by M. D. Payne
He continued, “If you find you enjoy this kind of work once your time here is done today, please do join us again at six p.m. on Monday. We can set up a regular schedule at that time.”
“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say, so rather than stand there awkwardly, I put out my hand and introduced myself. “I’m Chris. Who are you?”
The man eyed me and paused. It looked like he was trying to figure out how he wanted to answer.
“I’m the Director,” he said. He then shook my hand, bowed slightly, and left, as if he had a million things to check in on.
I stood in the hallway taking in the tattered tapestries and listening to the slow, creepy organ music. I had a staring contest with a dusty old painting to the left of the hallway for a few seconds before both of my escorts, in unison, said, “This way.”
We walked past the stairs and into the main hallway, passing several rooms along the way to the kitchen. In one of the rooms, a bunch of old ladies sat around a fire, cackling. A large black pot hung above the flames, and I wondered if they were preparing brunch.
We walked past another room filled with faded and cracked leather chairs, where two very old-looking gentlemen had nodded off to sleep. At their feet were two ragged dogs.
“Hey, poochie,” I said as we passed by. One of the dogs lifted his head and stared at me. His head was shaky, but he looked right at me. His eyes seemed eerily human. I felt the hair go up on the back of my neck, and was glad when we passed.
We turned left at the end of the hallway and entered a kitchen. Several more large men, identical to the Nurses but each in a chef’s uniform, ran around preparing what I could only guess was brunch. Although I couldn’t recognize anything, I took in a deep whiff and immediately coughed. The kitchen smelled terrible. It almost made me miss the school cafeteria. Almost.
The burly man with the largest hat approached and handed me a uniform.
“Put on,” he said, and motioned over to a counter, where a number of dishes had been laid out.
I struggled to put the uniform on. It was ten sizes too large, but I could still tell that I was meant to look like a waiter. A man stood at the head of the counter. He motioned at me to come over.
Trying not to trip on my pants, I shuffled over to the massive chef.
“Special dietary needs,” he said and pointed to the table in front of him.
I looked down. On the table were three bowls of what only could be described as “red” soup. Maybe it was made out of beets…or prunes. That’s what old people eat, right? Next to the soup were three plates filled with what looked like gray mashed potatoes or grits. Its smell reminded me of the time I found a dead raccoon under the porch. And finally, two plates of finely chopped raw steak, which really just looked like a chunkier version of the soup.
“Hurry,” said the massive chef. “Angry when hungry!”
He shoved a tray with the three bowls of soup into my hand.
“Table three!” he added, and pushed me out into the dining area through two swinging doors.
It was the largest room I’d seen in the mansion so far—it could easily fit fifty or more people. Groups of old folks clustered around ten small round tables that each had a number posted on a simple card. Some shuffled between tables. There were a few chandeliers strung up here and there to make the place look classy, but like the rest of the house, it was pretty tattered and torn. You could feel cold air blowing through the room.
I took a look around for table three. I saw the ladies that had been cackling in front of the fire at one of the tables in the front. I looked way in the back and saw table three near an organist, who was still tapping away at that spooky old music. He had a cape on, and was hunched over the keyboard. I wondered if he ever ate, or if they just made him play all day long.
I slowly made my way to table three, passing by tables two and four. I looked at table four and saw all three old folks staring off into space, just waiting for their food. Nobody was doing much talking.
I got to table three, and found three wrinkly and pale old men sitting there, talking to each other in some sort of foreign language. They eyed me as I sat the cold soup down. One of them licked his lips, but he wasn’t looking at the soup bowl. He was looking right at me. I stared back, as if hypnotized, and he flashed a toothy grin. His incisors were rather pointy.
“Enjoy,” I said meekly, and then turned around to head back to the kitchen. As I left, I heard a massive SLUUUUUUURP and looked back to see all three bowls empty and all three old gentlemen asleep with drops of red falling from the sides of their mouths. One of the old men snored very loudly. I guess they eat fast here, I thought.
Back in the kitchen, the chef handed me the platter of mashed potatoes or grits or whatever, and told me to deliver it to table five. I held my breath—the smell made me want to puke. That table was right near the door, so close that I hadn’t noticed it before. There, at the table, sat three people with eyes that stared into nothingness and skin that oozed with open sores. Shouldn’t these people be in a hospital? I wondered. They need medicine, not this gray whatever-it-is.
They swayed in their chairs and gurgled and moaned as I approached. Something smelled terrible—like rotten meat. Worse than the food. I looked around to see where it was coming from. When I brought my head back up, I noticed that one of them was eyeing me. Before I could react, it was too late. He swiped at the tray as I brought it down, hungry and clearly ready to eat. The other two came alive—a bit—once they saw their brunch-mate grab for the gray whatever-it-was. I laid the bowls on the table and got out of there quick. One of the Nurses that had been walking around the great room approached them as I left and yelled, “FORKS, PLEASE!” but I could hear from the squishy slurping sounds and grunts of pleasure that they were probably eating with their hands, as fast as they could. I wasn’t going to turn around and look.
