by Dan Dillard
CHAPTER 11
Alex King slept in his bedroom which was a typical room for a boy his age. He was snoozing peacefully on the bottom bunk of his typical bunk bed in his parents’ typical suburban home. He wore footie pajamas that were blue and plain because his Xmen pajamas were in the wash. Snores emanated from his parents’ bedroom down the hall and from his granddad, who was still propped in an old recliner in the TV room.
Downstairs, something shifted in the kitchen. The room was dark and smelled faintly of dishwashing detergent; the noise of the dishwasher drowned out the creaks and groans of the old hardwood floor as an unknown being carefully walked across them. The flicker of an infomercial blinked in the hallway, illuminating the foyer and the bottom of the stairs.
The figure moved through the shadowed front hall to the steps, stalking its way upstairs and stopping at each creaking step to listen for any movement in the house. A loud snort from the TV room stopped the lurker in its tracks. Granddad paused sawing his logs for just a moment before starting up again.
The figure grunted, continuing up the stairs into the hallway and stopped in front of a door that held a sign reading, “Property of Alex. Enter if you dare!” A Wolverine sticker gave weight to the statement. Light from the bathroom across the hall provided a nightlight and illuminated the hallway. A quick twist of the knob released the latch and the door to Alex’s room popped open with a click.
Pushing the door in, the being’s shadow—noticeably human in form—stretched across the floor against the moonlight, reaching and covering Alex’s tiny sleeping body. It stepped in, cautiously, shuffling its feet to dodge the toys that dotted the landscape. The same hand stretched out toward the child, reaching beneath the Xmen comforter and under his pillow. Alex shifted in his sleep, but did not wake. The figure was his mother and she sighed in frustration as she put her hands on her hips.
“Damn,” she whispered.
She turned on his table lamp which lit the room in a dim orange and shrugged. In a last ditch effort Mrs. King rolled Alex over completely and pulled his pillow from the bed. She rubbed her hand over the sheet where his pillow had been, and then checked the floor. There was no tooth. She held up a five dollar bill and shook it at him, then stuffed it into her robe pocket, then pulled out a crumpled tissue and wiped her nose.
“No tooth, no dice,” she said. “Your loss.”
His mother left the room, pulling Alex’s door shut. Inside, Alex squirmed a little, but quickly settled in and lay still. From downstairs came another long squawking snore. Mrs. King entered her bedroom and picked up the remote, turning the television off. Her husband woke up with a start before he smiled at her.
“Hey babe. Did you make the deal?”
“Nope,” she said. “No tooth.”
“Hmm,” he said.
She draped her robe across a chair on the other side of the room, and climbed into bed wearing a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Her face was twisted into a knot. He patted her on the arm, yawned and closed his eyes.
“You don’t think they still put their teeth on that manhole cover do you?” she said.
He laughed and opened his eyes again. “I hadn’t thought about that old tale in years. But the kids probably still tell that story. It’s tradition around here.”
She nodded. He closed his eyes again, trying to go back to sleep.
“Did you ever hear of anyone that was taken by the Tootheater?” she asked.
His eyes popped open again and he shrugged.
“Oh, there were stories when I was a kid, but it was just stuff the older kids told the younger kids to scare them.”
“I guess,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
Mrs. King stared into space for a minute or two. Mr. King was back asleep in seconds. She flicked the light out and tucked in.
***
Amy stared at the top of their makeshift tent. The roof was made from a pair of comforters, one blue and the other red. The kids had clothespinned the blankets to a pair of chairs from the dining room, and the corner posts of Zack’s bed. In the center, they were tied in a bunch to a shoestring, which was then tied to the light kit on Zack’s ceiling fan.
Inside the tent, snack wrappers, comic books, DVD and video game cases and controllers littered the floor. The kids were bundled in sleeping bags. Robbie snored. It was a light, peaceful sound much like the intermittent purring of a kitten.
Zack scratched his head and rolled over, facing his sister.
“Amy,” he whispered.
