Believe what you want to believe

by George Williams

  Later that day Janie and I finally got home and began our regular routine. We headed down to the basement where there was a player piano and an old record player that required no electricity. Suddenly, we heard Ziggy’s keys jingling as he entered through the garage. The hair stood up on our backs.

  “Hey kids, you’ve kept your mouths shut right? You know if you tell, I will kill your parents too,” he said.

  Janie and I looked at each other. We knew he meant it. We did not want to be down there anymore but were too scared to move so we kept playing along. We couldn’t help but notice that he was making a lot of noise on the other side of the cellar. We continued to play our instruments as the bastard joyfully whistled over by the work bench.

  Suddenly a human head unexpectedly popped up behind the wall and we both gasped.

  “I’m watching you,” Ziggy warned. My mind didn’t immediately comprehend what was happening. His hand was inserted in the bodiless head of the man who had died for us just two days prior. Like a puppet ventriloquist, he was talking for it. Laughing at our reaction, he spoke in a deeper voice and warned again, “You’re next...”

  Janie and I said nothing as our stomachs dropped.

  I thought I was going to throw up from the smell and sight of it all as he disposed of the body in a way no one would ever know. No one but us. I will never forget the stench of a dead and decomposing body. To save myself from the trauma, I told myself it wasn’t real. It was easier for me if I believed it were just a magic trick.

  “It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real,” I told myself again and again. “It was a movie trick, like they do in Hollywood,“ I told myself.

  That helped me get through it. We couldn’t run upstairs to escape the dying stench; he would think we were going to tell. So Janie and I continued to play our instruments like prisoners of the basement, gagging until it was over.

  Chapter 9

  Road Kill

  A couple of weeks went by, when one day I came home from school alone. It was a cool day and Janie stopped at her friend Tracey’s house on the way back. After a long day at school, I was happy to be home as I thought no one else was there. Then out of the corner of my eye, I witnessed Jason’s buddy Gill in the flesh. He was always at my house, even if no one else was there. He was never without a Budweiser in his hand. It was a regular thing for him to drink, drink, drink until he passed out and then like clockwork he pissed himself. There wasn’t much of a foreseeable future for him with his lifestyle.

  Drunken Gill greeted me at the bottom of the driveway when I got back. He said nothing and gave me a big bear hug. He squeezed me so hard I thought my ribs would break. As if that wasn’t enough torture, he then took me to the above ground pool which wasn’t open yet and threw me in. I made a colossal splash as I went under the black mucky water, amidst thousands of leaves that had seeped under the tarp. The water was cold, maybe forty degrees, and I felt everything chattering from my knees to my teeth. When I climbed out, he was grinning ear to ear like a jackass.

  Almost a month had gone by since the last murder and life began to feel calm again. Memorial Day was nearing and Janie and I were still scratching our heads as to where the body and head had gone. The Saturday just before Memorial Day, Ziggy asked me to go with him to work. Since Memorial Day week was a busy time for the monument business my parents owned, I really did not have a choice. The work truck my father owned was an orange-colored stake body Chevy with a lift gate which could easily fit five tombstones. When I got in the truck I noticed something unusual. One of the crates had cardboard on the sides and was mysteriously nailed shut.

  Typically the crates had metal bands holding them together and this was also not the case. A vile stench was coming from this particular crate as I gagged in nausea. Somehow I recognized the smell though. Ziggy called Gill up and said, “Do me a favor and pick up some road kill on the way over? Don’t ask questions. Just do it.”

  I was really confused as to why he needed to bring a dead animal to our work day. When Gill showed up, he had a dead squirrel.

  He said with a drunken smile, “This is all I could find on short notice!” Then they placed it behind the crate. I heard him say, “If the cops pull us over, the squirrel smell will be our cover-up.”

  “Cover-up for what?” I wondered.

  It was about ten am and Gill and Ziggy stopped at the liquor store for a case of Budweiser each.

