Pitch

by William Ollie

  Every step he took made his heart pound a little harder.

  Because every breath he took could be his last.

  One step at a time, cautiously, quietly, moving like a blind man, hand on the rail, one foot forward; put a little weight on the step and slide his hand down.

  An inch at a time; a lifetime away from the front door, until he finally stepped onto the second floor landing and breathed a great sigh of relief, because no one lingered in the hallway, and one was chasing after him.

  He stood for a moment, and then started down the final flight of stairs.

  * * *

  They made it all the way to the porch without being seen.

  Jackie started up the stairs, but E.L. grabbed his arm.

  “What?”

  “Over there,” E.L. said, pointing at the side of the house. “Looks like a garage or something. Let’s check it out.”

  “Shit, man. Let’s try the door first.”

  “Huh uh. Somebody’s around to see us, we’re screwed.”

  Billy and Junior followed them across the yard, past the new cars and trucks.

  Thankful to still be on the outside, not able to even consider going inside, Junior, who had already made up his mind to turn and run like hell at the first sign of trouble, brought up the rear. The four friends hesitated at the dark mouth of the garage, fear, as real as any concrete barrier, preventing them from going further.

  “What do you think?” Billy said.

  “I think we oughta go back and get the sheriff,” Junior whispered.

  “Fuck that, my brother’s in there. You go back. I can’t leave. I won’t.”

  E.L. and Billy followed Jackie into a garage, dimly lit by a single bulb at the side of the kitchen entrance. Junior, hesitating for a second or two, thought about turning and running back to town, but he wasn’t about to go anywhere by himself. Fear sent him scurrying across the garage floor, hurrying to catch up.

  * * *

  At the bottom of the stairs loomed a hallway that would take Jimmy into the kitchen. To his left, a foyer that led to the front door, to freedom. Or would someone be stationed at the door as a lookout, scanning the drive for a strange car, an unwelcome guest or something out of the ordinary? All of them couldn’t have gone down to the basement. Somebody was sure to be up here, somewhere. Jimmy took a step forward, and spiders scurried across his heart. He stopped because he felt weak, leaned against the wall; shut his eyes and two huge hands reached out for him, grabbing him, catching him and closing around his throat. Loud, wild laughter roared through his head as he opened his eyes, bounced off the wall and ran away from the parlor, down the hallway and around the corner, not stopping until he found himself standing in the middle of the kitchen, not far from the pantry door, which stood wide open, bringing forth strange noises that floated up from the basement like foul odors from a witch’s cauldron, satanic symphonies of painful moans, or was it the sound of sadistic pleasure? Screams, shrieks and chants rose up from that nightmarish place, like last night and the night before, and above all that, came the voice of the Devil himself…

  Pitch.

  He ran to the kitchen door and fumbled with the doorknob. It was stuck and he twisted it, twisted it again and suddenly it gave, and Jimmy threw back the door and ran full force into four ghosts… Casper The Friendly Ghosts. Two of them, already off balance from trying to get away, crashed to the ground, providing a soft cushion for Jimmy to land on.

  “Jackie?” Jimmy snatched off the mask, laughing at the terrified look on Junior’s face.

  “Goddamn it, Jimmy. You scared the livin’ shit out of us, you little shit,” Jackie said as he ripped the mask from his face and hugged him. “You little fucker. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  Jimmy grinned at the relief in his brother’s face.

  “I hate to interrupt your little love-in,” Junior said, struggling to his feet, a great weight lifting from his shoulders as he realized they wouldn’t have to go into the house after all. “But I think it might be a good idea if we got the fuck out of here… like, now… like, right now.”

  “Hell yeah, let’s go!” Billy whispered.

  They hurried through the garage, out into the night.

  “We’ve got their asses now,” Jackie called out, unable to curb his excitement, or even to keep his voice low. “Wait’ll we tell the sheriff about this shit!”

  Jimmy stopped dead in his tracks. So caught up in the thrill of having escaped the house had he been that he’d forgotten about the sheriff and his men, but now it all came crashing down on him.

