by Dan Dillard
“Yep,” Zack replied.
“Think we should investigate?”
The man rolled the empty cart out of the garage and back up the ramp into the truck.
“Yep.”
“Should we get Alex first?”
“Nope.”
Amy nodded, then ran back to the shed to get her bike. Zack was right behind her and the two tore down the driveway, looked both ways as instructed, then darted down the street. They stopped at the edge of the stranger’s driveway and watched.
Bangs and scraping sounds echoed from inside the truck, then the squeaking wheel of the dolly as it rolled down the ramp. Zack put his finger to his lips, shushing his sister. The man stopped in the garage and grabbed a large water bottle, unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. Halfway through gulping, he noticed the kids.
He took a step from the garage and waved, swallowing.
“You two stalking me? Kinda early isn’t it?” he said.
Zack ignored the question and introduced himself.
“I’m Zack Winter. This is my sister Amy.”
“Hi,” Amy said.
“Hello, Zack and Amy. I’m Greg Chance.”
“You work at the plant?”
Mr. Chance smiled, chuckling quietly to himself.
“I do. Well, I start on Monday.”
“Know my dad?”
His face changed from amused surprise to amused interest.
“Well, let’s see. Would your dad be Jimmy winter?”
Amy upstaged her brother.
“James Winter. But I think he does go by Jimmy at work.”
Amy fidgeted with her handlebars, twisting the silver and white tassels that hung from the rubber grips. Mr. Chance knelt down to her level.
“Yes. James—ah, Jimmy—is my boss. I guess that means I’d better be nice to you two, huh?”
Zack started to speak, and Amy interrupted him, blurting out words like a popped balloon, farting around an empty backyard.
“Mister, you got any kids?”
Zack stared at her with contempt, but Mr. Chance smiled, still kneeling.
“I do. Robbie’s my son. About your age, Zack. He should be here later today.”
“He nice?” Amy said.
Mr. Chance laughed.
“I’d like to think so. Say, maybe you two could show him around later. I’ll get his bike off the truck so he’ll be ready to roll.”
He motioned towards the bike as he stood up, then fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the cable that bundled the three bicycles to the rack on the truck and pulled it down. Zack eyeballed it with interest, a similar machine to his own. It was black and silver, where Zack’s was dark blue and yellow. Mr. Chance rolled it up to the garage and parked it inside on its kickstand. He sauntered back down the driveway to where the children were waiting, while slapping his hands together as if they were dusty.
“So, we got a deal?” he said.
Amy looked at her brother, then back at the new neighbor. She smiled, a missing tooth in the front row.
“Deal.”
The man and the little girl shook hands. Zack nodded. Behind them, from the opposite end of the street, a blue minivan limped its way to its new home. The engine sputtered and steam poured from the seams around the hood.
“And, I think I hear them now,” Mr. Chance said, grimacing.
The van stopped at the curb in front of the house. A pretty woman with blond hair pulled up into a bun sat in the driver’s seat. She looked tired and frustrated and relieved. She popped the car door open and stepped out into the road for a nice long stretch. Steam still oozed from the crack around the hood, pouring down over the grill and dissipating before it could hit the ground.
“I gotta get that looked at,” Greg said, followed by, “Hey honey, I’m so glad you’re here. Home. I’m glad you’re…home.”
Evelyn Chance looked around and smiled before she leaned her head into the car and Zack heard her say, “Robbie. We’re home.”
The back door popped open and Robbie Chance bolted out, refreshed and full of energy. His mother followed slowly up the driveway to her husband’s waiting arms. A quick hug and kiss were followed with a trio of, “Yuck.”
“I thought you got that fixed,” Greg said.
“So did I,” his wife answered.
She shrugged in defeat, then turned to Zack and Amy with a warm smile.
“So, who do we have here?”
Mr. Chance did the honors.
“This is Zack and his sister, Amy.”
Amy nodded, flipped her bike around in a flash of pink and chrome and looked back over her shoulder. She stood as if she was about to take off on a motorcycle, headed for some x-games course and said, “Hi, Robbie. Come on, let’s roll.”
