“Nobody answered the door, so he tried the knob. It was unlocked, and he went inside to see if everyone was okay. He found Jeremiah’s wife first, sprawled out on the floor underneath that handprint in a pool of blood. Someone had gotten after her with a claw hammer. Hink said there wasn’t hardly nothing left of her head, just a flat gooey pancake of brains and bones and skin.”
Bobby felt his stomach clench up. Even Starsky and Hutch, as cool as they were, would have a hard time seeing something like that.
“The little girls—Myra and Mary—were in their bedroom,” Tanner said. “They were dead, too.”
“From the hammer?” Bobby asked. His voice sounded far off to him, like it was floating up from the bottom of a very deep hole. There was a whispery hiss in his ears, the sort of sound a radio made when it wasn’t tuned to a station. A steel belt seemed clamped around his chest.
Tanner shook his head slowly. “Jeremiah might have been half-crippled because of his leg, but he was plenty strong in his arms. He’d taken his babies apart with his hands, the way you might pull a wing or drumstick off a fat roasted chicken at Sunday dinner. Hink said their bedroom looked like a big sack of blood and guts had exploded.”
“‘Hink said’, ‘Hink said’,” Joey mocked. “How the hell does he know so much? Are you sure he wasn’t just shitting you? Old farts know how to make up a good story, you know.”
“He knows so much because he lived it,” Tanner said. The grin crept back onto his face, the one that held no humor. “Half the town went up to see, when it was all over, and Hink was one of them. They called it the charnel house. That’s a place where they store dead bodies, he told me.”
“Goddamn,” Joey whispered.
Bobby could not disagree with the sentiment, blasphemy or not, and if it bothered God enough to drop the bridge on them, well, at least it would be a quick death.
“The mayor was standing the doorway to those little girls’ room, blubbering like a baby, when he heard something,” Tanner said.
“What?” Bobby asked. He was bound up in the story as securely as a fly in a spiderweb, powerless to resist what he knew was coming.
“A little kid, screaming. But quiet, like it was in a closet or something.”
“Muffled,” Joey said.
“Yeah. He ran through the house, throwing open doors right and left, looking for that kid. But he didn’t find shit, not until he got to the kitchen, anyway. That’s when the kid screamed again, only this time it was a shriek that made his blood run cold.”
Bobby saw the man in his mind’s eye, dressed in a suit and tie and jaunty hat the way all the men in old black and white movies seemed to, racing from room to room in a blind panic to save a child that was still alive. Saw him draw up short in the kitchen when the second cry came, the jaunty hat sailing off his head and rolling across the floor.
“Then something thumped the floor under his feet hard enough for him to feel it through his shoes,” Tanner said, “and he realized the kid was under the house.”
Bobby’s mouth had gone dry, and he sucked at his cheeks feverishly, trying to rustle up a little spit. In his pants, his scrotum had shrunk to a hard little walnut shell. He knew the mayor was going to go under the house, knew it as surely as he knew the date of his own birthday and that he would be a detective when he grew up. No self-respecting grownup could run off and leave a child screaming like that. “But he had a gun, right? Something. The hammer, at least?”
His cousin slowly shook his head. “I don’t think it ever crossed his mind. All he could think about was that scream.”
“Just goes to show you politicians are as dumb as my daddy always says,” Joey said.
Tanner ignored him. “You have to go under the front porch to get to the crawlspace. The mayor got down on his hands and knees, and saw a faint, flickery light in there, way in the back.”
Joey chuckled. “Where else?”
Bobby nodded agreement.
“He called out, Jeremiah, is that you in there?” Tanner turned to look directly at Bobby. “But nobody answered him. And then the kid screamed again, only this time it sounded choked and... and gurgly. But it was definitely under there.”
Something splashed out in the water. A fish, perhaps, or maybe some trash tossed from the window of a passing car. Bobby’s foot jerked spasmodically, the shoe scraping harshly on the dirt floor. The sound seemed as loud as a belch in church. Joey opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again.
