The Nightcrawler

by Mick Ridgewell

  “A woman who knows what I like.” He took a sausage and handed her a soda. “Shall we take a seat in the nose bleeds?” he joked as he motioned to the bleacher seats behind field three.

  “Lead the way, sir,” she answered.

  Scott made his way to the top row of bleacher seats. They sat in the middle of the last row, having the whole thing to themselves.

  After settling into their seats, Scott took a bite from his sausage, and with cheeks bulging like a chipmunk announced, “Now thas a goo thauthage.” Gwen was chewing her food and just made an appreciative, “Hmmm.”

  Scott hadn’t realized how hungry he was and finished eating without another word. He opened his Dr. Pepper with a snap and drank it down without taking a breath. Gwen was not quite half done her sausage, so while she was finishing, he looked around the park. There was a well-lit parking lot behind field four filled with minivans and SUV’s. Opposite the parking lot was a municipal swimming pool. The only sign of life near the pool was a young man dressed in a T-shirt and swim trunks vacuuming it. Behind the pool was a playground, swings, slides, climbers, all the usual public park fodder.

  He brought his focus to the people in the seats, men and women, mostly in their thirties. Moms and dads watching their kids play ball. Some had other kids in tow, some quietly sitting with their parents, others not so quiet, and still others annoyingly running up and down the aluminum benches. It was amazing how such small people could make such loud footfalls.

  They all seemed too polite. There were no raucous catcalls aimed at the umpire, no dads chewing out the boys for not stretching singles into doubles. This was not the kind of little league crowd he knew as a boy. If the bleacher throng were better dressed Scott would have thought he was in Stepford.

  Out on field three a chubby boy hit a sharp ground ball to a scrawny kid at second who scooped it up with the grace of a cheetah and fired it over to first beating the chubby kid easily. The game ended and the polite parents gathered their kids and headed out to the diamond to collect their budding stars.

  Scott checked his watch it was nine o’clock. He hadn’t noticed the other games had already ended and out on field two the beer bellied slow pitch players were already doing their warm ups. They were a sad looking bunch, soft middles, knees braced and elbows wrapped. A few were out in the field with cigarettes hanging loosely from the corners of their mouths. A short, round man with a salt and pepper beard was fielding balls at first, an open can of Bud on the ground next to the bag.

  “This is where the real comedy starts,” Gwen said, nudging Scott with her elbow.

  “I have no doubt,” he said as he motioned to the hotdog girl. “I’m going to get another Dr. Pepper. Would you like one?” She shook her head and he was down and back before she had time to think of a reason to take her leave.

  “Scott, what were you doing on the lawn in front of the nursing home?”

  “Nursing home? Oh is that what that was? I’ve been under a lot of stress lately and I had a pounding headache.” He didn’t think it wise to tell her he was trying to block out a chorus of crickets chirping, “Okie-dokie.”

  “It was a little creepy. I was going to walk by. To see a grown man sitting on the ground chanting “Okie-dokie” and rocking back and forth was a bit unsettling.”

  A chill went through Scott when he heard that. It wasn’t the crickets. It was him. Shit he was cracking up, he’d be in a rubber room before the end of the week if this kept up. In an attempt to divert some of the attention from his nutty behavior he said, “So you work in a nursing home?”

  “Well, I used to work in a burn unit but that was just too heartbreaking. People in so much pain and not too much you could do. They just had to endure while the healing came slowly.” She shuddered a bit and took a sip of her Dr. Pepper. “What do you do, Scott?”

  “I sell exotic cars.”

  “What’s an exotic car? Some kind of limo with Hula Dancers in the back?”

  They both had a hearty laugh at that then he explained why he was driving through Kansas and about Cobra Exotics, about the customer waiting for the Aston Martin. She had some trouble believing that people needed help finding a car. Even if it was a quarter of a million dollar English sports car.

  Just then she grabbed his knee firmly to get his attention and said, “Oh watch this guy, I’ve seen these ol’ boys before.” Scott looked out at field two, where a guy who looked to be about fifty and carrying triplets, stood at the plate. He had a very muscular upper body that seemed to disappear into the bulbous growth hanging way over his belt.

