Evil Heights, Book I: The Midnight Flyer

by Michael Swanson

  Mrs. Ballard fiddled with her glasses, then looked over them altogether, peering down her nose. “I'm curious; what do you call your new mother over there, boy? After all, she's not just your stepmother; she's your auntie too, isn't she?"

  "Mostly I call her Mom,” Lee replied, quickly. “That's who she is.” He didn't like the way that woman said “Auntie.” It sounded like something nasty just like “Chummy."

  Patty, in her pretty little crinoline, sat, a frozen figure opposite Maggie on the couch. She clutched her doll and watched the exchange in total silence. She too, was old enough to have the sense to know it was definitely a good time for her to be seen and not heard.

  "How old are you now, boy?” Mrs. Ballard continued her interrogation. It was plain to see by how she fixed on him, that she was either impressed or possibly antagonized by Lee's lack of open fear of her.

  "I'm fourteen, ma'am,” Lee replied.

  "That's an age for getting into trouble, isn't it? For trespassing and breaking windows, and such?"

  "I don't think so, ma'am,” Lee stated firmly but politely. He knew first hand that the Ballard house was always a popular victim, especially during Halloween. Though, he was dead sure that he had never been seen.

  "I once had a son,” she said softly, “Nothing but trouble, that one.” She seemed to drift away, mumbling the last, “Boys are nothing but trouble."

  "Actually, Lee is quite different from other boys his age,” Maggie broke in on the old lady's reverie. “He's been moved up a year. He's going into high school a year early. He's going to be looking to do some odd jobs around town this summer. He wants to start earning some money."

  "Is that so?” Mrs. Ballard looked down at him. “The boy looks big enough to me to be ready to graduate from high school."

  "Yes, physically he's very mature,” Maggie said. Lee knew she wasn't being prideful about him, merely competitive with trying to find any angle to get something over on Mrs. Ballard and her smug attitude. “He's big for his age, takes after his father's side of the family."

  "Money, huh? Odd jobs?” Mrs. Ballard still seemed a bit distracted. She came back clearly, though. “I would imagine with Kathleen dying none of you would be hurting for money. Or doesn't that husband of yours work? I would hope he at least has some kind of a job. Or did he leave all of you and go back into the army, or navy, or whatever it was?"

  "No, ma'am, he didn't,” Maggie said, her voice dry and strained. “He served in Korea, and earned an honorable discharge from the army. Ted now works at Morrison Printing. He's the press room supervisor."

  Mrs. Ballard looked past Maggie, as though she hadn't heard a word. “That's right. Now I remember. He was a big deal in some kind of sports thing quite a few years ago, before he married your sister Darva. I'm sure you'll remember Walter and I actually attended the wedding? If I recall, we gave them a Waterford crystal candy dish, imported from England. She was such a lovely bride. No,” she suddenly stopped and thought for a moment. “I believe we gave them a sterling silver butter dish. You wouldn't happen to know what ever came of it, would you?"

  Lee knew just the item she was talking about. He'd seen it unpacked a couple of days ago, all tarnished, having never been used that he knew of.

  "Football,” offered Maggie, proudly ignoring Mrs. Ballard's question about the gift. “Ted was running back on the state champion Lenoir High teams of ‘45 and ‘46."

  Mrs. Ballard nodded as though she might have actually remembered. Then, out of the blue she fixed her attention on Patty. “Now, you couldn't be that love child, could you? You're a bit too young, aren't you? You must be another one, came along later."

  Maggie went stiff, absolutely rigid.

  "Love child?” Patty echoed, looking to her mother questioningly.

  "Oh that's right, I seem to remember Kathleen told me that baby died, didn't it?” Mrs. Ballard seemed to preen; such was her obvious enjoyment at the effect of dropping this little, social bomb. “God's mercy always has a way of getting rid of the unwanted,” she locked eyes with Maggie. “Wouldn't you say?"

  "We really don't talk around the children about such unhappy things,” Maggie replied caustically. Her mouth was drawn as tight and thin as Lee had ever seen her. “It's not,” Maggie didn't even try to hide her bitterness, either in her eyes or her tone, “a subject for polite conversation."

