by Glenn Rolfe
“Yep, I’m on it.” He jumped out of bed and glided around the corner to the bathroom.
* * *
After they tangled up the sheets together, he followed her dancing booty down the hall to ‘the best part of waking up’. John figured this morning could challenge Folgers for the rights to that title. Sarah grabbed them each a mug, while he snatched the French Vanilla creamer from the fridge. Caffeine in hand, John went to sit at the table.
“No,” Sarah said. “I hear the porch calling.”
Sitting on the steps, staring at the freshly mown front yard, John sipped his morning buzz and hummed an old nineties song. It could have been something by Dinosaur Jr., but just as likely Everclear.
“So, did you wake up freaking out again last night or did I just dream that?”
Sarah’s inquiry put a permanent hold on his mystery tune and placed a set of cold hands on the shoulders of his perfect morning. “Yeah, I had another crazy dream.”
“Was it the same one? With those kids?”
He’d told Sarah about August and One Eye, not their names, but their oddness. “Yeah, it was messed up.”
“You want to talk about it?”
He wanted to forget them, but at least relaying the dreams aloud killed their creepiness with how foolish they sounded.
“Yeah, I was by a field with those two I told you about—”
“Were you still a kid?”
“Yeah. I think we were picking out graves.”
Sarah’s lack of laughter didn’t help scratch the creeps.
“Weird,” she said. She took a sip from her Hug a Lobster mug and said, “Was the field someplace you recognized?”
She was great at helping him work his way back through his dreams. She knew just what to ask to jog the details from the places where his awake mind liked to hide things. He couldn’t remember if they were here in Spears Corner or maybe in some movie he’d seen. Something screamed at him from the hiding place, but he just couldn’t grasp it – a name, something that sounded like a board game or an amusement park.
“I…I’m not sure, but it was really foggy. So, maybe it was Spears Corner. We have a lot of foggy nights with the damn streams and swamps crawling through the woods.”
“Well, maybe something from your past is nagging at you.”
“Yeah, maybe.” John doubted it, but just sipped his coffee and stared off into space. He no longer noticed the fresh-cut lawn, the brilliant golden rays warming his bare legs, or the pretty thirty-something at his side. He could almost see the fog, the sign – those two black holes. Goose bumps broke out over his arms. He shivered in the sun.
Chapter Two
John hated that Sarah worked second shift, especially on Saturdays. Since she switched last fall, it had all but killed their concert-going ventures – a sad but fairly successful way of holding on to a fragment of their youth. Pearl Jam, Brian Fallon, and even Royal Blood had offered them the energy, the slipstream of that essential electric current that held the last of those creeping gray hairs and budding crinkles at the corners of their eyes at bay. More magic in Sarah’s eyes – and his, too. His back gave him enough fits some mornings. He liked to blame it on the old mattress they slept on, but Sarah liked to remind him of his age. Whatever it was, he’d do anything he could to get a leg up on growing old.
Netflix and Mr. Peepers, their orange tabby, kept John company for the evening. Sometime between episode nineteen and episode twenty-two of Arrested Development he’d passed out.
Startled awake by a noise outside, John popped up from the sofa. The bowl of half-devoured tortilla chips in his lap crashed to the floor and exploded in a splatter pattern of ceramic shards. He could see the farthest pieces shimmering by the open front door. Had he closed the door earlier? He couldn’t remember.
“Shit.” He’d have to clean this up before – he glanced at the digital time on the screen: 10:44. Sarah would be home in half an hour. The sound of labored breaths outside the screen door iced his veins along with his clean-up concerns. He hadn’t noticed before – the motion sensor light on the front porch illuminated the yard.
John sidestepped the broken ceramic at his feet, determined not to let their crunch give him away. He pressed his chest up against the far wall and angled his head back to scan the lawn. Nothing. He inched closer to the door and took another look. Something swished off to the right. Hugging the wall, he looked around the door for anything he could use as a weapon. Sarah’s purple umbrella stared back.
Great, I’ll have to hope whoever’s out there has an unnatural fear of Mary Poppins.
