Twice as Dark: Two Novels of Horror

by Glen Krisch

  "That was some throw," the big kid said. Up close, Kevin noticed the dark peach fuzz on his upper lip. Greasy hair crept out from under the rim of his little league cap.

  "Thanks. Need another player?"

  "Sure. You can be on my team. We're one short anyway."

  Kevin could see the other players waiting for the big kid to finish talking to him. The infielders were tossing a ball around.

  "Come on, Reid, gonna play or just sit over there like a cheerleader?" A short black kid called out from the pitcher's mound.

  "Hold on Lucy, don't get your panties in a bunch. I think we got another player. Now we got even teams," Reid said in a wavering, half-man voice. He turned back and asked his name.

  "Kevin Dvorak. I just moved in up the street."

  "I'm Reid. That bow-legged guy you threw to, he's up to bat now, that's Stephen Rose. He's an all right guy. The loud mouth on the mound, that's Lucius Harper. We call him Lucy because he catches about as good as a girl, but man, can he pitch. They're starting to look pissed. You'll meet the others as you go."

  Kevin followed Reid to the diamond. The tall kid trotted over to the vacant first base area. He kicked the surrounding dirt until he erased the tread marks from the previous inning.

  "Can you catch?" Reid asked while sizing up the other members of his team.

  "I like the infield the best," Kevin said.

  "You sure?" Reid said, doubtfully.

  "Yeah, my dad used to… I mean, he hits grounders to me all the time."

  "Tom, you go to the outfield, and play short center, Jimmy… shift over to left," Reid barked out orders, and his team moved without raising an eyebrow. "Leave right empty. No one hits 'em that way anyway." Reid shifted his attention to Kevin. "Go take shortstop. We'll see how you do."

  Kevin went to his position, scooped up a handful of dirt, and dumped it into his glove. He dropped it out slowly, the dust barely stirring as it tumbled back to the baseball diamond. Most of the kids looked to be Kevin's age, and most seemed bigger than him. A couple of kids were a few years older, like Reid. They wore faded baseball and skateboarding shirts, cargo shorts with heavy, weighed-down pockets. Scabs in various states of healing covered their knees and elbows like badges of honor.

  Bending at the knees, the other infielders leaned over slightly on the balls of their feet, waiting for Lucy to throw a pitch.

  Lucy was as short as Kevin, but his arms were remarkably long and thin. He hid the baseball in his glove as he looked in on the catcher for a sign. The kid behind the plate wiggled his fingers uncontrollably for a moment then lowered his index finger. Fastball all the way. It looked like the catcher took a deep breath as he awaited the pitch.

  Lucy lifted his left knee until it nearly touched his chin, his chin tilting skyward. He paused at the top of his delivery, and then his motion became a whirling mass of arms and legs as he stepped forward into his release. The hitter, some redheaded kid, had either an unusual grouping of dark brown freckles on his face or had missed his bath for the last three weeks. He stood at the plate, an oversized wooden bat twitching above his shoulder. Kevin heard the baseball exploding into the catcher's mitt before the redhead started his swing. He threw the bat around in an arc so hard he almost left his feet.

  Kevin looked over to Reid in astonishment. The older kid nodded and smiled knowingly.

  "Hey, Mikey, just wait until I'm warmed up. You'll be swinging so hard, you'll be cooling me off out here," Lucy said. He snatched the return throw with a downward thrust of his glove.

  Mikey was understandably quiet. He looked at the next pitch and the catcher called a strike. Mikey didn't argue. The third pitch he failed to nab with a bunt attempt. Mikey took a right-handed turn back to the dugout, his head hanging low.

  The inning went by quickly. Lucy mowed down the other team in a couple more minutes with most of that time dedicated to Lucy's taunting.

  Kevin sat on the bench next to Reid as they waited to bat. Reid seemed like the center of attention, but he didn't act like a big shot. They watched as Lucy stood at the plate, a baseball bat resting on his shoulder.

  "So, did your dad get transferred here?" Reid asked as he watched the pitcher wind up.

  Kevin, thrown off by the question, remained silent.