Robbie looked at the bike rack, then at his father who pointed to the garage. He smiled and sprinted up the slight incline to retrieve it. Rolling back down the grade, he looked at his parents anxiously. They nodded. Amy was already halfway down the street and Robbie started to follow.
“Wait!” his mother shouted.
She jogged to him, hugging him tightly and then kissed his forehead. She smoothed his travel-rough hair off of his forehead and he batted her hands away. Amy was almost out of sight by the time Robbie caught up and Zack brought up the rear.
“Don’t get into trouble! And be back by dinner! Oh, and call my cell phone i…case you…need something.”
Her voice trailed off and Mr. Chance patted her on the shoulder.
“He’ll be fine,” he said. “Let him get out some of that energy.”
“I guess…but we don’t know them.”
“They’re kids. Kids are kids.”
The Chances embraced and watched their son ride off with new friends. Once the kids were out of sight, they walked to the back of the U-Haul and looked inside.
“Looks like you’ve got work to do, Mister,” she said, and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be inside.”
“Crap,” he said.
CHAPTER 6
The three children raced their bikes as hard as they could, cutting through lawns, bouncing up on curbs and across sidewalks before barreling back into the street. They coasted down one hill and pumped up the next, taking turns in the lead, each testing the others’ limits.
“Where we goin’, Zack?” Amy asked.
“Store,” he said.
“No…money,” she replied, starting to pant.
“Stole some from Brad this morning. Before he woke up.”
Amy giggled.
“Brad’s our brother,” she said to Robbie, who nodded and smiled.
“Buy me a soda,” she said.
“Dream on,” Zack replied.
“Buy me a soda, Zack,” Robbie said, mocking.
Amy and Zack both laughed. Robbie was going to fit in nicely. Zack sped off, leaving his sister and new friend in his dust. They let him go for a minute until Amy couldn’t stand it and pushed on to catch up.
Zack reached the wrought iron fence first. It was six feet tall, jutting out from an old stone base like the teeth of a giant’s comb. Beyond was the Crowe’s Foot Cemetery, the only thing which still carried the town’s original name. It was loaded with headstones and covered about 100 acres of land. On the far side, they could see a line of trees. Amy and Robbie joined him and the three stared between the black bars.
“Why’d ya...stop here?” Amy said, still panting.
Zack shushed her.
“Cool. A graveyard,” Robbie said.
Amy and Zack both hushed him.
“What?” he whispered.
Looking out over the graveyard, a faint, misty fog crept along the ground, like a living blanket trying to stretch out and cover everything, but never quite making it. Some fifty yards away from the kids, a figure appeared between an assemblage of oak trees and looked around. He was old, with dark skin and patches of curly white hair above his ears. He wore dingy white shirt, rolled to the elbows and his grey pants
were held up with black suspenders. On top of his head was a cabbie-hat. When he noticed the children, he walked in their direction, shooting them a sour look.
“There he is,” Zack said.
“Who?” asked Robbie.
Amy rolled her eyes and sighed.
“That’s just ol’ Mumbles. He’s a caretaker or something...and mean as a badger.”
“What’s a badger?” Robbie asked.
Zack looked at him like he was crazy.
“It’s called the internet. Look it up.”
Robbie screwed his face up. “Well, what’s his problem?”
“He’s just old. I think maybe he’s sniffed too many dead bodies or something,” Zack said.
Mumbles drew closer and as he did, he started shooing them and waving his arms. Zack heard him grumbling in his old man wheeze and that unmistakable Creole accent.
“Y’all show some respec’ fo’ da dead! G’won now ‘n get outta here,” he said.
The three kids walked their bikes down the fence line, still watching Mumbles and the graveyard. Amy stuck her tongue out.
“Creepy ol’ man!” she shouted.
Mumbles looked at the ground, scanned the area as if he was looking for someone, and then crossed his arms as he leaned against one of those oak trees. He watched the kids with wide eyes for another moment, then glanced up at the sun, one wrinkled hand shielding his eyes. Robbie stopped and watched him.
