Children of the Dark

by Jonathan Janz

  Barley’s face appeared in the opening above me, his slightly magnified gaze stern behind his thick spectacles. “That’s not funny, Will. That guy is worse than Jeffrey Dahmer. A total nutcase. They say he used to eat his victims while they were still alive. That he liked to watch their faces while he chewed on their body parts.”

  I climbed through the aperture as Barley moved aside. “So I’ve heard.”

  And I had. In addition to horror movies, Barley had a morbid interest in true crime, the more lurid, the better. Carl Padgett—also known as Padgett the Blade, The Bedford Cannibal, or The Moonlight Killer—was one of the sickest individuals in the annals of serial killer history. He preyed mainly on children.

  “I hope he never gets out,” Barley said. “If he does, he’s only two hours away from here. I bet he’d head straight for Shadeland. With all these trees, it’s the perfect place to hide.” He plopped down in front of the barrel we’d sawn in half for a table.

  “So you’re an expert on serial killer psychology?”

  Barley was clutching a hatchet and a sharpened stick about three feet long. He continued to shave off curls of wood with rough, jerky movements. I sat down on a five-gallon bucket like the one on which Barley sat. Only mine contained a whole lot of kerosene, which we’d somehow lugged all the way up here to fuel the lamp we used at night.

  Barley’s dark brown hair was longer and shaggier than mine or Chris’s. He had a belly on him, but he wasn’t too overweight. He just looked like he played more video games than outdoor games, which was pretty much the case. He’d begun to get some acne in the past year or so, and though I had some too, Barley wasn’t as self-conscious about it as I was. In fact, he claimed it was a sign of maturity.

  “Padgett’s family is from Bedford,” Barley pointed out.

  “So?”

  “Soooo,” Barley said, shoving the blade down the stick’s length with a little more force, “Bedford is in a direct line between here and Chicago.”

  “But no highway comes near here,” I said, scooting away from Barley and his makeshift spear. The way he was handling that hatchet of his, one of us was going to get impaled. “The chances of him getting out of jail are somewhere south of zero anyway.”

  Barley stopped and stared at me. “Are you really that dense? We’re talking about a criminal mastermind here. The fact that this town is out of the way is exactly why he’d come here.”

  “Padgett’s not that clever, Barley. He’s a lunatic.”

  “It comes to the same thing. Remember Halloween? How Michael Myers returned to his childhood home and slaughtered all those babysitters?”

  “He didn’t slaughter them all,” a voice called from below, making us both jump.

  Chris’s head poked through the ladder hole. “He only killed two of them, plus one of their boyfriends. Oh, and a dog.”

  “He killed his sister too,” Barley pointed out. “Strapped on that clown mask and hacked her to pieces.”

  I had a sudden thought of Peach and pushed it away, shivering. I hoped Mom would be up by now. Otherwise my little sister would be sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons all morning. I told myself the hollow feeling in my belly was just the spoiled ham and the hunger, but deep down I knew it was guilt.

  Chris was riffling through the shelves of the medicine cabinet we’d installed, the one Barley had found by the curb.

  “What’re you looking for?” Barley asked.

  “Tampon?” I suggested.

  “I need one, I’ll just borrow yours,” Chris replied. I watched him rummage through all the junk we’d brought up here over the years. A sturdy length of rope. Several pencils and pens. Batteries, most of them dead. A hooked blade affixed to a thick wooden handle, a tool Barley claimed was for cutting carpets. A padlock with a key inside. We never used it, but we had bolted a fastener to the trapdoor in case we ever wanted to.

  Chris cursed. “I know I didn’t—ah, here it is.” He plucked something from the cabinet and joined us around the table. “I thought I’d lost it.”

  “Please tell me I’m hallucinating,” Barley said.

  But he wasn’t. Chris let the silver chain dangle; a green stone pendulumed from the bottom of the chain.

  “I can’t believe you still have that,” I said.

  Chris studied the necklace. “Pretty, right?”

  “You said you threw it away.”

