by Harvey Click
She slowed to cross the rickety metal bridge, and when she reached the intersection of Main Street she saw lights shining through the windows of the two bars, but she didn’t want to go into a bar dressed in pajamas. She drove two more blocks, turned left on Howard Street, and stopped at the curb in front of Marci’s mother’s house.
Marci Hitchens was the only friend she had in town, and the last time they had talked Marci was divorced and living with her mother again, but that was more than a year ago. There was only one light on, and that was upstairs. It was already past midnight, too late to disturb the mother, but Amy sat at the curb with her car idling, hoping that Marci would suddenly appear, maybe coming home from a bar.
After twenty minutes or so the upstairs light went out, and Amy drove to the school. One large and ancient brick building was used for grade school and junior high, and the less-ancient one-story building beside it was the high school. She drove to the small parking lot behind the bigger building and backed into a parking place in the far corner where her car couldn’t be seen from the street. School was out of session for summer, but even if there was some event in the morning she knew she would wake up as soon as the sun came up, assuming that she could sleep at all.
She moved to the back seat and locked her doors. The rain had stopped, so she opened the back windows an inch for some air. Fortunately the blanket was still there that she used to spread over the seat whenever her ex-fiancé’s dog rode in her car. It was soiled with dog fur as well as painful memories of the breakup, still fresh because it had happened only a month ago, but she covered herself with it because the damp air felt chilly and stifling at the same time.
She lay there for a while with her eyes open, trying to make sense of what she had seen. She had a sober sort of mind, not given to hysteria or hallucinations, and she knew that she hadn’t imagined the thing in the closet. It must have been some sort of biological freak, a mutant animal or maybe even a mutant human. Billy’s kitchen window had been open, so probably the thing had entered the house that way. Maybe it had been living there for a few days and had chosen the closet as its lair, or maybe it had entered shortly before she arrived, seeking shelter from the approaching storm, and had hidden in the closet when it heard her downstairs.
Whatever it was, at least she was safe from it now. She shut her eyes and was soon asleep.
She awoke with a sudden fright, thinking that a wet hand had touched her face. But it was just the rain; the drizzle had begun again, and some of it had blown in through the gap in the window and splashed her forehead. She sat up, fully awake, wiped her forehead with her sleeve and shivered.
The wind had picked up again and was whining like a dog in pain as it swept past the old school building, and through the windshield she saw the swings in the playground swaying back and forth as if ghost children were playing on them.
She shivered again, and this time it wasn’t because of the dampness. Something was watching her—she was sure of it. She carefully examined the playground, the thick clumps of darkness beside the old teeter totter and the slide and the rusty chain link around the basketball court. She saw nobody but still felt the prickling at the back of her neck.
Then she looked behind her through the rear car window at the old school building and saw it staring out at her.
Somehow it had followed her here; somehow it had gotten inside the building and was staring out at her from a window just a few feet away. Its face was hard to make out in the darkness inside the school, but the red eyes and the grinning mouth were unmistakable.
There was a screeching sound like chalk on a blackboard as it ran its long fingernails down the pane of glass.
Amy scrambled through the narrow gap between the front seats, and a moment later she was tearing out of the parking lot onto the street. She drove to Main Street, thinking that if there was any chance of finding some human being still out at this hour, it would be in the tiny downtown, but even the two bars were closed now and there was no sign of life. She looked at her watch: nearly 3:30.
She drove back to Howard Street and was surprised to see lights on downstairs at Marci’s mother’s house. She parked, ran to the front porch and knocked. An emaciated woman who looked about forty-five with a lined, pocked face opened the door and stared at her.
“Amy,” the woman said at last.
Only then did Amy recognize her friend Marci, who in fact wasn’t nearly forty-five but was Amy’s age, twenty-seven. She looked dreadful, her long blonde hair stringy and lifeless, her eyes bloodshot and so deeply sunken that the sockets were visible, the rest of her face so gaunt that it looked like dead skin stretched over a skull.
Amy was so shocked by her appearance that for a moment she forgot to speak. Then she said, “Hey, Marci. Sorry about showing up in the middle of the night. I came by earlier but there weren’t any lights on downstairs.”
“Me and Buddy was out partying. Mom don’t allow us to party here ‘cause of Joey.”
“Who’s Buddy?”
“Buddy’s my boyfriend. He’s crashed out upstairs. So what are you doing here?”
Marci’s tone was icy. Amy stared at her sunken eyes, hoping to see a glimmer of their old friendship, but there was only suspicion and something else, maybe fear.
“I drove here today looking for my brother,” Amy said. “But I ran into some trouble.”
“What kinda trouble?”
“It’s hard to explain. May I come in?”
“Yeah, I guess. Joey and Mom’s asleep upstairs, so we gotta be quiet. That looks like pajamas that you’re wearing.”
“Yeah. I was hoping maybe I could sleep on your couch tonight and borrow some jeans and a shirt tomorrow.”
“Where’s your own clothes?”
“I left them at Billy’s house, and I can’t go back there right now.”
“Why not?”
“Marci, there was something in the house.”
“What do you mean, something?”
“I don’t know. I’ll tell you all about it, but first is it okay if I stay here tonight?”
