What Do Monsters Fear

by Matt Hayward

  “Yes,” Jerry agreed. “But it won’t stick. Nothing to worry about. Never seems to stick around these parts, especially when the sun is still out. Still, I better get Andrew to go to down to town and pick up some supplies before the roads get too icy.”

  “We need to get Walter his ingredients for that ice cream at the very least,” Henry said. He smiled at Walter. “Don’t we?”

  Walter walked in circles, flapping his arms against his thick sports coat and making a puffing sound. “Yes please, I’d like that,” he said, watching the flakes dance down with child-like fascination.

  Jerry cleared his throat. “Amongst other things. In the meantime, Peter, see our barn?” He pointed to the large outbuilding on the right, sitting atop a hill. Red-painted planks looked faded from time, the white double doors now a dirty cream.

  “A good bit of the timber got moldy from the weather. We need to replace them as soon as possible and I’ve got some new planks ready inside. If you spot any degraded planks, simply remove them and slot in a new one with the tools I’ve provided. We’ll need to stain them afterward, but we’ll take it one step at a time for now. Have you ever done anything like it before?”

  “Yes. My girl—” Peter paused before saying girlfriend. “My friend’s father used to have a barn next door to my grandmother’s place. Helped him do it up one summer after it got rot in the winter.”

  “Good, then you’ve done this very thing. Jamie, would you mind helping Peter?”

  The young man nodded.

  “Okay then, get to it. The rest of you follow me.”

  Peter left the group and made for the barn, Jamie trudging behind with his hands in his pockets. He wanted to make conversation with the kid, ask him what he thought of Fisher, but he found it hard to find the right words. He’d never met someone with an addiction to prescription drugs before, but once, on tour, the lead singer of a headlining act had taken Xanax nearly every night. Then again, that guy took just about anything he could get his hands on. Peter wouldn’t have called it the man’s vice.

  “Hopefully the work will warm us up a bit, huh?” He said.

  Jamie didn’t respond. Instead, he wiped his nose, which had grown red in the cold. Their boot heels crunched the frozen grass as they slogged uphill.

  “You ever do anything like this before?”

  Jamie stopped. “Look man, I don’t need this bullshit.”

  Peter’s stomach lurched. He turned and faced the kid. “I’m sorry?”

  “I don’t need to talk to you. I don’t need to talk to anyone, got it? I’m getting through this m’self.”

  “All right, kid,” Peter said with a chuckle. “Take it easy.”

  “Take it easy? You’re telling me to take it easy?” Jamie’s hands curled into tight fists. “You’re a fucking loser, man. You all are. I’m here to get through this m’self. Don’t need you telling me what to do.”

  “Hey, no need for that, all right?”

  “What’s going on here?” Henry’s voice came from downhill as the old man trudged towards them. Peter hoped he wouldn’t have a heart attack. “What’s the problem?”

  Peter shouted back. “No problem, Henry. We’re all good here.”

  And that’s when the punch hit.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE WORLD EXPLODED A SEA of black and red. Peter gasped and held his nose, losing grip on the frozen ground. He blinked, watching as stars danced across his vision. The pain in his nose swelled.

  “Hey, hey! Stop that!”

  Henry grappled Jamie’s arm, wrestling it down before shoving the youth in the chest. Jamie stumbled back, regaining his footing and looking like a bull ready to charge.

  Henry shook his head. “What the hell is wrong with you, kid? That’s no way to act here.”

  Jamie didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at them both, his nostrils flaring. He clenched his fists. “I got a girl at home, a football team that needs me back by the start of season, I’m not like you losers. I’ve got a life.”

  Peter dabbed at his nose, wincing at the zap of pain. “Shit. Nose is bleeding.”

  His glove came away glistening as he sniffled back a warm flow. The metallic taste of blood filled the back of his throat. “Shit.”

  “What’s going on here?”

  As Jerry Fisher made his way up the hill, his breath streamed away in clouds. He jogged to the three of them. “What’s happened, huh?”

