Fearful Symmetries
Page 17
“Jamie,” his mother called. “There’s a message for you here.”
As casually as possible, he moved to the table where his mother rewound the tape and replayed it.
“…Hello, Jamie. This is Miss Hall. I found what you were looking for in some of my books at home. I guess you’re out trick-or-treating, so you can call me back till 11:00, if you want. Bye now…”
His mother glanced at the kitchen clock as she stopped the tape. “It’s only ten o’clock. Are you going to call her?”
“Nah, it’s getting late. I’ll just see her on Monday, I guess.”
His mother smiled as she returned to the rest of the messages, and Jamie moved quickly up the stairs to his room. He said goodnight to his father, undressed, and slipped under his sheet and quilt.
It was at least a half-hour after his parents had also gone to bed when Jamie heard more of the strange sounds, the thumping footfalls of something in the yard beneath his window. His room faced the rear of the house, his window overlooking the roof of the back porch. Broken moonlight splintered the darkness as he slipped from the covers and forced himself to look out.
The jutting slant of the roof obscured his line of sight, and for a moment, he saw nothing unfamiliar. Then, for an instant, one of the shadows moved, seemed to step back into the deeper darkness of the yard.
Looking beyond it, Jamie was surprised to see the still-glowing embers of his bonfire at the end of the yard. From this distance, they were nothing more than points of deep orange, but he would have thought they’d be dead by now. The rising wind must have stirred up the last coals.
Again came the faint sounds of something moving with a heavy-footed gait. And the distant, snorting breath he had heard once before.
Jamie was trembling as he moved away from the window, and it became suddenly important that he speak with Miss Hall. He moved quietly downstairs to the kitchen phone, and looked up her number in the phone book.
Miss Hall answered on the fifth ring.
“Miss Hall, it’s Jamie…I’m not sure what time it is, I hope I’m not calling too late…” his voice sounded unsteady.
Miss Hall chuckled. “Well, almost, but not quite…uh, Jamie, what did you need this information for? It struck me as somewhat odd that—”
“Oh, just for a project I was doing. About Halloween and all.” There was a pause, and when the librarian did not reply he rushed on: “You said you found it for me…”
“Yes, I did.” There was a sound of papers being shifted about. “Yes, here we are…let’s see, in Scotland and Wales, there was a belief that bonfires protected people from demons and witches.”
“Yeah, I already found that stuff,” he forced himself to speak in hushed tones. “What about the…the…”
“Oh yes, the ‘Cutty Black Sow’…” Miss Hall cleared her throat. “You see, it was a common belief back then that demons could assume the shape of animals. And it was believed that on Halloween these demons took the shape of a pig—a large black-haired creature that walked on its hind legs. Its hair was supposed to be bristly and closely cut. The ‘Cropped Black Sow,’ or the ‘Cutty Black Sow,’ was what they called him.”
Jamie felt stunned for a moment, and he tried to speak but no words would come out.
“Jamie, are you there?”
“Yes! Oh…oh, well, thank you, Miss Hall. Thanks a lot. That’s just what I needed to…to finish my project.”
“Well, I’m glad I could be of help, Jamie. It must be pretty important for you to be working on it this late.”
There came the sound of footfalls again. This time, they seemed so loud in Jamie’s ears that he almost felt the house move from the impact.
“Yeah, it’s pretty important…I guess. Listen, I’d better go, Miss Hall, thanks a lot.”
He hung up the phone before she could reply, and moved quickly back to his room. He didn’t want to wake up his parents, or tell them he was scared, but he didn’t know what to do. The thumping grew louder and it was now intermixed with snuffling, snorting sounds.
The kind of sounds a pig would make.
Jamie looked out his window. The yard seemed darker than before, but the embers of the fire in the distance seemed brighter…
…until he realized that the embers were not brighter, but closer. And that the two fiercely glowing orbs were not coals at all…
They were eyes.
Backing away, he heard scraping sounds. Rough, abrasive, crunching sounds, as though something was scrambling for purchase on the side of the porch, something trying to climb up, towards his window.
The sounds were very loud now. The old wood of the house groaned and scraped as it was splintered. It was so loud! Why didn’t his parents hear it too! Jamie jumped into his bed, grasping at the covers the way he had as a child when he had been afraid of some terrible night-thing.
Something scraped across the windowpane as ember-eyes appeared beyond the glass…
He must have cried out, although he didn’t realize it, because he heard his father’s voice calling his name. Relief flooded through him as he heard his father’s hand on the doorknob.
“Jamie, are you all right?”
The door swung open, and he could see a tall silhouette against the bright light of the hall beyond. Quickly he glanced back to the window, and the burning eyes were gone. He felt silly as he tried to speak.
“Dad! Yeah, it’s OK…just a bad dream, I guess.”
His father said nothing as he walked into the room, drawing close to the bed. In the darkness, he sat on the bed and drew his son close to him. Jamie relaxed in the comforting embrace, and put his arms around his father.