  “He hits the ball farther than any of them but if it don’t clear the fence he only gets to first and then they get him out at second when the next guy hits into a fielder’s choice.” True to what she said the guy hit a line shot that one hopped off the center field fence for a single. Gwen laughed as the guy stood at first, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

  She looked over at Scott who was staring at the spot where the ball had bounced off the fence. “I told you he hits it far, didn’t I?” Scott didn’t answer; he just continued to stare at that spot in the outfield. “Hey Scott, are you okay?”

  “What? Ya I guess, I mean did you see that guy in the outfield?”

  “The one who threw the ball in, sure I saw him. Not much of a throw but you don’t need a great arm to send that mook back to first.”

  “No not him, the guy behind the fence. He had long greasy hair, dirty clothes. Did you see him?”

  “Didn’t see anyone like that, Scott. It’s kind of dark out there past the fence. Are you sure it wasn’t a shadow? Or maybe it was that crow on the outfield fence.”

  “Maybe, I guess it could have been a shadow.” He hesitantly looked back, sure enough a huge crow sat perched on the center field fence. It seemed to be looking directly at Scott. When he was convinced that the bird was staring him down he looked away. When he looked back it was gone. Then that awful clicking sound was coming from overhead. Scott and Gwen both shifted their gaze to the noise and there it was, atop the chain-link backstop not twenty feet away. A crow, big and black, with a few feathers jutting out at differing angles that gave it a scruffy appearance looked down on them. It looked diseased. In the crow’s beak dangled a huge worm that moved only slightly with the night breeze. With a sudden quick motion the bird’s head tipped back and the worm disappeared. Scott was sure it was the same crow. The one he had seen back at the Best Western. Shit, if The Nightcrawler could be in the outfield then why couldn’t this same crow be here also? The clincher came when the bird flew off, making that same caw-caw-caw, that sounded more like mocking laughter than the meaningless nattering of a dumb bird.

  Scott’s mood turned sullen, and his face lost all expression.

  “Well that was a bit gross, eh Scott?” Gwen said not noticing that he had gone off to another place. “Scott, are you still with me?” She put her hand on his shoulder and tried again, “Earth to Scott, come in please.”

  “What,” he answered, with a groggy, just got out of bed slur.

  “You’re a bit of a flake sometimes, aren’t you? Where the hell were you just now?”

  “I’m not sure, Gwen. It may have been hell. I’ve been in a real bad place the last few days, and it doesn’t look like I’ve gotten out yet.” He stood and gave another look out to center, no crow or vagrants to be seen. “I should get back to the hotel, thanks for the company, I wish I could say we’ll do it again sometime but I really don’t see myself dropping in on Salina, Kansas, again in this lifetime.”

  “I’m not surprised, it’s not much of a tourist Mecca, is it?”

  He didn’t reply, he just made a diagonal descent across the bleachers to ground level. Scott paused for a moment, turned to look up at Gwen. He forced a wave and what he hoped was a warm smile. She returned the wave but her face showed only concern. Gwen began to make her way to where Scott stood but he didn’t wait. He turned and faded into the shadows beyond the trees near the park’
s edge. In the darkness he looked back one more time to see Gwen watching him go, concern never leaving her face. Scott plodded back along the same route he and Gwen had used to get to the park. As if on autopilot, he continued, barely aware of where he was or where he was going. His mind began to rewind to the bum, the crow and the worms. Then chirp, just a single chirp from a solitary cricket. He looked up to find himself in front of the same building, the nursing home that Gwen had emerged from. The grass in front of the stately two and a half story manor glistened, millions of little droplets from the sprinklers reflecting the lights from the street lamps giving the lawn an almost celestial brilliance.

  The solitary cricket made a friend across the lawn and they began to banter back and forth, then three, four, ten, and then the whir became the same chant, “Okie-dokie, okie-dokie, okie-dokie.” He hurried toward the hotel, walking at first then a jog and finally a flat out run. The chant faded with distance until three blocks away it was gone all together. Stopped, exhausted, hands on his hips, his breath coming in deep gasps, he listened. Scott turned in all directions and listened, nothing but the sound of the occasional passing car, a dog barking in a far off yard and the leaves slightly rustling in the breeze.