  Peter motioned to Jamie. “Guy bopped me in the face.” His voice sounded funny from squeezing at the bridge of his nose. He felt embarrassed, but good, too, for not entertaining the idea of a fight. Especially not with someone so young. “He clipped me in the nose, now it’s bleeding. That’s what happened.”

  “Jamie, come with me,” Jerry said. “Peter, will you be all right?”

  “Dandy, Doc. Just dandy.”

  As Jerry lead Jamie down to the farmhouse, he mumbled to the youth and put an arm around his shoulders. When they’d gone, Peter looked to Henry. “Can you believe that shit?”

  “Kid just cracked you one?”

  “Yeah, I just asked if he’d ever done any work like this before. Was trying to make conversation, you know?”

  “It’s all right. Take it easy.” Henry led him to a nearby tree and lowered Peter’s hands from his face. He studied the blow, his head moving side to side. Peter smelled coffee on his breath. “Looks all right, doesn’t look broken to me, at least. Hurt?”

  “Yeah, hurts. Throbbing. More embarrassing than anything.”

  “No, embarrassing would be trying to explain to everybody why you beat up a teenager. Good thing you didn’t fight back, at least in this case.”

  “Suppose you’re right.”

  Peter sniffed back another gush of blood, feeling as if a tap had been turned on inside his head. Nausea swam in his stomach.

  “You know,” Henry said. “My folks used to tell me never to tilt my head back when I got a nosebleed. Said it would go inside my stomach and turn me sick. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do think we should get you down to the house and have you cleaned up. You good with that?”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

  Henry clapped Peter on the back. “Good. Come on.”

  As they made their way downhill, blood dripped from Peter’s right nostril. He dabbed it with his glove. Perfect, He thought. My new fucking gloves.

  He looked to Henry. “Cocky little brat, isn’t he?”

  Henry laughed, shaking his head. “Damn right about that. Who do you think paid for him to be here?”

  “Said he had a football team that needs him. From the sounds of it, I’d think a joint finance between the school and his parents. By the looks of him, by the fact Jerry said he hosted pharming parties, I’m guessing his parents are rich. One of ’em is probably a doctor. How else would he get all that medication?”

  “What are pharming parties?”

  “Ah, kids fish around inside their bathroom cupboards, find prescription medications and the like, go to somebody’s house and put ’em in a big bowl. Like playing Russian Roulette with candies. Except the outcome is much different.”

  Shaking his head, Henry asked, “Are they completely idiotic?”

  Peter laughed, breathing through his mouth. “I know, right? But like we’re the ones to speak.”

  Henry climbed the porch steps and held the door open. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  They made their way to the kitchen, Peter’s eyes trained on the wall to keep his head held in one position. He passed a framed, black and white photograph of a family and paused. In the picture, a couple smiled with a baby cradled between them.

  “Dawson’s family?”

  “Huh?”

  Peter nodded to the photograph. “There. His parents, I’d assume?”

  “Most likely. I saw the gun rack first, though, if I’m honest.”

  “Jesus.”

  At the head of the hall stood a mahogany cabinet, a fat lock lying ag
ainst its doors. “Good thing it’s sealed,” Peter said. “What with us crazies drying out and all.”

  “Very funny. Come on.”

  Henry led him into the dining-room and told him to wait while he went to the kitchen and Peter thanked him. He pushed his back against the wall and took a deep breath, the smell of fresh vegetables and coffee hitting his throbbing nose. Somewhere in the next room, a radio played what his grandmother liked to call elevator music. She’d always been a country music fan herself. Henry returned.

  “Here, move your hands.”

  Something cold and wet pressed against his face. Peter took the damp cloth in both of his hands and sniffled, snorting some water in the process. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You feeling all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Peter dabbed his nose. “You know, something Jerry said earlier that bothered me. You notice it?”

  “How he handled Jamie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.” Henry folded his arms. “Not saying anything this early, but if that kind of carry-on continues, I’m out of here. I didn’t like how he handled Walter, either.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, if he’s a trained psychologist and counselor, he should have taken Walter aside, one on one, you know? Not say it out loud in front of everyone. Didn’t come across as very professional to me, felt more like poking fun at the fat kid.”

