Night of Fear

by Peg Kehret

  In his imagination, he heard himself cry, “I’m sick. I’m going to pass out. Call 9-1-1.” Then he would collapse on the floor. That ought to get help quickly.

  Chapter Nine

  Craig Ackerley could hardly believe his good fortune. First, his parents called from the Open House at school to say they were going out for coffee and would be late getting home, and then his brother, Ben, decided to go to the eleven o’clock movie.

  Craig pretended to be watching television. He waved absentmindedly when Ben said he was leaving. As soon as the door closed behind Ben, Craig switched off the television and got to his feet. He peered out the window as Ben sprinted down the front sidewalk and climbed into his friend’s waiting car.

  When the car drove off, Craig hurried to Ben’s bedroom and opened the closet. After pushing Ben’s clothes aside, he reached into the far corner for Ben’s suitcase. He dragged it out of the closet, opened it, and removed a can of beer.

  Craig popped open the can and drank it as quickly as he could. Belching loudly, he opened a second can and drank it, too. It didn’t taste as good as he remembered from the times when Ben took him along with his friends to a drinking party. The beer would be better if it was cold and it wasn’t as much fun to drink alone.

  I need a drinking buddy, Craig decided. I need somebody to party with for an hour or two. He removed two six-packs from the suitcase before he closed it and shoved it back where he had found it.

  Craig closed his bedroom door, so his parents would think he was asleep when they got home. Tucking a six-pack under each arm, he stepped out into the night and walked rapidly away from home.

  His first stop was just down the street, at Lyle’s house. Lyle’s parents might have stayed late at the Open House, too, and Lyle had confided to Craig that he sometimes had a small glass of his mother’s wine when he was home alone. Lyle would make a fine drinking buddy.

  As Craig knocked on Lyle’s door, he saw his parents’ car turn into his own driveway. It’s my lucky night, he thought. I got out just in time.

  Lyle answered the door.

  “Party time,” Craig said. “Down in the woods.”

  Lyle hesitated. “My folks went to that meeting at school,” he said, “but they’ll be home any minute. I thought they’d be here before this.”

  “All the parents went out to eat.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” Craig hiccuped. “Leave them a note. Say you’re at my house, doing homework. But hurry.”

  Lyle grinned. “I’ll be out in a second,” he said.

  “Bring your mother’s wine,” Craig said.

  A minute later, the two boys headed down the sidewalk. Lyle walked quickly, nervous that a car would pass and the driver would recognize him and see what he was carrying.

  “We should have put this stuff in a brown paper bag,” he said. “Then it would look as if we were carrying groceries home.”

  “Quit worrying,” Craig said. “Who’s going to see us?”

  They approached a newly built home, the last to be constructed in the Forest View Estates subdivision where they lived. “Those two new guys on the basketball team live here,” Lyle said.

  “The brothers? Allen and Nicholas?”

  “Right. They moved in a couple of weeks ago.”

  Craig hiccuped again.

  Lyle laughed. “I think you started the party before you got to my house,” he said.

  “Let’s see if Allen and Nicholas want to go with us.”

  Lyle stopped. “I don’t know them very well,” he said. “What if they blab? What if their parents answer the door?”

  “They won’t blab, if they know what’s good for them. And if an adult answers the door, we’ll pretend we have the wrong address. I’ll ask for directions to my house.” Craig laughed loudly at that idea as he marched up the sidewalk of the new house and rang the doorbell.

  Lyle trailed after him, ready to run. He was relieved when Nicholas answered the door.

  “Get your brother,” Craig said. “We’re having a party.”

  “Now?” Nicholas said. “It’s kind of late.”

  “It’s a surprise party. You’re supposed to come as you are.”

  Allen joined his brother at the door. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “We’re invited to a party,” Nicholas said. “Do you think Mom and Dad would let us go?”

  “Your parents aren’t home?” Lyle said.

  “Dad’s out of town. Mom’s home but she’s already asleep.”

