Keeping the lid closed, I carried the hamper with me as I went to the kitchen to fetch the matches and then went into the garage to get the gas can. In my underwear, holding the hamper and gas can, I dashed outside to our burning barrel and emptied the hamper’s contents into it. I then doused the clothing with gas and threw in a match.
The fumes ignited with a flash, but this quickly subsided into a steady flame as the clothes burned. The ending was, well, a bit anti-climatic. I didn’t expect the clothes to writhe in pain or scream, they hadn’t when I destroyed them as a child, but somehow the moment left me feeling empty, like it should have been bigger.
My childhood fire was grander. To a kid everything seems bigger. We didn’t have a burning barrel, I burned them in my room, right in the hamper. The flames caught my bed on fire and Dad rushed me outside. Firemen came. We stood on our lawn, watching them put out the fire. The worst part of it all was Mom and Dad’s look—worry, confusion, disappointment, and maybe a bit of fear. They didn’t understand why I had to do it.
Once the clothes in the burning barrel had burned down to a few red embers, I went back into the house. I’d have to come up with some excuse to explain to my wife why I destroyed our son’s clothing. I didn’t relish lying to her, but it was better than the alternative.
Babysitter
I couldn’t take my eyes away from the weird wooden masks on the Jellstout’s living room walls. They looked tribal and creepy.
“The restaurant number is on the fridge under the banana magnet,” Mrs. Jellstout said.
I nodded at her, but my eyes kept darting back to the masks.
She noticed where I looked. “Those are my husband’s pride and joy. West African.”
“They’re … interesting,” I said.
“Yes. Jonathan spent six months traveling from Benin to Togo while working on his doctorate. My cell’s on there too. I should get yours.”
She had a pen poised over a small pad of paper. I told her my number. She scribbled it down and stuck the paper in her purse.
“Oh dear,” she said. “I don’t know about this. It’ll be the first time we’ve left him since …” She trailed off. As she spoke she rubbed the gem of her necklace, a large red ruby I think.
“What a beautiful necklace,” I said.
“Oh, it’s not real.” She wrapped her fist around the gemstone, hiding it.
How strange.
“Oh dear,” she said again.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Jack and I will have lots of fun playing games and coloring until bedtime.”
The car honked from the garage. Mr. Jellstout was getting impatient with this long goodbye.
“Come here Jack.” The six year old ran to her side. She squatted down and hugged him. “You be good. Mind Emily.”
“Yes Mommy.”
The car honked again.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Jellstout said. “If I think of something I’ll call.”
I put my hand on Jack’s shoulder, smiled and waited for her to leave.
She started toward the door to the garage, stopped, spun around and waved. “Bye.”
“Bye,” I said and squatted down next to Jack. “Wave bye Jack.”
He raised his hand but instead of waving, opened and closed his little fist several times. “Bye Mommy.”
Mrs. Jellstout smiled at her son, eyes glistening.
The car honked for the third time and Mrs. Jellstout turned and disappeared into the garage. Jack and I waited there until we heard the garage door close.
“I miss my Mommy.”
I suppressed the urge to laugh. “I know sweetie, but think of all the fun we’re going to have.” I got onto all fours. “Now, partner, why don’t you hop onto my back and I’ll give you a ride to the living room.”
He climbed onto my back, his little hands holding my shirt in bunches. I moved across the kitchen floor, whinnying like a horse. Then I blew a huge raspberry. “Excuse me.”
Little Jack giggled. One thing about little kids, you make fart noises and they think you’re a comic genius.
I lumbered to the living room and bucked him off onto the couch. He tried scrambling back onto my back, but I stood. “We’ll play more in a bit, but I have some things to show you. Sit down and I’ll give you a surprise.”
He sat back on the couch, watching me with wide eyes.
I fetched my backpack from the kitchen and sat next to him on the couch. “Now, I wonder what we have in here.” I pulled the zipper back and removed a large crayon box and two coloring books and sat them on the coffee table.