  “The fuck’re you doing?” Jackie said, stopping and grabbing Billy’s arm, halting him, too. “What? What’s wrong?”

  “We can’t leave.”

  “Shit yeah, we can,” Junior said. “We’re gonna get the sheriff’s ass on these fuckers.”

  Jimmy stood his ground. “Y’all don’t understand. They’ve got the sheriff and Johnny Porter locked away down in the basement.”

  “What?”

  Junior legs weakened. “That’s okay,” he said. He grabbed Jimmy’s arm and tried pulling him along. “We’ll get our dads and their friends. They’ll come up here and kick the shit outa these fuckers. C’mon, let’s go before somebody comes out here and gets us.”

  Billy and E.L., Jackie and Junior and Jimmy, all of them felt fear creeping up their spines.

  “Listen, Junior. They don’t just have the sheriff and Johnny Porter. They’ve got Billy’s dad, and another man, too. They’ve got little Johnny Porter, and they’re gonna kill him. I got away and hid out in the basement. I saw Pitch and Newton Hayes—”

  “What?” Jackie whispered.

  “Yeah, I saw him, Newton Hayes. He looks just like the sheriff, except he’s trimmer and he’s got muscles. Him and Pitch and Doc Fletcher and the mayor, and a bunch of them rich people brought the sheriff and his men down and locked ‘em up in that room with them dead bodies.”

  “What?” four voices asked as one.

  “Dead bodies,” Junior whispered. “How do you think I ended up here?” Jimmy quickly explained how the sheriff’s twin had fooled him, and what happened to Timmy Butler, and Gary Harbus, too, he guessed. He started to tell them about Norval Jenkins and the little dead bodies, and then stopped. “I’ll tell you all about it later. We’ve got to go back in there and get the sheriff out of that room.”

  “Goddamn it, Jimmy,” Junior whined. “What do you think we can do? We’ve gotta go get some grownups. We’ll go to Donnie’s and tell them miners, and I’ll call my dad. They’ll come up here and—”

  “We ain’t got time for that. They’ll be dead by the time we get back—all of them.”

  Jackie looked at E.L., following his gaze up to what should’ve been a bright and radiant full moon, seeing instead a dark and sinister orb staring back down at them, watching every move they made, waiting patiently for them to make a mistake.

  A minute later, Jackie turned to Junior.

  “He’s right,” he said.

  Into Hell They Go

  Newton Hayes sat on a metal chair, his back to the stairs as the ritual unfolded. The mesmerized group of followers swaying back and forth had both amused, and frightened him. He had watched each of them arrive, Charles Hadley looking like he was about to throw up when he walked through the door, and easygoing old Doc Fletcher, even he was in a somber mood. But after dinner, they all came bounding down the basement steps like they were on their way to the County Fair. All of this had worked to unsettle Newton, and he too began to feel nervous. Then he remembered that Pitch needed him. He’d kept that kid from escaping. Surely Pitch recognized how serious things might have become had Harbus made it to town and brought Nathan and God only knew how many of those old country hicks back up here. Now they had Nathan and his crew locked away. Sure, Pitch had been a little high strung lately, but when this was over, things would get back to normal. Pitch would play the doting father and he the dutiful son, eager to please his m
entor and help fulfill his fantasies.

  He had looked forward to coming back to the mountains, the fresh air and sunshine, the beautiful and sometimes stunning scenery. In all the years he’d been away, that had not changed, and most likely would never change. But enough was enough. It was boring here, and he’d been forced to curb his appetites and activities. Of course, Pitch was right. He couldn’t start plucking women off the streets here. Whitley was too small. He understood that. But he was restless, and ready to leave, and glad as hell tomorrow would find him putting this place in his rearview mirror, hopefully for the last time.

  Pitch’s shouts and exhortations became a dull and droning backdrop to his thoughts as he glanced over his shoulder to see Mickey Mouse smiling back, waving at him, still holding his balloons, and still holding his brother and his men captive.