“I dunno. Buddy don’t like strangers.”
“I’m not exactly a stranger, Marci. You were always my best friend. I’ve wanted to call you many times, believe me, but I can’t find a listed number.”
Marci’s ruined face softened a little, and she gave Amy a brief, bony hug. “Yeah, I know we was best friends, Amy, but you ain’t been around for quite a number a years, and in some folks’ eyes that makes you a stranger. This old town ain’t the same as it used to be, and these days it don’t take real kindly to strangers. Anyway, sit down and I’ll get you a drink. Is beer okay?”
“That would be wonderful.”
Amy sat on the couch, and Marci soon returned with two cans of beer and one glass. She sat in a chair across from Amy, lit a cigarette, and sucked some beer from her can. “So what’s all this about?” she asked.
Amy told her the whole story, beginning with Billy no longer answering his phone and ending with the thing staring out at her from the window of the old school building.
“You just saw some kinda animal,” Marci said. “You had a long drive and then you got nervous being alone in Billy’s house and then you saw a raccoon or possum or something in the closet and you freaked out.”
“No, I know what I saw. Can I sleep here tonight, please?”
“Yeah I guess, but Buddy’s gonna want you out in the morning. I told you, he don’t like strangers. And I want you to keep your mouth shut about this raccoon or whatever when he’s around.”
“Thanks. Do you ever hear from Tom?”
“No, and he don’t send no child support neither. I think he’s living with some fat bitch in Memphis now.”
“How’s Joey?” Amy asked.
Marci smiled for a moment. “He’s good. He starts second grade this fall.”
“That’s nice,” Amy said. “So what have you been doing?”
“What do you mean, doing?”
&
nbsp; “Are you working?”
“You gotta be joking. What kinda work are you going to find around here? I get welfare and food stamps, just like everyone else in this shithole.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
Marci’s eyes flashed with anger, or maybe something else. “I can’t leave. You’re lucky you got your ass outta here when the getting was good. So now you’ve got your college degree and all that shit.”
“Yeah. I’ve been working for a drug company.”
“That must be convenient, working with all them drugs.”
“Well, they’re not the sort of drugs anybody would take for fun,” Amy said. “I’m on vacation for a week. My boyfriend and I were planning to go to Myrtle Beach, but then we broke up, and then Billy stopped answering the phone, so I came here instead. Have you seen him or heard anything about him?”
“Nope, I don’t know nothing about Billy. He keeps to himself out there in them hills. I ain’t seen him in two, three months.”
“I don’t suppose you’d come out to his house with me tomorrow and help me look around?”
“Hell no, not if there’s some kind of monster in there.”
“I thought you told me it was just a raccoon or possum.”
“I don’t care if it’s a fucking possum or a ten-eyed Tasmanian, I don’t poke my nose in nobody’s business. I’m going to bed now. I’ll bring you a blanket.”
“Thanks.”
Amy slept surprisingly well until something tickled her nose. She opened her eyes and saw a young boy with a wild mop of blonde hair and a chicken feather in his hand.
“You must be Joey,” she said.
“Yep. Who’re you?”
“My name’s Amy. The last time I saw you, you were just a toddler.”
“That musta been a real long time ago,” Joey said. “I’m seven years old now.”
“And very handsome,” Amy said. “Is your mommy up?”
“No, but Gramma’s fixing bacon and eggs and wants to know if you want some.”
“Tell her that would be wonderful.”
Joey ran to the kitchen. Amy wrapped the blanket over her shoulders, a bit ashamed of being in pajamas, put on her slippers and followed him. A plump but handsome woman maybe in her late forties was turning slices of bacon as they sizzled in a skillet.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hitchens,” Amy said. “You probably don’t remember me.”
“Course I do,” Mrs. Hitchens said. “How you been keeping yourself, Amy?”
“Pretty well. And you?”
“The doctor tells me I’m still alive, but you can’t trust doctors. Pour yourself a cup a coffee and sit down. Joey, you reach her down a cup, one a the nice ones that ain’t cracked.”
“Can I pour it?” he asked.
“You can if you don’t spill it all over the table.”
Amy sat at the table and Joey brought her a cup of coffee. “You want some milk in it?” he asked.
“Yes, please.”
“What brings you here?” Mrs. Hitchens asked.
“I came to see Billy, but he wasn’t home last night.”
A small puddle of milk dribbled on the table as Joey poured it, and Amy wiped it up with her napkin before Mrs. Hitchens could see it.
“How you like your eggs?” Mrs. Hitchens asked.
“Any way you like them is okay with me.”
“I ain’t expecting Marci up anytime soon,” Mrs. Hitchens said. “She don’t sleep often, but when she does an earthquake won’t get her notice. You need the bathroom, it’s at the top of the steps.”
In the bathroom mirror Amy saw that her face looked nearly as haggard as Marci’s. She rinsed it and went back downstairs, and as she drank her coffee she again wished that she hadn’t quit smoking. She was tired and felt a different kind of fear than what she had felt last night. Last night her fear had been focused on one thing, and now it had branched out to many things.