“He went as fast as he could, crawling under the old house like a crab, crying out What have you done, Jeremiah? My, God, what have you done? Didn’t matter. Jeremiah didn’t even look up. Not at first,” Tanner said. “By the time the mayor got back there she was dead. Jeremiah had killed her. But that’s not the worst part.”
Joey giggled and rubbed his hands together with sick delight. “Oh, if you could see your face right now,” he told Bobby.
“Jeremiah Barlowe was eating that little girl,” Tanner said. “Had been chowing down on her all along—while she was still alive.”
Joey raised his hand to his mouth like he was holding a turkey leg and mimed taking a big bite.
Bobby’s stomach rolled over greasily, and he found himself wishing he’d skipped the candy bar and kept the toy car. Just a story. Wasn’t it?
“He was gathered back in the corner like a giant spider, fresh bones and body parts scattered all over the dirt around him,” Tanner said. “He had his face buried in her chest—getting at the best stuff, I guess—and never noticed the mayor coming toward him until the mayor picked up one of the bricks and brained him with it.”
“Lot of good that did that little girl,” Joey said. “She was already dead.”
“Jeremiah fell away from the body, then looked up at him and just grinned through a mouthful of blood and skin and guts, and do you know what he said?”
Bobby leaned further forward. “What?”
“He said bringing ’em down here was the only way I could make it stop, Ed.”
“Make what stop?”
“Nobody knows,” Tanner said. “That was the last thing he ever said.”
“What? Why?” Bobby’s words came out more sharply than he’d intended. “Did the mayor kill him?”
Tanner shook his head. “Nah, man. Jeremiah picked up one of the bones—Hink said it was splintered, like he had cracked it open to suck the marrow out—and jammed it up through the roof his mouth, trying to get it into his brain. He hit an artery or something and bled out instead.”
“Slowly,” Joey added.
Bobby slumped back against the girder, unable to speak. Dark thoughts whirled in his head like rabid bats. He could barely wrap his mind around the hurricane of insanity that was Jeremiah Barlowe.
If the story is even true, that is. How come you’ve never heard of Jeremiah Barlowe? Belleville isn’t that far from Decatur.
“They say that you can still see the bloody handprint on the wall. That Jeremiah is still up there in his old house on Hickory Hill,” Joey said, leaning in close. He spoke softly, like his mind was in a far off place. Bobby had to strain to hear him. “And that he still has a taste for little kids. Every few years, one goes missing. They don’t ever get found, because old Jeremiah doesn’t leave anything to be found.”
Bobby swallowed hard. “Oh yeah?”
Tanner chuckled. “Know what’s funny? Hink said the mayor swore until the day he died that when Jeremiah Barlowe first raised his head and looked at him, it wasn’t Jeremiah at all. Like his face had been wiped clean and there were just big black holes where he should have had eyes. Then he blinked and it was gone. Crazy, huh?”
Bobby didn’t think it sounded crazy at all. He thought it sounded like something Brother Peavey talked about on Sunday mornings sometimes. Possession. That was when the devil took over you and made you one of his minions. Mayor Ed was seeing the real face of whatever inhabited Jeremiah. That’s the only thing that could explain all the horrible things the ma
n did. Bobby could see it in his head, the monster in human skin crouched over the dead body of that little girl, his features smeared with blood not his own. Flickering shadows danced on his face, making it look like his skin was moving—
“GOTCHA!” Joey shrieked, and grabbed Bobby’s arm with sudden ferocity.
Bobby cried out and recoiled against the beam, scrabbling in the dirt in place to get away from the evil he imagined was clutching at him. His heart galloped in his chest, making his pulse pound in his ears like native drums in an old Tarzan movie. A shot of urine spurted into his underwear, hot and wet. He farted explosively, a barrage of pops that sounded remarkably like a comic-book machine gun: RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
“Jesus Christ!” Tanner cried, his voice muffled by the hand he’d thrown over his mouth and nose to protect himself. He crawled awkwardly toward the exit, giddy giggles escaping between his fingers.