He’d have to work with what he had. August’s black-hole eyes crossed his mind. A fine time for his shitty dreams to be creeping up on him. Shaking the macabre dream kid from his head, John held his breath and listened. The steady chirp of crickets and the hoot of the old owl that nested just beyond the tree line next to the house made their presence known. The swishing and the labored breaths closed in. To the right of the door, the porch groaned. John’s heart was in his throat. Ready to jab the intruder – or the strange kid from his dreams – John stepped forward, grabbed the umbrella, and shoved the screen door open.
“Jesus Christ!” the intruder screeched.
“Shit!” John said.
Pat Harrison, dressed in black from his hipster sneakers to his knit cap, sat on his ass, his back against the porch railings. His hands shook as he held them up in front of his face.
“Goddamn it, Pat, what the hell are you doing out here?”
Pat grabbed the railing above his head and hoisted himself up. “I lost my wallet earlier. I thought I might have dropped it in your yard this morning.”
“Well, shit, man, why are you dressed like a thief and shuffling around out here in the dark?”
“You know this is how I always dress, and I didn’t want to bother you or Sarah if I didn’t have to.”
John sat down in Sarah’s rocking chair next to the door and placed the umbrella across his knees. He waited for his heart rate to return to normal and snickered at himself for considering the impossible. Dreams don’t walk out into the night.
“What’s so funny?” Pat said. The kid stuck a cigarette between his thin lips and sparked it to life under his palm.
“Nothing, Pat. Just…nothing. So, did you find your wallet?”
Pat crooked his jaw to the right, exhaled a cloud of smoke, and stuck a thumb in the pocket of his black jeans. “No. I saw that your lights were on and I was still trying to decide if I should come find out if you or Sarah might have picked it up.”
“It didn’t occur to you to try that first?”
“Fuck, man. I don’t know what you guys are doing at this time of night behind closed doors. I didn’t want to bother you unless I had to.”
John wondered if Pat was referring to the screen door, or if the front door had been shut like he thought. He opened his mouth to ask as much, but “Got another one of those?” came out instead.
“After all this time, I didn’t know you smoked. I never see any butts in the yard.”
That line struck John as funny. He snickered again and said, “Only late at night behind closed doors.”
Pat handed him a Camel and lit it for him. John took a drag, feeling the smoke hit his lungs for the first time in months. He liked smoking. He would have fit in well in the old days when cigarettes were cool and were just as welcomed in restaurants as they were in bars. He quit for Sarah after her aunt passed from emphysema.
“So, any chance you guys found it?” Pat asked.
“Sorry, Pat, honestly I haven’t been beyond the porch all day. Sarah didn’t say anything before she went to work.”
“Shit.”
“You’re welcome to come back in the morning and hunt for it. Hell, I’ll even help you.”
“Cool. Thanks, Mr. C.”
“Quit it with that Mr. C shit. You’re making me feel like a teacher or some old church prick. After all this time, I told you just to call me John.”
“All right…Johnny.”
Irrational and downright foolish as it was hearing that name come from Pat’s lips, John shivered.
“How’s your mother doing? I haven’t seen her in a while,” John asked.
“She’s killing it. You’d be so proud of her. I know I am.”
“Does she know about this?” John asked holding up the cigarette.
“No,” Pat said, removing his cap, the Mohawk beneath springing to life as he hung his head. The crazy hair wasn’t even bent. John wondered what the hell the kid used to keep it so stiff. Hair Viagra?
“Don’t let me find out you’re doing anything else or I’ll have to beat the snot out of your little punk ass.”
“Of course not, man,” Pat said. “This is my only vice. Well, that and making sure your lawn looks immaculate.”
“Ha, well, you don’t tell Sarah and I won’t say anything to your mom. Deal?”
“Deal.” Pat came over and shook his hand. “Well, I guess I’ll be back in the morning.”
“You need a lift home?”
“Nah, my bike’s by the driveway.” Pat put his smoke out on the bottom of his sneaker and tossed the butt to the lawn. He jumped over the porch steps – his rubber soles produced a sla-slap sound as he hit the paved driveway – and yelled back, “I’ll pick that butt up in the morning, too. Good night, Johnny.”
