by Anthony Izzo
“I really need to get going, Mrs. Winter.”
“Just stay a few more minutes. John’s warming up the limo right now.”
He opened the door to Ronnie’s room and said, “Whoa.”
A Raiders of the Lost Ark pinball machine stood to the right of the door. A basketball hoop was affixed to the wall, and Ronnie had a full-sized hockey goal with a mound of sticks, pads, and helmets piled in front of it. That was for starters. He had GI-Joes by the hundreds, a Dragon’s Lair video game, and even his own computer on a desk near the window.
Ronnie pulled out a cardboard box full of comic books, and Paul joined him at the foot of the bed, looking like a kid on Christmas morning.
“The ceilings are high enough for you to shoot baskets in here. Amazing,” Jack said.
“Check out this Spider Man,” Paul said, holding up a comic with the web slinger adorning the front.
“That must be worth something,” Jack said. “Awesome room.”
“Yeah, real neato,” Paul said.
Jack rolled his eyes.
“I can have anything I want,” Ronnie said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Jack said. “This is all cool, but we should get going, Paul.”
“I’m only through half the box.” Paul slid the Spider Man back into the box and pulled out another comic with Green Lantern on the cover.
“Your dad is gonna kill you,” Jack said.
“You’re right,” Paul said, and stuffed the comic books back in the box. “Let’s hit it.”
“You guys can’t leave yet,” Ronnie said. “I’ll be bored.”
“I’d never get bored if I had all this,” Jack said.
“It happens.” His face lit up. “Hey. I know something we could do. Really cool if you guys are up for it.”
“Me and Paul have to go.”
“Wait.”
Ronnie scrambled to his feet, hiked up his pants, and hurried to the nightstand, where he opened the drawer. He produced a yellow flashlight with a black switch and turned it on.
“What’s with that?” Paul asked.
“Tunnels.”
“He’s loony,” Paul said.
“Under the estate. They run all the way out to the road. That old guy Steadman built a small rail system to run through the tunnels. Three workers died building it and they never finished it. What do you say?”
Jack mulled it over, thinking he was already in trouble enough and a little while longer wouldn’t matter. A little jolt of anticipation washed over him, like the feeling you got before a fight or a big test. How many people ever got to see something like that?
“How do we get there?” Jack asked.
“I’ll show you. You’re not afraid of ghosts, are you?”
“Nah,” Jack said.
“Me neither,” Paul said, drumming his fingers on the box of comic books.
“Let’s do some exploring.” Ronnie thumped across the room, flung open the door, and took off down the hallway with flashlight in hand.
“Last one down’s a loser!” he echoed from the hallway.
Jack raced Paul, nudging him out of the way as they reached the door. Paul’s arm hit the jamb and he said, “Ow!” Ronnie ran ahead of them, the flashlight beam bobbing up and down.
He made a quick left and headed down a staircase flanked by a smooth wooden banister. The stairs ended in the second biggest room Jack had ever seen (next to Ronnie’s kitchen), a great room. It had a bar lining the entire wall, a billiard table, and a dartboard. He whizzed past a big-screen television and a Foosball table before ending up in a small kitchen off the great room. Paul bumped him in the back.
“You’re last, loser,” Jack said.
“Stuff it, Harding.”
“This is where Mom keeps the stuff for parties,” Ronnie said. “You guys aren’t afraid of ghosts, are you?”
“You already asked us that,” Paul said.
“I know. But the workers who built the tunnel? Their ghosts walk down there.”
“Bullshit,” Jack said.
“Double bubble bullshit,” Paul said.
“How do we get down there?” Jack asked.
“Help me move the fridge.”
Ronnie set the flashlight on the counter, crouched down, and leaned his shoulder into the side of the refrigerator. Jack and Paul got next to him, pushing and grunting until it slid across the linoleum.
“There it is,” Ronnie said.
