The Polaroid flashed, yanking their frightened eyes back to Betty’s grave.
“Oh crap, there it goes again,” Scotty whispered, watching the protesting motor spit out another picture – this one even faster than the one before.
Free of the camera’s tight lips, the sheet of film floated to the ground and Gavin was terrified to flip it over. Didn’t want to know what was on the other side. Before he could make his body move, Boone swooped in and snatched it up.
“What is it?” Teddy asked, flinching when the burning tobacco reached his fingers.
“It’s from the funeral again,” Boone replied, holding it out for everyone to see.
Gavin turned so the wind was blowing his hair from his eyes. “Everyone’s leaving.”
Boone pointed to the left side of the frame. “And there’s Roger walking to a green station wagon parked in the background.”
Gavin looked up at Boone, a torrent of adrenaline shooting through him. “That’s his car! The same one we saw at the house.”
“Yeah but, who’re the two guys in suits standing next to it?” Scotty asked, craning his neck to see.
Gavin’s eyebrows pulled together in the gray light. “They’re cops,” he replied, pointing to a touch of gold on one man’s belt. “That’s a badge.”
“Must be when they started pressing him harder about the murders,” Pincher deduced, dropping back to his heels. “They only show up at the funeral when they’re looking to intimidate a suspect.”
Gavin looked up to the narrow cemetery road where Roger’s wet station wagon sat parked in the photograph. “The cops knew about the letter by then.”
“Letter?” What letter?” Teddy said in an uncertain voice.
“Yes!” Scotty punched a fist into his palm, making a loud smack. “Right before the murders, Betty wrote her mom about getting a divorce.”
“Which, back in 1964, was some serious taboo,” Boone added.
“She told her mom that Roger had become abusive.”
“The newspaper articles we read on microfilm said her mom got the letter a few days after Roger killed Betty.” Gavin tapped at the picture. “This is when the cops started putting the pieces together!”
Scotty’s eyes flared with understanding. “They knew he did it by then!”
“They thought he was The Recluse! Remember?” Gavin let his eyes stray from focus, blurring the photograph into a square blob. “Which explains why Roger went home after the funeral and hung himself. He saw the writing on the wall and knew the jig was up.”
“But was he really The Recluse?” Teddy asked, lighting up another smoke with trembling hands.
Boone pressed his lips together. “No, The Recluse struck again after Roger’s death.”
“Oh,” Teddy murmured, checking behind him. “That’s comforting.”
“So, how do we stop his ghost from infecting again?” Pincher asked, pushing his fake glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Gavin sighed. “I don’t know.” The camera clicked again, making his heartbeat race nearly as fast as the frame of film pushing its way out into the world. This time, Gavin caught the image before it hit the ground. His blood turned cold.
“What is it, Gav?” Pincher asked, dancing from penny loafer to penny loafer like he had to pee.
Gavin held the picture up for everyone to see, a terrified look creeping into his eyes. “It’s Jeffrey’s bedroom.”
The color drained from Scotty’s cheeks as he examined the small bed with a stuffed elephant and a G.I. Joe manning the bedspread. “I’m not going back there,” he muttered, faintly shaking his head. “No friggin way.”
“Agreed,” Teddy said, nipping at the flask.
Pointing to the top right of the frame, Gavin’s voice cracked when he spoke. “Look at the mirror above the dresser.”
Everyone pressed tighter together, brows folding as their eyes followed the swirling red letters written across the reflective glass. Growing deathly quiet, their minds scrambled to piece together the inexplicable.
Scotty’s next two words came out as a pitiful whisper. “Help us.”
Gavin’s heart jackhammered in his chest when he noticed Betty and Jeffrey cowering in the mirror’s reflection, pleading at them from behind the curling red letters. “He’s got them,” he breathed, the wind whisking his words over a gentle hill with a lone oak bowing at an awkward angle.
“What do you mean?” Pincher asked, buttoning his lab coat higher and yanking out another eyebrow hair.