  Lee was aghast. He knew Patty didn't know, but he knew exactly what Mrs. Ballard was referring to, though it was never, ever spoken of. Maggie, only seventeen, had taken over caring for Lee after Darva Anne died. Only a few months after Ted had returned from Korea, Maggie turned up pregnant with Ted's baby. Grandma Bonham, in a righteous Irish fury, had thrown all three of them out of her house. Lee didn't know then what was going on, but he remembered that day. It had been quite a scene. Shortly after that, they had rented the house on Keystone, and his dad and Maggie had been married in a civil service at the court house. He didn't really remember Maggie being pregnant, and even now was a little gray on whether the loss of the baby had been a miscarriage or if the baby was stillborn; all he knew was the baby had died. It'd been cremated at the hospital and the ashes never even claimed. The truth was he really knew so little about it all; he didn't even know if it would have been a brother or a sister.

  For the longest time Petunia Ballard and Maggie matched glares. Lee could see Maggie's fingers were shaking.

  It was Mrs. Ballard who broke off the contest of wills and changed the subject. “So you want to do some odd jobs? What would you do with some money, boy?"

  Eager to do anything to break the atmosphere Lee came back, “I'd like to get a bike, ma'am."

  "And what would you do with a bicycle? You'd probably spend your day frittering around, racing up and down the public streets, blocking traffic, creating a hazard."

  "No, ma'am,” Lee replied straight out. She might glare at him with those acrid, old eyes, but he wasn't going to show her anything other than that he wasn't even the slightest bit afraid of her and her razor tongue. “If I had a bike I could maybe get a paper route."

  The old lady nodded. “Well, I've always believed in work.” Another drop of sweat, which had been lingering just at the hairline above her left eye rolled down and skirting her eyebrow, ran down her cheek. She didn't even seem to notice. “When Walter and I first got married, we didn't have a thing, not a blessed thing.” She raised her tiny palms up, as though to catch drops of rain from heaven, then spread her frail arms out bounteously. “And of course, by hard work we were able to accomplish all this."

  Petunia Ballard, like many older people, had a selective memory; as everyone knew, both she and her husband had come from old families, inheriting their wealth and position in the community, all of which had been amassed by the previous generations whom had once owned slaves.

  "Do you know anything about roses, boy?” Mrs. Ballard asked.

  "I don't think so, ma'am,” Lee offered, not knowing if it was a trick question.

  "I imagine you know how to work a shovel though."

  Lee nodded.

  "I'll pay you two dollars a day to dig out my rose beds in the garden out back by my sewing house, along the trellis, and in the garden. It seems like I can't get anything to grow but thorns anymore. I think it's the dirt. It's just all spent. Do you think you could do that?"

  "Yes ma'am,” Lee said hesitantly. “I guess I could.” He saw his whole summer disappearing before his eyes.

  As though that had been the whole point of the conversation, Mrs. Ballard rose up and floated over to the door.

  Lee hoped she'd just been talking. Surely she hadn't been serious?

  She fixed her eyes back on Lee. “You come back and see me when you're ready to work an honest day and earn some honest money, you hear me, boy?"

  Lee nodded.

  She stepped out into the entry and looked back up the hall and then focused back on the three in the parlor. Suddenly, the old lady seemed to be in a hurry. “I imagine you all can see yours
elves out?"

  "Yes ma'am,” Maggie looked startled and confused by the sudden dismissal. “It was nice to..."

  "Oh, and be sure to take that thing with you,” Mrs. Ballard interrupted, pointing at the lunch basket. Then she abruptly disappeared, only the sound of her quick steps tapping out, fading as she went down the hall.

  As they filed out Lee looked over his right shoulder and caught a glimpse of someone he thought was Mrs. Ballard standing down the hallway in a shadow, her silhouette watching them. He started and almost jumped, when he turned back to the doorway and caught sight of a huge man standing in the corner by the elephant foot umbrella stand. Almost immediately, Lee realized what it was that had startled him. It was a life-sized cigar store Indian. He was carved from a deep, red wood, marked all over with blackened nicks and gouges, appearing as though someone had once gone after him with a wood-burning set. Scowling down and glaring through brightly painted yellow eyes, the figure was emblazoned with stripes of red war paint across his cheeks and forehead. Two authentic looking eagle feathers drooped down over each shoulder, one hanging from behind each ear. The menacing fist, the tall figure held out before his chest, was meant to hold cigars, but the empty hand clutched nothing but air.