Amy jumped, flicking on her flashlight and dotting the roof with a white eyeball. She pointed it at her brother, blinding him. He held one hand up as a shield.
“Huh?” she said.
“You awake?”
“Yeah.”
Robbie snored again.
“Whatta you want?” Amy asked.
Zack scooted closer to her and lay on his belly, propping his head on one hand.
“I want to go down in the sewer.”
Amy glared at him.
“Now?”
“No. Monday, after Mom and Dad go to work.”
She shook her head.
“You’re dumb and stupid. I knew it would happen. You hate dirt, Zack. I can’t imagine what kind of yuck is in that sewer.”
He nodded, then smiled.
“But what if we took a picture of a ghost?”
“So?”
Her glare persisted. Zack rolled on his side and stared off into space. “Brad saw one,” he said.
“He’s dumb and stupid too. You actually believed that story?” she asked.
Robbie snored.
“Didn’t you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you still awake at three in the morning?” he asked.
“Look. I believe it’s creepy down there and I don’t want to go, ghost or not. Did you hear what Brad said?”
“You think he was just screwin’ with us?”
“I’m positive he was,” she said.
Zack smiled and rubbed his fingers and thumb together.
“We could split the money. Maybe I’ll buy a guitar too.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Amy. Nothing ever happens around here. We’ve finally got something amazing to do. You wanna spend this break riding back and forth to Mort’s?” Zack said, pleading.
“No. But chasin’ ghosts in the grimy sewer?”
“Fine. You stay here. Robbie and I’ll go.”
Zack rolled back over to his corner. Robbie snored again. Amy contemplated the thought for a few minutes before she sat up straight. “No way. If you go. I go,” she said.
Zack nodded. He grinned at her, and she leered back at him.
“We’ll leave as soon as Mom and Dad are gone. We’ll need Mom’s camera, some snacks. Boots. Stuff,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep,” she said.
“Right.”
Zack rolled over and hugged his pillow. There was a long pause before he sat up on his elbows.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go talk to Mrs. Lark.”
“Okay,” Amy said.
Robbie continued to snore in the corner.
“Are you gonna turn that flashlight off?” Zack asked.
Amy looked at him with a twinge of fear in her large blue eyes.
“Do you mind if I keep it on for a while?” she asked.
He didn’t speak, but nodded and lay back down.
CHAPTER 12
Robbie went home around ten o’clock that Sunday morning and Zack and Amy piddled around the house, watching cartoons and being generally annoyed with everyone.
“Someone didn’t sleep well last night,” Mrs. Winter said.
Zack looked at her and frowned. He sat up from his couch-slouch and his face twisted into a quizzical expression.
“Mom, you think Mrs. Lark is home today?”
“Maybe. You want me to call her?”
“Nah. I’ll take my chances and ride by there. You comin’, Amy?”
&n
bsp; Amy nodded and she and Zack both stood up and started toward the door. Roscoe hurried with them, happily curious as to what was going on.
“Wait a minute, slick,” his mother said. “She might go to church. Let me just give her a call first.”
The kids sat down. Roscoe jumped back up between them on the couch and settled into a furry ball. Mom flipped through contacts on her cell phone and then dialed their teacher. As the kids waited, they heard half of the conversation.
“Clethelia? This is Kathy Winter, my son Zack is in your history class?”
There was a short pause and then Kathy smiled.
“I’m fine. Yes it has been a while. Say, Zack is working on his paper, about the Underground Railroad, and wanted to drop by and talk with you this morning. Would that be all right?”
There was another pause as Zack and Amy watched with anticipation.
“Perfect. He’ll have his little sister with him. They should be around in just a few minutes… Uh huh… Thank you, it was nice talking with you, too.”
She placed her phone back on the counter and smiled at the children.
“Go ahead. She said she’d have some cookies ready.”
“Sweet!” Amy said.