  Chris grinned and fingered the green stone. “I guess I lied.”

  I exchanged a glance with Barley, who rolled his eyes.

  “Look,” Barley said, “you bought that for Rebecca three years ago, right?”

  Chris shrugged. “So?”

  I said, “So it probably stinks by now.”

  Chris sniffed it. “Not really,” he said, but he was frowning.

  “Dude,” Barley said, snatching the necklace from Chris. “You really think this is going to impress her? It’s ugly as hell. She’s gonna laugh in your face.”

  Chris made a grab for it, but Barley yanked it away. “Give me the goddamn chain,” Chris demanded.

  Barley held it at arm’s length. “I’m just saving you from yourself. You’re not thinking clearly, man. Kurt’s gonna total you for sure if you give this to his girlfriend.” He held the necklace out the window and let it dangle forty feet above the forest floor.

  “Hey,” Chris growled. “Give it back.”

  “It’s insane,” Barley said. “Rebecca’s got a boyfriend, right? She’s not breaking up with him, especially after you give her some stupid green rock.”

  “It’s a peridot.”

  “You should be embarrassed to know that,” I said.

  “Give it back,” Chris said and before I realized what was happening, he’d gripped Barley with both hands and wrenched him toward the middle of the treehouse. Barley landed awkwardly on the half-barrel table, then flipped over sideways against Chris’s bucket, which overturned with an angry clatter.

  “Jeez, man!” Barley shouted. “I was only trying to help. You could’ve broken my arm or something.”

  “I warned you,” Chris said, snatching the necklace from where it had fallen.

  I helped Barley to his feet, dusted him off. “Love makes people do weird things,” he muttered.

  I eyed Chris uneasily. There were livid spots on his cheeks, the edges of his blond hair darkened with sweat.

  He pocketed the necklace. “Okay, if Barley is done giving relationship advice, I’d like to talk about tonight’s plan.”

  “I didn’t know we had a plan,” I said.

  Chris righted his bucket, folded his arms, and leaned back with his feet crossed on the table. “Mia is spending the night with Rebecca.”

  Barley glared at him. “How do you know that?” It was a point of pride for Barley to know every piece of Shadeland gossip first.

  “So what?” I said.

  Chris’s smile broadened. “So we’re going over there at midnight.”

  Chapter Three

  Crashing Rebecca’s Party and The Moonlight Killer

  Chris’s plan was simple. So simple that Barley thought it was asinine.

  I was inclined to agree.

  “I don’t see the issue,” Chris said. “You sneak out by eleven-thirty, and we’re there by midnight.”

  “Okay, fine,” Barley said. “Let’s pretend we’re all three able to sneak out without anybody knowing it, despite the fact that my mom’s a light sleeper and Will here is afraid of the dark.”

  “You’re the one with the Harry Potter nightlight,” I said.

  “It was Star Wars, and I haven’t used it for over a year. So let’s say we actually make it all the way to the Ralstons without being seen. What if the cops discover us outside that late? We’re underage. They could seriously bust us.”

  “First of all,” Chris said, “the Shadeland cops are idiots. They’re not gonna bust anybody. And you act like it’s in another state or something. Rebecca only lives a few blocks from me.”

  Barley n
odded. “In the richest neighborhood in town.”

  “What does that—”

  “It means there’ll be security systems to deal with,” Barley interrupted. “Guard dogs, fences. Maybe even neighborhood security guards.”

  “Security guards? The only thing our neighborhood has is a pool, and it’s been broken since last summer.”

  “So let’s say everything works out and we get to her house. What then? Do we just knock on the door and say to her parents, ‘Hey, I know Chris beat your son’s team last night, but he wants to give your daughter a necklace that smells like an old man’s ass?”

  “You pretty experienced with old men’s asses?” I asked.

  “We won’t be using the front door,” Chris said.

  “What then, we throw rocks at her window?” Barley said. “Serenade her by moonlight?”

  “They’re staying in a tent.”