  After riding around all day long, our final stop was somewhere in New Hampshire. On the top of a long steep hill was a cemetery that overlooked a creek of water. At dusk, we set the last stone but there was one last crate we had not taken care of yet. Ziggy told me to get out of the truck and wait. Gill and Ziggy drove off far into the cemetery and left me there alone.

  I sat perched on a water bucket from the truck, getting bitten by a swarm of mosquitoes. It was getting dark and I started wondering if they were ever coming back. An hour later they returned, covered in dirt and sweat like they had run a marathon. I was not sure what they had done but it was clear the crate was gone along with that awful smell. “Could the fate of our dead rescuer be to be buried in an unnamed grave?” I started to wonder as I never underestimated Ziggy when it came to his ability to get away with murder. Remembering his threats clearly, I kept my mouth shut the whole way home except to drink the beer they gave me.

  Third grade ended and school was out for the summer now. The previous summer was the beginning of seeing some pretty awful things, and I was worried this summer was going to be a repeat.

  Janie came up to me playing in the yard one afternoon and said, “Sean, come with me. I really need to show you something.”

  So I followed her to her room where she had something balled up in clothes and hidden in the back of her dresser.

  “So don’t tell anyone but I found the wallet that belonged to the man who was killed trying to save us,” she whispered. “How did you get this?” I asked.

  “While the body was still in the closet, I snuck in and took his wallet out of his shirt pocket. Now we have evidence,” she replied.

  “Do you know what Ziggy will do to us if he finds out we have this?” I stammered.

  “You are right. I need to hide it better,” Janie said. “I know where we can put it. Right under the front porch is a small crawl space. We can get in there but he can’t.” I nodded my head and we planned to hide it in there for the time being.

  As we crouched down into the crawl space with the wallet, Janie stopped and said, “Wait, Sean. Why don’t we turn it in to the police? He killed two people in front of us. Who knows who else he will get. We could put an end to this.”

  “I really want to, but we see Ziggy talking to the police all the time. Father Paul is on his side. They could all be on his side. Who can we trust?” I asked.

  And we agreed not to risk it and placed the wallet in the crawl space.

  Janie and I continued to discuss what happened with the two murdered men, always looking for options to get Ziggy caught. With as many options as we could come up with, the threat of losing our parents was enough to keep us good and quiet. Ziggy was too skilled at this. Perhaps too experienced and it didn’t look like he was going to get caught any time soon.

  Chapter 10

  Bad Haircut

  One afternoon a few weeks later, my mother asked Ziggy to pick Janie and me up from school to head to my grandmother’s house.

  “We have a stop on the way,” Ziggy said. We stopped by a place called “The Pilgrim House.” It was a youth home for troubled teenagers, organized and financed by the Catholic Church.

  When we arrived, Ziggy said, “Sport, you come with me. I have a lot of friends here I would like you to meet. You know I used to live here? It’s a home for runaway teens like me. Janie, stay in the car and out of sight.”

  When we arrived at the front door, Father Paul greeted us with a big smile. “Welcome back, Ziggy!”

  “So is this how t
hey know each other?” I thought. Father Paul handed Ziggy a package of what looked like drugs and said, “I’m glad to see you brought the boy. Half now and the other half after we get the pictures.”

  Puzzled that Ziggy was somehow working for Father Paul, I kept my mouth shut.

  Father Paul said to Ziggy, “I am glad you fit in so well with the Murphy family. I know they trust you now. It wasn't easy getting you into that house.” Then Father Paul shut the door and disappeared.

  Next we headed over to Mea Mea’s house. Ziggy made her a drink when we first arrived and she fell asleep immediately after drinking it. He left her a note saying, “You fell asleep. Didn’t want to wake you so I’m taking Janie and Sean to church to see Father Paul. Be back soon.”

  Instead of church, we ended up driving up to Father Paul in the park’s woods. When we arrived, Father Paul said, “Ziggy you told me that you were bringing two boys. The man who paid for these photos likes boys only.”

