“How do you know that?”
“Stories,” John replied as more of a sigh. “I’ve heard a million different stories about that place.”
“Exactly, John. Just stories.”
John shook his head once more as he wandered to the scrap wood pile at the back of the shop. Eric followed closely behind.
“You know as well as I do that those stories ain’t real. They’re fake. They’re—”
“Bullshit!” John finished. He made his way back to the work table in the center of the room just past the jigsaw where this conversation had originated. His hands were no longer empty. He grasped a bundle of oblong one-by-sixes. Eric once again followed closely behind like a lost puppy in search of a new and affectionate owner.
“Yeah, they’re bullshit,” Eric mocked with a smile.
John raised his eyes briefly while sifting through the boards. “Okay, E. I’m listening. So what’s your point?”
“We’ve been talking about ghosts since we were little kids. So let’s do something about it, man.” John separated the boards longest to shortest. “Let’s go to the Cahill place." Eric watched as he restacked the boards in ascending order, the longest on bottom. “What do you say?”
John shook his head and moved once more towards the back of the shop. Next to the pile of scrap wood and just in front of the big, rolling garage-type door leading out the back of the shop was an old, rusting wood planer. This is where he is heading. Eric followed nearly stepping on John’s heels. “I’m still not convinced, E. You’re not giving me much reason.”
“I just figured you of all people would want to do this,” Eric said solemnly, a tad disappointed. “This is our chance to do something daring...to do something spontaneous...to maybe even discover something.”
“Discover what?” John sat the stack of boards onto the mouth of the plainer.
“A ghost! A spirit! Anything out of the ordinary, John!”
“And if we don’t?” He pushed the stack of boards to the farthest side of the planer’s mouth.
“Then we prove once and for all that all of those stories are fake.”
“That doesn’t even matter.” John spread the boards out evenly across the mouth of the plainer (the longest the farthest away). “Even if nothing happens, people are still going to believe those stories.” He pauses long enough to find the guide stick (the small piece of scrap two-by-four used to guide smaller pieces of wood through the planer so your hands didn’t get too close). “Catch these for me?”
“Yeah, sure.”
John flipped the planer’s switch to on and fed the boards through. There were eight boards in total. He started with the shortest, using the guide stick to push the first four through. He ran each board through twice before flipping them over and running them twice more. They were surprisingly smooth.
Neither one of them said a word while the planer was running. It was too noisy.
“What can it hurt, John?”
“I just think it’s a waste of time, E,” John said, stacking the boards (longest on bottom).
“So what if it is? We waste one night of our boring, meaningless lives? What would we do that night anyways other than get into trouble?”
“I guess you’re right, but why Halloween?” He had now moved over to the table saw.
“All-Hallows’ Eve,” Eric said with a snicker. “Day of the dead...the night the dead can walk the Earth freely. If there’s any chance at all of anything out of the ordinary happening while we’re there, then those chances will only increase on Halloween night.”
John laid the pile of boards on the grate of the table saw, making sure that the longest board wasn’t obstructing the saw blade’s path just yet. He spreads them out (the longest touching the blade’s guard), flushed one end of the shortest board to the corresponding end of the second shortest board, grabbed the red pencil from his back pocket, and marked it. He used the smallest to make the marks on the six remaining boards as well. He flipped the switch, and the saw roared to life. He made his first cut and marveled at the symmetry between it and the shortest board momentarily before repeating the process on the remaining boards.
Eric waited patiently throughout the entire process. Once again, the machinery was just too noisy to speak over.
“Alright, Eric.” He pauses to restack the boards yet again; no longer a pile of scrap but now a bundle of useful boards. “I’m in.”
Eric grinned. “Great, man. I’ll work out the rest of the details and fill you in later.”
“Sounds good.”
*****
Tuesday, October 28th
School drug by listlessly. The weekend and their inevitable adventure was still so far away, but yet Eric grew more excited and anxious with every passing moment. However, John didn’t seem to share the same feelings. But Eric imagined his friend would eventually come around and warm up to the idea. After all, it had taken some convincing, but John finally did agree to come along.
On a brighter note, when school finally did let out, the two of them got to avoid standing out at the gathering of buses and the eventual long ride home. Mrs. Parker came and picked them up to take them to the Spirit of Halloween store to shop for their costumes.
*****
Wednesday, October 29th
It was yet another boring day at school. Eric continued to grow more and more excited. He had been thinking constantly about Friday night, but now he found himself daydreaming. He remained in a walking, semi-conscious state, not too much aware of his own surroundings or what occurred in them every since he got his costume. He had felt like a kid again while in Spirit of Halloween, but that didn’t matter. He loved Halloween, period, and nothing—not even age—would ever change that.
His costume, a replica of Freddy Krueger from the Nightmare on Elm Street movie series, wasn’t a cheaply-made knock-off like he had gotten one year from a department store either. This one was legit and by far his best costume yet.
