Bad Things

by Tamara Thorne

  . . . because the night was alive with burnt pumpkin and rainwater and wind.

  Ricky . . . Sicky . . . Ricky . . .

  “Ricky!”

  He jumped as his brother’s strident voice yanked him from the spell cast by the greenjacks’ voices.

  “Robin!” He forced himself to straighten up and make a fist. “I oughta smack you!” His brother was a ghost, his short body hidden beneath a floor-length sheet that had eye holes and a mouth hole that their mom had outlined with red paint. She’d brushed phosphorescent paint on his costume too.

  Robin peered up at him and giggled. “Scared you!”

  “Did not!”

  “Did so. Scaredy-cat!” His gaze fell on the candy corn. “And you’re stealing the trickertreats!” he whispered. “I want some too!”

  Ricky tossed the packet to Robin, and he tore the cellophane and made a show of holding it to the costume’s circular mouth hole and pouring it in.

  “Robin Piper!” Their mother’s Deep Voice, the one that meant you were in trouble, stopped him cold. “What did I tell you about taking candy?” She approached Robin and lifted the sheet from his head.

  Ricky couldn’t help giggling. Robin’s mouth was so full that he couldn’t quite close it, and you could see the orange and yellow candy corn tips poking from between his lips. His chipmunk cheeks poked out like Louie Armstrong on TV playing his trumpet. Ricky giggled harder, even though Mom threw him an angry look too.

  She crossed her arms and stood glaring down at them as Robin tried in vain to start chewing. “Go in the bathroom and spit those in the trash, then brush your teeth.”

  Still trying to chew, Robin pivoted on his hands and went through the wood-paneled family room behind the living room, heading for the downstairs bath. A moment later, Ricky heard the toilet flush, then the water being turned on.

  “Ricky?”

  “What, Mom?”

  “Did you give him that candy?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Did you?”

  “He trickertreated me. I had to.”

  She tried to look stern, then gave up, leaning over to run her hands through his hair and kiss the top of his head. She was pretty and she had the same color hair as he and Robin. His dad called it yummy chestnut. He was always saying silly things and touching Mom’s hair or kissing her neck, and she seemed to like it a lot. She had green eyes—Dad called them cat’s eyes. She called Dad’s eyes “mystery man blue.” His parents acted weird sometimes, and even though he and Robin would roll their eyes and make disgusted noises, Ricky secretly liked it.

  “Boo!” Something grabbed Ricky’s ankle, and he yelped, flying out of his chair. “Robin!”

  His brother laughed. “Gotcha!”

  “That wasn’t nice, Robin,” Mom admonished.

  “Sorry.” He smiled sunnily at Ricky, then at Mom.

  “ ’Sokay,” Ricky said, his heart still pounding. Robin could pad around like a cat—you never heard him come in a room unless he wanted you to. Sometimes Dad jokingly threatened to buy him tap shoes for his hands.

  Mom looked from boy to boy. “What am I going to do with you two?” She bent down and slipped Robin’s ghost costume back over him, then plucked a stray thread from Ricky’s costume. “That’s better. Where’s your mask?”

  “Over there.” Unenthusiastically, he pointed at the plastic skeleton face he’d left on the couch.

  “So are you two ready to go trick-or-treating?” she asked.

  “Yeah!” Robin cried.

  “Dad’s not home yet,” Ricky said.

  “I know, sweetie. Daddy’s going to be a while because he has to finish some reports for work.”

  The doorbell rang, the young voices behind it giggling and screeching for treats. Before Mom could answer it, Carmen bustled into the room, took care of them, and returned to the kitchen.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Dad?” Ricky persisted.

  She laughed. “No. Carmen will hand out the treats, and the three of us will go by ourselves.”

  Usually Dad handed out treats—he loved jumping out from behind the door and yelling “boo!” at the kids—and normally Mom and Carmen both went out with the twins, Mom pulling the red Radio Flyer wagon Robin rode in, and Carmen holding Ricky’s hand. This sudden change of plans was too much for Ricky, and he decided it was high time to get out of trickertreating.

