by M. D. Payne
I fought against my racing heart and tired mind. They wanted to run. But I knew I had to get into Raven Hill and start investigating. All I had to do was walk up to the front door.
As I moved to take my first step, a single raven darted from the sky and landed directly in front of me. It eyed me suspiciously as I walked toward the steps.
“Caw!” the raven said, and cocked his head to the side. His beady eyes locked directly on me.
There was no doubt in my mind that this was the raven that had dive-bombed me yesterday. And from the look in his eyes, I could tell that he knew that I knew something that I shouldn’t.
“Fly outta here, dude!” I yelled. No raven was going to stand in my way. I paused for a moment, then opened up the paper bag with my dinner. Tearing off a bit of bread from the sandwich inside, I lifted it up for the raven to see. Its eyes stayed fixed on mine. I threw the piece of bread into the grass to my left.
Immediately, two other ravens appeared and dove into the grass for the chunk of bread. I turned back to the raven on the stairs.
“Caw!” it said and hopped up to the porch. The raven stood directly in front of the door now.
“Okay, I get it,” I said. “You don’t want me to come in. But I deserve to take back what’s mine. Get outta the way!”
“Caw! Caw!” repeated the raven.
Now, I don’t know how to speak raven, but the way he cawed that last time really made me feel like he was swearing at me.
I made my way over to a pile of rocks that sat just off the side of the dirt driveway. The raven’s eyes followed me. Reaching down, I picked up a few stones about the size of my palm.
I held one up and looked the raven in his beady eyes. “Is this how you wanna do it?” I asked.
The raven looked right back at me and ruffled his feathers a bit. I dare you, I could almost hear him say.
I tossed the first rock.
The raven jumped to the right at the last instant, and the rock rapped against the door.
“CAW!” it screeched, but it wouldn’t move.
I tossed the second rock.
Again, the raven jumped at the last second possible, and the rock rapped loudly against the bottom of the door.
Before the raven could even caw again, I threw another rock, then another, then another.
CLUNK, SMACK, CRUNCH! The rocks all hit the large wooden door.
I paused, waiting.
Sure enough, within a few seconds…
WHOOOSH!
The door flew open quickly, and the raven was pushed off the front of the porch and rolled down the stairs, a surprised lump of feathers and anger.
I ran as quickly as I could past the ruffled raven, up the stairs and through the door that the Nurse held open.
The Nurse closed the door. “I get Director,” he said, and he hurried down the hallway.
Outside the door, I could still hear the ravens squawking—they were really angry.
I turned to look through the grimy strip of glass next to the door, and saw that I had left my dinner outside in the dirt driveway. Four ravens were tearing my lunch bag apart and hungrily gobbling up the contents. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Chips. Cookies. One was even working on my juice box.
Oh, well, I said to myself.
Turning around, I saw the Director walking down the threadbare carpet, past the cobwebby old portraits, and toward me. He once again looked like he was in a great rush to do very important things.
“Mr. Taylor,” the Director said with a smile, “what a pleasant surprise. I must say, we were quite disappointed that you hadn’t shown up at six p.m. yesterday evening. We were worried you had abandoned the residents.”
He stared directly at me, awaiting some sort of reply.
“I…uh…” I stumbled for something to say. My hands were sweaty. What if he had seen me through the window after all? What if the raven had somehow TOLD HIM?!
“I…well…,” I continued, “I wasn’t feeling very well yesterday, and I—”
“Ah, I see,” said the Director. “It happens to all of us from time to time. I’m sure that it won’t happen again, will it, Mr. Taylor?”
“No, of course not!” I said, adding, “I’m ready to work really hard here.”
“Wonderful,” he said. “Well, I think you’ll quite enjoy what we have in store for you tonight. It’s bingo night at the retirement home, and I think you would do a wonderful job of calling out the numbers.”
The director slipped his arm around me like we were old friends and slowly led me deeper into the retirement home. I could hear familiar moaning and grunting sounds.