  Maggie was standing just outside the door with Patty. She had gotten out a Kool, and had it hanging from her lips as she rummaged about in her purse for her lighter. “What's the hell's the matter?” she asked with no trace of patience left at all.

  "There's an Indian here,” Lee replied.

  "Let me see,” Patty squealed tugging at Maggie's hand.

  "I don't care if it's Sitting Bull,” Maggie growled, jerking back at her daughter. “Come on, we're going home."

  Reluctantly, Lee left the Indian where he was and stepped out into the bright sunshine. He closed the door and waited until Maggie got her cigarette lit, and couldn't help hearing when the lock on the door clicked twice, then just silence.

  They did not take the road back. With Maggie dragging on her Kool, sucking on it like she'd really prefer to be chewing ten penny nails, she stalked angrily in the lead. Lee and Patty, only too happy to keep behind, hurried to keep up with her, as she headed straight home, crossing diagonally between the trees. Not a single word was spoken by anyone until they were all inside. Then, before they knew what had hit them, both Lee and Patty were treated to the venting of Maggie's hot, Irish temper.

  CHAPTER THREE: THE MIDNIGHT FLYER

  "Damn it! I got my leg caught,” Ronnie yelled, teetering atop the tall chain link fence.

  Lee was already on the ground, waiting.

  "Pull it through and jump,” he said, looking up. “It's not so high."

  Ronnie landed heavily, his knees giving way and his palms slapping the ground. He pulled himself up to one knee, and while he was down, he went ahead and retied his shoelace.

  Flapjack, who had been watching the boys climb the high fence which was choked with creepers of Kudzu, quacked furtively when he became aware he wasn't going to be included.

  "Do you think Maggie saw us going over?” Ronnie asked, hurrying to catch up with Lee who was already climbing up onto the transom of a dented tank car sitting on its frame with no wheels.

  "Naw. She's busy inside,” said Lee. “Don't worry. We're all right."

  The rambling PS&Y rail yard stretched out from behind Lee's back yard, all the way to the banks of the Yalahalla. It was a fascinating graveyard with row after row of rusting tracks, frozen switches, abandoned metal service buildings, and rail cars and engines of every style and state of degradation. The place had been abandoned for more than ten years, since the railroad had given up, given in, and gone bankrupt. At the main gate near the trestle over Spit Creek, a huge, red “No Trespassing” sign hung.

  The bank, which now held the deed, employed an off-duty sheriff's deputy to watch over the place. He was supposedly hired to prevent theft and vandalism, but as there was little interest in rusting, antique railroad equipment, all he really ever did was try to keep the kids out and make sure that no vagrants took up permanent residence. The deputy was a hulking man with a twisted nose and silly cauliflower ears stuck to the side of his ridiculously tiny head. All the kids simply called him Fat Larry.

  Usually, Fat Larry made his rounds at night, but he might show up at any time. But, even if his schedule was irregular he was very predictable. It was almost unheard of for him to get out of the patrol car, which sagged terribly on the driver's side under his weight. Instead, his preferred method of law enforcement was to flash his spotlight, honk his horn, while cussing a blue streak over the vehicle's P.A. To the kids who trespassed, he was part of the attraction of the rail yard, and getting chased by Fat Larry would usually be the highlight of any trip to the railroad graveyard.

  Lee swung down from the tanker and took off at a sprint, jumping a couple times to clear obstacles in his path. Slowing, he spread his arms and balanced for quite a distance while running along a section of rail, before finally teetering and jumping off. Ronnie didn't follow, but concentrated on busting out the few remaining windows of a heavily dented sleeper car.

  "Hey Ronnie! Let's get on the hand car,” Lee cried, heading for a clear section of straight track where an old-time, hand-operated maintenance car stood off by itself.