  “I think it’s gonna rain some more.”

  “I don’t think so, Rick.” She stared hard at him. “Are you still afraid, sweetie?”

  Oh, yes, he was afraid. “No,” he said stoutly. “I gotta go to the bathroom!”

  He shot out of the chair and ran through the family room, past the bathroom, laundry room, and into the kitchen, where Carmen was drying her hands on a dish towel that had dancing spoons embroidered all over it.

  “Carmen!” he whispered.

  She turned, a solidly built yet beautiful woman of twenty-five, who kept her thick black hair pulled into a bun at the back of her head. “What?” she whispered back.

  “You gotta go trickertreating with me!” he said desperately. “Please! Or tell Mom I’m sick! Tell her I have a bellyache! You gotta do something!”

  “Ricky, come here.” She sat down on a kitchen chair, and as he moved into her outstretched arms, she watched him with her chocolate brown eyes. “I’m not gonna tell your mama that you’re sick this year. We already talked about that, remember?”

  He nodded impatiently. “Please, you have to go with me. You have to!”

  She took his shoulders and pulled him close and spoke softly into his ear. “I tried to talk your mama into staying to hand out the candy so I could go with you, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “You gotta make her!”

  “Listen, Ricky. She wants to go because she loves you so much. And she loves Halloween—why do you think she goes to so much trouble to make those costumes for you and Robin? She can’t wait to take her boys out. She told me so.”

  He stepped back slightly, trying to look really, really pitiful. “Please?”

  Carmen took his hands. “Remember your favorite story, Ricky? About Thomas Piper?”

  He nodded. “Thomas McEnery Piper. He was my great-great-great-grandfather.”

  “You told me Thomas was a really brave boy and that you wished you could be like him, didn’t you?”

  He looked down, on the verge of tears. “I guess so.”

  “Well, I know you’re just as brave as Thomas. You just don’t know it yet, so you need to prove it to yourself. Going out tonight will help you do that.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Yes, Ricky. Have I ever lied to you?”

  He shrugged. “Guess not.”

  “I know you sat in your papa’s chair by the front door for a long time tonight. I’m proud of you. It took a lot of courage for you to do it.”

  “I stayed twenty minutes,” he said finally. “I didn’t think I could do it.”

  “You’re a brave boy, Ricky, just like Thomas Piper. You just don’t give yourself enough credit. But after tonight, you will. Just stick close to your mama and your brother, and the whole time, make believe that you’re Thomas Piper.”

  Icky Ricky; come and play, Picky Ricky, hey.

  “But they’re out there.” He could hear them even as he spoke.

  “They can’t hurt you. And they can only scare you if you let them. Ricky, you can decide not to be scared, just like Thomas.” She smiled conspiratorially. “You know what’ll help?”

  “What?” he asked, nearly convinced.

  “Be nasty. When no one’s looking, stick out your tongue at them!”

  He almost smiled.

  “They have no right to scare you, so just tell them, real quietly, to go stick their heads in dog doodie.”

  He giggled. “They’d probably like to do that.”

  She ruffled his hair. “You.”

  “Carmen?”

  “What?”

  “What
about Big Jack? He can hurt me.”

  She studied him a long moment. “Well, what do you do in the daytime if you see a strange man coming toward you?”

  “Stay with friends or cross the street.”

  “Okay. Remember, you said that anyone can see him, so that means he’s not gonna come after you when people are around. Just treat him like any other stranger.”

  “Are you sure you can’t go with us?”

  “Yes. And I’m also sure you’ll be fine. While you’re gone, I’ll make sure your window’s shut tight and I’ll double-check the lock on the cellar door, just so you feel extra safe when you get back.”

  He tried not to tremble. If Carmen really believed he was as brave as Thomas Piper, then he didn’t want to disappoint her. “Okay.”

  She gave him one more big, cushiony hug. “You’re a brave young man, and I know you’ll be fine. You have to tell me all about how you whispered bad names at the jacks when you saw them.”

  “Pottyface?” he suggested coyly.