Mrs. Hitchens set a plate with bacon, toast, and two fried eggs in front of Amy and another plate in front of Joey, and he began to eat noisily, holding a strip of bacon above his face and slurping it down into his mouth.
“You eat proper,” Mrs. Hitchens said. “We got company here.”
She was sitting down to eat her own breakfast when Marci came into the kitchen. She looked even worse now, her stringy hair tangled, her dark-rimmed eyes bleary, and her terrycloth bathrobe too big for her shrunken frame. She laid a pair of denim shorts, a blouse, a belt, and some white socks on the table.
“I brung you some clothes,” she said.
“Thanks, Marci.”
“Ain’tcha got no clothes?” Joey asked.
“It’s a long story,” Amy said. “Hey, Marci, who’s the police chief these days?”
“Dickhead Dilkens.”
“Are you kidding? He used to be the biggest bully in town.”
“He still is. And the second biggest bullies is his deputies, the Blevin boys.”
“Jeez. Why would anybody vote for Dickhead Dilkens?”
“Nobody voted for him. He was appointed by the mayor.”
“Who’s the mayor?”
“Look Amy, it won’t do you no good to talk to Dickhead and his dumbass deputies. Best thing you can do is get in your car and go straight back home. If Billy’s alive he’ll show up in his good ol’ time, and if he’s dead then there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
“I’m not leaving till I find out where he is.”
“Yeah, and you just might find out a whole lotta other things that won’t do you no good. But if you want to waste your time talking to that dumb cop, you won’t find him at the old police station. He’s got his office in the downstairs of his house so he can watch TV and pick his ass while he sits there, and then he gets to charge the town extra money for using his property. It’s that great big blue house on Vine Street that useta be a funeral home.”
“Who’s this woman and what’s all this shit about cops?” somebody asked.
Amy turned and saw a tall man with brown hair and a brown goatee standing in the kitchen doorway. His face was lean and hard like his body. He wore a black Harley Davidson T-shirt, and his long arms were covered with so many dark tattoos that it was hard to tell where the black sleeves of the T-shirt ended.
“Don’t cause no trouble, Buddy,” Marci said. “This is my old friend Amy, and she’s looking for her brother.”
“Who’s her brother?”
“Billy Jackson.”
Buddy aimed his bloodshot eyes at Amy and said, “You get the hell outta here and don’t come back.”
“This ain’t your house, Buddy,” Marci said.
“Shut up. I said get the hell out and I mean now.”
“Can I at least get dressed first?” Amy asked.
“No. You go somewhere else to get dressed and then you just keep on going.”
“Damn it, Buddy,” Marci said, but she didn’t say any more.
Amy picked up the clothes and said, “Thanks for the clothes and for letting me spend the night, Marci. I guess I’ll have to mail them back to you. And thanks for breakfast, Mrs. Hitchens.”
She expected Marci to at least follow her to the front door, but she didn’t. Amy heard a whispered argument going on in the kitchen as she grabbed her purse from the coffee table and left. Two skinny young guys were standing across the street gawking at her as she walked to her car in her thin pajamas and got in.
Last night as she approached the town she had noticed an old barn with no house beside it, and she thought that might be an adequately private spot to change her clothes. It was only about a mile out of town on the state route, and it still looked deserted as she pulled onto what was left of the gravel driveway and parked behind the weathered building, where she was hidden from the road. An old washer and dryer lay on their sides rusting in the weeds beside an old wooden farm wagon missing two wheels.
She got out of the car and looked carefully around before taking off her pajamas. The warm morning
sun felt good on her skin, and two crows cawed at her like lusty voyeurs from the top of a big sycamore as she stood there naked. Marci had always been plumper than Amy, always about two sizes larger, but no longer—the sleeveless white cotton blouse was rather low-cut but only a little loose, and the denim shorts were slightly baggy but stayed up when she tightened the belt. She sat on the car seat to put on the white socks and her moccasin slippers.
Marci hadn’t given her any underwear, and it reminded Amy of their high school days when Marci used to dare her to come to school without it. She remembered the adolescent excitement of sitting in class with nothing on under her skirt, and the odd pleasure of knowing that her best friend had nothing on there either. Their friendship in those days had always had an erotic element, even if neither of them had admitted it. Before they had started kissing boys they had practiced on each other, and when they used to skinny dip together at Wolf Pond there had always been plenty of playful touching.
So much for best friends and blood sisters, she thought. Now Marci didn’t even want her around.
She suddenly felt the same prickling at the back of her neck that she had felt last night at the school. She looked at the barn and wondered if she saw two red eyes peering out of a hole in the siding. No, it wasn’t possible for the thing to be everywhere she went—unless there were many of the things, and she scarcely believed there could be one thing that grotesquely deformed, much less many.
But the prickling didn’t stop, and she started her car and left in a hurry. When she got back to town she noticed how many of the houses were boarded up or otherwise obviously vacant, more than she had been able to see last night in the dark. Grass and weeds grew high in front of the deserted houses, and plenty of rusty old cars were parked in front of the houses not yet deserted, but oddly some other houses had expensive new cars parked in front of them. Marci had said there was no work to be found around here, and Amy wondered where the money for the Cadillacs and Lincolns came from.