“Dinosaurs,” he said, seeing the coloring books. He reached for them.
“No, not yet. Look at this.” I pulled a sheet of stickers from my backpack. There were cars and rockets and, of course, dinosaurs. All kids love dinosaurs. I held the sheet up for him to see, but when he reached for it I jerked it away. “No, these are mine.”
His grin flipped to a frown.
“But,” I said. “Every time you do something good, or win a game, you get a sticker. Since you’ve been such a good boy sitting on the couch, you can have one now.” I held the sheet out to him. “Point to which one you want.”
He pointed to the center at the large T-Rex.
“Okay, now where do you want to put the sticker?”
He looked confused for a moment and then pointed to his forehead.
“On your face?”
He giggled. “Yeah.”
I shook my head. “That’s not a good place. How about in your room.”
He shot from the couch like he had been fired from a gun, running to his room.
I followed, looking at the clock and sighing. Just past six. Two hours playing with the kid before bedtime. Then, if Jack was like most kids, an hour making him stay in bed until I could watch TV.
In his room he touched his bed’s headboard. “Here. Put it here.”
“No. I’m not going to put it there, but you can. Here.” I peeled off the sticker and handed it to him.
He took the sticker with great care, as if it were a precious treasure. He put it on his headboard and smoothed it out.
“It’s upside down,” I said.
He flopped onto back, head on pillow, and rolled his head backward to look at the sticker. “Nuh-uh.”
Smart kid.
“Okay Jack. What next? Coloring?”
He jumped out of the bed. “Ice cream!”
I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at him with a stern eye. “Your mom didn’t mention ice cream. You sure it’s okay?”
He jumped up and down. “Yes. Ice cream.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You absolutely, 100% sure?”
I sighed, acting like getting ice cream was a huge inconvenience, but I was only teasing. “I guess we can have some ice cream.”
“Yay.” He took off, running toward the kitchen.
I followed and opened the freezer. “Doesn’t look like there’s any here.”
His shoulders slumped and it looked like he was about to cry.
Kneeling down next to him, I lifted his chin to look at me “I’m sorry, but there’s no ice cream.”
His eyes opened wide. “The big freezer.”
It’s amazing how fast little kids can go from happy to sad or sad to happy. It’s like their emotions flip from one extreme to another instantaneously. I stood up, grabbed his hand. “Show me.”
He pulled me to the garage and I flicked on the switch and a single dim bulb came on in the middle of the garage, barely lighting the place. Even in the faint light I could see this was the cleanest garage I had ever been in. Various lawn tools hung on the walls, several dozen boxes were stacked against one wall and next to them, a riding mower. A small workbench was built into another wall with a row of cabinets on one side. Two freezers, an upright and a chest freezer, were on the other side of the workbench. Jack released my hand and ran over to the upright freezer and tugged on the handle.
Packages of meat and froze
n vegetables, neatly stacked and labeled, filled the freezer. In the door were two half gallons of ice cream.
“Looks like we have vanilla or Rocky Road,” I said. “Which one?”
“Rocky Road.”
I grabbed the ice cream, shut the freezer door and notice the chest freezer had a large padlock on it.
“What’s in there?” I pointed to the chest freezer.
His eyes were serious. “I’m not supposed to talk bout it.”
I knelt down, eye level to Jack. “Your mom left me in charge, remember? It’s okay to tell me”
“No.” He ran back into the house.
Weird. I went back into the kitchen, turning the light off behind me, and put the ice cream on the kitchen counter. Jack wasn’t there.
“Jack. Where are you?” I called out.
No answer.
In his bedroom, I looked in the closet and under the bed. “Jack. This isn’t funny. Where are you?”
Next, I checked the master bedroom. He wasn’t anywhere. “Jack, seriously, we can play hide and seek later.”
I went back down the hallway toward the kitchen, and checked the hall closet as I went. I heard muffled sobbing in the bathroom.