  Ziggy responded, “Well she hasn’t developed yet. If we cut her hair, nobody will know the difference with a little photo magic.” Then he handed Father Paul the knife from his belt.

  Father Paul began to transform Janie into a little boy as she cried, since she really loved her hair. Then they put us in strange positions and took lots of pictures.

  Father Paul said, “That fat, rich slob from the church is going to love these.”

  It’s safe to say I was uncomfortable and began to fight with both of them.

  Father Paul said, “This kid is too out of control and it’s going to bring attention to us. Ziggy put him in the trunk.”

  I was picked up against my will and stuffed into the trunk. I heard them begin to abuse my sister. After hearing her screams for help, I quickly unlocked the trunk from the inside with a tire iron and escaped. Luckily, I learned this trick from Jason during one of his attempts to torture me in the past.

  “Hey! Come back!!!” Father Paul yelled.

  They saw me escaping and chased me through the park which bought me just enough time to free my sister. Janie was fast and was able to catch up with me. When they caught up with us, people were arriving and were becoming suspicious so Father Paul decided it was time to go.

  Father Paul took us back to Mea Mea’s. Ziggy was too strung out to take us back himself since he had taken the drugs Father Paul had given him earlier.

  When we got back to Mea Mea’s house, she saw that my sister’s hair was all cut off. Her eyes widened as she cupped both of her hands to her mouth.

  Before Mea Mea could get a word in, Father Paul proclaimed, “Doesn’t it look great? After mass, I took Janie to a famous French hair designer and this is the new style! I offered to drop the children off to you since I was on my way to the retreat and was driving right by your house! What a good boy that Marc is!” as he referred to Ziggy.

  My grandmother bought the lie. She looked confused but never suspected a priest to be dishonest. It was still pretty clear that she didn’t like the haircut.

  When we got back to the house and saw my mother, Ziggy said, “Sean decided to give Janie a haircut!”

  Janie and I were in this together and wanted to find a way to make someone, anyone, believe that an evil priest and a serial killer were living in our community.

  Chapter 11

  Rehab

  The chaos continued at home with our parents on the weekends. It was understandable that Ziggy and Father Paul picked my family to victimize since my parents were alcoholics and too drunk to see what was really going on.

  Trips to the supermarket in the station wagon with dad were always an experience. Janie and I sat in the seat that faced backwards, out towards the street, facing the front of the cars behind us. Janie and I learned to give the finger to people but we mostly received it due to our father’s drunk driving. He recklessly wove in and out of traffic while cutting everyone off. The people on the crosswalk were far from safe. One time when we arrived at the store in one miraculous piece, my father parallel parked in a spot behind a single car.

  When we finished shopping, we noticed our car had been blocked in and there was no way out. My dad told us to get in the car and I was sure we would wait for the other car’s driver to come out of the store. That wasn’t exactly what happened. My dad put the car in drive and bulldozed the other car out of the way with the station wagon. When he pressed the gas we felt the tires spin and saw the smoke rise. Then he put it in drive and in reverse again and again until the other cars were gone. When people saw this, they looked the other way, not wanting to get involved with a crazy man. They simply shook their heads in disbelief.

  The following week my father had just arrived home from a business trip and my parents were on another drinking binge. My father accused my mother without reason of cheating on him while he was away. With seven kids and a job, my mother did not have any time for adultery. Huffing and puffing in fury, he wound up and hit her right in the face. My mom’s face instantly began to swell and my sister Peggy called the police. They arrived quickly. The cops knew my father well and they asked, “Joe, what did you do? You know the routine Joe. Get in the car. You are sleeping downtown tonight.”

  As the police showed up the next morning with my dad, Jason went outside. “Why is the drunk home? You know he beat my mom last night, right?” he asked the cops.

  “Sorry kid. I know it’s not a good situation, but he supports you guys. Without him, how would you eat?” one cop replied.

