He sat heavily on the sofa, the television mocking him with its silence, the fireplace crackling with heat, the kitchen at his back making him slightly uneasy. He finished the bourbon in two swallows and stared into the fire until he felt the alcohol soak blessedly into the back of his brain, relaxing his tension, easing his thoughts.
He lay back on the couch. There was the slight redolence of Karen’s perfume on the cushions. After a still moment, he groped for the phone on the end table and dialed.
“Hello?” Karen’s voice came on the line.
“Karen?”
“Gavin. Hi. How are you doing?”
“Not bad. Came home to get some rest. I finally ran down and they sent me home like a sick kid from school.”
“That will happen if you keep pushing yourself.” She paused, as if she regretted the mothering. “I’m glad you’re taking some time off, anyway.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” The words rolled easily off Gavin’s alcohol loosened tongue.
“Oh ... well, sure. Do you want to meet somewhere, or...?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to go out anywhere, especially since the Mountain Sun hit the newsstands this morning. God forbid anyone sees me in public. Would you mind coming over? I’ll start a fire and cook for us. Around seven?”
“Okay.” Karen’s voice was cautious and he didn’t blame her.
“Great. I’m going to nap for a while. Recharge.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks, Karen.”
“See you later.”
“’Bye.”
As soon as he turned off the phone and let it fall from his limp hand, he closed his eyes. It may have been his imagination, but he thought he sensed someone near the bottom of the staircase—sensed it the same way you sensed someone hovering over you when your eyes are closed and you’re drifting away, the vaguest sense of movement, picked up perhaps more by the ears than anything else. But the whiskey did its job too well, and before he could bother to look around, he slipped into dreamland and was sound asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After the Carson Lake Wildcats came in from practice, the locker room filled with good natured jibing, the slamming of lockers, the hiss and mist of showers thickening the scent of musty towels, rancid socks, sweaty balls, and Right Guard.
“It’s a charmed life,” Ryan said, digging into his locker and pulling deodorant from his duffle bag.
“Fortune and glory,” Ethan said, grinning. He peeled off his jersey with number 89 in stark white over deep purple and lifted the shoulder pads over his head. They clacked as he dropped them to the floor and peeled off his sweaty undershirt. His cheeks were still burning from the cold weather outside and the heat of exertion. He sat on the bench to untie his cleats when Lucas Hill’s voice echoed from the showers.
“Ethan James, you are the man! You took a beating tonight that’d make your girlfriend’s pussy wet. For me, that is! You ever get tired of seeing my shoulder in your grill, Ethan James?”
A couple of the other guys with meaner dispositions chuckled, but for the most part everyone recognized the cycle was not yet complete, and they didn’t want to get drawn into the churn.
Lucas was a genetic freak, muscles bulging from muscles, and he didn’t bother to hide his “dangling gents” as he strode through the locker room. He dried himself with a towel, but then quickly rolled it as he came within striking distance of Ethan. He snapped it, but Ethan caught the wet end of the towel and pulled Lucas forward. The brawny teen slipped on his bare feet and did a comical sprawl that drew some unwelcome laughter.
Lucas’s face flushed with fury.
“Watch the dangling gents, there, Lucas,” Ethan said with a grin.
Lucas leaped over the bench between the lockers like he was coming off the line after a snap. He plowed into Ethan and crushed him into the corner, setting his full weight atop him. Strong as Ethan was, he couldn’t get out from under the moose’s girth. Lucas ground an elbow into his cheek, setting knees into his chest. Ethan tried to struggle out from under him but he was pinned. Lucas repositioned himself, naked, atop Ethan, and rammed his crotch onto Ethan’s face, dangling his balls over his nose and eyes, the flaccid shaft of his penis touching Ethan’s cheek.
“Teabags, little man? Think your tightass girlfriend would like to meet the dangling gents? I’ll bet she ain’t seen nothin’ like these monsters. I’d probably split her tight little ass in half with this slab of meat, eh, Ethan James?”
A crowd had gathered at the end of the row of lockers, some of the guys laughing and yelling: “He’s tea bagging him, man” and “oh no” and “bite ’em off” and more laughter as someone tossed out the proclamation: “Man, that ain’t right.”
Ethan twisted his head loose and swiftly rammed the top of his skull up between Lucas’s legs. Lucas howled in pain and toppled backward into a seated position on the bench, clutching his privates. Ethan scrambled to his feet and stood in the corner, fists raised in defense.
“Kick his ass, Ethan!” yelled Ryan. A couple others joined in support of Ethan while Lucas was so clearly injured.
“Yeah, kick my ass, Ethan James,” Lucas spit through clinched teeth. “Go ahead and try it.” He spoke low, and got close to Ethan as he made his final statement. “Next time I’ll shit in your mouth, little man.”
They faced each other for a moment before Lucas turned away and walked down the aisle. He paused and turned back to Ethan. “Your partner Ryan here tells me Carly takes house calls in the middle of the night. Maybe I’ll stop in tonight and show that little piece what it’s really all about.”
Ethan felt his eyes narrow, his throat constrict, and every muscle in his body tense. Anger boiled up from his core.
Ryan looked to the floor between the two, cheeks flushed.