This was not what I signed up for—Gordon was right. I was serving food to cranky, smelly old mean people. Where were the sweet nanas or funny grandpas? Is this what I am going to have to deal with on a daily basis? I thought. These folks were really monstrous—and the staff was, too!
I walked back into the kitchen and was immediately handed the tray of soupy raw steak by the chef.
“TABLE TEN!” he yelled, as he pushed me back out into the dining room.
I headed over to table ten. Two of the hairiest old men I had ever seen in my life were sitting at the table. I laid the steak soup down on the table and turned to leave. Before I could go, one of the hairy old men looked up at me.
His eyes looked so familiar…but why?
I watched as both of the old men eyed the meat slop hungrily and dug in for their first slobbery bite. It was actually quite disgusting to watch, but I couldn’t stop.
It was only when Shane texted me that I finally tore my eyes away from the feeding frenzy.
Hwst goin’? texted Shane.
I’m already done for today, I texted back.
I took off my uniform and slipped out of the front door. The tall grass was motionless. I moved past it quickly and then headed down the hill. The ravens watched me as I went.
I was so happy to get out of there, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to come back.
At lunch on Monday, Ben, Gordon, and Shane wanted to know how my time at Raven Hill went. I told them everything as we ate Salisbury Snake.
I broke it down like this: It was insane and smelly, the residents were angry old farts, and I thought the house was haunted, but on the walk home I somehow convinced myself to keep going there.
I still just really, really wanted that telescope, and if I could survive one day there, I’d be able to again and again and again. Not to mention, I felt kind of bad for the old folks, as weird as they were.
“Hey,” Ben said, “Karen said she can get us all free passes to the park this weekend. It’s the last weekend!”
The park is what we called Jackson Amusement Park, a run-down collection of rides and games
on the south side of town. The best thing about it, other than the awesome food, was the Gravitron, the most barf-inducing ride in the universe. Ben’s older sister, Karen, had worked there the past few summers. She could sometimes be a pain, but she always got us free passes—so I guess she was all right, as older sisters go.
“Awesome!” yelled Gordon.
“Totally!” added Shane.
All the guys high-fived one another. All of them but me.
Shane looked at me and shook his head. “Really?” he asked.
“I have to volunteer,” I said. “If I miss one shift, I might not win the money.”
“It’s your loss,” Ben added. “I went to the park like ten times over the summer.”
“And was there any ride that you didn’t barf on?” I asked, hoping to change the subject from me bailing on my friends.
“Well…” Ben thought for a moment.
“I bet you even hurled on the Ferris wheel,” I said.
“Yes,” Ben answered. “I was way at the top, too. It was not a pretty sight.”
“Even on the bumper cars?” I asked.
“Um…yup! Definitely on the bumper cars. I spewed right as I bumped into a little girl, and it splashed right into her car.”
“Oh, that’s rough!” I said.
“Well, you’re the one who brought it up,” Ben said.
“Actually, you’re the one who brought it up,” I said with a wink. “On every ride at the park.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” Ben fake-laughed.
Shane looked over at me. “C’mon,” he said. “Do you really want to miss seeing this kid blowing chunks all day?”
“I really have to make up the hours,” I said, “especially after skipping out early last time.”
“Were you even there for an hour?” Gordon asked. “They’ll probably laugh at you when you take your time sheet to the Rotary to get certified!”
“What?” I asked
“You have to go to the Rotary every Monday at four with your time sheet—or those hours don’t count,” Gordon answered.
“Aw, man!” I said. “You’ve got to be kidding! I left my time sheet at Raven Hill. The Director doesn’t want me there until six, but I’ll have to go early to get my time sheet, then run to the Rotary, then go back home to grab some food, and then get back to Raven Hill. UGH!”
“Whoa, dude,” said Shane. “Don’t sweat it! You’ve only put, like an hour in anyway.”
“Yeah,” said Ben. “You’ve got three hundred hours to go, knowing you!”
“That hour could be the hour that makes the difference at the end of the fall!” I said, almost screaming. “I need every hour I can get!”
So, at the end of the day, at the exact moment that the final bell rang, I bolted up the main road from school and took a left up to Raven Hill. I bounded up the old creaky stairs, which shook from my pounding feet, and knocked on the door as hard as I could.
Nobody answered.
I knocked again, even harder this time. My knuckles hurt.
I looked at my digital watch. Thirty seconds went by.
Sixty seconds.
Two minutes.
Where were the Nurses? Where was anybody?
I leaped down the stairs and started to explore around the side of the building, hoping to find a window that I could peek into and get someone’s attention.
There wasn’t much of a path to follow—everything was overgrown around the old house. I slowly made my way through the waist-high grass, avoiding thorny weeds and bushes. It was dark on the side of the building, but there was one spot in particular that was brighter—a window that was hidden behind a bush. And it sounded like something was going on in the room behind it. There was a buzz of conversation and grunting. I could hear chairs squeaking on the hardwood floor.
The closer I got, the louder the commotion got. I could see through the window, but just barely—the glass was dirty. The one thing I could tell was that almost everyone from the retirement home was in there. The Director and a few Nurses were up front, at some sort of table. They were facing the old folks, who were all sitting down, looking forward. It looked like some sort of meeting.