  She laughed heartily. “That’s a good one. Try it, but make sure your mama doesn’t hear. And Ricky?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “If you get a Snickers bar, will you give me a bite?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now, go. Your mama and brother are waiting for you.”

  He hesitated, trying to summon up a brave smile. At first he couldn’t do it, then Carmen mouthed “pottyface” at him, and he cracked up.

  “Little boys,” Carmen said, smiling. “You all like the same disgusting things.”

  Still giggling, he returned to the living room. “Didja fall in?” Robin asked. Mom was closing the front door after handing out more candy.

  “Bite me,” he told his brother, as he glanced fondly at Grandfather’s portrait.

  “Richard, what did you say?” his mother asked sharply.

  “I said I’m ready,” he said quickly, and pulled on his mask.

  She stared, not quite fooled.

  “He said—” began Robin.

  Oh no, he thought.

  “—I’m ready,” his brother finished.

  “Oh,” said Mom.

  He looked at Robin, surprised that he’d covered for him. A second later, Robin pulled on his hand, and he squatted down.

  “You owe me all your Tootsie Rolls for that!”

  “One.”

  “Three.”

  “Two.”

  “Boys?” their mother said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Two and a half,” Ricky hissed.

  “Deal,” Robin said. “Okay, Mom, we’re ready.”

  3

  “Thank you, Ricky,” Carmen said, biting into the Snickers bar he’d fished out of his bag. He’d insisted on giving her the whole thing even though it was the only one he had. “You’re the nicest boy in the world.”

  “You’re welcome,” he mumbled around a sticky Yabba Dabba.

  Everyone else had gone to bed, and as they sat at the kitchen table, just the two of them, Carmen watched the little boy carefully. He was so small and so afraid, and she’d felt terrible when she’d had to stay at the house instead of going with him tonight, even though she knew his mama wouldn’t let him out of her sight.

  “Is it good?” he asked.

  “Mmmm. Very good.” She resisted the urge to grab him and hug him.

  Truthfully, she knew he had to go out and face his fears, to learn to be less dependent on her, but it hurt her to let him go, because he was so small and she was so afraid for him.

  Ricky had been her favorite ever since she’d come to work here the week after the boys were born. Of the two, Ricky was the most fragile. He was so serious and so easily frightened that he reminded her of a wounded deer. Robin, despite his handicap, was all sunshine and smiles, and very capable of taking care of himself. The brothers were an odd pair.

  She felt bad for Ricky because no one believed him when he said he saw the greenjacks, and now that he wasn’t a baby anymore, she was afraid that his parents would think there was something wrong with him. His mama had been asking her recently if he’d said anything about the greenjacks, and reluctantly Carmen had lied. When she decided to talk to Ricky about it, she was surprised to find out that he already knew his parents were worried. So, even though she wasn’t entirely sure it was the right thing to do, she helped him, coaching him, reminding him, trying to build his confidence.

  He didn’t need to be afraid of the dark, for instance—not in the house—but he was so sensitive. She thought that perhaps he really did see greenjacks since her uncle’s talk of elementales sounded very similar. But whether he could or he couldn’t wasn’t the problem. His fear was, so she told him over and over that nothing could hurt him if he wasn’t afraid, and tried to play on his love of the stories about Thomas Piper. She watched him now: so serious, so sad. He tried so hard. The fact that he had gone out tonight could only be a hopeful sign.

  She finished the candy bar. “Thank you, Ricky. Now, tell me, how was it tonight?”

  He smiled, his lip trembling almost imperceptibly. “It was okay.

  “What did you see? Anything?”

  He hesitated. “Greenjacks. Mostly they were all over our yard, but there were some hanging around other people’s yards, too, especially on our street.” He smiled, more bravely. “I did what you said. I pretended I was Thomas.” The smile suddenly broadened. “Know what I did?”

  “What?”

  “I flipped the bird at one.” He giggled.

  “I told you to stick out your tongue, Ricky,” she said reprovingly. Carmen missed crotchety old Grandfather Piper, but he’d sure taught those boys some bad things.

