Bad Things

by Tamara Thorne

  Rick shook his head. “What?”

  “Every Sunday, before Uncle Craig came over, I’d go out in the backyard and frantically scrape my nails in the dirt until they were caked! I was scared to death of the man, scared to death. And he never even knew it.”

  “How old were you when you lost your fear?”

  “I didn’t. Uncle Craig got killed when I was seven.” She smiled thinly. “It was tragic, really. He worked for CalTrans. They were paving part of I-10, and he had a freak accident with a steam roller.”

  Rick decided not to smile.

  “The last time I dug in the yard was right before we went to the funeral.” She stifled a giggle. “You know, just in case. At the service, I was sitting next to my mother, and I remember hearing her make this little ‘tsk tsk’ sound, you know? I tried to keep my hands hidden for the rest of the day.” She sipped her coffee. “About a month later I overheard her telling my dad how much my hygiene had improved lately.”

  “Thank you,” Rick said.

  “For what?”

  “That story.”

  “Oh?” She raised her eyebrows quizzically.

  “I’ve never thought about other people’s reactions to fairy tales before.” He shook his head, amazed. “Never. I can’t believe how shortsighted I’ve been. I mean, I knew I overreacted because I judged my reaction against my brother’s opposite one. It’s never occurred to me that anyone else would take a story as seriously as I did.”

  “Well, I sure did. Lots of people do. That’s a pretty insulated view you had there, Piper.”

  “I never talked to anybody about it. Robin constantly told me I was crazy and if I told about any of it—fear of the greenjacks, fear of my brother—the grown-ups would find out I was nuts and send me to an asylum.”

  “What a cruel little monster he was! You must have hated him.”

  “When Dakota said that, I denied it. Now I know it’s true.” He shook his head. “It just never occurred to me that anyone else might be frightened.”

  “Well, plenty are. We all talked about it when we were kids.” She paused. “By ‘we,’ I mean girls. I think there’s a difference between the sexes. It was okay for us to be afraid and to talk about it, even to enjoy it.” She smiled. “Every time we had a sleep-over, we had a seance and ended up screaming ourselves silly. But little boys have to pretend to be brave. And males don’t seem to talk to each other about serious stuff. It’s ‘Hey, Bud, pass me a cold one,’ or ‘Yo, Jo, lookit da tail on that chick.’ ”

  Rick laughed. “There’s a lot of that. But look at Cody. He’s not into impressing anyone with his testosterone yet, but he seems to have no fear of the dark, or anything else in particular. Driving here from Vegas, he wanted to stop up at Madland, you know that old West movie place up on I-15 by Madelyn?”

  “Out of Barstow?”

  “Yeah.” He paused. “There were ads along the road for the Haunted Mine Ride for a hundred miles before we passed the place, and I was starting to wish I could chloroform the kid.” He pitched his voice up an octave. “ ‘Daddy, I wanna go in the haunted mine! I wanna see ghosts! Are there zombie miners there?’ ” He laughed.

  “Are you still afraid of things like that?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.” He’d never admitted it before, but it seemed fine to tell. “I did not want to go in there. Fortunately, we were on a schedule. But it made me feel funny knowing that if there had been time, I would have found a way out of it.”

  “Do things that jump out at you really bother you, like the ghouls in the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland?”

  “God, I’ve never been in there. I’m afraid of making an ass out of myself, squealing or something. I’m a roller coaster man myself,” he added in the deep, stupid voice he equated with rednecks.

  She smiled briefly. “You didn’t answer my question. Is it the dark or things jumping out at you that you can’t handle?”

  “Let’s put it this way: My brother thought the height of amusement was jumping out of dark corners and yelling boo. He didn’t do it too often,” he added, studying his hands. “He always waited until some time had passed and my guard went down, then ‘boo!’ and he’d laugh and laugh. It made me jumpy. I ended up with nerves of cellophane.”

  “You learned to always be on your guard. It must have done wonders for your self-confidence, too,” she added dryly.

  “Oh yes, wonders.” He drained his cup. “More?”

  “Sure.”