“He won’t let them leave the house.” Gavin spun around to the others, searching their faces for a sign of understanding. “If we free Betty and Jeffrey, maybe he’ll move on to the next world and leave this one alone.”
A swirling leaf hit Pincher in the face and he wiped it away. “You mean Hell?”
Gavin’s eyes fell back to the picture. “Either way, we have to help them. The writing is literally on the mirror.”
“But how?”
He checked his Swatch watch and looked up to meet their anxious stares. “We go back tonight, when we’re supposed to be out trick-or-treating, and cleanse the house.”
“Tonight?” Scotty gasped, eyes bulging in their sockets.
“Cleanse how?” Pincher wrinkled his tiny nose. “Like with Pine-Sol?”
“No.” Boone’s lips curled into a snarl. “We burn the sonofabitch to the ground.”
Teddy stepped backwards and held his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down here, fellas. You’re talking about arson now.”
“So?” Pincher and Boone said as one.
“So... don’t suppose y’all could drop me off at the shelter on your way to…”
“No!” they interrupted.
“Teddy,” Gavin said, stepping closer, “you’re the only one who believes us because you saw it for yourself. If we split up now, we’ll never have a chance to beat this thing. We can’t do it without you.”
Face flushing, a fond look softened his eyes. “I haven’t had anyone ask me for help in a long time.”
Excitement brightened Scotty’s face. “So, you’ll come with us tonight?”
“Hell no.”
“Hey!” A voice rang out. “What’re you kids doing over there?”
Gavin hid the pictures behind his back and whirled on his heels to see a thin man in a tan sports jacket lumbering over the hillside. Clutching a long walkie-talkie in one hand, a red scarf flew out behind him as he navigated the crooked tombstones with a skinny dog following at his heels.
“What’ya doin over here?” the man barked. “Some Wiccan death chant or somethin?”
“No sir,” Teddy replied, straightening his coat. “Just visiting some dear friends.” Clearing his throat, he swept a hand out for the boys to start for the Camaro.
Cutting them off, the man removed a newsboy cap and ran a hand through a shock of hair that matched the unhappy sky above. He glanced at the Camaro parked in the narrow road while the dog took a seat at his feet and hung its head. “We keep a close eye on this place on Halloween.”
“I bet you do.” Teddy tried to smile, sidestepping closer to the car.
“Don’t take kindly to no funny business neither,” the man continued, craning his long neck to see behind Gavin. “What’cha hidin behind yer back, son? Wouldn’t be a shovel, now would it?”
Gavin could feel the pictures sliding around in his slick hands. “Nothing, sir. Just visiting my grandma,” he replied, moving to block the man’s view of the camera perched atop Betty’s grave.
Eyes slimming, the tall man stepped closer. “That so?”
“That’s right,” Pincher said, cutting him off and grabbing the camera. “So how’s about showing a little respect, buster. She was a sweet old lady.”
The man grunted and nodded at Betty’s marker. “Unfortunately, this sweet old lady didn’t live long enough to have grandchildren.” His eyes found Gavin. “I should know; I’m her father.”
The words rattled around inside Gavin’s skul
l for a long moment before settling into his brain. “Betty Campbell was your…daughter?”
The thin man nodded while the dog began to whine. “And I get darn tired of people comin round here, disrespecting our privacy. Her story is over and I will not let this turn into some sick and twisted ritual. We’ve been through enough!”
“Oh no, it’s nothing like that, sir,” Teddy said, pulling on Boone’s sleeve.
“Why’d Roger kill her?” Scotty blurted, shrinking beneath the caretaker’s gray eyes.
“Because he was a monster, that’s why!” Betty Campbell’s father paused for a melancholy sigh, eyes gravitating to his daughter’s gravestone. “All the stories and rumors. They were happy once, but…”
“But what?” Boone asked, shaking Teddy off his arm.
“But things change.”
“You’re the one who took the pictures,” Gavin whispered, drawing the man’s weathered eyes. “On Christmas and Jeffry’s birthday.”