  Could I kick his ass? he wondered.

  He remembered all the times he and Nathan had fought as children, all the times Nathan had bested him. He thought for a moment or two, but couldn’t come up with a single instance when he had actually gotten the better of his brother.

  Of course, that was then and this is now, and now I’m fit and trim and solid as a rock. He sure as hell didn’t look so tough last night.

  Newton gazed out at the flickering torches, imagining himself beating Nathan Hayes to the ground, and then stomping his helpless brother to death in front of that half-assed crew of his.

  While across the basement, twelve crazed disciples swayed back and forth, chanting allegiance to their master.

  And ten yards behind him, cast in the dimly lit stairwell, stood the High Street Boys, only the fear of being discovered, and seeing Newton Hayes sitting off in the distance, keeping them from crying out at the horribly disfigured lump of flesh staring up at them from the floor of the basement.

  * * *

  Jackie, grabbing Junior as they stumbled across Vonda Peters’ misshapen body, clamped a hand over his mouth before he could cry out. They stood for a moment, unable to move forward, unwilling to move back, while across the basement, twelve robed figures stood engaged in some sort of ritual, like the ones they’d seen in countless Saturday afternoon horror films.

  It was Jimmy who finally stepped to the front. “Let’s go, y’all,” he whispered up at them. “He can’t stop all of us.”

  “You with us?” Jackie whispered to Junior, who was too frightened to do anything except nod yes.

  “On three,” Billy whispered. “One…two…three.”

  The High Street Boys took off across the basement, Jimmy and Junior on the left, E.L. and Billy on the right, running toward Mickey’s Clubhouse; Jackie anchoring the middle, setting himself to collide with Newton Hayes, as he thought:

  Don’t turn around, you son of a bitch.

  If he saw them now he might be able to stop them, but if they could surprise him, one of them might make it to the door.

  A faint sound stirred Newton from his fantasy. He jumped to his feet, whirling to see five children racing side by side toward him—ten yards away and closing fast, while Newton picked up the metal chair and flung it, knocking the little bicycle boy and the child next to him to the floor. The others tried to slow and change their course, but it was much too late for that, and Newton Hayes, a sardonic grin spread across his face, thrust out his muscular arms to greet them.

  The three friends tried to slow themselves and go around the grinning madman, but they couldn’t. They knew they had to catch him by surprise, and the closer they had gotten to him, the harder they’d charged, and now their momentum was carrying them right to him.

  “You son of a bitch!” Jackie yelled.

  * * *

  Donnie scrambled to his feet. “You hear that?”

  “What the hell?” Johnny Porter said, putting an ear to the door, while Nathan, inching a little closer, said, “That sounded like a kid cussing.”

  “That’s Jackie Pritchard,” Donnie said. “I’d know that voice anywhere.”

  Johnny pounded on the door, and the rest of them started yelling: “In here! Open the door! Jackie Pritchard! Open the door!”

  “Wait a minute!” Walt shouted. “Stop! Listen!”

  The others stopped yelling, and Johnny stopped pounding on the door. Shouts and screams echoed across the basement, getting louder and closer by the second.

  “Aw, shit,” Nathan whispered. “Hurry!”

  * * *

  Jackie closed his eyes and launched himself, and caught a boot in the forehead for his troubles. He bounced once on the concrete floor, lost consciousness, and collapsed in a heap.

  Newton Hayes kicked the screaming child square in his forehead. Without missing a beat he backhanded another, knocking E.L. Davis off his feet. He leapt to his left, reaching out to grab a staggering Billy Belcher around his throat, the child steadying himself as Newton saw the terrified youngster’s face, and realized it was Donnie’s boy. He stood for a moment, reaching for the kid as twelve screaming disciples charged hell-bent across the basement.

  Jackie bounced on the floor. A split second later, E.L. took a sharp blow and dropped to his knees. Billy tried to straighten up and dodge, but he couldn’t. He stood there, stunned, as the spitting image of Nathan Hayes looked down upon him. Then a hand reached out to grab him, and he knew it was over.