“What’s he doin?”
“Dunno,” Zack said. “Keep walking. He’s crazy and I don’t know which is older, him or that tree he’s leanin’ up against.”
The old man waved them off and grunted a crusty, “Bah!” before turning and walking back in the direction from which he’d come. The kids mounted up again.
Robbie and Zack were silent as they rode, nearing the downtown square. Amy tried to whistle a song, but it came out more like the peeps and squeaks of a deranged bird. She was still learning the art of whistling, much to Zack’s annoyance. Everything she did annoyed him.
“Zack?” Robbie said, pulling alongside him.
“What’s up?”
“What do dead bodies smell like?”
“Huh?”
“You said Mumbles probably smelled too many dead bodies. What do they smell like ya think?”
Zack shrugged.
Amy wedged herself between them, careful not to tangle their pedaling feet.
“Farts,” she said.
The boys giggled. Amy held her matter-of-fact face.
“What?” Robbie said.
“Whenever dad farts, mom says it smells like somethin’ crawled up his butt and died. Farts.”
None of the three laughed as much as they considered the explanation plausible. Then Robbie cackled, and his cheeks blazed a bright red.
“Hey Amy,” he said.
“Huh?”
“Somethin’ crawled up my butt and died. Wanna smell it?”
At that, Robbie ripped a juicy, blue-ribbon honker.
“That’s just nasty. You’re just nasty,” she said.
“You get any on you?” Zack asked, giggling.
Robbie squeaked off another one. Zack howled. Amy’s joined them, and her mouth coiled into a devilish grin. She strained, but couldn’t produce anything. Zack howled again and the three laughed as they rolled into the small parking lot next to Mort’s, a convenience store of questionable convenience and even worse prices.
Old brick surrounded two large plate glass windows through which racks of groceries, magazines and other odds and ends such as motor oil, over-the-counter medicines and beer could be seen. Neon cigarette and beer lights lined the windows, one or two flickering as if their transformers were about to fail.
Amy and Robbie lay their bikes down on the ground, metal scraping and clanking on the concrete. Robbie parked his properly. They filed inside, jingling a worn and dusty set of sleigh bells. The hum of refrigerators filled the air which smelled of heat lamp hotdogs and pine-scented floor cleaner.
Zack and Amy wandered up and down each of the three aisles, dragging their fingers over packs of chips and candy until they reached a deep freezer with sliding glass doors on top. Zack grabbed three ice cream sandwiches from within. They were frozen solid, much harder than they should’ve been. He tapped one on the top of the freezer with a clunk-clunk sound, then held them up for approval.
“Sure,” Amy said, flipping through a magazine.
“Nope,” said Robbie. “Saving up for a new guitar.”
Zack looked awestruck. “Cool.”
He started to put one of the sandwiches back in the freezer, then stopped, thinking better of it.
“Hey…I’ll get it this time, since you’re new. But don’t think I’m gonna make this a habit.”
Robbie nodded. “Okay. Thanks.”
Zack walked to the counter. Amy dropped her magazine on top of some cases of soda and hurried next to him.
“You got me one too, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
Robbie stared at the wall behind the counter. The word, Mort’s, was painted there in giant, fancy cursive lettering. Under that was a menu board that listed various microwaved fare and the cost of certain brands of cigarettes.
“Who’s Mort?” Robbie asked.
“Dunno, the owner’s name is Richard,” Zack replied.
Zack set the ice cream on the counter. The clerk, a disinterested teen with braces, acne and a Mort’s t-shirt on, pulled an ear bud from one ear. Heavy metal music spewed, thin and abrasive, from the miniature speaker.
“That it?” he said.
Zack nodded. The teen put his ear bud back and scanned each of the three items. Then he dropped them back on the counter and pointed to the total on the register’s digital readout. Zack dropped three crumpled dollar bills on the counter and held his hand out for change. He handed out the treats as they exited the place.
Amy opened hers and started eating. Robbie bumped into Zack who had stopped just outside the door and dropped his ice cream on the ground.