“There’s just one thing, Mr. Taylor,” the Director said. “Just one small thing that’s nagging me that I really must ask you about.”
The Director’s grip tightened on my shoulder, and he said, “Nurse Jargon told me you had a bit of a run-in with one of our ravens.”
I tensed up. “Yes,” I said. “It wouldn’t let me in.”
“You know,” the Director said, “we’ve taken much pain in training these ravens to guard our facility. They don’t often defend us without reason.”
As we reached the end of the hallway, the Director stopped walking and looked at me.
“I…well…I’m not sure what that raven has against me,” I said.
“Well, perhaps it’s because it knows that you came here yesterday.”
“What?” I was flabbergasted. The Director must be able to speak with the ravens after all! “What do you mean?”
“The lead raven,” answered the Director, “has his eyes on you.”
I stared at the Director with my mouth wide open. I had to say something. Panicked, I reached into the depths of my brain, and came up with…
“Well, I didn’t know how sick I was yesterday until I got up here,” I said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t knock on the door and tell one of the Nurses, but I wasn’t myself.”
The Director looked at me with his intense blue eyes. I felt almost hypnotized by his gaze and his strong cologne. His eyes squinted…and then he shook his head quickly. He continued walking us down the hall.
“Very well, then,” he said. “I hope you’re feeling splendid this evening, but do let me know if you need to leave unexpectedly. I’ll need to inform the ravens.”
“Of course.” I almost choked on the words. I was sure that the Director would now be keeping an eye on me, and that wouldn’t help the search for my lebensplasm.
As we neared the end of the hall, the Director pointed me toward the Great Room, where I’d served brunch on Saturday. Now, instead of circular dining-room tables, rows and rows of chairs and tables were set up, and all of the old folks were sitting. I could only see the backs of their heads. Some slouched to the side as if they were asleep—or even worse, dead. Some bobbed around and twitched. There were even ones covered completely in bandages. But all heads were turned toward the front of the room. A large circular steel cage filled with bingo balls sat on a table there. The cage had a handle on it so the balls could be rolled around. The table was in front of the organist, who sat waiting, staring at the Director and me.
“Horace, you may begin,” said the Director.
Horace turned around and began to play. Spooky music filled the room. I didn’t know what was worse—that the music for bingo sounded exactly like the music for lunchtime, or that it all just sounded so chilling. I wondered if Horace would take requests.
“Enjoy!” said the Director, and he headed off to other business without another word or glance.
I stood stunned in the doorway of the Great Room.
“Start now?” growled one of the Nurses who was passing out bingo cards and markers to the patients. It was a question, but the way he said it made me realize that the only answer was yes. A few of the old folks moaned and gurgled in anticipation.
“Yes,” I squeaked.
Moans of joy filled the hall.
“Come. HURRY,” another Nurse said. I looked over to
see one of the old men to whom I had fed the red soup gnawing on the Nurse’s arm. His hairy, leathery arm didn’t seem affected. Apparently, the old folks got really excited for bingo.
The old folks’ heads followed me as I wound my way down the side of the room and made my way toward the front. I couldn’t stand all of the old, creepy eyes on me, and I felt very, very uncomfortable in my skin. The old man that had been drooling all over the Nurse’s arm looked up at me with razor-sharp attention. He might have been a little more excited for my lebensplasm than for the game.
Horace quickened the pace of the music—almost like an introduction—as I stepped up to the table. I had never been in charge of a game of bingo before, but I got the concept. You roll the balls around, open up the cage, pull a ball out, and call it. Simple, right?
I looked out at the creepy old faces staring intently at me, and I knew that this would not be simple, just like it was not simple to serve food on Saturday. I sighed and looked at the cage. It looked a lot rustier up close, and there were cobwebs all around and in between the metal wiring. Is everything in this place old? I thought.