John chose to go with a replica of Jason Voorhees from the Friday the 13th movie series. It was a great choice as well. “Not as good as mine,” Eric had told him while still inside the store.
After having seen all of the great costumes, ghoulish and gory decorations, and all of the new and improved gadgets that Spirit of Halloween had to offer, it seemed to have brightened John’s mood.
*****
Thursday, October 30th
Eric planned all week for Friday night, but his newly revised plan still possessed some gaping holes.
John, seemingly just as excited as Eric now, had been bugging him constantly to hear the details but had gotten nothing in that department from Eric thus far.
Eric put off the explanation simply because he wasn’t ready for it just yet. If he gave John what he had, then surely John would have a change of heart—and of mind—and probably decide that it would not even be worth going. He had been simply telling John, “tomorrow…I'll fill you in tomorrow”. Yet, each tomorrow came and Eric said the same thing as the day before. But he was running out of tomorrows since tomorrow was the Big Day.
He needed to go home and do some serious thinking.
*****
Friday, October 31st, Halloween
Seventh period shop rolled around again. It was the last class of the day, and of the week, the time of reckoning, and Eric had ducked and dodged John enough. It was time to discuss the plan.
“What’s up, E?” John said, reaching out with his right hand for a friendly shake. “You ready for tonight or what?”
“I’ve been ready, man.”
“Good, good. So what’s the plan?”
Eric went into a long, drawn-out, detailed discussion. He planned everything. He accounted for all of the time that they would be at the Cahill Manor. He devised excuses to keep both of their parents completely oblivious to their actual plans. He had planned for everything.
CHAPTER 4
The path leading up to the Cahill Manor was not an easy one to follow unless you we
re from these parts. Boatner Street began at the red light at the foot of the Ouachita Bridge. It wound through the other entanglements of streets, lanes, and dead-end roads that was downtown Columbia. It ran past the hospital and around the elementary school.
To the left, just past Columbia Elementary, lay Fisher Road. It wound back up into Huff Bend, passing over the large hill where Cherry Hill Lane ended into Fisher Road (the spot in which Mrs. Parker always referred to as an “accident waiting to happen”). It ran sharply and deceivingly back into the countryside, passing a few homes, but mostly farmland, pastures, and woods to the right and the swampy marshes running off from the Ouachita River to the left. Somewhere between “An Accident Waiting to Happen” intersection and the ending of the road in the Brownsville community, Fisher Road became nonexistent and Huff Bend Road took over for the locals. In fact, most of the people around here were not even aware of the existence of Fisher Road unless they came across it on a map.
About a quarter of a mile through, the roughly-paved and pothole-littered black top became gravel; not hard, compacted gravel either, but loose, unmaintained gravel nearly impassable after a heavy rain.
About another half mile up from there, past Reed Road and the last house on the road until it turned back into blacktop just before Brownsville, where “The Pack of Many Breeds”—one of the most colorful arrays of mixed breed, stray dogs that one might ever encounter—would always chase oncoming vehicles, but before the trail where people dump their trash, ride four-wheelers, and go mud-riding, and the open space where people like to cut donuts in their trucks or just sit and drink or do drugs or have sex, or where the police cruiser often sits, there lay another road to the left.
This road, known as Cahill Drive, was a long and curvy, freshly-paved road—it was always freshly-paved because the Cahills had the money to have it done themselves instead of having to wait on the city, parish, or state to do so—dead-ending at some point into a massive bluff overlooking the Ouachita River.
“If a man doesn’t know that road very well, he’ll end up as gator food at the bottom of the river.” This was one of the three things that Eric could vaguely remember hearing the local residents saying about the Cahill place throughout his life that stood out in his mind while devising the plan.
Just before the bluff located to the right was a wall of concrete signifying the beginning of the driveway leading up to Cahill Manor. A large, black iron gate stood lethargically amongst the concrete wall. CM, printed in large white letters and outlined in gold trim, lay perfectly centered in the middle of the gate. There were trees, none that look indigenous to Louisiana, lining the wall.
“Those imported, exotic trees they brought in nearly hide that damned gate. You’d never even see it ’nless you knew it was there.”
*****
Other than this, John or Eric knew nothing of the layout of Cahill Drive or the manor itself. They were completely oblivious to what lay beyond those gates because...well, frankly because no one else knew either. Only the Cahills themselves, their staff, and whatever rich friends they brought over knew what awaited them beyond those gates.
The Cahill kids had been just as snobby as any of the rich, spoiled brats that were portrayed in the movies, as the story goes. They were home-schooled and lacked interaction with common children. Of course, all forms of interaction were nearly impossible to avoid. So when these rare encounters actually happened, they usually only consisted of the Cahill children bragging and boasting about their money, future inheritances, and their materialistic possessions.
The staff never spoke of the Cahills outside of those gates either. Most people believed that secrecy had been a major part of their job description or that job security most likely depended heavily on them keeping their mouths shut.