  "Oh, I get it. Divorce. I know what that's like. My dad's been divorced twice and my mom's remarried. The whole divorce thing's a bitch."

  "Yeah, no kidding," Kevin said quietly. He absently tested the laces of his glove, pulling one tighter. Lucy swung meekly at the first pitch.

  "They say it's all right because you get more Christmas presents, but that's all bullshit, too." Kevin noticed how naturally Reid swore, almost like he didn't care if any adults could hear him.

  Lucy swung at the second pitch, missed badly, and then slammed the bat into the ground.

  "Hey, Lucy, don't blame the bat, blame the game," Reid shouted out to the batter's box.

  Lucy looked over his shoulder and gave the whole dugout the finger.

  "My dead grandma can swing better than that guy, but he was the first guy I picked for my team."

  "I never seen a kid pitch like that," Kevin said, hoping the subject of the conversation had changed.

  "They also say divorce is cool because whenever you're around, they want you around, but believe me, when you come for a visit, you're just in the way."

  "That's not bullshit," Kevin said, feeling awkward at the words and their context.

  Besides good-natured taunting, the dugout was quiet for the rest of the inning. By the time Kevin went out to shortstop when they switched sides, he felt like he belonged. No one gave him weird looks, and better yet, no one understood what was going on inside his head. He wasn't going to let anyone find out, either.

  Lucy took the mound, threw a couple warm up tosses, and then stared into the dugout. "Just to let you guys know, I'm retiring the fastball for the rest of the day. From here on out, it's the curveball, the big bender, the knee-buckler."

  "Hey Screamer-Screamer-Screamer," the second baseman chirped at the batter.

  "Go home and fuck your mom," the boy called Screamer said before settling into his stance.

  "Hey Screamer-Screamer-Screamer…" the second baseman continued. The outfielders joined the chant.

  Lucy paused at the top of his wind up before unleashing his curveball with the same movement as his other pitches. The only thing that was different was the motion of the ball. It started out fast and letter high, and then by the time it reached Screamer, it dove until it nearly scraped the dirt. Screamer took a huge upper cut, fanning hard. The second pitch was an instant replay of the first. As he readied for the third pitch, Screamer dug in deep with his heel, putting most of his weight on his back foot, and waited.

  This time he made contact. The ball skipped on the rocky ground like a chip of granite on a crystal cool lake. It was shooting through the middle of the infield. Kevin took two strides and went airborne--his only way of reaching the ball before it hit the outfield grass. Kevin barely saw the ball leave the bat, but somehow he nabbed it before it could get through. He bounced up to his feet and threw hard to first base before he could get his feet planted. The throw was high, but Reid was tall. The throw beat Screamer to the bag by a step.

  "Holy shit! Better luck next time, Screamer!" Reid said, throwing the ball back to Lucy.

  Kevin slapped some of the dirt from his clothes, but not all of it. Leaving some of the dirt would let everyone remember that play every time they saw him. He acted as casually as he could.

  Screamer's face turned red, almost purple. He fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. His voice was shrill and ear shattering. "No! No! God damn it. That was a hit. That should've been in the outfield. And I was SAFE! God damn it! I was SAFE!" Screamer carried on, and as he purged the anger from his system, the infielders tossed the ball around in a zigzag pattern. Everyone was all smiles, and they threw the ball hard, the ball smacking the leather until Kevin's hand hurt
.

  Everyone ignored Screamer until he was done with his tantrum. He sulked back to the dugout and the game resumed as if he hadn't said a word.

  With the sun still warm but falling toward the distant trees, Kevin's winning team came out of the ice cream shop. He felt bad about going home on a full stomach, but he felt incredibly happy as he parted ways with the others. He was going to go back out tomorrow. They were going to pick new teams and start fresh. It sounded like fun.

  He was kicking rocks off the sidewalk when he realized how late it was and how soon he would have to go to sleep. Mr. Freakshow would undoubtedly visit his dreams. Every time he woke, the nightmare faded but left him with fear gripping his heart. He thought the nightmares couldn't get any worse, but they always did. And there was nothing he could do about it.