  “She starts her new job tomorrow,” Allen added. “I don’t think we should wake her up.”

  “The whole basketball team is coming to the party,” Craig said. “It’s a tradition, on the night before the first game.”

  “It is?” Lyle said.

  “If your mother’s asleep,” Craig said, “you can come to the party and get back again and she’ll never know you left.”

  Allen and Nicholas looked at each other. “We could leave a note,” Allen said, “in case she wakes up.”

  Nicholas nodded. “We’ll be right out.”

  Craig bounded back down the sidewalk, grinning widely.

  “You nerd,” Lyle said. “Why did you say the whole team is coming? They’ll see right away that it’s only us.”

  “By then they’ll be having such a good time, they’ll want to stay. This is going to be a great party.”

  Allen and Nicholas came out of the house and joined them. Allen carried a camping lantern. “I couldn’t find a flashlight,” he explained, “and I like to see where I’m going.”

  “Turn that thing off,” Lyle said. “We’re trying not to get noticed.”

  Allen switched off the lantern. “Where is the party going to be?” he asked.

  Lyle looked at Craig. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “I know the perfect place,” Craig said. “It’s a big old willow tree on the edge of the swamp. My brother and his buddies go there all the time.”

  “The party isn’t at someone’s house?” Nicholas said.

  “What’s the matter?” Craig said. “You chicken to go into the woods at night?”

  “No. It’s just that . . .”

  “Cluck, cluck, cluck,” said Craig.

  “I’m not scared,” Nicholas said. “I thought we were going to someone’s house, that’s all.”

  “Don’t think so much,” Craig said. “Thinking gets you in trouble.”

  “Where are the rest of the guys?” Allen asked.

  “They’re meeting us at the willow tree,” Craig said.

  “Oh, man,” Lyle said. “I can’t believe you sometimes.”

  “Are you sure the whole team is doing this?” Nicholas said.

  “Come on,” Craig said. “Let’s move it.” He took off, running toward the end of the street, where the swampy area began.

  Lyle ran after him.

  Allen and Nicholas hesitated, looked at each other, and shrugged. Then they ran, too, their tennis shoes landing rhythmically on the pavement. They followed Craig past the last of the Forest View Estates houses, toward the weeping willow at the edge of the swamp.

  Grandma Ruth sat on a fallen log. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Somehow, she had lost the path again. Or had there ever been a path? She wasn’t sure.

  Her back ached and she felt as if she had been walking for a week. No matter which way she turned, the woods were the same.

  Once, an hour or so ago, she had come out of the woods near that odd church where David and the preacher had told her to stay and sing hymns but she did not go inside. She had not liked that church and she needed to get home. Quickly, she had turned away and headed into the woods again, struggling through the tangle of undergrowth that grabbed at her ankles and snagged her skirt. Her cheeks stung from scratches where branches had brushed her face. Maybe if she sat on this old log and rested, David would come looking for her.

  She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Whatever had
possessed her to go off berry picking in the middle of the night? David always said she didn’t have the sense of a hound dog’s fleas, and this time it seemed he was right.

  A chorus of frogs sang loudly. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was, but she saw only dark trees, twisted and menacing.

  A mosquito buzzed in her ear and she brushed it away. Another bit her on the arm. She would have to keep moving. If she sat here, the mosquitoes would have her for dinner.

  Wearily, she stood up. The frogs sang an encore.

  Frogs. Frogs and mosquitoes. She must be near a swampy area, for the mosquitoes to be this thick and the frogs to be so loud.

  A swamp. Didn’t she and David used to take a picnic across the swamp, to a big willow tree? Or was it T.J.? One of them. One of them used to go with her, balancing carefully as they walked across the fallen trees that made a path across the swamp. They would eat their lunch hidden in the circle of the willow tree’s loving arms.

  Grandma Ruth remembered how safe and snug she had felt there. How happy. Maybe she could find that tree. Maybe T.J. was there now, with the sandwiches and oranges, waiting for her.

