us go pretty soon. Relax, Bryant—stop crying and catch your breath.”

  The ghost returned. “You only had three eggs? Anymore outside?”

  Stewart thought he could see a grotesquely long yellow toe nail sticking out from under a pile of newspapers. “Uhh… yeah. There might be some more in one of the pillow cases.”

  The ghost opened the front door and yelled. “Hey, kid! Darth Muck or whatever your name is! Grab those goody bags up when you’re done and bring them into the kitchen!” He slammed the door shut and looked at the boys on the couch. “Everything okay? You guys comfy?” They hadn’t been commanded to answer so the two remained silent. “How about some TV? I bet there’s something good and scary on seeing as it’s Halloween night.” The white hand with the prune fingers reappeared and searched through the remains of rotted meals and discarded paper towels on the coffee table. It found a remote and clicked a fifty inch television into life. Stewart had never seen a porno before, and he had no desire to see his first now. He looked at his lap and was forced to listen to the noises booming out somewhere from the surround-sound speakers behind his head. Brian’s hitched breathing worsened.

  “Don’t act so shocked, guys. It’s the soft stuff—nothing too explicit. Hey, don’t act like little prudes. Tough guys like you should learn about the birds and the bees at a young age, don’t you think? If you’re old enough to go around vandalizing private property, then you’re big enough to handle this.” The ghost disappeared back down the hallway.

  The front door opened again and Leroy stepped in, dragging the three pillow cases across the carpet. His face was a mess of shredded skin and dripping blood. Not a trace of paint remained. “Where’s the kitchen?”

  Brian indicated the hallway with a wag of his head. “Dow nair.”

  Leroy returned a minute later and sat on the end of the couch beside Stewart. He was dabbing his wrecked face with two handfuls of paper towel. “The ghost said he was sorry… said he didn’t mean for me to take it so littly.”

  “Literally,” Stewart corrected.

  “Yeah, whatever. It’s worse than it looks. The witch told me it didn’t hurt that much and gave me the towels. Told me to clean myself up.”

  “What… what are they doing in the kitchen?” Stewart asked.

  “Cookin’ a late supper.”

  Another light blazed on above their heads making all three boys jump. The ghost had turned on a hanging chandelier. The witch was behind him holding a tray with three steaming plates set on it.

  “Who’s hungry?” The ghost clapped his hands together under the sheet. “Little devils like you creating all kinds of mischief, walking all over town and out in the country, that’s who’s hungry, I bet. Three little jerkoffs just dying to dig into their Halloween booty.”

  The witch cleared more space on the coffee table and set the tray down in front of them. The stink of rotten eggs was even worse when they were scrambled. All three leaned back trying not to gag at the green and brown mess on their plates.

  “Eat up, guys,” the ghost said in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “I insist.”

  How can this be happening? How can all three of us start shoveling this shit into our mouths? Why can’t we run?

  And shovel it in they did. Leroy used his fingers instead of the fork each plate came equipped with. The eggs had little taste but the steaming smell wafted through their noses, it was inhaled with each swallow. The texture reminded Stewart of cottage cheese, one of his least favorite things, mixed with something crunchy.

  Brian vomited first. Chunks of egg shot out through his nostrils and a stream of curdle splattered across the front of his clown costume. He was crying full out, snot flying after egg. He paused to catch his breath and then dug in for a third handful.

  Stewart chewed more slowly. Why does it taste so sweet? Leroy made an awful, wet belching sound next to him. He spewed eggs over Stewart’s neck and arm. Stewart let loose next, spraying the empty tray on the coffee table with a half-digested puddle that looked like phlegm mixed with little chunks of brown. He puked again and his mother’s lasagna spilled to the carpet. He retched until there was nothing left inside.

  Stewart’s eyes were watering, his head was pounding. All he could focus on were the bits of brown floating in the green vomit covering the table.

  The ghost spoke. “I found a couple of Skor bars in one of your bags. Ground ‘em up and mixed it in with the eggs… for flavor.”