A white door with a black doorknob stood chest high on Jack. The lock looked old, a skeleton keyhole underneath the doorknob. Ronnie pulled the door open, revealing an opening darker than the maw of a shark.
Ronnie scooped up the flashlight.
The smell of must, damp and heavy, permeated the room. Jack looked out the window to find the entire estate covered in darkness, and he imagined the blackness in the tunnels was five times worse. His heart sped up. If he chickened out now, the other two guys would brand him a pussy.
“What are you waiting for? Let’s go,” Jack said.
Ronnie shone the flashlight into the opening, revealing a flat concrete pad and three steps leading into the tunnels. The top step had a jagged crack in it, and cobwebs dangled from the top of the door frame.
“We’re off to see the wizard,” Ronnie said, ducking low under the door. He wasn’t low enough, and he bumped his head on the frame. Jack and Paul chuckled.
“What if someone comes down and sees us?” Paul asked.
“You sound like an old lady. Quit worrying,” Jack said.
In truth he wanted to get going down the stairs before his legs refused to move. Despite the flutter in his guts, he felt good. The headache was down to a low throb, and the pain in his ribs felt no worse than after a game of tackle football. Whatever Cassie did to him, it worked.
He started through the door with Paul in tow.
CHAPTER 15
Emma squatted down, tugging the back of her skirt to make sure it covered her legs. Behind her, the bed creaked, sounding as if a baby elephant sat on it instead of her weirdo cousin. Her tapes were stored in a white plastic crate, and Motley Crue rested on top of the pile. Mick, Nikki, Vince, and Tommy graced the cover, hair teased, clad in leather and spandex. They snarled for the camera, fists clenched as if they would slug you with no provocation. Every parent’s nightmare. The music made Emma’s neck hairs stand up, and she considered Tommy Lee a babe, even though she would never admit that. They sang about sex, drugs, and the devil. Jacob was sure to hate it, and she hoped it might actually drive him from the room.
She was about to stand up when he leaned over her shoulder, the cheese breath strong in her face.
“What a bunch of freaks. They look like girls,” he said.
“They could kick your fat butt.”
“Those guys probably can’t even spell butt.”
He took a step back, but she didn’t have room to stand up, so it left her kneeling in front of him. Looking down, he smiled a yellow-tooth smile at her, and she was aware that something about this position was dirty. She backed up and stood quickly, fumbling the tape and then catching it.
“You going to play that tape or juggle it?”
“I don’t know why you wanted to come up here.”
“You know why.”
Jacob wandered over to her dresser and looked in the mirror. There was a Boston Celtics pennant tucked into the corner and he pulled it out.
“Girls aren’t supposed to like sports,” Jacob said.
He dangled the banner in front of him, swinging it like a pendulum.
“Put it back.”
“Maybe you’re a little dyke.”
Jacob dropped the pennant on the rug.
“Pick it up.”
“Get it yourself, dyke.”
“Stop calling me that,” she said.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“It holds water in place,” she said.
“Ha!” he snorted, sounding like a hog.
“What�
�s so funny?”
“You’re a dumb one, so I’ll tell you. It’s a girl who likes other girls.”
“I like girls, so what?”
“Like girlfriends. They have sex with each other,” he said.
Emma’s face went hot and prickly.
“Tell you what. You made me laugh so I’ll pick up your pennant.”
“You’re disgusting. That’s gross, having sex with other girls.”
He bent down and his belly spilled over the beaten belt.
“Whatever,” he said, tossing the pennant on the desk. “What’s this?”
He picked up her stick of Tussy deodorant and popped off the cap. Then he sniffed it. “You wear this so you smell good for your girlfriends?”
“Get out of my room, Jacob.”
“Nah,” he said, setting the deodorant on the dresser. “Let’s check out your drawers.” He opened the top drawer, pulled out a pink training bra, and stretched it like a slingshot. “Lookie, lookie. Emma’s got boobies. But we already know that, don’t we?”
She cocked her arm and whipped the tape at him, but he sidestepped it, and the tape clattered off the mirror.