  She licked her lips at the thought of an orange. Her mouth was so dry. A sweet, juicy orange would taste wonderful right now.

  Come to think of it, T.J. had said something about waiting for him. Hadn’t he? “Wait right there,” he had said. “Don’t leave.”

  Grandma Ruth tried to walk faster. When the ground became muddier, with less growth, her shoes sank in the muck. Her legs ached with the effort but she was determined to keep going.

  Yes, she thought, I’m almost to the swamp. I’ll be able to find the willow tree and T.J. will be there and he’ll give me something to drink and help me find my way home.

  When she emerged from the last of the woods, she stopped and smiled. She recognized this place. Moonlight lit the fallen logs, making them look like alligators resting in the mud.

  Grandma Ruth stepped carefully onto the first log and, tucking her purse under her chin, put her arms out sideways, to keep her balance. Slowly and deliberately, she moved across the logs. When she came to the place where the log path turned left, she stopped and looked up.

  Ahead of her, the willow tree glowed with light. All night long, the trees in the woods had seemed black and dangerous, their dark leafy fingers linked together to bar her way. But the willow looked green and welcoming. She saw a cascade of individual branches, each covered with bright green leaves that trailed their tips on the ground. The light came from inside the branches, from the area near the trunk.

  A loud cackle of laughter jarred the night. The frogs stopped singing. Grandma Ruth stood still, blinking in surprise. The laughter came again, even louder. It was two voices this time. Grandma Ruth’s heart beat faster with relief and glad anticipation. She had been right. David—or was it T.J.?—was waiting for her at the willow tree. Maybe they were both there, and Edward, too. Edward. Oh, she hoped dear Edward was with them. It had been such a long time since she had seen her husband.

  Happily, she stepped off the last log and approached the long, sweeping branches of the huge old willow.

  The truck stopped.

  Startled, T.J. opened his eyes and looked out. They were parked beside a long row of old sheds, all connected. A faded sign on the roof said, “Langley’s Chicken Ranch.” A newer sign in front of the buildings said, STORAGE SPACE FOR RENT CHEAP.

  These buildings were larger than the pony shed had been. They had once been painted red but the small amount of paint that was left was faded and chipped, making them look untidy, like a molting chicken. Still, they were sturdy, with solid walls and a decent roof. Padlocks hung from each of the doors.

  T.J.’s spirits sank. He had been visualizing exactly what he would do and say when Brody stopped for gas. Instead, Brody had stopped where there were no people.

  “Make sure it’s empty this time,” T.J. said.

  Brody motioned for T.J. to be quiet. He got out and walked toward the row of sheds.

  Quickly, T.J. got out, too. He didn’t trust Brody to look inside the sheds before he set them ablaze and he did not want to dash into a burning building and rescue any more animals. If there were any living creatures in these sheds, T.J. planned to turn them loose right now, before Brody got his lighter out.

  Brody cupped his hands on the sides of his face and looked through the dirty window of the first shed. “Oh, man,” he said. “We’ve hit the jackpot.”

  T.J. looked in, too, and saw an elegant old car. T.J. couldn’t tell in the dark what kind it was but from the size and shape he guessed an early Model T or some other classic car.

  Brody went from shed to shed, pulling on the padlocks. T.J. knew he was hoping one of them wasn’t clicked tightly into place.

  T.J. went to the second shed and looked in the window. This one contained a large boat, on a boat trailer.

  At the fifth shed, Brody said, “Bingo,” and removed the lock. Then he continued down the row, pulling on the rest of the padlocks.

  T.J. slid open the unlocked shed door. He felt along the wall beside the door, found a light switch, and pushed it. As the light flickered on, he stared in surprise. The shed was jammed full—not with live animals, but with wooden ones.

  “Look at this,” T.J. said. “There are parts of an old merry-go-round stored in here.”

  There were carved horses, chariots, an ostrich—even a wooden pig with a fancy carved saddle. Like the outside of the shed, their paint was faded and chipped but enough color remained to give the overall appearance of red, blue, gold, and green. “This must have been in a circus or an amusement park,” T.J. said.