Zack led the way and the pair rode off on their bicycles within seconds. The sky was gray and overcast and the air was cool, even at close to lunchtime. When the children stopped in front of the old white house, Mrs. Lark was standing on the front porch with her hands clasped on her belly. Her peppered hair was bundled into neat braids and she wore a white sweater and long, colorful skirt that hugged her round shape. She smiled wide.
“Well good morning, Mr. and Miss Winter. How are you today?”
The kids shrugged and said in unison, “Fine.”
“Good, good. Come on in and let’s have us a little chat.”
Zack pushed Amy ahead as Mrs. Lark opened the front door for them to enter. She walked in behind them and pulled the door closed.
“Go on through to the back. That’s my library and where I do my best thinkin’. We can sit back there and talk.”
The house smelled of old books and fresh baked cookies. Potted plants were everywhere and light streamed in through the windows onto warm hardwood floors and vividly painted walls of orange and blue and green and yellow. The library was small, and one wall was nothing but bookshelves that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Each shelf was stuffed full, and some books even lay on their sides, stacked in front of others. Four fluffy chairs sat in the room, all facing the center which had a rug with a smiling sun in its center. Each chair had a mated table and lamp next to it, four perfect places to read.
“Have a seat. I baked some cookies. They’ve been cooling since your mother called. Should be about ready to eat. Would you like some milk with them?”
Amy nodded.
Zack said, “Yes, ma’am. Please.”
“How polite.”
Mrs. Lark smiled and wandered off to her kitchen. Both children ignored the chairs and sat criss-crossed on the sun rug. A moment later, the round woman with the jolly smile returned carrying a tray that held two small glasses of milk, one mug of coffee and a plate with several cookies on it.
She offered the snacks to Zack and Amy who each took one glass and one cookie. Then, Mrs. Lark set the tray down on the end table next to the closest chair and sat down.
“I take it you’d like to talk about the Underground Railroad, Mr. Winter?”
Amy giggled.
“What is so funny, little ma’am?”
“You called him mister.”
“Well now,” Mrs. Lark said, “that’s just polite, but I’ll call him Zack if it’ll keep you from giggling.”
Amy giggled again, sporting a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie and a milk mustache. Zack shifted so he was sitting on his ankles.
“My brother told us a story. He said the Underground Railroad went right through Walker’s Woods,” Zack said.
“I didn’t think your brother listened in class, but that’s true,” Mrs. Lark said. “We had many shepherds right here—those were kind folks who helped slaves get to freedom. They would take them into their homes or offices and hide them until the conductors could pick them up.”
“Conductors?” Amy said. “Like a train conductor?”
“Yes, honey. Many of the old buildings in town had safe rooms, and some even had tunnels underneath. The slaves could walk those tunnels and end up just outside of town where the conductors would load them into wagons and take them north.”
“Are the tunnels still there?” Amy said.
“I don’t think so, but there might be something left down there in the sewers.”
Zack and Amy looked at each other, eyes wide.
“Where did the tunnels lead?” Zack said.
“Oh, let’s see. Canada mostly,” Mrs. Lark said.
The kids munched and sipped for a minute, letting the information soak in. Zack wiped his face with a napkin and Amy used her sleeve.
“My brother said Dr. Crowe was a shepherd, and that he did terrible things to the slaves that came to him looking for help,” Zack said.
“Unfortunately, that’s true as well,” Mrs. Lark said.
“He said you helped, way back then, to get the name changed from Crowe’s Foot,” Amy said.
Mrs. Lark chuckled.
“Well, that’s partially true. Way back then, when it was the Underground Railroad, is long before even ol’ Mrs. Lark was born. But I did sit in with many other protesters in 1967 to get the name changed. We didn’t think our town should be named after a murderer. Harlan Crowe was a bad man.”
“He killed slaves?”
“He killed people who thought they were on their way to freedom. That’s the worst kind of deception. It wasn’t just slaves; he buried other folks down there in those tunnels too. Anyone who found him out or stood in his way.”
“What happened to him?” Amy said.
“Oh, the town turned on him. They found him out and hung him for his crimes.”
