by Brett McKay
My friends and I had been spying on Lester, and we weren’t the only ones who had noticed him. As it turned out, Lester had become the talk of the neighborhood. Riding past Mrs. Crawford’s house one day, I overheard her and Mrs. Anderson gossiping up a storm.
“I don’t know who in their right minds would want to move into that house.” Mrs. Anderson shook her head in disgust, and I slowed down, pretending to check something on my bike tire. “It’s so old and falling apart. I don’t even think it has running water or heat. It should be condemned.”
I parked my bike, got off, and bent to check my chain while continuing to listen in. I thought they might be suspicious of me, but they were too involved in conversation.
“Well, if you ask me, it’s not the house I’m worried about.” Mrs. Crawford rolled her eyes, shaking a warning finger in the direction of the house. “It’s that man who moved in there. I heard he’s a pedophile.”
Mrs. Anderson gasped.
I didn’t know what a “pedophile” was, and I didn’t bother to find out.
Later that night, my mom was talking a hundred miles an hour on the phone to a friend when I heard Lester’s name come up in the conversation. Apparently, Lester had inherited the Crooked House from a grandfather he hadn’t known—some rich guy named Charles Blackmore, who owned a bunch of property throughout the country. When he died, he left part of his estate to a daughter he’d fathered with his mistress—Lester Kilborn’s mother, who had already passed away. When Charles’s other heirs found out they were sharing their inheritance with Lester, they were furious. They found a way to give Lester only scraps from the table—and the Crooked House certainly qualified as scraps.
My friends and I snuck onto the property and hid behind a berm thirty yards away next to a tree and watched the house. It was our second day of spying, and four nights had passed since I’d first seen Lester in the house.
We’d been sitting behind that berm, watching the house, for two hours, and nothing had happened.
“What is he doing?” Gary asked.
Lester moved back and forth behind his windows. We couldn’t imagine what he was doing. There was no moving van or trucks, and at no point had anyone seen him move a lick of furniture inside.
“Maybe he’s just using the furniture that’s in there,” Jax said.
“Would you use the furniture in that house?” Gary asked.
“No, but this guy’s creepy. He’s a weirdo.”
“You have a point,” I said. “Come on. Nothing’s going on. We’ve watched it all day yesterday, two hours today, and all he’s done is go buy groceries.”
“I’m glad you said it. I’m done with this.” Jax let out a sigh.
“Hold on. Look.” Gary pointed at the upper-right window.
Lester grabbed a lamp, threw it at the wall, then kicked the bedpost. Eyes closed and mouth open wide, he yelled in rage. His voice was so loud that despite our distance, we could hear him.
Then Lester entangled his fingers in his hair and pulled as if he meant to yank it all out. He yelled words, but they were unintelligible, then he stormed out of the bedroom. A few seconds later, he burst through the front door and marched to the front yard, where he turned and faced the house. He stood glaring at it for several minutes.
We sat, transfixed and quiet. My heart thumped like a rabbit’s.
“Leave me alone!” he screamed.
We turned to each other, perplexed.
“I told you I would,” he continued. “I’ve done a lot for you already. Now stay the hell out of my head!” He snapped his head in our direction and glared.
We ducked under the berm and held our breath. I thought for sure he’d seen us, but after a few minutes of nothing happening, I popped my head above the berm and saw Lester stomp to his car and drive away.
“Wow!” I exclaimed, and the others nodded agreement.
“That guy’s crazier than I thought,” Jax said, twirling a finger next to his head.
“Who was he talking to?” Gary shrugged and scrunched his face.
“No one,” I said.
“Maybe it was the ghost lady,” Gary said, his eyes filled with fear.
“Maybe. But I didn’t see her.”
“I saw this movie once,” Jax said, “where this crazy guy had a bunch of voices in his head. They made him do things, made him kill people, and he argued with himself out loud. That’s what’s going on with Lester. This guy is nuts.”
“Come on, guys. Let’s get outta here.” I motioned for them to follow me.