  Barley glanced at Chris in dismay. “And how the hell do you know that? You have her under surveillance or something?”

  Chris plunked his feet down and leaned forward. “I rode my bike past there before I joined you two morons. Rebecca was outside putting up a tent.”

  Barley shrugged. “That could mean anything. Maybe she was—”

  “She told me.”

  Barley and I stared at him.

  Barley’s entire demeanor changed, as if Chris had communicated with some alien species. “What do you mean, she told you? You’re saying you just went up and talked to her?”

  I could tell Chris had been waiting to share this news. He donned a nonchalant expression. “I waved at her, and she told me to hold on. I pulled into her driveway—no armed guards or Rotweilers—and she told me she enjoyed watching me pitch.”

  “No way,” Barley said, but he was grinning a little.

  “I swear,” Chris said. “Then I asked her if she was camping tonight, and she said she was.”

  “Whoa,” Barley said and looked at me. “You believe that?”

  “Astounding,” I said.

  “Furthermore,” Chris said, “she said Brad would be staying over at Kurt’s house tonight. Which means we’re all clear.”

  My stomach fluttered at the ramifications of this.

  Barley frowned. “Hold on. This still sucks for me. If Rebecca and Mia are camping out, what am I going to do? Make s’mores while you four sit around declaring your love for each other?”

  “Actually,” Chris said, “Rebecca is having two friends stay the night. Mia and Kylie Ann Lubeck.”

  Barley gaped at Chris. Kylie Ann Lubeck was one of the prettiest—and iciest—girls in Shadeland. She was also a year older than us.

  “Since when does Kylie Ann hang out with Rebecca and Mia?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Chris said. “But it gives us a nice even number, doesn’t it?” He turned to Barley. “So?”

  Barley scowled at him. “So what?”

  Chris cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re out of excuses.”

  Barley rose and retrieved his spear from the floor. He heaved it out the window dejectedly. It landed with a muffled thump. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

  “Like?”

  “Like—” Barley faced us and used both hands to gesture down the length of his body. “—this.”

  Chris waved him off. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

  Barley gave him a flat look. “Underestimate myself? Seriously? Have you checked my skin lately? It’s like a relief map of the Himalayas.”

  “You said that was a sign of maturity,” I pointed out.

  “And what about this?” He grabbed the roll of pudge hanging over the waistband of his shorts. “I’m sure Kylie Ann will be smitten by the sight of this pale layer of blubber.”

  “Some girls like a guy with meat on his bones,” Chris said.

  “Sure, you can say that. Mr. I’m-So-Handsome-and-Athletic-and-My-Parents-Are-Millionaires.”

  “Screw you,” Chris answered. “You’re just scared.”

  “Darn right I’m scared,” Barley said, his voice going hoarse. “Kylie Ann Lubeck is a goddess—in every sense of the word. Every time a guy tries to talk to her she looks at him like he emitted a bad smell.”

  “Listen, guys,” I said. “Are we sure we want to go over there?”

  “Yes,” Chris said immediately.

  “No way,” Barley said at the same time.

  “So I guess it’s up to me to decide,” I said.

  Chris and Barley looked at each other. They shrugged and turned to me.

  I nodded. “We go over there.”

  Barley whimpered.

  ¨

  I got to the Marleys’ house by a quarter past eleven.

  I felt terrible sneaking out that late, not because I was betraying my mom’s trust—what trust there’d been between us had long since dissolved—but because I was leaving my little sister with an irresponsible parent. At least Peach had been asleep when I’d left our room—she slept on a single bed beside mine—and my mom had seemed fairly coherent before she’d headed to her room for the night. I estimated she’d only downed two or three pills, which was less than half of her normal nightly intake.

  Pedaling my bike as quickly as I could, I arrived at Barley’s house. Like the night before, it looked like the moon and stars would be smothered by ominous-looking clouds. I parked my bike at the end of Barley’s driveway and tried not to think about Mia.

  I guess I should explain why we call him Barley.

  His real first name is Dale, which he hates. His last name is Marley.