“And that was the end of it?” Zack said.
“No. No, his family was wealthy. They built him that big mausoleum out there in the cemetery. They built other things too, owned most of the town at one time. It was their way of keeping his name out there for all to see. That’s why we protested to change it.”
“What about the ghosts?” Zack said.
Mrs. Lark looked stunned for a second or two. She smiled and shifted in the overstuffed chair.
“Our brother, Brad, told us there were ghosts,” Zack said.
“Oh, I remember Brad. He was a skinny little thing. What exactly did that brother of yours tell you?”
Zack took a bite and a swallow of milk while Amy was grabbing for her second cookie. He chewed carefully and watched the old woman. Mrs. Lark waited patiently for him.
“He said there were ghosts down there,” Zack said. “Ghosts of the slaves that were killed and buried in the tunnels.”
His face was pale, and Amy’s was losing color.
“This is some heavy conversation over cookies. Are you sure this is the story you came over to hear?”
Zack and Amy nodded. Mrs. Lark considered each of their faces for a moment, then took a sip from her coffee mug and nodded.
“I’m sure there are ghosts down there,” she began. “They weren’t given proper burials. Their family members believed they’d gone on to freedom. Many of them still don’t have markers in that graveyard. What else did your brother say?”
Zack continued, “He said that Dr. Crowe used laughing gas to put the slaves to sleep. He said Crowe told them it was for their own good, and that when they woke up, they’d be free. But they never woke up. Instead he performed weird experiments on them and buried the bodies in the tunnels under Walker’s Woods. He said our sewer system was made out of those old tunnels. Out of the Underground Railroad.”
“That’s horrible, Zack,” Mrs. Lark said. She held a hand to her mouth in disgust. “I
t’s horrible, but probably true. I have heard all manner of evil story about that man, especially when I was growing up. I heard he ate the children’s teeth after he pulled them. He thought it gave him some sort of magical power.”
“Brad said almost the same thing. Brad said he crunched them up like hard candy,” Zack said.
“My brother also said he’d been down in those tunnels, under the manhole cover. He said he saw a ghost down there. He said he heard it wailing,” Amy said.
“The manhole cover?” Mrs. Lark said. “You kids still puttin’ your teeth out there for the boogeyman?”
Zack’s cheeks warmed and turned red.
“The Tootheater,” he said.
“Lord, I thought that story was dead and buried just like those poor folks you’re so scared of.”
“We’re not scared,” Amy said. Her voice was unconvincing.
Mrs. Lark smirked. “Well, perhaps you should be. Nothin’ good ever came from Harlan Crowe. It wouldn’t surprise me if his old evil ghost was lurking around that cemetery or down there in those sewers. It’d be a good place for him, down there with the roaches and the rats and the slime.”
“And the poop!” Amy said.
“Ha ha, yes, little ma’am. And the poop.”
“So do you think there are ghosts in Walker’s Woods? Spirits left over from the Underground Railroad?” Zack asked.
Mrs. Lark’s face lost its perpetual smile for a moment and the woman looked solemn. She leaned forward and interlaced her fingers, resting her hands on her lap.
“I think there are. Good people had bad things happen to them in this town. It’s a good place now, but back when it was Crowe’s Foot, there was an evil here. I think old Dr. Crowe was the center of it—not the only evil, but maybe the darkest part. I think he did bad and got caught. He hung for his crimes, but if his ghost is still wandering around, I promise you, there are a lot of spirits chasing after it, trying to bring themselves some real peace.”
“I wish there was something we could do to help,” Zack said.
“Me too, mister and little ma’am. Me too,” Mrs. Lark said.
For a full minute, the two kids stared off into space and thought. Amy reached for her third cookie. Mrs. Lark picked up the plate and held it out to Zack, offering him the last treat. He shook his head and smiled, a look that was distracted. The old woman carried the tray into her kitchen and then came back and sat in the same chair.
“Mr. Winter, I think you should write your paper about what you think. You could make it a story instead of an essay.”