  “You think he’s a hack? Jerry?”

  “I’m just saying what I’m thinking. I mean, for two grand, and it wasn’t easy for me to scrape that together let me tell you, you’d think there’d be . . . I don’t know, a little more to this? Did you research Jerry Fisher? Or Harris Dawson?”

  “Don’t scare me, dude. I didn’t think I’d need to, took his word for it. I spoke to him on the phone.”

  “Me, too. I’m just worried everyone else did the same thing and we’re all being scammed here.”

  “But if it’s a scam, what purpose would it serve? Because once we’re out and know they’re frauds, we could easily report it and bring them to court. Seems like a lot of work for a bad scam.”

  Henry’s face fell. “Maybe. But I just had a bad feeling ever since we arrived. Call it intuition.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I tell you what, see how he handles you on your one-to-one sessions. I’ll do the same. Could you do that?”

  “I will.”

  Henry grabbed Peter’s wrist. Not hard, but firm. “I know I’m probably just being paranoid here, and most likely you don’t believe my gut, but humor me with this one. Please.”

  The sincerity in the old man’s voice made Peter sad. Were they a couple of paranoid drunks who believed the world was out to get them? If so, it could lead to a mess break down in counselling for either one of them, but at least the plan was something to do. They’d need something more to work with besides Jerry’s jab at Jamie.

  “I’ll do it. When I have my session, I’ll pay very close attention. In the meantime, I have another idea.” Peter dabbed at his nose and looked to the cloth. The bleeding had slowed. “Follow me.”

  Peter crossed the room to the green swing door and shouldered it open, intensifying the smell of coffee and the noise of the radio. In the kitchen, Paul hummed to himself, flattening out a pastry base on the countertop. He threw them a smile before continuing with his work.

  “Howdy, fellas.”

  “Hey, Paul. Compliments to the chef for the breakfast.”

  Paul smiled a perfectly white and straight set of teeth. “Thank you. I do appreciate that. Lot of leftovers from you guys, lot of leftovers, but at least you enjoyed what you ate. It’s nice to cook with gas again, I can tell you that. Back home we got electric ovens but I always preferred the taste of something grilled on a gas cooker, know what I’m saying? That’s a real cook, right there.” He rapped his knuckles on two propane canisters beneath the table. “That’s the real deal.”

  “Sure.” Peter rinsed his cloth in a nearby sink and watched the water turn a light pink. He waited for it to run clear. “Hey, Paul, how long have you worked here? Couple of years now?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that.” Paul stopped rolling his pasty and folded his arms. “It’s Monday, right? So, just going on seven days, I believe.”

  “Ah. And Andrew? He’s been here a long time?”

  “Nope. Andrew and I signed on the same time. Seems staff rotation around here is commonplace, being there’s only two weeks’ work every few months, know what I’m saying?”

  “Sure, sure. And you’re a trained counselor, right?”

  “Me?” Paul laughed, his face turning to mock shock. “Me, a counselor, like Mr. Fisher? Lord, no. Been a chef since I finished college. Damn fine one at that, if I might add. A little scared of working night shift taking care of you folk but I’ll do all right, don’t you worry. Not like you’re insane or anything.” Paul’s smile disappeared. “I’m sorry, that was a little insensitive of me.”

  Peter laughed. “Not to worry, man. Sorry for the confusion. Anyway, we’ll leave you to it. Have a nice day.”

  “Yeah, you too, man.”

  The radio muted as the door swung shut again. In the dining room, Peter turned to Henry, the old man looking confused.

  “What was that all about? That guy Paul’s just a chef but he’s working as a nighttime caretaker to us, too? That illegal?”

  “I’d say at the very least it’s poor practice. Not something you’d expect from a grand-a-week deal.”

  “Why would Jerry do that?”

  “I don’t know, man. If it’s all a scam, then to cut back on costs, maybe? Cheaper to hire a chef and security guy than to hire two trained counselors who can cook and night watch.”