  He took their cups to the counter and poured more from the Mr. Coffee. “The last thing I meant to do is whine about my past,” he said, sitting back down.

  “Lord, you’re hard on yourself, Rick!” She paused. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s a weird one.”

  He laughed. “Go ahead.”

  “Those greenjacks. Did you think you could see them, like the boy in the stories?”

  Rick slopped his coffee. “What?”

  “You did, didn’t you?” she pressed. “It’s no big deal. Lots of people think they see things. Not just kids. Every other person in Ireland would probably say they’ve seen a leprechaun or fairy at one time or another.” She smiled. “Nowadays people see little gray aliens, but it’s all the same thing. I think.”

  “Yeah, I used to think I saw them. I thought—still think—I probably just wasn’t too well adjusted.”

  “Well, you had a sadistic brother, and a lot of these things are tied up with abuse. A person can’t stand thinking that someone who supposedly loves them is hurting them, so they invent something else to take the blame. From what I’ve read, it happens a lot.”

  “That makes a lot of sense.” He paused. “And it probably applies to me. No wonder your brother was always telling me to see a shrink,” he added casually. “Listen, Audrey. Can I ask you a weird question too?”

  “Fair’s fair.”

  “Well, in your practice, have you ever run in to anyone who can see things other people can’t? Like infrared rays, for instance?”

  “That used to happen to cataract patients, but that’s not what you mean, is it?”

  “No, I mean naturally. Like cats see infrared.”

  She considered. “It’s possible, but it would probably be impossible to detect during an eye exam unless it was a person with an ocular deformity. James Thurber had that problem. The brain fills in what the eye doesn’t pick up.” She smiled. “But he put it to good use—he put the things he saw into his cartoons.”

  “What about someone with twenty-twenty vision? Could they see something?”

  “Rick? Do you still see them?”

  “No, no, no, of course not,” he replied hastily, then started to skate. “I have a cousin back in Scotland who says he’s seen them all his life. He’s intelligent, has a good job, and seems perfectly sane. But he sees them. I’ve just always wondered if maybe he really does.”

  “What does he say they look like? Are they solid?”

  “No, not at all.” He described them briefly, leaving out all mention of Big Jack.

  “Something like that sounds like it’s in the realm of light waves, so it’s possible.” Audrey studied him a long time. “Let me do a little research.”

  “If it’s any trouble . . .”

  “None at all. It’s fascinating. I saw a UFO once, but when I made the mistake of reporting it, the authorities told me I was seeing things.” She gave him a wry smile. “But I know what I saw—I just learned not to tell anyone about it.”

  “I believe you,” Rick said sincerely.

  “I thought you might,” she replied, giving him a look that made him certain she knew there was no cousin in Scotland.

  “Let’s talk about something else,” he suggested quickly.

  “Okay. The other night you promised to tell me about your old girlfriends.”

  “I did?”

  “Uh-huh. So who was your first?”

  He hesitated only briefly. “Her name was Delia.”
>
  “And how old were you?”

  “Ten.”

  She smiled. “Tell me all about it”

  “It’s pretty weird.”

  “All the better.”

  He smiled and sat back in his chair. “Her full name was Delia Minuet, and I met her at the carnival on Independence Day Weekend in 1975.”

  July 4, 1975

  The Masello Brothers Carnival and Sideshow arrived in Santo Verde just in time for the July Fourth weekend of Ricky’s tenth year. According to his dad, the carnival had come to town at this time every year for as far back as he—and even Grandfather Piper—could remember, but this was Ricky’s first visit.

  Last year they’d been on vacation at the Grand Canyon, and before that, other vacations, chicken pox, and the mumps had made them miss it.

  Now Ricky, standing next to Mom on the warm, clear morning, could hardly wait as they stood in line for tickets. The red and gold banner, the colorful pendants waving across the whole front, the smells of popcorn and cotton candy on the warm breeze, and most of all, the rides. Behind the buildings and tents, he could see the top of the Ferris wheel and the dinosaur back of the Wild Mouse, not to mention whirling umbrella chairs and the occasional lift of an octopus arm.