We ended up at Jax’s house and lost ourselves in a long game of Monopoly, but I couldn’t get Lester out of my head all day. When I left Jax’s house, I couldn’t help but replay the image of Lester throwing the lamp and arguing with himself. He had so much anger.
After dinner, while I was washing the dishes, he snuck into the back of my head and posed all sorts of questions I couldn’t answer. Who had he really been talking to? What was his purpose in that house? Why wasn’t he moving in furniture?
At night, I found myself awake in bed. All my thoughts revolved around Lester Kilborn and the creepy house. Everyone in my house was asleep. I got up and slipped on my shorts and a shirt, then without bothering to put on shoes and socks, I crept outside into my backyard. My bare feet were cold on the concrete pad of our patio, and I shivered in the cool breeze.
Across the field beyond my backyard was the house. My house wasn’t as close as Matt’s, but I had my brother’s binoculars. There were lights on at the house, at least three. I put the binoculars to my eyes and trailed the sights up and down the house.
Lester’s silhouette shuffled things back and forth across his windows downstairs. Then something moved in the upstairs bedroom! I caught it out of the corner of my eye: the blur of a body running. I questioned whether I’d really seen it. That’s impossible...
Lester was definitely still downstairs. I could see the shadow of his bulky body. But I saw another shadow cross the light in the upstairs bedroom, the same bedroom we’d been in.
Someone else was in the house with Lester. More movement came from below, and I saw two bodies. There was a lot of activity, but I couldn’t make out what was going on.
I turned my vision to the window of the room we had stayed in. I hadn’t seen any activity in that room until now. There she stood, in the window, her white face aglow, eyes locked on me!
I stumbled and nearly dropped the binoculars. I trembled. Tears filled my eyes. I would have been happy spending the rest of my life never seeing that ghost lady again, but there she was, clutching my pillow.
I was done. Terrified, I went back inside and lay in my bed, as stiff as a stick. Clutching my sheets, I slept in fitful increments of fifteen or twenty minutes the rest of the night.
MY DAD MENTIONED LESTER during conversation at our dinner table the next day. Every so often he’d puncuate his words by stabbing his fork down at his plate. “Brother Anderson and I went over to invite our new neighbor to church on Sunday. We got assigned with that lucky task. Seemed like a strange guy. Didn’t say much. Just squinted at us the whole time with a scowl. The strange thing is he’s been in there nearly a week now, and I don’t think he’s cleaned one thing. Dust on all the furniture. Broken glass and things on the floor.” His eyes widened, and he let out a sigh. “It looks the same as it has for years.” He shook his head and took a gulp of his drink. “Exactly the same.”
That he hadn’t cleaned anything was weird enough, but the bigger question was what had he been doing all week? With all the activity I’d seen, I’d assumed he was moving furniture or cleaning, and he had several people in there to help him—including the ghost lady.
“He did mumble a few times, but it seemed like he wasn’t actually talking to me. Yet, nobody was there!”
“Sounds like a real wacko,” Tadd blurted out then chuckled.
We all laughed, but inside, I was sick, because nothing about the situation was actually funny.
“N
ice enough fella, but definitely odd.”
“Maybe he escaped the nut house!” Scott exclaimed.
“Honey,” my mom said, “we shouldn’t talk about people like that.” She stabbed my dad with a glare. “We don’t know the man, and we don’t want to be the people who start bad rumors.”
He nodded agreement, and my mom switched gears.
“So, Jeff, I talked to Suzy over at Sharp Stables. She said they could use someone three days a week to help feed the horses and clean the stables.”
“Cool. Steve already works there and says they pay three-fifty an hour. I definitely want to do that.”
The discussion went on as Scott blurted out how he wanted to work too, but Mom told him he was too young. I stayed silent as my thoughts continued to drift back to Lester and that house.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mr. Beaumont
The next day started off boring. Two of my brothers were gone, doing something with their friends. Tadd was sprawled out on the couch, watching a daytime TV program. The minute I stepped out from the hall, he sensed my presence and started in barking orders.