  Brody looked in the door.

  “You can’t set a fire here,” T.J. said. “That old car in the first shed is worth a bundle and these are antiques. They’re works of art.”

  “Tough.”

  “Old carousels like this are worth a lot of money.”

  “They are?”

  “Absolutely. Collectors pay thousands of dollars for just one old merry-go-round horse and there must be two dozen of them in here. This place is worth a fortune.”

  Brody peered at the carved animals. “They look old and worn out to me.”

  “The older they are, the more they’re worth. Look,” he said, pointing to his left, “there’s the calliope or organ or whatever it’s called that was in the center of the merry-go-round. It’s what played the music. I wonder if it still works.”

  “How do you know so much about old merry-go-rounds?”

  “My grandmother was interested in antiques. She used to take me to antique shows with her. When I was little and we saw carousel horses displayed, I always wanted to buy one but Grandma Ruth said they were too expensive.”

  “How much do you think all this is worth?”

  T.J. did a quick mental count. “There must be twenty carved animals, plus the organ and all the other parts. As a rough guess, I’d say at least one hundred thousand dollars.”

  T.J. could tell that Brody was impressed. “We’d be fools to burn this shed,” T.J. continued, “without taking this stuff out of here first.”

  “You mean, you want to steal it?”

  “I doubt the owner would give permission for us to take it.”

  “I don’t know. I never stole anything.”

  “You could buy a lot of gasoline for one hundred thousand dollars. You wouldn’t ever have to do temporary work again.”

  Brody scratched his head. “One hundred thousand smackeroos.” He slapped his hands together, as if he’d made a momentous decision. “We’ll load this stuff in the truck and take it to Seattle and sell it.”

  “Good plan.” Excellent plan, in fact, T.J. thought. Any reputable antique dealer would ask questions about how Brody happened to own such treasures. They’d want to know the background of the carousel and where Brody got the animals. If the police hadn’t found T.J. in the meantime, Brody was almost certain to attract their attention when he t
ried to sell the old carousel animals.

  “Turn that light off,” Brody said, and then did it himself.

  The horses were heavy. Brody and T.J. each carried one to the truck. Partway there, T.J. had to put his down and rest.

  “They aren’t all going to fit,” Brody said.

  “No. After we sell the first load, we’ll need to make another trip.” The more the better, T.J. thought. Maybe someone will notice that some of the animals are missing. Maybe the cops will be waiting for us to come back for the rest.

  “We need blankets or something, to protect them,” T.J. said, when he had his horse on the ground beside the truck. “We can’t just pile them in the back of the truck. They’ll get scratched.”

  “We can use the tarp.”

  “That will do for one or two animals. We’ll need something else to protect the others.”

  Brody lifted the tarp and stopped. He looked at the cans of gasoline. He slipped his hand in his pocket and removed the cigarette lighter. He stood beside the truck, turning the lighter over and over in his palm. With his other hand, he picked up the end gasoline can, the one he took with him to the pony shed, and lifted it out of the truck.

  T.J. climbed into the back of the truck and reached for the tarp. He spread it on the bed of the truck. “We can lay two horses on this tarp and then wrap the tarp over the top of the horses, to protect them,” he said.

  There was no answer.

  T.J. turned to look at Brody. He was walking toward the storage sheds, carrying the can of gasoline.

  “Wait!” T.J. yelled.

  He jumped off the truck and ran after Brody. He grabbed Brody’s sleeve. “We have to get the carousel animals out first,” he said.

  “No,” Brody said. “This is my chance for the perfect revenge.” His eyes had a glazed look. He pushed T.J.’s hand away and strode into the shed that held the carousel animals. He began pouring the gasoline around the inside of the shed.

  “What about the money?” T.J. said. “We can’t sell the animals if you burn them. You might just as well set fire to a stack of one hundred dollar bills.”