  “Lift me higher, Dad! I wanna see!” Robin, already riding high in their father’s arms, almost managed to pull himself onto his head before their dad boosted him onto his shoulder.

  Inside, it was even better. Ricky played ring toss and won a rubber snake, rode the roller coaster with Dad, then consumed a cone of sticky pink cotton candy and two snow cones.

  Only two things marred the first couple of hours. One was when he and Daddy and Robin rode the Ferris wheel together, and Robin, seated between them, whispered to Ricky that he was going to push him off the swinging bench when they reached the top.

  That wasn’t too bad because he knew his brother wouldn’t do it, not with Dad around. It was the horror ride that was the really bad thing.

  From the moment he laid eyes on Train to Terror, Robin wanted to ride the little cars into the horrors hidden in the darkness beyond. And he wanted his brother to ride with him. Just the two of them, he kept insisting, It would be fun.

  Ricky equally did not want to ride, not at all, but especially not with Robin. His lower lip kept trembling and he was afraid he was going to start crying any second now. Just looking at the ride scared him so badly that he could hardly think. He didn’t want anyone to know how afraid he was, because at every opportunity Robin reminded him that if they knew, their parents would think he was crazy and send him away. And even though he’d actually heard Mom and Dad say they thought Robin was scaring him and that they were going to send him away to school soon, Ricky realized he wouldn’t quite believe it until it happened.

  “Come on,” Robin goaded. “Ride with me, Ricky.”

  Ricky shook his head no, and his father squatted down and looked him in the eye. “It’s just a ride. You love roller coasters, right?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “This is just a different kind of ride. It’s fun. And it’s safer than a roller coaster any day.” Daddy patted his shoulder. “You know your brother can’t go on all the rides you can go on, and he’d really like you to go on this one. I think that’s nice, and I think it would be nice if you did, don’t you?”

  It wasn’t nice. He wanted to get him on the ride, then scare him or push him out of the car or Ricky didn’t know what. Something awful.

  “Why don’t we all go on the ride?” His mother stepped forward and put her hand on Ricky’s shoulder. “This ride scares me, so maybe Ricky can ride with me and you can ride with Robin?”

  Robin looked mad, but Daddy nodded. “That sounds like a good plan, don’t you think, Rob?”

  “Okay.” He smiled so wide that it looked like his face would split in half. “But maybe you should ride with Mommy if she’s scared. Then I can still ride with Ricky. That’d be really fun. Huh, Ricky?”

  But his mother was already leading Ricky toward the ride. “Maybe next time, dear,” she told his twin. She and Dad exchanged glances.

  “Rick’s riding with your mother, Robin,” Dad said firmly.

  Trembling, Ricky allowed Mom to lead him into the next car. It looked like an insect, shiny black with blood-red trim. Just before the screaming darkness swallowed the car, he glanced back. Daddy and Robin were right behind them. Robin grinned at him and slowly drew his finger across his throat.

  Quickly Ricky faced forward, and Mom put her arm around him and pulled him close. He muffled his eyes and ears against her body, stuffing his fingers in his ears and squeezing his eyes shut for good measure.

  And he endured. After an eternity, she gently pulled his fingers from one ear and told him it was almost over. As they emerged into light, she assured him he didn’t look like he’d been afraid at all and told him she was glad he let her hang on to him.

  Ricky knew that wasn’t how it worked and he knew she knew, but in that moment he loved her so much, it hurt, because she let him keep his dignity.

  A little later, they had lunch (corn dogs dipped in French’s mustard, and Cokes with tons of crushed ice—the best junk food on earth), then went to a magic show where a man with a curly mustache sawed a lady in half. Ricky hated it, but didn’t know why. After that, they saw a show in the big top with clowns in a car and a trapeze act that looked like fun.

  When they exited the big top, Ricky spotted a long tent painted with a series of wonderfully weird pictures. A man at the ticket booth was talking about the pictures on a loudspeaker, and Ricky halted, mesmerized by the voice and the pictures. There was one of a cow with part of a second little cow growing out of its side standing by a goat with four eyes, two on each side of its face. Other pictures showed two babies joined at the chest, Siamese twins, he realized; a cocker spaniel with a horn growing out of its forehead; and a man with pins stuck in his skin. The last painting was of a family that didn’t look quite right, and the banner over it said THE SMALL FAMILY! LIVE! DIRECT FROM THE CAVERNS OF CONNEMARA.