  His good mood slipped away completely as he reached the front porch. Inviting light poured through the screen door. Even with a full stomach, his mouth watered when he smelled the roast beef and mashed potatoes wafting from the house. Kevin's stomach grumbled and turned sour. He wanted to go back to the baseball diamond. He wanted to be there with Reid and Stephen and Lucy, and even Screamer, tossing a baseball around. He wanted to play baseball and have the sun high and overhead, and didn't want it to end. But it was getting dark and he was afraid to close his eyes, and even more afraid of what he might find there.

  Chapter 6

  As night descended, the activity buzzing through the museum died to an afterthought. The carpenters had left for the day. Nearly finished with their work in the old Carnegie Library, they were happy to be home with their families for the weekend. They had finished erecting the display enclosures, and by now, little of the building resembled its former purpose. Someone had removed the packaging material from the new ornate chandeliers, and their warm light cast spidery shadows across the gray marble walls.

  With the museum set to open the following Friday, Maury Bennett now spent most of his time here. More befitting the excitement surrounding the opening of an amusement park, Lucidity would open on the Friday night before Labor Day. There would be a write up in the Chicago Tribune's Weekend section, and Nolan Gage had mentioned renting giant lights to pan the sky like at an old-time movie premier.

  As Maury headed for the elevator at the far side of the foyer, he caught a glimpse of a red light splashed across the floor leading into the Serenity Wing. He was about to investigate when the memory popped into his head. Rocky. He always imagined the dream cat would come for him. Not long after his brother's burial, Maury had heard the first murmurings. Rumors. Gossip. On the news or in three column inch stories hidden at the center of the newspaper. People would see a burning cat near their home. A little girl would come across a cat covered in flames stalking a field mouse.

  Feeling foolish, Maury ducked into the Serenity Wing, and felt even more foolish for the cause. He had been scared by an illuminated exit sign.

  He chuckled to himself as he walked back to the elevator. As he pressed the down button, the memory of his brother became his focal point. Dale, his constant shadow growing up. The little pest could get on his nerves in a split second or bring out Maury's sensitive side with his unrelenting devotion. He missed his brother.

  Dale pulled the tent flap closed, carrying yet another blanket from their mother just in case a blizzard might chase away the Indian Summer warmth of late September. It was closer to winter than the boys wanted to admit. It was the dying days for everything: the sun's warmth, the trees holding onto the last of their withered leaves, the last peaceful days for their family.

  "They're drinking wine," Dale said. He had brought enough equipment for a week of camping down by the river, instead of a night in their backyard. There wasn't a single square inch free in the three-person tent.

  "So, what's wrong with that?"

  "They never drink wine. It's like they don't want us in the house. They're celebrating."

  "You're crazy. Gimme your canteen."

  "Told you you'd be thirsty," Dale said with his bunched up I told you so face. He tossed him the canteen anyway.

  "Aw, I'm not thirsty. I just need to take a wiz." Maury put the canteen between his legs and pretended to unzip his fly.

  Dale lunged for his canteen, but Maury held it at arm's length.

  "Gimme it back."

  "It's mine now." Maury let the canteen fall within easy reach of Dale's hand and then yanked it away. He sat on the canteen, grabbed Dale by the arm and peppered his shoulder with punches.

  Dale squealed in pain, but after years of roughhousing, Maury knew his brother's pain threshold.

  "Say uncle, little boy. Say it." Maury increased the force of his punches, focusing his knuckles at just the right pressure point.

  Dale weaseled from Maury's grip and jumped onto Maury's left side. His little brother had never turned the tables on him, and thus had no idea of the rules for administering a beating.

  "Ah ha! You say uncle, you little prick." Dale began pounding Maury's left arm without holding back anything.

  Maury screamed himself hoarse as he felt pain tear through his permanently damaged left arm. Dormant scar tissue sprung to life. Frayed nerve endings showered his arm and torso with jarring impulses of electrical current. Dale didn't know that he had stepped beyond their game. He was finally pounding on his brother and didn't seem to want to stop.

  "Uncle, damn it, uncle! Lay off," Maury whined through gritting teeth.

  Dale let loose with one more roundhouse into the bony area near Maury's shoulder blade. He was panting and wearing a goofy grin as he leaned back against a mountain of blankets.