  But our fourth grade swimming instructor didn’t know that. The girl was some horse-faced college student who looked about as interested in teaching us how to swim as she did in quantum physics. She asked us our names, and Barley happened to have a cold that day. Which made his name sound like Bale Barley rather than Dale Marley.

  She repeated it, her expression disbelieving: “Bale Barley?”

  “Bale Barley,” he said, trying and failing to pronounce his Ds through the mucus clogging his nostrils.

  “Well, go get a Kleenex, Barley,” she’d said. “You’ve got snot all over your lip.”

  And since then we’d called him Barley.

  He came schlepping down the driveway a minute or two later, and when he reached my ten-speed, he made to sling a leg over the seat behind me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked in alarm.

  He stared at me. “Getting on. What else?”

  “Ride your own bike.”

  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s in the garage.”

  “So get it.”

  “I can’t,” he said as though I were an idiot. “The garage door will wake my parents up.”

  “You should’ve thought of that earlier.”

  “What’s the big deal? We can both fit.” He made to get on again.

  “The big deal,” I said, blocking him, “is we’ll look like douchebags.”

  He glanced around the dark street. “Who’s gonna see us? Raccoons? The possums?”

  “No, it’s just…” I gestured feebly.

  Something dawned in his face. “Wait a minute. This is about Mia, isn’t it? You’re afraid she’s gonna think I’m your boyfriend.”

  “Jesus,” I said. “Shut up and get on.”

  Most of the way there Barley acted like a pain in the ass. Telling me to go faster. Criticizing the route I was taking. And all of it breathed into my ears in a sweaty cloud of the onion rings he’d eaten for supper that night.

  Don’t ask me how, but we arrived at Chris’s huge house about ten minutes later. They lived in Connor Creek, the fanciest neighborhood in town. It was nestled between the golf course and Savage Hollow and featured properties that looked like something in a magazine.

  Chris laughed as we wobbled up his drive. “You should see yourselves,” he said. “I’ve never wanted an iPhone as badly as I do now.”

  “I’d kill you if you took a picture of this,” I mutte
red.

  Chris walked his bike up next to ours. “You’re sweating.”

  “My legs are on fire,” I grunted. “You try pedaling up a hill with two people.”

  “Is that a crack about my weight?” Barley said.

  “No,” I answered. “It’s a crack about how dumb you were to forget your bike.” I turned to Chris. “We ready?”

  “Totally,” he said, and set off on his bicycle, which was the fancy hybrid kind that could adapt to either trails or roads. I felt a familiar surge of jealousy and fought to suppress it.

  In another couple minutes, we reached the Ralstons’ house.

  It wasn’t quite as impressive as Chris’s, but it was in the same league. There were four columns out front, three garage stalls attached to the house, and three more unattached. I recalled seeing Dr. Ralston driving, at different times, a red Porsche Boxster, a vintage yellow Corvette, and, when he wanted to slum it, a white BMW.

  “There’s the promised land,” Chris said, nodding at the tent.

  My mouth went dry. Was Mia in there now?

  “You ready?” Chris asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m gonna pass out.”

  “What about you, Barley?”

  Barley gulped. “Hell no. My balls are clinging to my undercarriage.”

  I looked at him. “I’m didn’t think you had testicles.”

  Chris said, “Me either. Come on.”

  He propped his bike against one of the many trees rimming the estate and crept into the darkness beside the long, curving driveway. Looking like a man preparing to pitch himself off a mountain cliff, Barley drifted after him.

  I followed them, thinking, Be cool. Just act like this is normal.

  Hah! came a cruel answering voice. This is as abnormal as it gets. Here you are, a poor kid with used clothing and a crap future, striding onto the property of a wealthy family. You’re sweaty, skinny, and scared. The girl of your dreams awaits you in that tent, along with two other girls who’ll probably laugh at you and your friends.

  A terrible thought occurred to me.

  “Chris?” I whispered.

  “What?” he whispered back.

  “They know we’re coming, right?”

  Chris looked away.