The man’s face turned grave as a grim realization settled in like the dog whining at his feet. When he spoke, his words came out in a shocked murmur. “You went into that house.” It wasn’t a question. He already knew the answer. His eyes swept the entire group to confirm his sneaking suspicions, jaw muscles tensing into tight cords. “Think you’re a bunch of real daredevils, don’t ya?”
“No,” Gavin replied, trading a look with Boone. “Our mom was interested in buying it.” He paused for a moment. “Why’s it up for sale now anyway? After all these years?”
“Because I’m tired of dealing with it, that’s why!”
“Come on, fellas,” Teddy said, tugging on Boone’s coat sleeve again. “Time to go.”
“Now, you just stay right there, stretch!” The man brought the walkie to his mouth and lowered his voice to a professional manner. “Uhh, Big Bear to Sugar Shack, we got a ten-fourteen in progress on the south lawn. Request immediate assistance. Over.” He let up on the button and static flashed. His ill-tempered gaze drilled them with malice as he quietly awaited reply.
“Livestock on the highway?” an elderly woman answered. “Where abouts, Fred? Over.”
Cringing, Fred struggled to keep his voice under control. “Not a ten fifty-four, Helen. I said a ten-fourteen. Prowler in progress. Over.”
“Oh, we’re not prowlers,” Teddy smiled, towing Boone and Pincher toward the car. “We’re leaving.”
“I’m ten seventy-six on your side. Keep em steady, Freddy.” The line went silent and then static pulsed. “Was that by the black angel or the weeping willow? Over.”
Grimacing, Fred moved to block their path but like a river rushing past a boulder, they spilled around him on both sides and made a beeline for the car. “Better not catch you boys digging any bodies up out here. I know what happens on Halloween!” He shook the walkie-talkie at them, the wind yanking on his scarf. “And stay away from that house! The darkness has it now!”
Stopping dead in his tracks, everything went still except the heartbeat banging away in Gavin’s chest. Slowly turning back to the cantankerous caretaker, the hair went up on the back of his neck. “What’d you say?”
Chapter Nineteen
Black Spandex
Gavin stared at himself in the standing mirror, not seeing the six-shooter hanging low on his right side or the black cowboy boots that were already beginning to hurt his feet. Seeing only those two red words written across the mirror in Jeffrey’s bedroom.
Help us.
Bending, Gavin tied off the leather holster strap around his right leg before drawing the six-shooter and pointing it at his reflection. The back end of twilight settled in outside the bedroom window behind him, prickling his nerves and bruising the sky. Soon, it would be full dark and they would be back at that house. It was a mistake to go back. One they could not avoid. Jamming the cap gun back into the holster, he pulled a black cowboy hat down and studied himself in the reflective glass. They could still call this whole thing off. It wasn’t too late. No matter how hard he tried to stop it, his mind conjured up excuses to keep him from performing his civic duty. This wasn’t his burden to bear. He was only thirteen and should be out trick-or-treating with the other normal kids. But he wasn’t normal. Not anymore. For whatever reason, he’d been chosen to stand up to something sinister and this was his chance to make a difference. To save lives. To be somebody. Somebody his dad couldn’t continue to ignore.
“I thought you were going as a pirate.”
Gavin looked at his mom in the mirror and applied a fake mustache that tickled his nose. “Changed my mind,” he said, straightening his blue flannel coat with the camera hiding inside. He had to wear the coat. It was below average temps tonight and the sheepskin lining went better with a cowboy than a pirate. Not to mention, there was nowhere to hide the camera and a wooden stake in a flimsy pirate’s vest.
Crossing her high heels at the ankles, Cindy leaned in his bedroom doorway, a red-hooked tail swishing back and forth behind her black leggings. The bedroom light glistened off the silky top displaying her hard work at the gym while a pair of pointy horns rose from the wavy blond hair she spent forty-five minutes getting to look that perfect. “God Gav, that pirate costume cost fifteen dollars.”
He turned and offered up a guilty smile beneath the big mustache he knew she couldn’t resist. “Reckon I’ll use it next year, little lady.” He tipped his hat to her. “Promise.”