Joey sagged against the steel beam, laughing so hard he made no sound. Tears streamed down his cheeks, glistening in the weak light. Tears of a different sort—hot and stinging—burned Bobby’s eyes. He crawled after his cousin, his face aglow with shame, fervently praying that his pants wouldn’t show his accident. At the edge of the concrete drop, he saw Tanner sprawled on the dirt below, his sides heaving with mirth.
“Oh Jesus,” Tanner wheezed. “I wish you could’ve seen yourself. Like you thought Jeremiah himself was coming for you!”
Bobby worked up a faint grin and jumped down to the embankment. “You guys got me.”
“I think you got us better, kemosabe,” Joey intoned from the darkness in a cracking, shaking voice. “I’m choking back here.”
“Christ, Joey, he pissed himself like a little girl!” Tanner cawed, catching sight of the stain on the front of Bobby’s pants. “Oh, you scared him good.”
Fresh howls echoed in the hole under the road, and fresh heat burned Bobby’s cheeks. He turned away from his cousin, covering his crotch with a hand that still shook from the burst of adrenaline. An ember of anger sparked deep within him. So what if they’d scared him? It was a scary story. It wasn’t like he’d burst into tears.
“Did the widdle baby make a peepee in his pants? Did it make a stinky poo, too? It sure smells like it,” Joey mocked. He’d crawled to the ledge and now looked down at Bobby, a disdainful grin splitting his face. “Was it scared?”
Bobby wanted to punch the bigger boy, to just ball up his fist and let loose a jab into that grin and see if he could knock it away. He was smart enough not to. These lummoxes wouldn’t think twice about ganging up and kicking the snot out of him. Their type always worked in packs.
“Well, was it?” Tanner asked. He was catching his breath now, his cheeks flushed from the exertion of his fit.
“Yeah,” Bobby said, feeling the ember inside him growing. “I was. What of it? Haven’t you ever been scared?”
Tanner seemed to realize his cousin wasn’t having fun anymore. He held up his hands, placating. “C’mon, man, we were just messing around. We’ve all been scared.”
“Not so scared I pissed myself,” Joey sneered. He swung his legs over the edge of the concrete and dropped to the ground.
“You were plenty scared the first time I told you the story,” Tanner said matter-of-factly. “I think you were pretty close to pissing yourself that day. I know I almost did when Hink told me his version.”
Joey snorted. His eyes cut to the splotch on Bobby’s jeans. “Why are you taking up for him? He’s a little pussy.”
As if it had a mind all its own, Bobby’s hand began to draw into a fist. Maybe Tanner wouldn’t team up with Joey after all. Could he take the larger boy in a one-on-one fight? Probably not, but if he just landed one punch...
He thought the feeling of that smug face folding around his knuckles might be worth the pain of a butt-kicking, and maybe even getting stitches, if it came to that. He harbored no dreams of actually winning. Just one punch, that’s all he wanted to get in. Heck, a scar or two might even help him out once he was a detective. Show the bad guys he wasn’t someone to mess with. He took a step toward Joey, who was still glaring at Tanner in a kind of disbelief, his nostrils flaring with each breath.
“I’m not taking sides,” Tanner said. “I’m just saying we should lay off. We got a good laugh out of it, but hell, it’s over. Everybody’s scared the first time they hear about Jeremiah Barlowe, for good reason. It’s a damn scary story.”
Bobby had an idea then, one of such perfect beauty he almost swooned. He could beat Joey Garraty, and for that matter maybe his cousin too, without lifting a finger.
“Why don’t we go up and take a look at Jeremiah Barlowe’s house?” he said, flicking his eyes back and forth between the older boys. “See if that bloody handprint is really still there on the wall. Maybe we’ll even see Jeremiah himself.”
The grin on Tanner’s face faltered. “There’s not enough time.”
Why so quick with your answer, cousin?
“Sure there is,” Bobby said. He pressed the button on his watch and the red numerals lit up. “It’s barely ten-thirty. We don’t have to be back until noon. The hill didn’t look that far away.”
“My dad’s waiting on his smokes,” Joey said.