“Can I keep this?” He waved the bra like a matador waiting for the bull to charge.
“Give it back!”
She charged forward, smacking into him, reaching for the bra, but he was too tall and held it over her head, just out of reach. Up close she got a whiff of his body odor and saw the pus-filled pimples dotting his forehead. It would be ten thousand years before a girl ever gave him a second look.
“Glad you came over,” he said.
She realized too late that she had done exactly what he wanted. While she reached for the bra, Jacob lowered his free hand and reached around, gripping the back of Emma’s thigh. He slid his hand up her skirt and squeezed her right cheek. She yelped in surprise.
“How’s that feel?”
“Not so good. How’s this feel?”
She slammed her knee into his crotch. He let out a gasp and, still holding the bra, doubled over, cupping his nuts, the bra swishing against his knees.
Emma looked at him, a little shocked at her actions. Seeing him bent over with the bra dangling was surreal. It was the first time she ever hit a boy there, and one thing came to mind: laughter. It burst out of her, and she covered her mouth with one hand while pointing with the other. It was too darn funny seeing the booger like that.
Jacob moaned and looked down at his crotch as if expecting to see blood on his trousers. He looked at the bra and threw it to the floor. Fresh tears welled up in his eyes and whether they were from physical pain or some deeper hurt, she didn’t know; it made her feel as if she had kicked a dumb animal.
He charged her, pinning Emma against the wall. The thick glasses made his eyes as big as golf balls. “You little bitch. Are you laughing at me? You won’t laugh the next time I get you alone.”
He squeezed Emma’s shoulders, the nails pinching her skin through the fabric of the turtleneck.
“What’s going on up there? You sound like a herd of elephants,” Mom said from the foot of the stairs.
“Tell her I tripped, Emma. Don’t piss me off more.”
She considered screaming, but that might make him angry enough to crack her skull against the wall.
“Jacob tripped, Mom. It’s nothing.”
“Come down for dinner.”
Saved by the dinner bell.
Jacob let go, breathing hard, spittle dripping from his lower lip. He flipped her the bird as he headed down the stairs.
“Gonna be sick,” she said.
The three boys ducked through the opening and started onto the concrete pad. Ronnie trained the beam on the steps and it lit up the walls, showing smooth stone on either side. At the bottom of the stairs, they ended up in a small chamber facing a cracked, rotted door.
Goose bumps broke out on Jack’s arms and he figured the temperature had dropped twenty degrees since leaving the mansion. He wished for a coat.
“You came down here by yourself?” Jack said.
“Yep.”
“You’re nutty,” Paul said.
“Come on,” Ronnie said.
Ronnie moved ahead of them, unfazed by the darkness and general creepiness of the place. Maybe the kid had a screw loose in the old noggin. Normal people didn’t go around angering Vinnie Palermo or cheerfully running into underground tunnels.
Jack turned and saw light the color of platinum-blond hair streaming through the open door. It looked warm and inviting, a place where the cookies were warm and the milk was cold. But if he backed out now he would look like a pussy, and that was the worst crime possible among twelve-year-old boys, one he didn’t want to commit.
Ronnie had already disappeared through the door, and in the absence of light, the darkness covered them like dirt on a coffin lid.
“Jack, you still there?” Paul said.
“Right behind you.”
“What do we do?”
“Follow him. He’s got the light.”
He wanted more than anything to turn and hightail it up the stairs, but number one, he would look like king chickenshit and number two, he didn’t think he could even find the first step without sprawling over and cracking his teeth. Instead he nudged Paul’s arm with his elbow.
“I’ll hold on to you so we don’t get separated,” Jack said.
“You’re not a homo, are you?”
“Shut up and keep moving. If we lose him we’re screwed.”
Paul moved ahead, feeling his way toward the door until his fingertips touched the splintered wood.
“In here! C’mon!” Ronnie’s voice echoed.