“Jack? You okay?” I opened the bathroom door, afraid it’d be locked but it wasn’t. The crying came from the bathtub. I pulled the shower curtain back and there he was, curled up in a fetal position, sucking his fingers—not his thumb, but two fingers from one hand.
“Oh sweetie. It’s okay.” I pulled him to me hugging him.
“I can-can’t talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.” I squeezed him tight. “I’m sorry I asked you and I promise we won’t talk about it. Ready for ice cream?”
His face was still buried in my shoulder but he nodded his head.
“Okay. Ice cream it is.” I scooped him up and carried him to the kitchen.
I pulled out a kitchen chair with my foot and set him in it. The instant I released him he scrambled from the chair and into a different one.
“Don’t you like that chair?” I asked, trying to sound like it was no big deal.
“It’s Daddy’s chair.”
“He’s not here now.”
“But he … he would know if I sat in it and I’m not supposed to.” He looked on the verge of tears again.
The boy was terrified of doing the wrong thing. Was there some sort of abuse going on in this house? I didn’t know the Jellstouts. Never babysat for them before. My mom knew Mrs. Jellstout from a mutual friend and got me the babysitting gig. Maybe Mom’d know if there was anything hinky going on here.
One thing for sure, I needed to calm little Jack down.
“It’s okay Jack. You sit where you want. Now, you want a lot of ice cream or just a little bit?”
He looked up at me, almost shyly. “A lot.”
“Okay, one big bowl of Rocky Road coming up.” I found the bowls and spoons and dished out a good size helping and put it in front of him. He eagerly started eating it, getting chocolate smeared on his face. I retrieved a glass and filled it up with tap water and put it on the table next to him. “I don’t know about you, but eating ice cream always makes me thirsty.”
He looked at the water glass for a moment, then pushed it away, knocking the glass over, spilling water over the table.
“Jack, that wasn’t very nice.”
He sprang from the chair and disappeared back down the hallway, whimpering as he went.
I let out a heavy sigh and followed him. The masks on the living room wall seemed to be smiling at me as I passed by. He was in the bathroom again, hiding in the tub. I pulled back the shower curtain and sat on the tub’s edge. “What’s wrong?”
He covered his face with his hands and shook his head wildly.
“I’m sorry. Come on Jack. It’s okay.”
He lowered his hands and examined me as if trying to judge if I could be trusted.
“I’m sorry, Jackie. I didn’t know you don’t like water.”
“I—I—” he took a sharp intake of breath, a final sob, before continuing. “That’s bad water.”
“Your tap water is bad?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Why’s it bad?” I asked.
“I’ll get sick if I drink it.”
How bizarre. “Okay, you don’t have to drink it. Come on, let’s finish the ice cream.”
He looked at me, lower lip quivering.
“Let’s go. Want me to carry you?”
He nodded.
I scooped him up and carried him back into the kitchen and sat him at his seat. “Go ahead and eat the ice cream and I’ll clean up this bad water.” I grabbed a dish towel, wiped up the spilled water, and put the glass in the sink. Then I pulled out the chair next to him. “Okay if I sit here?”
He nodded, while spooning ice cream into his mouth.
I studied the kid, chewing my lip. What was wrong with him? He was as skittish as a jack rabbit. Happy one second and terrified the next. Afraid of water? Sheesh. He didn’t seem slow or autistic, just frightened.
“You have any not bad water?” I asked.
He pointed to the refrigerator.
“Want a glass?”
He didn’t say anything, just kept shoveling in the ice cream.
“Jack, sweetie, would you like a glass of good water?
He nodded.
I got up, opened the fridge, and found a large green Tupperware pitcher. I showed him the pitcher. “This?”
“Yeah.”
I poured him a cup. The water had a reddish tint. I hesitated, not sure what was in the water. I sniffed it. It smelled weird, like copper. I put the cup on the table. “You sure you want this?”