He was about to tell his Dad how scared he had been, when his hands touched the back of the neck of the thing which held him, when he felt the close-cut, bristly hair…
Okay, being raised in the richest of Catholic heritages1 and all that, I guess a little confession is good for me once in a while. So: back in Ancient Times, when I was single and crazy and before I met Elizabeth, I used to read the Penthouse letter columns. The only problem was all those dumb pictures used to get in the way…
Yeah, sleazy, I know, but I did it for the entertainment value and the occasional inspiration.
Inspiration for what?
Well, a story, of course. And I can remember one month, there was this letter from a guy2 living on his folks’ farm and he sounded like a very lonely guy. A very sad guy. A very weird guy. His letter was long, rambling, replete with enough misspellings, malapropisms, and skewed perceptions to even make the Bowery Boys howl. If you read between the lines, as I in my wisdom could do, you would have seen a seething cauldron of pathology, a mind stewing in its own fermented juices. I read the letter over a few times because I simply couldn’t get over the author’s plaintive cry for help and his obvious signal he was going down for the count in short order.
And so, with that in mind, I will leave it to your judgment and fervid imaginations to decide which parts of the story which follows are fictive and which have been appropriated in all their factual frightfulness from one very scary letter.
1 My father was even a Knight of Columbus.
2 Yes, I know a lot of the letters in those mags are fakes. I didn’t just roll off the tailgate of the zucchini wagon; hell, I even have some friends who make a decent buck knocking out a batch of perversion every month. The point taken, Penthouse does get some legitimate letters and I would swear this was one of them. It had that singular texture that was too real in a stark, and quite dreadful, manner. Trust me on this one.
June 19
LetterBoxes
P.O. Box 69
Intercourse PA 17534
Dear LetterBoxes Ladies:
Okay, I’m sending you my money order for $19.95. You can write me at the address on the envelope. I’m already excited.
Yours Truly,
Wayne Gundersen
* * *
Wayne Gundersen
July 8
; RFD 12 – Route 43
Ingram WI 54535
My Dearest Wayne:
I was so glad to get your letter. I’ve been waiting to find a pen-pal for so long now, and now that I know you’ll be writing to me, it just makes my whole body tingle, especially my pussy (if you know what I mean!). I thought you might want to see what I’m talking about, so I sent you a picture. (smile)
I didn’t think you’d mind…
Well, I’d better be getting back to work at the shoe store. I’m the Assistant Manager. Write soon!
Yours,
Candy
* * *
Candy
July 8
c/o LetterBoxes
P.O. Box 69
Intercourse PA 17534
My Dearest Candy:
I was real glad to get your letter but I thought it would be maybe a little longer. Good to know you got a job though. Assistant Manager sounds good to me. I never had a job. Just work on this farm with my Dad now that my stepmother left us (okay with me cause I kind of hated her). I got 2 sisters (I kind of hate them too, but at least I can peek at them when they are in the bath room). I’m going to be a senior in high school this Fall, but I can’t wait to get out of that place. Bunch of rich snots and grits and uppity girls (not like you). I’ve never had a girlfriend, and only once I had sex with somebody else (do you have sex?), but I can’t ever tell about that. But I might tell you someday if we stay real close like I think we will. Why don’t you write and tell me more about yourself, and I’ll tell you more about me and my dog Bowser. Oh yeah and thanks loads for the great picture! I keep it in my socks drawer and I’m putting a Polaroid of me and Bowser in the envelope. He likes to take showers with me.
Yours Truly,
Wayne
* * *
Wayne Gundersen
August 23
RFD 12 – Route 43
Ingram WI 54535
Wonderful Wayne:
The weather is so hot this time of year I just hate to wear clothes—know what I mean? In my apartment, after work, I just walk around naked all the time, only it can be such a bother to remember to keep my shades down. Sometimes I forget, and I guess I give my neighbors a thrill. I’m sending you a picture of what you might see if you were standing outside my window.
I love to get your letters, so write soon!
Your Girlfriend,
Candy
* * *
August 23
c/o LetterBoxes
P.O. Box 69
Intercourse PA 17534
Sweet Candy:
Your last letter was great even though it was short. I was wondering though how you got that picture of yourself through your bedroom window? And speaking of pictures, how come you don’t say nothing about the picture I sent you? It must be nice to have a typewriter to write your letters on. I’m thinking of buying one at the Sears in town so my letters will look as good as yours. School starts soon and I can’t wait to show the kids my letters from you. Maybe now they’ll understand how important I am to have a great girlfriend like you. My stepmother always told me I’m a loser just like my father, but she never really knew me like you do. I feel like I could tell you anything Candy. And maybe I will someday. Well I got to go to work for Dad. Write soon.
Lots of Love,
Wayne
* * *
Wayne Gundersen
October 10
RFD 12 – Route 43
Ingram WI 54535
Big-Wad Wayne:
I have decided to take up camping this Fall. There’s something about being outside, close to nature, that makes me hot (if you know what I mean)—no matter what the temperature! The last time I camped in my tent, I crawled into my sleeping bag without a stitch on, and I felt so lonely without you and your big piece of manhood to keep me company.