And then there were the friends—if that was what the few strangers seen entering in and out of that gate could even be called—of the Cahills. Their friends were mostly out-of-towners. These people, with their we’re-better-than-you-because-we’re-rich-and-you’re-not attitudes, were every bit as wealthy as the Cahills and just as snobby to boot. They spoke nothing of the Cahills to the townspeople because frankly, they didn’t associate with any of the townspeople either.
“Why someone as rich as the Cahills would choose to live out there in the Bend is a mystery to me.”
And that was exactly what the Cahills and anything Cahill-related had become: a mystery; not that they hadn’t been before the incident (because they had), just even more so now.
CHAPTER 5
PHASE ONE
The plan was simple in its entirety.
Both boys needed to go straight home after school. Each opted not to wear their costumes to school this year. They were two of the very few who were in ordinary clothes. Eric wanted their costumes to be a surprise to everyone; not that anyone in particular would be watching in anticipation to see their costume choices; it just made him feel better to wait.
Plus, Eric’s mother had an odd, longstanding tradition of photographing him every year in his Halloween costume. She snapped enough pictures to usually fill up a small photo album each year. He found his costume looked better for these pictures if he didn’t wear it to school. He always managed to rip it or get it stained. As far as the pictures went, he hated them, but he always assumed she only did it because he was an only child, and she never got the girl she always wanted. So she never got an album of momma’s little angel in a fairy costume or a Disney princess costume or things like that. Instead, she had to settle for Eric in his gory costume choices, usually of whatever horror movies had been popular during that year. It was the least he could do to take a few pictures.
John needed to rush home as well. He could have saved himself a lot of time had he just worn his costume today as he had intended on doing, but Eric talked him out of it. Eric had developed an uncanny way of getting John to do whatever he wanted over the years.
So now he needed to literally run straight home. There was no time to wait around for the school bus today; he could make it much faster by running. Once he made it home, he still needed to get dressed and then take Alyssa trick-or-treating around the neighborhood before it got too late and the festivities begin.
*****
PHASE TWO
The next part was the easiest - the time for their excuses. Eric saw it fit and plausible to run one of the oldest, simplest, and most effective scams of all time as their excuse. He told his own mother he would stay with John, and John, vice-versa. Simplicity in all of its finest qualities.
*****
PHASE THREE
The next part would be more difficult. It relied solely on Eric. While John finished up with trick-or-treating and getting ready to accompany his family to Witch Way to Main Street, Eric would handle the dirty work.
Eric has taken the liberty of making himself and John a little care package. It contained snacks, drinks, a change of clothes for each of them, flashlights, batteries, candles, matches, two handheld cassette tape recorders, two small note pads, and a few other necessities. He would throw on his costume, take pictures, tell his mother he was going trick-or-treating with John and Alyssa, and then leave. He planned to ride his bicycle up to Cahill Drive and drop the care packages at the gate of the manor and weave his way back up to Main Street.
Luckily, other than photographing their only son, the Richardsons did not partake much in the celebration of Halloween. They never made it out to Main Street on October 31st, or whatever day the festival came on, depending which day of the week Halloween fell that particular year. So once Eric walked out of the door, he was rid of his own parents.
This would only leave meeting up with John on Main Street somewhere. They would enjoy the celebration and festivities of course, but not only that. Subconsciously, they would wait in angst for Alyssa to tire or grow bored (whichever came first would suffice) and then hope and pray that the Parkers left.
Then John and Eric could finally venture out on their own.
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CHAPTER 6
Telling his mother the excuse for not returning home later had been a breeze for Eric. In her eyes, her son never lied to her. Despite the fact he had been sweating quite noticeably and his tone spewing out shakily and him being unable to look her in the eyes, she still believed him. And why not? He had never given her a reason not to.
Sneaking the black duffle bags—both so full he had to struggle to even get them zipped—out past his mother and father had been simple.
Even the bike had been simple enough. Scotty Rodgers, a boy both Eric and John knew from school just happened to live about a half mile up the road from Eric, agreed to let the two of them borrow his bike overnight. Scotty left it near the highway, propped up against the hedges as promised. There was just one problem: Scotty’s parents. The only stipulation was Eric couldn’t be seen getting the bike, and he had not been, so far as he could tell.
“If you’re seen, or my parents notice that it’s gone, I’m gonna tell ’em it was stolen,” Scotty said. “I won’t tell ’em it was you, but if they see you with it, all hell is gonna break loose.”
Eric made it maybe a mile up the road from the Rodgers’ home before the first pair of eyes—an elderly woman in an old Lincoln Town Car passing by—spotted him. There’s nothing inconspicuous here, he thought and proved himself right when she passed by without incident. He made it to Huff Bend Road coming from the Brownsville side moments later without any other spectators seeing him.
He came this particular way because it was simpler. He lived just up the road from Huff Bend, past Brownsville, in a small community known as Copenhagen. Making it this far had been easy. Even juggling the two bags and the unoccupied second bicycle had been easier than predicted, but now...
Huff Bend Hell House Page 2