“Bring the light back here,” Jack said.
“What?”
“We can’t see squat!”
He heard Ronnie mutter, “Oh.”
The beam bobbed in the doorway, and Ronnie followed, a stringy cobweb stuck in his hair. “Sorry, guys. I just got excited.”
“Don’t do it again,” Paul said.
“Watch your step.”
He shone the light down, and they saw a rail running along the floor. There were timbers in between, most of them black with rot, and the rails were coated with rust.
“Old man Steadman was a little weird, huh? Started this rail and never finished it,” Ronnie said.
“What was he trying to do? Couldn’t his servants just walk around, or use a car?” Jack asked.
“Nah. John said the guy crapped money and he got bored so he decided to build this thing.”
“He must’ve been pretty eccentric,” Paul said.
“How’d you find out about these tunnels, anyway?” Jack said.
“When we moved into the mansion, John brought me down here and told me all about them. He said if he ever caught me down here he would hang me up by my toes. I think he wanted to show me how dangerous it is.”
“It really worked, too. We shouldn’t be down here,” Paul said.
“Why, are you chicken?”
“Of course not,” Paul said, puffing his chest out.
“Let’s prove it then. Jack, you’re not a clucker, are you?”
“No way.”
“Follow me.”
Their fearless leader started ahead, and the two other boys followed him, stepping over rotted timbers and almost tiptoeing to avoid tripping.
“John said these tunnels were here already. This was a hospital before Steadman bought the place, and these were used by the staff to get around.”
“What happened to the hospital?”
“It burned to the ground. Huge buildings. All wood. Whoosh! John said a hundred people died. They tore the rest of it down and sold the land to Steadman after that.”
“That’s creepy. All this bad stuff happening here. The hospital burns down; then the workers die in the tunnel,” Jack said.
“John said legend has it there’s a nurse who burned to death in the fire whose burned body still walks around down here from time to time.”<
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“All right, that’s enough, bub. No more ghost stories.”
“We might see one, you know. Maybe the nurse, all black and crispy and shit,” Ronnie said.
“Yeah, like a hot dog that’s been on the grill too long,” Jack said.
“Shut up,” Paul said.
“I’m kidding, Fussel. Do you really think there’s ghosts down here?”
“Anything’s possible,” Paul said.
They reached a fork in the tunnel, and Ronnie stopped and shone the light on the right side. “Let’s see, was it the right or the left side?” he said, a man in deep thought with himself.
“Oh yeah. The left.”
He barreled ahead, Jack and Paul with no choice but to follow him, for he was their only source of light, and without the Duracell, they wouldn’t be able to see the tips of their noses. Jack didn’t know what he liked less: following Ronnie deeper into the tunnels or being left in the dark to fend for himself. It was like being on Let’s Make a Deal and having man-eating tigers behind all three doors. Some choices.
They entered the left tunnel and the rail ended. They wove to the left, Jack feeling his way along the tunnel, the stone smooth and cold under his palm. The tunnel felt like the belly of a gigantic serpent that had devoured them, and the mouth was back at the doorway, the only way out. Icy air prickled the back of his neck, and when he exhaled he saw his breath.
“Okay. Stop.”
“Now what?” Paul said.
“Time to see who’s a clucker and who’s got a pair,” Ronnie said.
“Let’s just get the hell out of here. My mom’s probably called out the National Guard by now,” Jack said.
“And I’m gonna need them to protect me from my father. Maybe the marines, too,” Paul said.
“Dares are on. You guys do the dare and we leave. You don’t do it and I smash the flashlight and we’re all in the dark,” Ronnie said.
He shone the light on his moon face, the way you did when telling a ghost story, holding it under your chin so as to look creepy.
“You won’t do it,” Jack said.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Knock it off. You wreck that light and we’re screwed,” Jack said.
Ronnie leaned in close to Jack, still shining the light on his face, and said, “I’ll do it, Jack. I’m crazy like a loonie bird.”