Bobby would have sworn the boy looked paler. He felt a grin trying to form on his face and clenched his fist a little harder, digging his nails into his palms. This was going better than he’d thought it would, but he was going to mess it up if he started giggling. Time to push them a little. “It’s okay. I understand if you’re scared.”
“I ain’t scared,” Joey said. He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked studiously out over the water. “Hell, I’d kind of like to see the place, myself.”
Sure you would.
“Me too,” Tanner added. Then, with unmistakable relief in his voice, “Maybe we can go next time you visit.”
“Yeah, next time,” Joey said. He seemed to sag a little, like all his muscles had been tensed.
“Like I said, it’s okay.” Again the smile threatened to creep onto Bobby’s face. He shrugged, feigning indifference. “I was even thinking we could go inside, but if you guys are... are pussies, we can just wait.”
He held his breath and nearly swooned, certain that the ground was going to open up and drop him directly into the arms of Satan himself to be dragged off to hell for using such a word. His ears felt like they were glowing the way Rudolph’s famed nose did. Was God up there in heaven erasing his name from the Book of Life right now? That’s what Brother Peavey said happened to sinners and backsliders.
“I ain’t no pussy,” Tanner said. “Take it back.”
“Chill,” Joey told him. To Bobby he said, “So you really want to go up there? See that handprint? Take a look around the place?”
Something was different in the other boy’s voice. Bobby heard it. “Sure,” he said.
“Then let’s go. You’re right; it’s not far. But if we do”—he stepped forward and jabbed a finger into Bobby’s chest—“you’re going inside.”
“Shit, man, we don’t—” Tanner began.
“Shut your face.” Joey’s eyes had taken on an empty, dull look Bobby didn’t like. They were the eyes of something not very nice. This wasn’t turning out the way he’d expected. “So what do you say?”
Bobby swallowed. Should’ve stopped while I was ahead.
“What about the smokes for your dad?” Tanner asked, hopefully.
“He can wait a little bit longer. I want to see the big shot here go inside the Barlowe place.”
A sneer curled one side of Joey’s mouth, and Bobby felt the ember of anger flicker to life inside him again. The world was full of people like Joey, big and slow and stupid, who thought that every problem could be solved with a fist. That’s just the way it was—even as a kid he already knew that. Joey’s dad was a bully, Joey was a bully, and if Joey ever found a woman dumb enough to make a baby with him, well, it would probably be a bully, too. And what was a bully at heart but a bi
g, blustery chicken?
“Sure, I’ll go in,” Bobby said. “But when I do, I want you to admit you’re too chicken.”
There’s no such thing as ghosts. Except the Holy one, and it’s not scary.
Tanner jammed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s just go back to my house, guys.”
“You’re on,” Joey said, ignoring his friend. “But if you chicken out, you have to pay us. A buck apiece.”
“Deal,” Bobby said, because there was nothing else he could say. If he tried to back out now he’d look like a wuss—and might get his butt kicked for it. How hard could it be to go inside an old house in the middle of the day, anyway?
The sneer on Joey’s face spread into a smug smirk. “Let’s boogie. If we hurry, we’ll have time to stop by Crossen’s on the way back to spend our money.”
4
Bobby followed the older boys up the hillside, listening to his cousin wheeze like a rattly old locomotive. For a while he thought maybe Tanner wasn’t going to make it, that he’d simply collapse at one side of the winding road in a gasping heap, but Tanner seemed to have found a second wind somewhere. Maybe the free candy bar.
As they climbed, the dread in him grew. He didn’t think he believed in ghosts, but what if he was wrong? What if Jeremiah Barlowe—or some sort of spiritual remnant of him, anyway—was still up there, gliding through the empty rooms, waiting for some kid like him to come along to get eaten? He could almost see Brother Peavey delivering the eulogy at his funeral, telling the gathered mourners I always thought Bobby was a little stupid but figured the boy would grow out of it. Pity he never will, but the Good Lord doesn’t suffer fools gladly.
“Just around the next curve,” Tanner said over his shoulder. Sweat darkened his shirt between his shoulder blades. It looked like a butterfly to Bobby.
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