  “I did that, too, but the bird was more fun. You do it like this.” He made a fist and extended his third finger proudly.

  She cupped the offending hand in hers. “I guess your mama didn’t see you do that?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Your grandfather shouldn’t have taught you that.”

  “Is it as bad as ‘bite me’?”

  “Worse. It’s real, real dirty. Don’t do it again, okay?”

  “Okay.” He dug a packet of Sweetarts from his bag and ripped them open. “Want some, Carmen?”

  “No thanks, Ricky.”

  “I miss Grandfather,” he said around a mouthful of candy. “He told me about the greenjacks.”

  “I know.” His brown hair was still pasted damply against his forehead from wearing the skeleton mask all evening, and she reached out and pushed it from his face. She wondered if Ricky would have all his problems if his grandfather had kept his creepy old stories to himself. Who could know? And whether he saw greenjacks or only thought he did, it didn’t matter, because she loved him blindly and she’d do anything for him. For good or bad, nothing could ever change that. It made her heart ache just to look at him.

  “Ricky?”

  “Huh?” He had a Mallomar half-crammed in his mouth.

  “Did you see him? Big Jack?”

  “No,” he said, swallowing. “I guess not.”

  “You guess?”

  “I thought I did for a second, in a tree on Penerosa Street.” He picked up a box of Good & Plenty. “But it was windy out there, so I was probably wrong.”

  “You’re gonna be sick if you eat any more candy tonight. Have those tomorrow, okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Ricky?”

  “Huh?”

  She hesitated, then decided to say what she had to say. “Ricky, you know you don’t ever have to pretend to me. If you see something, you tell me. No one else will know.”

  “Okay.” He pushed candy off the table into his bag and stood. “Are you gonna go to bed now?”

  That was his way of making sure he didn’t have to go up the dark stairway by himself. “Sure,” she told him, glancing at the clock. “You know what? It’s past eleven. I guess Big Jack has less than an hour left to play his tricks, huh?”

  He gave her a genuine smile in return. “Yeah.” He
fell into her arms for a hug.

  They walked up the stairs together, taking care to be very quiet. She told him to make sure and brush his teeth for a whole minute, kissed him good night, then made a show of switching on the night-light in the hall between the bathroom and the twins’ bedroom. She walked to her room, around the corner from the others, but stood waiting by the open door until she heard Ricky safely enter his bedroom.

  4

  “Robin?” Ricky whispered as he pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. The night-light was out again, and swallowing his fear, he made himself bend down and feel for the wall socket next to the door where it was plugged in. Nothing to be afraid of in here.

  His fingers found the socket but no night-light. “Robin!” he hissed.

  No reply.

  Robin, who loved to tease him by taking the little light and hiding it, seemed to be fast asleep. Ricky could see him buried under the blankets on the twin bed catercornered from his, and he was too angry at his brother to be afraid. “I’m turning on the big light, you turkey fart.”

  He waited a second, heard no giggling from the bed across the room. If Robin were awake, he would have cracked up. Grandfather had talked about turkey farts last year at Easter after dinner and several beers with Daddy. The brothers had practically wet their pants with hysterical glee before Mom came in and let Grandfather have it for saying “fart” and Dad for letting him. Mom was really ticked.

  “Turkey fart,” he said again, hopefully.

  Nothing.

  He flipped on the light switch, but Robin didn’t stir because he was completely hidden in his blankets. At least his rotten brother hadn’t figured out how to get up high enough to unscrew the overhead bulb, Ricky thought as he took off his costume and pulled on his pajamas. At least he hadn’t yet.

  Holding his breath, Ricky tiptoed across the room to the window that overlooked the three-acre front yard and the oak tree. Carmen had promised to lock it, but he had to check, had to put his hand under the curtain and feel the latch, make sure it was turned. He didn’t even consider looking. Last year when he looked, he’d seen Big Jack looking back at him, scratching at the glass, tap tap tapping. Ricky come out and play . . . He shivered as he reached behind the curtain.