I grabbed the handle and began turning the cage to shuffle the balls. It moved with a terrible SQUUUUEEEEAAAAK. I wondered how long it had been since the last time they had played bingo at Raven Hill. After five seconds or so of terrible squeaking, I stopped the cage, popped open the door, and pulled out the first bingo ball. The crowd of old folks looked at me as if I was just about to reveal the meaning of life. I cleared my throat and said, “B-twelve!”
A few folks in the back growled, “WHAT!?”
“BEEEE-TWELLLLVE!” I yelled back.
One person way in the back still asked, “Huh?!”
“BEEEEEEE-TWWWELLLLLVVVVE!!!” I yelled louder than I had ever yelled in my life. A gnarled hand rose up from the back of the room and gave me a twisted thumbs-up. This was going to be a long bingo game if I had to repeat every single number three times. I would have to be as loud as possible.
I gave the metal cage another spin. Spiderwebs kept falling out onto the table.
SQUUUUUEEEEAAAAK…
“GEEEEEEEE-FIIIIFFFFTYYY-SIIIIIXXXXX!”
SQUUUUUEEEEAAAAK…
“ENNNNNNNNN-FFOOOOORRRRTTTYYY!”
SQUUUUUEEEEAAAAK…
“EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEE-FFOOOUUURRRRTTEEEEEENNN!”
SQUUUUUEEEEAAAAK…
I pulled out a ball with no number or letter. Confused, I brought the ball closer to my eyes to see if maybe the letter and number had been rubbed off. That’s when I noticed something move inside the ball!
Something black and hairy.
Something with eight spindly legs.
I let out a surprised cry and dropped the ball on the table. A few of the old folks in the front row tried to peer up onto the table to see what it was that I dropped. A few others booed me.
Before I could explain why I threw the ball onto the table, long, hairy legs exploded out of the ball and a slime-covered spider tore its way out. It scuttled to the edge of the table and jumped off into the front row, right toward the head of an old lady with a black shawl draped around her shoulders. She was chatting with the very large man with stitches on his face, and didn’t even see the spider as it flew toward her.
“LOOK OUT!” I yelled.
She turned in time for the hairy creepy to land directly on her nose. She looked at it cross-eyed, but didn’t seem too worried. She licked her lips in excitement as she snatched the squirming spider off her nose and began to rip its legs off, each one tearing from the body with a sploock sound. She put the legs in a small pile and excitedly plopped the spider body in her mouth. She chewed and chewed and chewed, and as she did, she put the legs in a small pouch that hung like a necklace from her neck.
“Thank you, dearie,” she said to me with a grin.
Her teeth were covered in spider hair.
I barely had time to say “You’re…welcome?” before the cage in front of me started shaking violently. I looked in to see that there were more spider eggs. A lot more!
I yelled and stumbled back. A Nurse came over and shoved his big hairy hand into the cage, popping the eggs he found there. Each one sounded like a really ripe cherry tomato being squished. The woman in the front row was nearing tears.
“Don’t do that!!!” she wailed.
But the Nurse squished one after another as I stood there with my mouth wide open in disbelief. He pulled the disgusting shattered eggs out of the cage and tossed them in a trash can next to Horace. The Nurse’s hands were caked in hairy brown/green goo, and he looked around for something to he could use to wipe them. Not finding anything, he scraped the goo off on the side of the bingo-ball cage.
My stomach turned as I watched a glob of phlegmy goo drip off of the cage and onto the table. I took a deep breath, only to smell a putrid odor coming from the trash can behind me. I could feel something gurgling inside of me.
As I tried to hold the erupting vomit volcano back, the old folks started to grumble and moan. They were not happy that their game had been ruined. I needed to get the game going again.
I turned the handle, waiting for the familiar squeak, but it never came. I saw that some of the spider egg goop had fallen onto the joint where the ball and the mount met, lubricating the cage. As I turned the cage, the goop became warmer—and smellier. I could taste the puke rising in my throat.
The Nurse must have noticed I was about to spew. He slapped me hard on the back and I swallowed it back down.