Just to show you what it was like, I’m sending you a picture of me just before I zipped up my bag. Please write soon, I think I’d just die if I didn’t get your letters!
Love Forever,
Candy
P.S. I’m supposed to remind you—this is your third letter from me and the people here who run LetterBoxes wanted me to remind you to send in another $19.95 for three new ones! We’ve started such a great relationship, I know you won’t forget. Thanks, Sweetie!
* * *
Candy
October 10
c/o LetterBoxes
P.O. Box 69
Intercourse PA 17534
Sexy Candy:
Okay, here’s another money order. I sure do like your letters and the picture of you in your sleeping bag. I like to camp too, but mostly I like walking in the woods north of our farm. I found an old well there and the wood cover had rotted through. The kids always said that a bum had fell in the well a long time ago and when he started to rot, he poisoned the water. I used a boat anchor to fish up some pieces, and I’m not sure it was a bum and I heard the voice of the thing that lives down there and feeds off the parts. It wanted me to bring it food so I started catching little animals and throwing them down there, and the thing really liked that. It really liked the kittens and the baby pigs. I still go there sometimes, but not as often since you and me fell in love. I’m planning a surprise for you soon!
I Love You,
Wayne
* * *
Wayne Gundersen
November 24
RFD 12 – Route 43
Ingram WI 54535
Wild-Man Wayne:
Thanks for sending in another $19.95. I’ll make sure your next three letters are worth every penny! Old Man Winter is here and that means it’s time for me to curl up on my bearskin rug by the fireplace. I love to feel all that heat on my naked skin! (I hope you like the picture of me in front of the fire…). I get lonely, and I wish you were here during these long winter nights.
Your Hot Woman,
Candy
* * *
Candy
December 15
c/o LetterBoxes
P.O. Box 69
Intercourse PA 17534
Hey Listen Candy:
Sorry it took me so long to write back but I had this surprise for you. When I got you last letter and picture I told my father I needed some money to buy a table saw for the shop in the garage and I used the money to take a Greyhound bus to Intercourse Pennsylvania. But the lady at the post office counter there had never heard of you. She didn’t want to tell me anything but I waited in the parking lot till she got off work that night and I told her about the well and the animals and then she told me that all the mail to LetterBoxes got forwarded to Denver Colorado. How come you never told me you lived in Denver? I love you and I can’t keep living like this. We need to be together Candy. So don’t worry. I’ll find a way to get out to Denver so we can be together.
I Love You,
Wayne
* * *
UNITED STATES POSTAL SERVICE
Official Business
Hiram Gundersen
December 18
RFD 12 – Route 43
Ingram WI 54535
Mr. Gundersen:
I would like to speak to you in person at your earliest convenience. Please call me at (717)555-2300 so that we may arrange an appointment.
Thank you very much.
Sincerely,
Albert Moler
Postal Inspector
Mid-Atlantic District 4
* * *
U.S. POSTAL SERVICE INTER-OFFICE MEMO
To:
District Supervisor
From:
A. Moler
* * *
January 10
Here’s something else on Case #66782-4. I thought it might be a good idea to have some on file ahead of time just in case there’s any funny business later.
When I received no response from Wayne Gundersen’s father, and had no luck in reaching him by telephone, I had the investigation transferred to Mid-West District 3. Inspector Hans Juernburgh conducted a personal interview
with Hiram Gundersen.
Just to make sure nothing’s out of order on this one, I thought it might be a good idea to attach a xerox of Inspector Juernburgh’s report.
enc. Inspector’s Report, Mid-West District 3
* * *
U.S. POSTAL SERVICE INTER-OFFICE MEMO
TO: District Supervisor
FROM: H. Juernburgh
* * *
January 26
Case #66782-4.
I visited the farm of Hiram Gundersen on January 25. It is a run-down operation. If I had to describe the place in one word, “grim” would be my first choice. “Scary” my second. Mr Gundersen is a small acreage farmer near Ingram, Wisconsin. He denies allegations that his son, Wayne, had ever been to the Intercourse Post Office, and stated that he would swear in a court of law that the boy was working on the farm on the day in question (November 27). He would not allow me to speak to his son, and when I asked for permission to look around the property, he threatened me with a post-hole digger. Mr. Gundersen’s exact words were “Get out of here before I open you up for a piece of snow-fence.”
I left the property immediately. FYI: unofficially and off the record, it’s my personal opinion Hiram Gundersen is only half-wrapped. There’s no doubt in my mind the son scared the pee out of our District 4 employee, but we would have a difficult time proving it. I don’t see any choice but to drop the matter, but I think we should alert the local authorities to the situation out at the Gundersen farm. If the son’s anything like the father, I’d say we have a couple of weirdos on our hands.
* * *
Candy
February 3
c/o LetterBoxes
P.O. Box 69
Intercourse PA 17534