“Get me a drink. One of those Shastas.”
I rolled my eyes and got him the can of soda. My body language was so loud that it must have been hard not to notice how irritated I was. He ignored me, though. I decided to get out of there before he demanded anything else.
I ate my cereal, showered, dressed, and took off. As I was on my way out, he asked where I was going—technically, he was my babysitter—and I answered, “Jax’s house.”
“Just be home by twelve for lunch. Mom will kill me if I don’t make sure you eat something.”
When I got to Jax’s house, he wasn’t home. I went to Gary’s next and found it just as empty. Then I remembered they’d both told me about family vacations coming up. I remembered being upset because they would both be gone at the same time. I hadn’t paid attention to the dates, but clearly it was that week.
The new girl was with Morgan again. They were sitting on Morgan’s front steps, looking my way. I moved my eyes in the opposite direction. A small voice crept up and dared me to walk over there and talk to her. Maybe I could pass the time with them?
I immediately shot down that idea. I wasn’t brave enough yet. I was still too nervous to talk to girls.
I did have some loose change in my pocket, enough to buy a couple of treats at Pederson’s—at least a few Zotz and some root beer barrels. Those were my favorite hard candy. If anything, the trip to the store would kill the time, which was crawling by like a snail, and the air conditioning inside would help me cool off from the immense heat.
The air conditioning hit my hot face the moment I stepped into the pharmacy, and I pictured steam rising from my body. The store was bustling with patrons, mostly women with their small children, pushing carts up and down the aisles. I hit the magazine rack before the candy aisle. I flipped through the latest MAD Magazine, which was always good for sarcastic humor and parodies of the latest films. Then I thumbed through the paperback books. I loved reading, and Louis L’Amour westerns were my favorite. My grandpa’s favorite too. He had stacks of them in his basement, and he would lend them to me a couple at a time.
“Ret?” said a deep voice filled with kindness.
I turned around to face Mr. Beaumont. He was extremely tall, always in a suit, and in his late seventies. He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, and his large fingers covered it completely. He bent down to my eye level. His dark eyes sparkled with the same joy reflected in his smile, something he always had when he talked to me. I knew him from church. Mr. Beaumont and his wife had taught my Sunday school class for a couple of years, and they were always friendly and kind.
“Nice to see you, son.”
“Nice to see you too, Mr. Beaumont.”
“How’s the family? You always look so sharp in church. You do a good job passing the sacrament.”
I nodded. “We’re good. Thanks.”
“That is good. I’m glad to hear it.” He looked at me with admiration. “How’s your dad?”
“Good.” I nodded.
“He still cuttin’ meat? He butchered a deer for me a couple of years ago. Best butcherin’ I ever got.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. Every time I talked to Mr. Beaumont, which was usually at church, he always brought up my dad and how he’d cut up that deer of his.
“I think so. He works two jobs right now. One at Happy Service Groceries and one for the state. I don’t see him a whole lot.”
“No, I bet you don’t. I’m sure neither of ya like that. Where’s your friends?” He checked up and down the aisle. “You here alone?”
“Yeah. They’re gone on vacation. I’m just bored, trying to find somethin’ to do.”
“Summers are like that, aren’t they?” He rubbed his chin with his forefinger, wheels turned in his head, and he looked down at me. “You know, I could use some help out at the mortuary from time to time. Tidying up stuff. You know, dusting and vacuuming, and cleanin’ the restrooms. That sort of thing. Couldn’t take more’n a couple hours a day.”
Great! Work detail. Charity work, I thought with dread.
“I’d pay you five bucks each time. Maybe more, if it takes longer.”
My eyes widened, and my heart beat faster. I thought of all the things my money could buy—more Star Wars figures, cool accessories for my bike, and firecrackers when the Fourth of July rolled around.