“I said you could call me John,” he yelled back. Pat waved a hand and grabbed his bike from the small dip at the end of the yard. His reflectors shined in the porch light; two glimmering eyes spun away into the night.
Sarah’s Subaru Outback zoomed in next to his car. John rose, his deadly umbrella in hand and highlighted in the Subaru’s headlamps. She cut the engine and killed the lights. She stepped from the car and shook her head as John opened and twirled the umbrella.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Way-tin’ for yew, m’lady.” John’s cockney accent was less Dick Van Dyke, and more Johnny Rotten.
“Was that Pat that I just passed?”
“Yeah.” He closed the umbrella and held it at his side like a cane. “He thought he might have lost his wallet this morning mowing the lawn.”
Sarah stepped up to him. He gazed into her eyes. They were both five foot eight, which made a lot of things line up well. There was an untouchable grace in her eyes as the sliver of moonlight landed just right across her face. It was mesmerizing, dangerous and sexy all in one. He kissed her full lips and pulled her into the shadows of the porch.
“You know what I’d like to do?” he said.
“I could make a couple guesses.”
“Hold this for me,” he said, handing her the umbrella.
She laughed as he swept her up off her feet and held her like he had on their wedding night. Her bag hit the porch with a thud.
“What the hell do you have in there, a brick?” he said.
“Oh dear, you know it’s just all that money I make.”
“Oh yes, your millions from the drugstore. Now, let’s away with you.”
Sarah laughed. John reached his foot out and wiggled it between the screen door, proud that his balance didn’t falter even for a second. Sarah grabbed the cheap wood frame and pulled the screen door open further so they could go through.
“Such a romantic gesture. Carrying your old ball and chain over the threshold after all these years.”
John, with his back to the door, clutched her tightly as he stepped sideways, sliding down the length of the wall and skirting the trashed salsa bowl still on the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he put her down.
“You got me.” He nodded at the shattered ceramic shards spread across the floor. “Not quite the noble gentleman caller you thought.”
She shook her head and looked him in the eyes, a smirk upon her face. “You carried me so I wouldn’t walk on broken glass. And they say chivalry is dead. Pshaw.”
“Sorry about the bowl.”
“Shut up and kiss me, you fool.”
Holding his wife in his arms, he kissed her with all the magic in his heart.
Chapter Three
“What do you mean I can’t have this one? This is the one I chose,” One Eye said. He flopped down cross-legged in the knee-high, dew-covered grass and planted his fists into his sunken cheeks.
“You don’t get to choose a grave, dummy.” August stood against a wrought-iron fence, pulling leaves from the maple tree stretched over the posts. Johnny thought it was strange the way August would pull them free, suck them into his mouth and then spit them over the fence.
“It’s just a game,” One Eye said. “August doesn’t play, because he’s no fun.”
“I don’t think Johnny wants to play your game, either,” August said. He stared at the dark leaf in his hand, twirled it like a flower (or an umbrella – Chim Chim Cher-ee). “How about it, Johnny?”
“How about what?” Johnny said.
“You gonna play One Eye’s silly game and choose one?” August asked.
One Eye perked up at this. “Yeah, Johnny, go ahead pick one, man.”
“I…I don’t understand any of this.” And he didn’t. Nothing about this place made any sense. He turned to August. “Have you ever picked one?”
“August doesn’t play. He thinks he’s better than us, because he’s got a special job—”
“Shut the hell up.” August stepped from the fence. His mouth tightened, his claw hand opening and closing at his side. Johnny was certain if there had been more light than that provided by the moon above, he would have seen smoke stream from the lanky kid’s black eye holes.
One Eye stumbled backwards. “It’s true.” He looked to Johnny. “August is his special pet—”
“I said shut up!” August rushed at One Eye and spat a wad of chewed-up leaves in his face. But once they hit One Eye’s face, they weren’t leaves. They were spiders. Half a dozen quarter–size arachnids walked circles around One Eye’s face like kids at the mall. One Eye yelped like a girl as he swatted at the bugs.