  Newton clubbed the heel of his hand against the side of Billy’s head, and then stood over him, raising a foot in the air, waiting for the child to look up, grinning as a mirror image of Donnie Belcher stared up at him, and a flash of light exploded behind his eyes.

  * * *

  The metal chair hit Jimmy in the side of his head, and might have killed him had it not been deflected by Junior’s chest. When the two boys crashed to the floor, Junior landed in an awkward angle, pinning his left leg beneath him. He could already feel his ankle starting to swell as he lay on his side, watching Jackie take a kick in the head, and E.L. drop to his knees. Then, somehow, Junior struggled to his feet, beside Jimmy, who sat cross-legged next to him, a look of utter confusion on his face as Junior grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him up while Jimmy looked at him like he didn’t even know who he was.

  “Go! Open the door!” Junior shouted at Jimmy, who stared at him as if he were speaking Chinese, while Junior gripped Jimmy’s shoulder, steadied himself, and then slapped him hard across his face.

  “Open the goddamn door!” he screamed, and Jimmy took off for Mickey’s Clubhouse, while Junior picked up the metal chair, using it for a crutch as he limped toward Billy and Newton Hayes.

  Across the basement, Pitch and his group were coming for them.

  When Newton Hayes raised his foot, Junior knew Billy was good as dead. Then Newton hesitated and Junior swung the chair against Newton’s skull as hard as he could, and they both fell to the floor… Newton lying there a moment before struggling to his knees, while Billy helped Junior to his feet, and the two friends staggered off toward the stairs.

  * * *

  The raving lunatic on the slab had brought them to a fevered pitch… slowly, preaching like the old fire-breathing bible-thumpers who took to the pulpit every Sunday morning, preaching the gospel of Satan, Lord of the Mountain. With every command, they cried out to him, praising his name, moaning with sheer ecstasy, as once again they affirmed their total devotion to the Dark Master. At this point they would’ve done anything for him—anything and everything, as their lamentations echoing throughout the cavern rose up like the fires of Hell, and Pitch danced forward.

  “Bow to the master!” he shouted, and they bowed.

  “Are you ready?” he yelled, and twelve voices cried out as one that they were.

  He raced back to the altar and grabbed his knife, looked down at the infant, and felt the power gathering deep inside him.

  Tonight’s the night!

  Pitch raised the knife high into the air, and somebody screamed:

  “You son of a bitch!”

  “Intruders! Get them! Tear them to pieces!” Pitch screa
med, pointing across the basement as twelve crazed disciples charged across the floor, and Pitch jumped from the stone platform and ran after them.

  Across the basement, Newton Hayes struggled to his feet and a child ran toward Mickey’s Clubhouse, while two others, arms around each other for support, limped toward the stairs.

  * * *

  Jimmy, having raced up to the smiling mouse, pushed up on the two by four, but the board wouldn’t budge. He could hear the sheriff and his men yelling, the shouts and screams of the disciples getting louder as he bent down and put a shoulder beneath the board, rose up and pushed as hard as he could, budging it just a little before it became stuck again. Somebody pushed from the other side, and Jimmy looked back to see twelve robed figures closing in on Junior and Billy—and Newton Hayes, who had run past them, would be on Jimmy in a matter of moments.

  Jimmy took a deep breath, pushed again, and felt pressure from the other side.

  Pushed again and the two by four popped loose.

  Nathan rammed his shoulder into the door, and did it again. Then he took two steps back, lowered his shoulder and exploded through the entrance, knocking Jimmy onto the floor and falling head-first onto it himself. They acted fast, Donnie and Johnny chasing Walt Davis through the doorway, right into the arms of Newton Hayes. Nathan got to his knees just in time to see his twin jam something into Walt’s chest, and Walt fall to the floor, gasping as blood spurted around the surgeon’s scalpel lodged in him, while across the basement, two hooded figures chased after two kids hobbling toward the stairwell.