“Crap,” he said.
Zack’s eyes were locked on something, and absently he held his out and said, “Here, have mine.” But it wasn’t just any something. It was her, Miranda Collier, and she was the reason he breathed air.
Amy rolled her eyes.
“What is it?” Robbie said.
“Not a what. A who,” Amy replied and pushed him aside, pointing. “Twelve o’clock.”
Across the street a young girl with auburn hair, jeans and a pink t-shirt walked next to her mother. They had just exited one store and were entering another. Between the storefronts, they passed a man, older and wearing strange clothes. He stared ahead, ignoring Miranda and looking right at Robbie, Zack and Amy.
“That’s Miranda. The girl Zack won’t even talk to.”
Robbie took a look and shrugged. “She ain’t much,” he said.
Zack waved at them, urging them to be quiet.
“What? She can’t hear us. Or can’t you see her over our talking?” Amy said.
“See her over our talking. I get it,” Robbie said, chuckling, then, “She your girlfriend?”
“He wishes,” Amy said.
Zack blushed, but didn’t take her eyes off the girl. She entered the store, followed by her mother. The strange old man disappeared into a puff of thin mist and if his existence hadn’t caught Zack’s attention, his disappearance did.
“You guys see that?” he asked.
“See what?” Amy said.
“I thought I saw something.”
“What? You think she winked at you?” Amy said.
“Or blew you a kiss?” Robbie added.
“Shut up,” Zack said, still blushing. “It wasn’t her.”
“Then what was it?” Amy said.
Zack squinted. “I don’t know. I thought I saw something is all.”
He couldn’t explain what he’d seen. It was peripheral. There and then gone. But he hadn’t fully noticed
the old man, only his absence. Zack leaned down and picked up the discarded ice cream sandwich and put it in an overflowing trash can at the corner of Mort’s store.
“Where to now?” Amy said.
Her cheeks were sticky with melted ice cream and crumbs of chocolate cake. She sucked on her fingers and wiped the rest on her jeans. Zack was concerned, still watching the place where the red-haired Miranda stood with her mother, where the man or whatever it was had vanished into the air. He stared until Robbie coughed, and coughed again. At the second cough, Zack looked just in time to see Robbie slap a hand to his mouth and drop the second sandwich.
“You okay?” Zack said, his full attention on his new friend.
Amy smacked Robbie on his back, and he spit a tooth into his hand. It was covered in partially chewed chocolate and blood-tinged spittle.
“That’s gross,” Amy said. “Just disgusting.”
Zack stared at the tooth and Amy stared at Zack. Robbie caught his breath coughing a few more times. He looked at the sandwich on the ground and said, “Crap crap.”
“Crap is right,” Zack said. “Let’s go.”
Amy nodded, then looked at Robbie.
“Come on.”
“Put that in your pocket,” Zack said. “We have to get it to the manhole.”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“A manhole. Metal circle thingy in the...” Amy said.
Robbie interrupted, “I know what it is. Why do we have to...”
Zack interrupted, “Just come on. I’ll explain when we get there.”
CHAPTER 7
The three of them approached the rusty metal disc and one by one, left their bikes at the side of the road. The graffiti splattered overpass loomed behind them and grass and weeds stood knee high on either side of the tree-hugged street. Robbie looked at Zack, then at Amy and laughed at their tense faces.
“You guys are shittin’ me,” he said.
Amy placed a hand on his shoulder, her face as serious as a funeral director’s.
“We don’t shit. We never shit,” she said.
“This is the place,” Zack said.
Robbie stood there, looking unimpressed. Zack and Amy looked at each other, then at him and he shrugged.
“What am I supposed to do?” he said.
“You put your tooth on top of it,” Amy said.
“Why?”
Zack sighed, then inhaled deeply.
“So the Tootheater can come and take it.”
Robbie cocked his head.
“Tootheater?”
“Yep. If you don’t put it on there, he’ll find you while you sleep and take you down into the sewer,” Amy said, her eyes round and her voice a whisper.