  Maury slumped over and cradled his arm. He closed his eyes and it was all he could do to try to make the flashing pain in his arm disappear.

  "I didn't hit you that hard," Dale said defensively after Maury hadn't moved or said anything for over a minute. Dale's breathing slowed, but sweat dripped from his face and his cheeks were flushed. He pulled the canteen from under Maury by its strap and took a long, victorious drink.

  Through his blanket of pain, Maury heard the sliding door at the back of their house creep open. "Hey, keep it down out there, or the neighbors are going to think someone's getting murdered," their mother said. She shut the door before they could answer.

  "I never knew you were such a wimp."

  "That's my bad arm, asshole." Maury sat up, cradling his arm, but the pain had begun to subside.

  "Oh, poor Maury," Dale said mockingly, but his face revealed that he truly was sorry. Maury guessed it was the closest thing he was going to get to an apology.

  Maury dug through the blankets and duffle bags next to him until he uncovered a wrinkled brown paper lunch bag. He pulled out a package of pop rocks and tossed it to his brother. "Take this. I was going to keep them as a surprise, but you always seem to ruin all the fun anyway. Eat'em up, but don't talk to me," Maury said.

  Dale tore off the top of the black packet and tossed a few of the tiny pebbles into his mouth. They snapped and bit into his tongue, but Dale looked about as sad as a kid could look.

  "I'm sorry, Maury. I forgot about your arm. You've been better for so long, I don't even, you know, see the scars no more. It's like there weren't no fire."

  Maury held a packet of pop rocks in his hand, but hadn't opened it. In his mind he replayed what his brother had just said, and was instantly sorry for getting so pissed off. It was the first time since the fire that he could remember someone treating him like a normal person. At school he felt like an alien fallen to earth. At the playground, kids would walk the other way when he approached. In the grocery store, parents would embarrassingly whisper to their kids to stop pointing at him.

  Instead of embracing his brother like he wanted to, Maury tore the top off his pop rocks and dumped the whole packet into his mouth. He let the candy foam from his lips and he bugged out his eyes like he was about to die. Dale let out a snort that turned into a giggle. He followed Maury's lead and emptied the rest of his candy into h
is mouth. Maury could barely contain his laughter, and for the briefest of moments, he was completely happy and had forgotten why he was so mad in the first place.

  The tent was filled with the sound of popping rock candy and the last ragged jags of their laughter. Maury suddenly stopped laughing when he noticed a globe of blue light illuminating the tent wall by the zippered exit. He slapped Dale's arm, and his laughter died in his throat.

  "Mom and Dad are trying to scare us for making so much noise," Maury whispered, inching closer to the door.

  "Don't open it."

  The light grew and brightened until the light shining through the thin material of the tent was nearly blinding.

  Maury's mind raced, but he opened the zipper anyway. Blue light flooded the tent, throwing spastic shadows over every surface. Heat gushed through the opening like a breath from hell. As Rocky jumped through the slit opening, Maury fell to his back to avoid the cat. Dale began to scream again, and Maury was soon lending his voice to his cries for help.

  Their parents were inside polishing off a second bottle of wine and didn't respond to their screams. Their neighbors, however, did end up calling the police. As it turned out, someone was being murdered.

  The elevator slowed to a stop as it reached the basement. Maury stepped out and turned on the hall lights as he walked from one snaking hallway to the next. He took a cursory look around to make sure he was alone before entering one of the many doors leading to the rooms storing the dreams.

  He had waited until the last of the workers had left and he was sure that he had the museum to himself. Last night he couldn't sleep after thinking up his little experiment, and then he had to wait through an entire day to begin. He felt like a kid waiting for Christmas morning.

  When he entered the room, Juliet didn't seem surprised to see him. Rain pattered across her pale skin, plastering her auburn hair against her cheeks, nearly hiding her blue eyes. She gently placed the loaded dream-revolver on the park bench and walked barefoot through ankle deep rain puddles to the front of her confinement. Her sheer dress clung to her skin and a thin strap had fallen from her shoulder. He could see her breath condense in the chill air. Gooseflesh covered her arms.