  He inhaled deep into his lungs and let it out, his breath still hurried, but close to normal, he continued, his stride more deliberate now. A tune popped into his head, he didn’t know what it was called, nor did he remember the words but it was very familiar. It was a child’s song and he began to whistle it. The song calmed him, and the good mood he had before he saw the shadow man behind the fence in centerfield returned. He could see the glow of the hotel sign two blocks up. There was no joy in returning there so he slowed his pace and began to look around at the old buildings. They were all two to three story houses, converted into restaurants, convenience stores, women’s boutiques and doctor’s offices. This was assuredly the place where the well-heeled of Salina lived during the twenties and thirties. The structures were well-built and still had their original charm.

  In front of one of the old houses, which was now the Just Like Mom daycare center, was a silhouette cutout of a man leaning on a tree. It was mounted against a huge Sycamore and with the floodlights illuminating the front of the building; it could have been a real man. Scott stood watching the plywood man, standing on one leg the other bent at the knee, foot resting against the trunk of the tree. He began to feel better about what he may or may not have seen in the outfield. If light and shadows could make this thing look like a real person then maybe Gwen was right, maybe it was just shadows playing tricks on him.

  Scott waved at the wooden lawn ornament and said good night. As he turned to head back to his room something moved in his peripheral vision and on instinct he looked back to see the plywood man tip his hat and say, “Goodnight Scott.” Scott held his ground, looking directly at the plywood man. It stood motionless against the tree. Okay, he thought, lights and shadows can’t say goodnight. He needed a closer look so he crept up the sidewalk that split the front lawn in half. The man was still two dimensional and still not moving. When he got to within six feet of the old sycamore something crunched beneath his foot stopping him in his tracks. Scott looked down. He was surrounded by crickets; the biggest blackest crickets he had ever seen. They began to fall from the branches of the big tree like black rain. The chirping started up louder than ever, “Okie-dokie, Okie-dokie…”

  He ran, he ran like he had never run before. He ran as if his life, or at the very least, his sanity depended on it. He didn’t stop running until he was pushing the elevator button in the hotel lobby.

  Inside his room it was safe. He leaned his back against the door, his chest heaving, his lungs burning. He stood there for what seemed like hours. His breath coming in slower waves, his lungs were no longer on fire. He could feel the tightness in his legs as he slowly made his way to the bathroom. He stood under the harsh light reflecting off the mirror. His own reflection sickened him right now. He had acted like a frightened child and he was no child. As he looked himself in the eye, his attention was drawn to a small dark spot on his shirt sleeve. A big, black cricket was clinging to the fabric, his little antennae twitching in all directions. “Uh,” he moaned, as he brushed the insect off and stomped on it with his full force. When he raised his shoe there was nothing left of the bug but a dark spot on the tile floor of the bathroom. Scott stared at the cricket’s remains and was startled to see the stain on the floor had the same shape as the plywood man from the daycare center. He pulled a handful of tissues from the box on the counter, picked the cricket up from the floor with them and tossed the whole mess in the toilet and quickly flushed before it could leap out. He then stepped carefully around the spot where the cricket had been, clicked off the bathroom light and went over to the bed, sat down then let his body go limp and he fell back. Scott just lay there in his clothes, staring at the shadows on the ceiling until exhaustion and sleep took him away.

  Chapter Twenty

  Roger woke with a convulsive jerk through his whole body. His skin clammy, his heart beating faster than it had been when he finished his round tripper in the slow pitch game. He had never been this awake this fast in his life. He had another bad dream, but this one didn’t linger in his conscious mind. He had a vague feeling that there was a big dog with glowing red eyes. Someone else was there, maybe it was Beth, he didn’t know for sure. As the seconds turned to minutes, his whole recollection of the events in the dream melted away.

  His attention drifted to the orange glow of dawn creeping through the window of Beth’s bedroom. The pale light gave the whole room the appearance of a photonegative. The mirror over the chest of drawers had an odd reflection of the luminous window. The floral print wallpaper, barely discernable in this light looked more like poorly done graffiti. An ominous gleam off the eyes of a wooden rocking horse gave Roger an anxious feeling. Partially covered with clothing, the horse looked like a blob with eyes. Roger stared at the eyes thinking they could have been the eyes in his dream. With each passing second, as the sun climbed higher in the sky, the eyes glared ever brighter.