He grabbed the cup and gulped the water.
“Why is the other water not good?” I asked.
He finished draining the cup and let out a small burp. He covered his mouth, stifling a giggle.
I laughed.
When I laughed he stopped trying to hide his giggle and laughed full out as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
“I burped,” he said.
“Yes you did. It’s funny. Why is the other water bad?”
“Floor ice.”
“Floor ice? What is?—Oh, fluoride?”
“Yeah.”
Wow. His parents were scaring him about the fluoride in the drinking water. I knew there were some weird fluoride conspiracy theories but had never known anyone who actually believed them.
I wanted to ask more about the locked freezer, but didn’t want Jack to freak out again.
“Ready to play a game?” I asked.
He grinned.
“Okay. Hide and seek. You go hide. How high should I count to?”
“A jillion.”
I laughed. “How about 100?”
His head bobbed up and down.
“Okay. Go hide. I’m counting. One. Two.”
He zoomed down the hallway. No doubt to hide in the bathtub since that seemed to be his safe place. I continued counting while tidying up the kitchen. Then I went to the living room, kicked back on the couch, counting loudly but slowly. The idea was to make this game drag out as long a possible.
The back of my neck tingled. I looked at the creepy African masks on the wall and shuddered.
If the freezer was padlocked, then there’d have to be a key. I could look for the key while acting like I was trying to find Jack. I rushed through the final numbers up to 100 and yelled. “Ready or not, here I come.”
First stop kitchen. I talked loud enough for Jack to hear me. “I bet you snuck into the kitchen when I wasn’t looking. Are you hiding in the drawers?” I rummaged through the kitchen drawers and cabinets. There was a junk drawer filled with odds and ends such as glue and scissors and coupons and papers and pens. No keys though.
I pushed a chair to the refrigerator. “Are you hiding on top of the fridge?” No keys up there. The pantry wasn’t large, the size of a coat closet. Canned food, boxes of rice an
d cereal, and other foodstuffs were stacked on the shelves. On the top shelf, behind rolls of paper towels, I discovered something horrible.
A row of clear jars, like the ones my grandma uses for canning, but these jars didn’t hold strawberry preserves or canned green beans. They contained body parts.
I saw several ears in one jar and a nose in another. A couple jars were filled with eyes—disgusting looking yellowish, bloodshot eyes. What really got me was the tongue. I hadn’t realized how large and gross looking a tongue is.
I shuddered and replaced the paper towels, hiding my discovery. What type of people were the Jellstouts? I mean, who had weird crap like this in their kitchen pantry?
I stood in the kitchen, not knowing what to do. Should I report this? If so, to whom? Storing bits and pieces of people in jars couldn’t be legal.
My biggest question was why. What possible reason did the Jellstouts have for those jars? Did he pick them up in Africa? Like the masks.
Oh my God. What if Mr. Jellstout was a cannibal? I mean, weren’t some tribes still cannibalistic? If he was then what would I find in the locked freezer? I had to get into the freezer.
I went down the hallway to the bathroom. I didn’t think the freezer key would be in there, but I wanted to check on Jack. “Are you in the toilet?” I lifted the toilet lid and heard a giggle from down the hall. So he wasn’t in the bathroom.
“I know where you are,” I said, going to his bedroom. “You’re hiding on the ceiling.”
Again I heard a giggle from down the hall. He must be in the master bedroom. There was no way his parents would keep a key in his bedroom, if they even had one in the house. With my luck the Jellstouts would have the freezer key with them.
My cell phone rang. It was Mrs. Jellstout. Talk about overprotective parents.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. One part of me wanted to go on, to explain we were having fun and put any worries she may have to rest, but another part of me was still weirded out by the body parts in the kitchen pantry.
“You sure everything’s fine?” she said.
“Yes. Jack’s been no trouble at all.” I didn’t mention the trauma in the bathtub.
Strange Perceptions Page 11