The rest of the game went smoothly. I had called out a dozen or so more numbers when the hairier of the two hairy old men yelled, “BINGO!” and then howled excitedly. The howl took me by surprise. He looked so old that I didn’t think he would be able to make such a loud noise. It filled the Great Room and shook the windows. Even Horace stopped playing the organ to turn around and see what was going on.
A Nurse headed into the back of the room to grab the old man’s bingo card and confirm that he’d actually won. When the Nurse got back there, he scratched his head and looked around. That’s when a few of the other old folks pointed up to the front of the room. A mangy dog held a bingo card in his mouth and limped his way toward me.
The dog jumped up on the table and placed the card in front of me, then turned around and trotted shakily to the back of the room. I noticed that he had fur missing in great patches. He was a very, very old dog—the same one I had seen the first day. Where did he come from? Was he the old man’s dog?
I looked down at the card, and confirmed that, in fact, the old man had won. I announced this to the crowd, which moaned a collective, “Noooooo…” as they realized that they wouldn’t win that round. I looked into the back of the room and saw the old man sitting back in his chair again. He waved excitedly as the rest of the crowd hissed at him.
I looked around for the dog, and I couldn’t see it anywhere.
It was only Wednesday of the second week of the new school year, but it felt like I’d been in the sixth grade for two or three decades. Last night’s bingo marathon seemed to last forever. The old folks just couldn’t get enough. We must have played twenty or thirty games—and once it was over, the Nurses escorted me out the door. I never even got to do any investigating for my lebensplasm.
What worried me were the old folks. The more time I spent with them, the more frightened I became. It wasn’t just that they were like monsters. I was beginning to believe that they actually were monsters. There was no other way to explain what I’d seen! The hairy old man who had won the first game howled and disappeared only to have an old dog appear in his place—an old dog with very human eyes. Werewolf? my tired mind asked. The old woman in the black shawl who had eaten the spider was the same woman I had seen in front of the cauldron on the first day. Was she going to use the spider legs in her leather pouch for a witch’s potion of some sort? And what were they planning for my lebensplasm?
Still exhausted from the night before, I shuffled into my first class
of the day: Mr. Bradley’s Social Studies. You could smell his breath before you even walked into the room. I don’t know what was more upsetting, the stench or his huge, swollen, red, bald, spotted head. It looked like some kind overripe fruit that could explode at any minute.
I sat down next to Ben and didn’t even say hi. My mind was swimming from the day before. In my mind, I could see the eyes of the dog—they looked so human. The way the old witch—I mean lady—had eaten that spider was supercreepy. I wondered if the monsters—I mean old people—ate my lebensplasm the same way.
Mr. Bradley pulled a small vial out of his jacket pocket and took a sip from it. He did this all the time, thinking that it would calm the breath down. Sometimes it worked, but then the room would be filled with a sickening medicine stench. I’m not sure which smell was worse.
“Hey, Chris,” Ben said, wrinkling his nose. “You look as bad as he smells. Are you okay?”
“They’re eating my lebensplasm,” I mumbled. The words just rolled out before I even realized what I was saying. The mixture of the exhaustion and stench was making me delirious.
“Did you say ‘eating egg salad’?” asked Ben. “What’s the matter?”
How could I tell my friend that monsters were eating a gooey extract of me to stay alive? I hardly believed it myself. At this point, I couldn’t remember if I actually saw an old dog last night, or if my mind was just playing tricks on me.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, recovering quickly and pretending to look awake. “If anything, you’re the one who looks sick.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” Ben fake-laughed. “Yeah, that’s sort of my thing, I guess. Which is why I’m sure there’s something wrong with you.”
Before I could defend myself, Mr. Bradley lumbered out of his chair behind his desk and said, “All right, everyone. It’s quiz time!”
“Awww, not a pop quiz!” I yelled it before I could even stop myself.
The entire class stared at me. There were a few moments of unbelievably uncomfortable silence, and then Mr. Bradley spoke again.
“Chris, why are you joking about a pop quiz? This quiz was assigned, covering chapters two and three. You do remember, don’t you?”