As I reached up to knock on the window, a dark shadow suddenly rose up and engulfed the whole side of the house. The sound of something massive swooping down toward me filled the air. In a flash, I dropped into the weeds, terrified. Something was after me.
I made my way under the bush, the wall of the Raven Hill Retirement Home behind me, with brush, scrub, and grass in front of me. Whatever it was out there was after me, no doubt about it. I could hear what sounded like claws dragging across the branches of the bush above my head. I suddenly remembered the large bugs in the grass the last time I was here, and I wondered if there was another lurking nearby. Then, as quickly as my attacker had appeared, everything went silent. I peeked my head out to see if it had gone.
Across the yard, I saw a giant black raven flapping away.
Of course, the ravens, I thought. But why would they be after me?
I crawled out from behind the bush and stood up. In the distance, the raven circled around and headed straight back toward me. Then a second one joined in.
“CAW! CAW!” they screeched as they headed toward me.
I stepped back against the wall of the house and waved my hands in the air. “Stop it! Shoo!” I yelled out. “Don’t you remember me?”
The lead raven looked me in the eye. We held each other’s glare for a moment, and then it turned away. His friend followed his lead.
Between the bugs and the ravens, I really needed to get out of this yard.
I turned back to the house and peered through the window. There was still a crowd. In front of them all, the Director held his hands high, trying to calm the old people, who were starting to froth at the mouth and shake. The two hairy old men actually seemed to be howling.
“People, people, PLEASE!” said the Director. “There’s nothing to be afraid of—everything is under control. And I’ll tell you WHY if you’d just do me the favor of SILENCING yourselves.”
The crowd calmed down. It again became hard to hear, as the Director was now speaking very quietly. I decided that I could wait one more minute to make myself known. This could get good.
“The lebensplasm of our new volunteer is especially strong. It will go a long way in keeping us powered up.”
A rumble of satisfaction rippled through the crowd. Through a smudge-free section of the window, I could see the old man with the sharp teeth lick his lips, as he had when he first saw me. A shiver ran down my spine.
My lebensplasm is going to keep them powered up?! I thought, panicked. What does that mean? What in the world is lebensplasm? Suddenly I could not care less about my time sheet.
I was looking at the Director through a particularly dirty piece of window. But through the window, I could see him hold up an old glass jar that was filled with some sort of gooey liquid.
He took a butter knife and dipped it into the jar. He pulled out the knife and spread the goo on a piece of bread.
Several old folks grunted with satisfaction. A few even leaned forward. An old woman in the front row appeared to drool a bit as she leaned in to get a closer look.
The director held the gooey bread up to his lips. All the old folks fell silent. The director took a bite. All of the old folks began to cheer, hoot, and holler. The hairy old men began howling again.
A sudden realization hit me. The goo in the jar was MY LEBENSPLASM!!! How did they get it? I didn’t feel any different. That didn’t matter though—the creepy old people were going to eat it to keep strong—but there were so many of them, and they all looked so HUNGRY.
What’s going to happen when they drain me of my lebensplasm?! Will I die? Will they eat ME?
I didn’t realize I was pulling the branch of the bush toward the window as I leaned in. I noticed one of the old folks eyeing the window, trying to figure out why a shaky branch was getting closer and closer to the w
indow. Soon other heads turned.
The Director noticed, and turned toward the window. I could see a strange look on his face as he chewed, even through the dirty window. But I knew he couldn’t see me. He turned back to the old folks.
I had to get out of there—FAST. If the old folks knew that I knew they were stealing my lebensplasm, I’d be done for. I slowly recoiled, returning the branch to its original location, making sure that it didn’t snap back hard. I worked my way toward the front of the retirement home, hoping that the ravens didn’t start cawing again. Once I knew nobody would be able to see me through that window, I ran as fast as I could down the road to the main street.
As I ran, I could feel my heart pounding in the veins of my neck. My volunteer time sheet—the thing that drew me to the retirement home early—was the furthest thing from my mind.
I shuddered to think of what would happen if they used up my lebensplasm. I was pretty sure that I would die. The director had said it would go “a long way in keeping us powered up.” Were they staying alive because of me? Was my lebensplasm some sort of Fountain of Youth for old people? Why was the Director eating it? He looked pretty young! How the heck did they get it out of me, anyway? I had only been there for an hour or two!
After thinking about it all night, I realized that there was only one way I could save my skin. I had to keep volunteering at Raven Hill and steal my lebensplasm back.
My mother dropped me off right after school. “Have fun, Chrissy,” she screeched through the half-open window as she peeled away. Why does she always call me that? I guess I could have told her that Jim Kowalski always called me “Sissy Chrissy” in P.E. class. Maybe then she’d stop doing it.
I stood there in complete silence…feeling like a Sissy Chrissy.
Instead of running away, which was my first reaction, I looked down at the little brown bag my mother had given me to cheer me up. She wanted to make sure that I ate a good dinner, and I had already told her that the food at Raven Hill was Grade F. What I didn’t tell her was that my lebensplasm was on the menu tonight. Don’t bother to pack a bag, Ma! I’m for dinner!