  “You’re letting them watch porn, Allan?” The witch’s voice sounded much younger than her haggard face let on. “They’re just kids.” She found the remote and clicked. Jamie Lee Curtis was screaming and running through the dark streets of Haddonfield. “That’s better,” she said settling into an armchair close to Brian.

  “I’m disappointed with you guys,” the ghost floated in front of the boys, gathering up their plates and forks. “Thought you would have bigger appetites after such a busy night.” He disappeared behind them carrying the tray and plates with him.

  Stewart wiped his mouth off the best he could and looked at his friends. Brian’s face was a kaleidoscope of white paint, red lipstick, and green vomit. There was a piece of Skor bar stuck to the end of his rubber nose. The clown suit was drenched. He won’t be wearing that next Halloween. Leroy was covered in vomit. The yellow snowmobile-suit had turned golden brown. Steam was still rising off it.

  “Can we—” Stewart croaked and had to swallow fresh spit down his throat to moisten it some. “Can we go home now?”

  The witch’s head turned towards them. Stewart half-expected it to keep twisting all the way round. She brushed strands of hair away from her black eyes and studied them silently for a full half minute. “What’s your hurry, Stewart? Weren’t you planning all along to come inside our home? Did your friends know that part of the plan?—to sneak through a window and do even more damage?”

  “We didn’t know about any of that,” Brian squealed. “Honest, we didn’t even wanna come here. Stewart made us.”

  “Shut up, you fat little liar.”

  Stewart asked. “How’d you know my name? How’d you know what I was planning to do? I didn’t tell these guys the part about breaking in. I didn’t talk about that with anyone.”

  “It’s written all over your guilty little face. Just like I know Leroy pissed himself when he sat down. He thought maybe the vomit would cover it up. Stupid kid… All of you. Stupid, little kids.” She hissed the last word. Her thin grey lips pulled back revealing an even greyer set of teeth. Stewart thought his bladder would go next.

  The ghost returned from the kitchen balancing three glasses filled with milk between his fingers. “Drink up, boys.”

  Stewart shut his eyes and lifted one of the glasses to his mouth. He held his breath and swallowed, not wanting to smell how sour it was. It tasted okay. No mystery chunks. He took a sniff. It was milk. It was normal, homogenized, best before its expiry date milk. Stewart chugged the rest down greedily, as did the boys on either side of him.

  “Scrambled eggs were the trick, the milk was the treat,” Witch-Girl said.

  The ghost chuckled. “We’re not that cruel.” He clapped a hand
down on one of Leroy’s vomit-drenched knees. It made a loud slapping sound that brought all three kids back to attention. The sheet-covered head hovered in front of the boy’s. Leroy stared into the cut out holes and saw nothing but more black. “You can go home now, Darth-Muck. And you can take that fat clown thing with you.”

  Leroy and Brian stood on shaky legs. The witch gave them a few last parting instructions. “You’ll talk to no one about this. Once you make it to town you’ll forget you were ever here. Understand?”

  They nodded simultaneously and headed for the front door. Neither even glanced back at Stewart. Thanks a lot, guys. He had a feeling the Goon Squad had disbanded once and for all.

  “Close it tight behind you,” the ghost called out. “It doesn’t catch sometimes, and it’s cold out tonight.”

  Click.

  “Now… What to do with you.” The ghost sank into an armchair submerged under garbage. That was a yellow toe nail Stewart had seen earlier. All ten of them were facing him now, curled down towards the soiled carpet like talons. The feet were fish-belly white and sprinkled with more bluish-green varicose veins. The ghost snapped his fingers bringing Stewart’s attention back to the covered sheet face and black eyes. “You’re the farmer’s son from down the road. The one our grey friend decided to make a lesson of.”

  “Who’s your grey friend?”

  The witch was impressed. “He’s brave, you have to give him that... Still asking questions and poking his nose into our business even after all this.”

  “Yeah… he’s something.” The ghost sat forward. “Let’s see what he makes of this.” White fingers clutched at the eye holes and pulled down. The sheet came off and Stewart screamed. No one instructed him to, no one had to. He screamed until his breath ran out.

  “I seem to have that effect on people. It’s the main reason I don’t go out much anymore.”