“Gah, I hate spiders.” One Eye stood and tried to stamp on the bugs crawling away for their lives. He stopped and stared at August’s empty holes. “You’re the one that brought this upon yourself.” With that, One Eye turned and tromped away through the grass and weeds. “You comin’, Johnny?” he yelled back over his shoulder.
Johnny looked at August. He’d moved back to his spot by the fence and his leaf-munching routine. Johnny watched the grin spread across August’s face as he chewed. He puckered his lips and parted them like someone making a fish face. One dark spider crawled free and skittered up August’s milky cheek. Johnny watched the eight-legged critter disappear into one of the strange boy’s hollow eye sockets. He’d seen them but he didn’t really think August’s pits were actually hollow. There was something in them. Something dangerous.
“Go on, Johnny,” August said. “Run along.”
Johnny turned before August could play his leaf-to-a-spider trick again and fell. The hole in the ground seemed endless. He spun in free fall and looked up to see August standing at the top of the pit, watching his descent. He puckered up and blew Johnny one of his arachnid kisses.
* * *
“John, John, Wake up.”
“Huh, no, no, no!”
“Dear, it’s just a dream.”
Sarah’s voice brought him all the way back (and all the way up). He opened his eyes. The beauty of yesterday morning’s gold and glory was poisoned by the sickly rainy day Charlie Lopresti had promised on last night’s eleven o’clock newscast. Thunder boomed, startling him.
Sarah lay down next to him, snuggled up close to his ear, and stroked his c
hest in the calming manner only she could have. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain pouring down outside. A thousand drops of reality welcomed him. He was safe.
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.” He reached across and caressed her silky-smooth forearm as she continued with her enchanting massage. Something tickled his forehead and took a dive toward his eyes. He jerked free from Sarah’s embrace and smacked the crawling pest.
He pulled his hand away, feeling like an idiot. Sweat. He’d freaked out over a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.
“Come on,” Sarah said. She climbed out from the sheets, moved around to his side of the bed, and took his hand.
“Where?”
“You, me, nice hot shower.”
He let her drag him off the mattress.
In his peripheral vision, he saw something tiny and dark disappear beneath his pillow. He pulled his hand free and snatched the pillow from the bed.
Nothing.
“John, what are you doing?”
He shook the pillow, knowing something would come free. Nothing did.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Come on.”
“I thought I saw a spider.”
He let Sarah haul him away.
They’re coming to take me away ha-ha.
He would have laughed at this thought, but he wasn’t sure if ‘they’ were the boys in white coats or the kids picking out graves.
Chapter Four
With John at work, and her having the day off, Sarah managed to get in her daily yoga with her favorite YouTube yoga instructor, Adrienne. After that she picked up a few groceries for the week and made a trip to the bookstore all before ten a.m. She could have gotten lost in Barnes & Noble and stayed there forever. Instead, she made a list of books to hunt down at the Spears Corner Public Library, which she would hit up after lunch.
Books were what saved her as a teenager. When her dad bugged out and could no longer put up with her mother back in her crazy days, Sarah all but retreated into herself. She discovered the works of Stephen King and Anne Rice and would disappear for hours in the attic. She loved sitting up there and reading herself out of her real life. Books were less complicated. And when they were complicated, they always worked themselves out. She didn’t have as much faith in real life. She loved her mom, but the woman definitely had an undiagnosed touch of some serious bipolar shit going on. And on her mother’s worst days, Sarah would grab her books and hide away in the dark, comforting words and worlds of one of her favorite writers. She spent months dreaming of New Orleans and falling under the spell of both the city and the creatures. There were nights of visiting Castle Rock and Derry. She thought it was neat that they lived so close to King’s stomping grounds. Bangor was a two-hour drive. They’d gone there once with her Grandmother Bernice, who lived in Ellsworth. Sarah waited until her mother had fallen asleep on one medication or another and taken her old Focus to King’s house. She had the selfie to prove it. It was one of her prized pics, even if it was a little dark. Back then, cell phones didn’t have built-in flashes or night modes like they do now. She vowed to go back one day, but even after moving to Spears Corner, less than ninety minutes from the place, she hadn’t returned. Life just seemed too busy.