  He diverted his gaze from the horse to the window. Recollection of the events from the previous night replaced the faded images of the nightmare. The Jeep, the stop at Billy’s dealership and Jack’s heart-to-heart. Mostly Jack’s heart-to-heart. His chest began to pound as it had when Jack described the cougar hunt. The biggest thing, the event that weighed heaviest on him was Jack’s admission that Beth is his favorite. Roger began to feel as uncomfortable now as he did standing in Jack’s study getting the don’t make me regret my decision, speech.

  He looked over at Beth lying next to him. The dim light brought in by the sun as it only now breached the horizon cast an angelic glow on her. Her hair spread across the pillow framing her face. The top edge of her floral duvet left only her face, left shoulder and neck exposed. As he looked down at her, her right leg moved out from under the covers and took on a radiance in the subdued light from the window.

  Shit, now he had done it. He didn’t want this to happen. He liked Beth, hell he liked the whole Walker family, but he wasn’t ready to start another relationship. He wasn’t over Paige when he left Vermont and now he was lying naked next to Beth, who as far as he knew was also naked. Last night had been great. Beth had hugged him when they got back upstairs, the hug turned into a kiss and the kiss into, well into this. What, after all, was this? What ever it was, it made him feel just a little ashamed. He wanted to be here with Beth, but he also wanted to run like hell.

  Roger left Beth’s room as quietly as he could, gathering his clothes on the way out. He returned to the guest room, used the bathroom, then went over to the window where he leaned on the sill and watched the sun rising, casting long shadows over the pool. The statue of the naked lady continued pouring water into the hot tub. The Jeep was directly below the window, its yellow finish gleaming in the early morning light. The cattle in the far off fields were beginning to vocalize their hunger. A roo
ster crowing brought a smirk to Roger’s lips. How cliché was that, the rooster crows at sunrise.

  He was second guessing his invitation for Beth to join him on his trip, he began to wonder whether it might be best to pack his stuff and hit the road before anyone had a chance to wake up. He went into the bathroom, thinking it might be a while before he had a hot shower again. He shaved as quickly as he could and took a shower in record time. He brushed his teeth then packed all his bathroom stuff into the small plaid pouch he got from his dad. It was a little tattered; having seen several of his dad’s business trips but it served Roger well now. He straightened up the bathroom, hanging the towels and wiping the water off the counter. In the bedroom, he pulled some clothes from the bureau drawers. He tossed them all on the bed, if only he hadn’t unpacked. He could be gone already. He dressed in the same clothes he wore the day he met Beth at the rodeo. He picked up the rest of his things and began to stuff them into his backpack, stopping briefly, when the sweet smell of the freshly laundered clothes gave him another twang of confusion, or was it guilt. The clothes even made his old pack smell nice. Who washed the clothes, he wondered. It couldn’t have been Beth, they were never apart long enough. He didn’t think Bobbie would even know how to wash clothes.

  Roger sat on the bed, the sun well up in the sky now, and the light of a new day filled the room. He picked up his pack and returned to the window. Roger looked down on the pool, and his mind drifted back over his time here with Beth. He stood statue-like, wrestling with his emotions.

  Suddenly the sound of the pouring water stopped. The stream from the flask looked frozen. The surface of the water no longer sparkled. It was as still as the surface of a mirror, or a frozen pond. He caught a slight movement in the corner of his eye. The naked lady was gone, replaced by a young girl dressed in a snowsuit dragging a toboggan. She stepped down from the edge of the hot tub, steam billowing up from the surface. Roger then noticed the pool; it was now surrounded by snow. How is that possible? He swam in it yesterday. He was standing next to an open window and the warm breeze was bringing perspiration to his face. The girl now stood on the frozen pond, not pond, pool, her face no longer obscured by the steam from the hot tub. It was Lisa, his sister. His dead sister standing on a frozen pool in the middle of a heat wave, dressed in winter clothes, over two thousand miles from the only place she had ever lived. Roger absently raised his trembling hand and waved. She just stood there looking up at him. He pulled the second strap of his backpack over his left shoulder. At that moment, Lisa shook her head. He stared down at her, clipping the chest strap on his pack but not taking his eyes off her and again she shook her head.