Biting back a smile, she shook her head. “You better, buckaroo. Now go have some fun already.”
Gavin grabbed his Count Chocula trick-or-treat bag from the bed and pushed past her, racing down the hallway and slamming into Boone when he stepped from his room. Backing up a few steps, Gavin’s eyes climbed the black leather boots and shiny spandex to the long hair flowing over a jean jacket in chocolate rivers. “I thought you were going to change into your costume. We have to meet the others in like ten minutes!”
He flipped his head back, long locks spiraling through the air behind him. “I did change!” he said in a husky voice, jerking an elbow back through the air. “I’m Sebastian Bach, mother-trucker!”
“Who?”
“Don’t say mother-trucker, Boone,” Cindy moaned, wagging her tail.
Gavin’s jaw hit the floor. “But this is what you wear every day!”
Looking down to survey his outfit, Boone’s face twisted in the hallway light. “I don’t wear spandex every day.”
“No, but your jeans are tight.”
“So!”
Gavin sighed. “Boone, all of the grunge people are going to throw batteries at you.”
“Screw the grunge people! I’ll get em in a headlock.”
“Boone!”
Tipping his head down, he lowered his voice. “Look, I’m not changing for anyone,” he said, bringing an air microphone to his mouth, “because I am the YOUTH! GONE! WILDDDDD!”
“Whatever,” Gavin grumbled, pushing him out of the way. “Bye Mom! Have fun at the party!”
“You too, and STAY together! I know he doesn’t seem like it, Boone, but he’s only thirteen. Keep an eye on him and bring him home before you go to Craig’s party!”
“I will!” Boone followed Gavin out into the dimly lit hallway and locked the door. Turning, he stared down at his younger brother.
Gavin shrugged at him. “What?”
“Your Swatch watch is throwing off your whole costume.”
“Who cares, Boone?”
“I do! Cowboys don’t wear Swatch watches.”
“So what!”
“So take it off!”
“No!”
Boone lowered his voice. “We’re not leaving until you…”
Mrs. Templer’s door cracked open behind them and Gavin took off running with Boone hot on his cowboy boot heels, thundering and giggling down the stairs like wild horses. They didn’t have time for crazy talk right now. Bursting out the glass front door into the dimly lit parking lot, a pretty redhead smiled at them over her shoulder, herding a purple p
rincess and zombie pharmacist to a sky-blue Aries K with rusty wheel wells and a graduation tassel hanging from the rearview mirror.
Gavin grabbed the passenger side door handle of the RS, mind spinning. “Okay, here’s the plan,” he panted, watching Boone flip through his keys in the near dark. “We go to Pincher’s and pick them up. Then we have to get gas because his mower can’s empty.” Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. “Of course.”
“We’ll hit that station we called the police from,” Boone suggested, finally sticking a key in the door and unlocking it. Sliding into the bucket seat, he reached over the console and popped the lock on Gavin’s door. “That place didn’t have security cameras, and they’ll never recognize us in these costumes.”
Sliding in, Gavin slammed the door shut and pulled his seatbelt on. “You look the exact same as you always do.”
“I don’t wear spandex!”
“What happened to the costume you were going to buy on Mom’s credit card?”
Boone turned to him and swallowed thickly. “I bought Van Halen tickets instead.”
“You would!”
Laughing, he twisted the key. The beefy engine turned over. And over. And over. Boone let the key twist back into place and ran a hand through his hair. “Shoot,” he whispered, blowing out a dejected breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not sure. Alternator maybe, or possibly the starter.” He stared at the darkened dash as if it might tell him something. “It did this the other day at the mall but, eventually, it started.”
“After how long?”
He lifted a shoulder to an ear. “Forty-five minutes or so.”
“Forty-five minutes?” Gavin checked his watch. “We have less than two hours, Boone!”
“I know, Gavin!”
“What’re we going to do?” Panic rose in the back of his throat, tightening his chest. His eyes zoomed in on the red Honda Prelude parked three spots over. “Mom’s car,” he muttered, fogging the glass.
“Mom’s going to Connie’s party. Remember?”
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