  Jumping up, Lee took his place at one handle and waited for Ronnie to leap aboard. Once in position to either side, they pumped the long arms up and down, slowly at first, but faster as the rusted arms began to free up, and the heavy platform gained some momentum.

  "Go! Go! Pump it! Pump it!” Lee yelled, between breaths.

  Getting the rhythm down, the boys began to move along at a pretty good clip, the wheels making rapid clicking sounds as they passed over each joining of the tracks.

  "Whoo! Whoo!” Ronnie hollered, caught up in the excitement.

  They were nearing the end of that particular piece of track, and as the hand car had no breaks, they leapt off, leaving the abandoned platform to go beating its way wildly, before crashing into the end-of-track barrier with a mighty, resonating clang.

  "Whoa. Let me catch my breath.” Ronnie leaned over clutching his side. “I don't think we ever got it going that fast before."

  "At least not with just the two of us,” Lee agreed, breathing heavily himself.

  They were down at the far end of the rail yard, one of Lee's favorite places. It was here where the dozen or so twisted and mangled cars from the great wreck of ‘32 were stored.

  Passing the caboose, they worked their way along car by car. Surprisingly, considering the twenty-eight years high school kids had used the place as a place to drink or bring girls to see the ghosts, the cars were relatively well preserved.

  Lee swung up using the rear transom's ironwork like a jungle gym. Ronnie had to jump up, using the steps, but was right behind.

  "You know Ronnie, I can almost see the people still sitting at the card tables, betting and carrying on,” Lee said, standing in the center of what had once been the posh, rolling casino.

  "You say that every time,” Ronnie reminded him.

  Lee jumped up, grabbed an overhead bar, and began to swing. “I know. But, it's strange. I feel it. It's like any second the place will come alive."

  "You know, they say, in this car alone, twenty people died when the train jumped the tracks,” reminded Ronnie, pulling at a piece of the remaining red velvet, which still clung to the wall. “My dad says it was going almost a hundred miles an hour when it rounded the Valley Pass curve. Do you think it's true the engineer wasn't minding the train and was in the back drunk with one of the girls?"

  Lee only shrugged. There wasn't a kid in Lenoir who didn't know all the real legends and fabricated truths about the infamous Saturday night wreck.

  "I wonder what they did with all the gambling tables and stuff,” Lee said, pretending to throw some dice on a table that didn't exist. “It's a shame they didn't leave any of it. You know, my dad told me my mom's grandpa and grandma took the Saturd
ay Night Ride once. Maggie says it's a lie, that they never did any such thing. But, dad says Grandpa told him all about it back when he was dating my real mom. It was for their tenth anniversary. Grandma Bonham didn't want to go since she didn't like drinking and stuff. But Grandpa won. Grandpa and Grandma both got all dressed up in their Sunday best and even hired a baby sitter to look after my mom and Maggie for the whole night."

  "I know. I know. Geez, you've told me before, like a million times,” Ronnie replied tiredly. They were working their way forward jumping into another car. “Let's see,” he said taking on a singsong style normally used for recitations in school. “It was a few months before the wreck. They came home Sunday morning late all hung over, even your Grandma, who didn't drink, and they didn't even go to church or nothin'."

  "I imagine it was a big deal for folks back then,” Lee came back, defensively. “Not just gamblin’ and girls, but drinkin’ was against the law in Parson's County back then. They say the moonshiners had a whole car full of whisky behind the saloon car. The whole thing blew up when the train wrecked, with all those people still trapped inside."

  Lee ran up and catching Ronnie unaware punched him on the arm, and then jumped away to the open door. “I always wonder what it must have been like in the car that had the girls. That's where I would have gone straight off."

  "Yeah,” Ronnie said, rubbing his shoulder, but acting like he was going to ignore the punch. “It's a shame they don't have anything like that anymore.” Ronnie swung back, but Lee was too quick, and had been expecting. Ronnie punched nothing but air.

  "Even if they did, they wouldn't let us go,” Lee said, easily evading another swing. “You'd have to be twenty-one."

  Ronnie gave up for the moment and leaned out a window, looking up, and back. When he put his head back in he said, “I don't know. I'd imagine if it was so illegal, they'd let anyone go, as long as they had the money."