“Yeah, that, uh, yes. I’d like to.” The mortuary didn’t sound like an ideal summer job, but if there was money to be had, I could overlook the circumstances.
“Good.” He chuckled. “I’m getting too old. It’s harder for me to do everything, so I could use the help. Just be sure you ask your parents. Get their permission, and I’ll see you at nine in the morning tomorrow. Sound good?”
“Sounds great!”
We shook hands and said goodbye, then he walked to the checkout stands to pay for the few items he was holding.
Wow! A job! Working for Mr. Beaumont would be better than the occasional babysitting detail, which I’d done for the Reynolds kids. They paid me five bucks, but I had to stay there for four hours and deal with rug rats. The mortuary would be much better, maybe even better than Jeff’s job at the stables. Not to mention it would keep me busy while my friends were out of town.
I went to the candy aisle to get my goods, but I couldn’t think of anything else but the job. As I searched for Zotz, I heard Mr. Beaumont’s deep voice as he spoke to the clerk at the register.
“Looks like I’m getting all sorts of new help today,” he said. “I hired a new assistant.”
I lit up because I thought he was referring to me, but then he continued, “Comes from Wichita, Kansas. Lester Kilborn. He moved into that old house on Beck Street.”
A shiver went through my spine, and hairs rose on my arms and neck. I couldn’t quite hear the clerk’s response—his voice wasn’t as loud as Mr. Beaumont’s, so I crept closer to the cash register to hear the conversation better.
“Who would move into that creepy old place?” the clerk asked.
“Good people see beyond the face of things. Lester’s good people, and he sees something in that house. Even said it feels like home.”
“Does he plan on fixin’ it up, I hope?” the clerk said.
“I reckon. Needs a good amount a work. Lester’s young, and he can do it if anyone can. Came highly recommended from the mortuary he worked at in Kansas.”
“What brought him out here?” I asked, interrupting their conversation.
Mr. Beaumont turned to respond. “Well, said his grandpa passed and left that house to him in a will.” He shrugged. “Might have family out here too, I suppose. Anyway, you’ll meet him tomorrow. You’ll be workin’ together.” His smile spread from ear to ear, creating waves of wrinkles.
THE NEXT DAY CAME FAST. My parents were okay with my new job. In fact, they were more excited for it than I was. My excitement had been short-liv
ed. Once I’d found out who my workmate was, I couldn’t stop stressing about it, and I wished my friends were around to blab to.
My mom also said it was okay to ride my bike to work since it was farther than Pederson’s, as long as I promised to be safe and stay off the road. Of course I’d agreed.
I leaned my bike against the brick wall of the building and stepped inside. The mortuary was old. It’d been there since the early sixties, and the furniture and décor looked like they hadn’t changed much since then. Heavy gold drapes hung over the windows, yellow shag carpet covered the floor from wall to wall, and the furniture was boxy and stiff. The air was thick and warm. No one was around. It took nearly five minutes for someone to show, and thankfully, it was Mr. Beaumont.
He trotted to me in a hurry, with his hand held out. I took his hand in mine and nearly pulled it back. His hand was ice-cold.
“Sorry for my cold hand. I’ve been in the basement.”
Basement? What goes on in the basement? I didn’t want to know.
“You’re right on time. That’s good. You McCoy boys are always sharp.” He smiled.
Another figure approached behind Mr. Beaumont, and he turned to introduce us.
“Mr. Kilborn!” Beaumont called out, waving him over.
Lester was almost a whole head shorter than Mr. Beaumont, but he was still tall compared to most men. His body was shaped like a pear, with a wide belly and hips, then his legs narrowed to thin ankles. His eyes weren’t as beady as I’d thought, though. They were round, but he always kept them half closed, like he was tired and ready to fall asleep.
“This is Mr. McCoy!” Beaumont motioned for me to come closer.
Mr. Kilborn pushed the bangs out of his eyes and shot his hand out. I shook it. His hand wasn’t as cold as Beaumont’s, but his shake was limp, and his palm was wet.