  As soon as my mother saw the car pull into the driveway, she geared for us all to pack our bags up. “Come on kids. We’re going to Mea Mea’s house for a little while.”

  When we came home a week later, we found him passed out on the floor and covered in his own piss and vomit. After that he volunteered to go away for thirty days. Alcohol had got a hold of him and he genuinely needed help.

  On the weekend that my father came home from rehab, Jason shouted, “old man’s getting out of the drunk tank again!” I believe he really wanted to stop drinking, but he couldn’t. Before he came home, we cleared the house of all liquor. We found bottles of booze hidden everywhere from behind the couches and even the stove. The best hiding spot we found was in the bathroom. Behind the washing machine there was a four-inch space where he had cleverly tied a piece of string to a bottle, so he could pull it up and have a secret drink. No one knew he was doing this in the bathroom, but come to think of it, he did spend a lot of time in there.

  My father returned to work that week with a new lease on life. He was very positive and actually pleasant to be around, which was big departure from his usual grumpy self. When he returned home that night, he asked me if I would like to take off school and go fishing with him at the dock the following day.

  My mother had told him to spend quality time with me because he had never really done that without the other six siblings in tow. The next day he got me up early and we headed down to Plymouth harbor. We did do some fishing but we had no poles, so we used a couple of drop lines off the dock. He had given the fishing rods away since he gave everything away for no apparent reason when he was drunk. We didn’t have much luck but I did pull in an eel. It was a nasty thing and I never cared much for those so I took the fishing knife and chopped its head off. We finished up on the docks and went into the shops.

  My dad said to me, “I have been gone a long time so I want you to pick out something you like to remember that we spent this today together.” I found a little cedar box that looked like a miniature treasure chest and I thought someday I would fill it with real gold. I had that damn thing for twenty years, thinking somehow it would make me rich. It did remind me that not every day of my childhood was a nightmare and there were times we hung out and things were cool.

  After my father beat my mom and since the cops and courts did nothing, my brother Jason decided to take matters into his own hands.

  Janie and I got home from school early on a half day. We realized water wasn't coming out o
f the faucet and the lights were out. I went to the basement to find Jason down there with a friend I really didn’t know too well. He had an athletic frame and was a big guy, maybe 6’5” and about 225 plus pounds.

  Jason turned off the water and electricity and said to me, “Hey Sean, call dad! Something is wrong with the water. Tell him to come fix it. Do it now!”

  They just sat there in the dark and waited. I called my father at his office and told him, “Jason turned the water and lights off and he won’t fix them.” My father said, “For Christ's sake! I'll be right home.”

  My father entered the basement through the garage. From upstairs, I walked downstairs and saw my father go into the room where the water was turned off. Suddenly Jason and his friend came out of the dark and started beating my dad. Furniture was breaking and my father was screaming and then the room went silent. He was unconscious. Jason's friend looked at me on the way out and apologized. “Sorry kid, but it had to be done,” he said and he left the same way he came in.

  I ran to my dad and found him bleeding in the dark but he was still breathing. “Dad, wake up before they come back,” I cried.

  He stumbled to his feet and fell again. Eventually he got up and shuffled to the water and turned it on. My brother left the house. “This was low, even for him,” I thought. After my father turned the water and electricity back on, he wobbled upstairs and grabbed a bottle of booze he kept under the kitchen cabinet, drank a big slug, and then put a steak on his own swollen face. Defeated, he just sat and stared at the floor. Janie was crying, but I couldn’t cry anymore. This was how it was. I had become numb to violence and abuse.

  My father cleaned up after the incident and was better for a while but started up again a few months later on a hot summer night. Jason came in and made scrambled eggs and sat in the den. I had a broomstick and was twirling it around like a marine spins a gun in a parade. My sister Peggy taught us this since she was in the drum and bugle corps. Mid spin the broom handle hit the plate of eggs, knocking it to the floor. Jason flipped out, chasing me into the kitchen.