  “Can we go in there?” he asked his parents.

  His father looked at Robin, then Mom. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Rick.”

  “I want to go in too,” Robin said.

  Their parents looked at each other for a long time, and finally Dad nodded. “Okay, just for a few minutes, though.” As he bought the tickets, he said, “It’s all fake.”

  There were all sorts of things in jars, some so goopy you couldn’t tell what they were. Maybe some were fake, like the cow—you could see the stitches—and the four-eyed dog didn’t look real either. But the Siamese twins, Ricky was sure, had been alive at one time. They floated in formaldehyde in a huge jar, and you could even see the fine hair coating their bodies. They were face-to-face, eyes closed, arms around each other in an eternal embrace. Awestruck, saddened and fascinated, Ricky stood there until a tap on his shoulder made him look up. Robin had craned over to whisper, “Someday I’m gonna put you in a jar, just like that.”

  Ricky ignored him, his attention already caught by a sign directing them toward the Small Family—SEE THEM IN A REPLICA OF THEIR OWN HOME! LIVE! the sign said. He walked down the short corridor and came into a little room with a stage that looked like a cave—a funny, brightly painted maw with shamrocks and curly-looking kids’ furniture. Folding chairs were set up on the floor below the stage.

  “Audience,” he heard a man’s voice call from behind the stage. “Somebody get out there.”

  Embarrassed, Ricky turned to leave—his family hadn’t followed him in yet—then a kid’s voice said, “Hi.”

  He turned back and saw a little girl who was very short and had kind of a large head and long arms. Her long brown hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, and she had big blue eyes. When she smiled, she had dimples.

  “We’ll have a show in ten minutes,” she said.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, walking closer.

  “De
lia Small.” She giggled. “Mr. Masello, the owner, he said we have to be the Small family. Get it? Small?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “We’re dwarves, you know.” And she whistled a few bars of “Hi ho, Hi ho.” “Dwarves. Freaks.”

  Ricky was shocked. “That’s a bad word.”

  “What is?”

  “Freaks. My parents said so. Doesn’t it make you mad when you get called that?”

  “No.”

  “What’s your real last name?”

  “Minuet. Like a song. I think that’s a much better last name than Small, but Papa says Mr. Masello knows what’s best.”

  “I like your name,” Ricky said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ricky Piper.”

  “Hi, Ricky.”

  “Hi, Delia.”

  They looked at each other and giggled. Then he whispered, “My brother’s a freak, but no one’s supposed to call him that.”

  “Is he a midget?” she asked.

  “No. He’s got no legs.”

  “He’s a half boy?” she asked excitedly.

  “Huh?”

  “A living torso, but with arms. He has arms?”

  “Sure. He walks on his hands.”

  “Mr. Masello would kill to get a half boy.”

  “I don’t think he’s for sale,” Ricky said, then paused. Then he grinned. “But I wish he was!”

  They giggled. “Is he rotten?” Delia asked conspiratorially.

  “He tries to kill me.” He said it like a joke.

  “That’s pretty rotten,” she said, and Ricky Piper decided he was in love.

  “There you are!” Ricky’s mom walked up. “Don’t wander off like that. I was worried about you.” She turned and called, “He’s in here, Frank.”

  “This is Delia,” Ricky said.

  “Hello, Delia,” Mom said.

  “Hi, I gotta go get ready for our show. You’ll stay, won’t you?”

  “Can we, Mom?”

  “Sure.”

  Delia disappeared behind the set just as Rick’s dad came in, Robin in his arms. Other people soon followed, and in a few minutes the chairs were filled. Delia, her parents, and little brother came out and did a skit about mining gold in Ireland. It was silly. At the end, when they took their bows, Delia grinned at him and waved. Next to him Robin leaned over and said, “Your girlfriend’s funny-looking,” and without a second thought, Ricky punched him in the stomach.