  “I’m sure. But Paul seemed genuinely shocked when you asked him if he was a counselor, and if he’d known about the scam, there’d been some giveaway on his face. I’m sure Paul and Andrew are just as out of the loop as the rest of us. We need to confront Jerry about this. I am not being made a fool of.”

  “Yeah,” Peter agreed, reaching out to stop Henry. “But let’s do our one-on-one sessions first, all right? We could just be jumping the gun here. Maybe we’re suspicious over nothing. A wrong phrase, a cutback on staff that overall, is understandable, if they’re not actually counseling us but cooking and night watching. Could just be something Jerry said to make the guests feel more comfortable, you know? Give it a little time.”

  “Okay.” Henry looked ashamed, his eyes glistening. “Am I just embarrassing myself, kid? Am I really that cynical of everybody?”

  “No, of course not. Hey man, I’m suspicious, too. I just don’t want to jump the gun with it, that’s all. Something will either confirm it for us, or deny it. Let’s wait for that.”

  “If you say so.” Henry looked him in the eye. “Strange phrase you use. Jump the gun. I’ve only ever heard jumped the shark, myself.”

  Peter smiled. “It’s my grandmother. She’s full of those. A rolling stone gathers no moss, that was another. Early to bed, early to rise. She’s like a one-liner jukebox.”

  “You miss her?”

  “Of course.” Peter’s chest lurched. “She’s my only family now, after my mom died. Dad was never in the picture to begin with. Lived on a small farm, just outside of the city. Such a strong lady. Raised me alone after my mom and grandfather both passed, but never let it get her down. I’m sure inside she was falling apart, but she was strong for both of us, and I had a happy childhood. I just want to make her proud now. Be strong for her this time, return the favor. Maybe do something good for her for once, when we get out. One of the main reasons I’m here. That, and something else. But I don’t want to talk about it.”

  Henry smiled, taking a decade off his face. “You’re a good kid, Peter. Come on, I’ll help you with the barn. I’m sure you’ll have your session with Fisher soon.”

  They walked to the barn in silence and began their work. Henry com
mented that the falling snow seemed to be sticking, contrary to what Jerry Fisher had said. Piles of white powder lay cluttered in the grass and weighed down the trees in the forest. Peter agreed it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. The temperature had dropped, too—not a whole lot, but noticeable.

  They removed a total of fifteen rotting planks from the left wall of the barn, extracting the rusted nails with the back of a hammer like decayed teeth. They stocked the dead planks in a pile and nailed in the healthy replacements. Peter found the smell of fresh wood soothing. He hadn’t smelled it in a long time, and it worked wonders on his mind, rinsing out the adrenaline of earlier events.

  Working with his hands felt good, too. The new planks were heavy, and it felt productive just to hold them. It felt important. The fresh cut of the wood left splinters tacked to his new gloves, but he didn’t mind; they were soaked in nose blood, anyway. The dull throbbing in his nose had even subsided.

  They worked that way for an hour before Peter paused and chuckled.

  “Something funny, kid?”

  “Yeah, actually . . .” Peter shook his head. “This is the first time I can remember not needing a cigarette. Sorry, wanting a cigarette, I should say.”

  “Here’s to the working men.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  Then Jerry Fisher knocked on the barn door.

  “Sorry to disturb you, fellas.”

  The counselor’s stubbled cheeks lifted in a smile. He wore a black scarf over his polo neck, and melting snowflakes stuck to his shoulders and hair. A waft of aftershave drifted from him, tainting the honest smell of raw wood. “Peter, I was hoping we might start our one-to-one session soon, does that sound all right?”

  Removing his gloves, Peter wiped the sweat on his forehead. “Sure, Jerry. Sounds good.”

  “Any troubles with the barn? Looks like you fellas know what you’re doing.”

  Henry leaned on the dead pile of planks and raised his palm. “All good, Jerry. No problems here.”

  “Excellent. Peter? Would you like to follow me?”

  “Sure thing.”