The voice of Coach Gillingham echoed from the front of the locker room. The door of his office slammed closed behind him. “What the hell’s going on back there, girls? I’m ready to go home, so let’s clear it out!”
The crowd that had gathered for the minor altercation began to disperse. A few guys went off chuckling. Most guys just went quickly to their lockers and got dressed. The last shower shut off and Sammy Gunda who played safety came out, a towel wrapped around his waist, pushing past Lucas, who gave Ethan a final scowl. The team’s center, a tub of lard named Andy Cordina, stood as a shambling mountain of flesh, blocking Lucas’s way to his row of lockers.
“Dude, that was gay,” Andy said. Some of the other fellas laughed.
“Get the fuck outta my way, lardass.” Lucas shoved him, but even being able to bench 300-pounds, his hand was engulfed and didn’t budge Cordina one inch.
“Go around, faggot.”
Lucas slipped past Andy and disappeared around the end of the row of lockers, huffing like a bull.
Ethan scrubbed his face and hands with soap in a nearby sink and then made quick work of changing. He was silent but brewing with rage. He yanked on his jeans, quickly tied his shoes, sprayed on some musky deodorant, and then ducked into his black T-shirt that said The Haunted on the front, with a drop of silkscreen blood on the white block letters. He ran fingers through his hair that still held the shape of his helmet and slung his bag over his shoulder.
Ryan stood next to him. “Ethan....”
Ethan gave Ryan a cool look. “What the hell, Ryan? Dude, not only don’t I understand why you told him any of my and Carly’s personal business, but I don’t understand why you were talking to him in the first place.”
“Man, I’m sorry! He ... we saw Carly in the hall earlier, and he made a comment about her, and I told him he better not try it because you two were serious. He said ‘is that right’ like he didn’t believe it, and—it just slipped out—I ... I told him you spent the night with her last night.”
“I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t think. I can explain it to her if you want me to.”
Ethan took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He looked over to see Andy Cordina making his slow way toward them.
“You all right, buddy?” Andy asked.
Ethan nodded at his big friend. “Yeah, nothing a shower and a pizza won’t fix.”
“You know everyone thinks he’s a dick. They just won’t speak up ’cause they’re afraid of him. At least you’ve got the brass to fight back.”
“Some fight.” Ethan laughed weakly. “Hey, we’re headed over to the Pizza Parlor. You wanna join us?”
A smile curled Andy’s face. “Does a vampire drink blood?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lucas slammed his hand down hard on the steering wheel of his Mustang in time with the music blaring from the stereo.
“I’m gonna kill that motherfucker! And I am gonna be at his sweet little thang’s house tonight.”
The car was full, as usual, with most of the Carson Lake Wildcats’ first-string defensive line. Five of them were piled into the little sports car, which was far too many of them because most of them were huge. Nevertheless, it was a tradition during football season that on Monday nights after practice they all went over to Lucas Hill’s house and lifted weights in the garage and drank all his dad’s beer. Lucas had added a couple other activities onto the agenda for this evening, however, not the least of which included warming up with a little small-time vandalism, and wrapping up with—as they just learned—staking out Carly Wagner’s house. Every week in October they did something nefarious, in the spirit of Halloween, trick or treat and all that, but staking out Wagner’s house was new.
“You gonna lie in wait for that loser Ethan James?” Sammy asked. He still had half a can of Budweiser in his hand, precariously balanced as Lucas drove too fast over the rigid wash-boarded roads, tires hissing and spinning through slush. A thick fog had formed as darkness fell, and his low beams refracted in the icy air. They couldn’t see twenty feet in front of them, but Lucas drove like a mad man, handling the car recklessly as they came to a sharp corner in the backwoods, getting sideways as he turned. The guys all cheered and laughed, except for Sammy. “Man, you’re gonna make me spill my beer!”
“Shut up. And no, I ain’t gonna ‘lie in wait’ for nobody. I’m gonna go straight up the side of her house to her room, sneak inside, and give that little slut a piece of real meat.”
Riding shotgun, Peter Burbromeister, a.k.a. the infamous Bubbamuncher, was trying to light half a joint he found in the ashtray. The flame from the lighter jarred. Lucas tore around another corner and floored it as they came down through the backwoods from Trout Creek into Carson Lake. Bubbamuncher burned his face, slapping his hand over his eyebrow. The smell of burned hair filled the car.
“Bubba, you having some trouble up there?” said Sammy from the back seat.
Anthony Fetz had finally processed the plan that Lucas laid out for later that night and spoke up. “You’re gonna sneak into Carly Wagner’s house? Chief Wagner’s house?” Anthony laughed. “Dude, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought. He’ll shoot you full of holes.”
Lucas reached around and backhanded Anthony in the mouth. He yowled over the blaring music and clutched his suddenly bleeding lip. “Look, any of you sissies want out, I’ll be glad to take you over to hang out with that loser Ethan James and his sissy pals.”
“I wouldn’t call him a loser, man. He’s the best wide receiver the school’s had in seven years,” said Opie, taking the lit joint from Bubbamuncher. The car filled with pungent pot smoke as Bubba exhaled a massive hit. “He’s had twenty-four receptions for two hundred and eighty-four yards and four touchdowns so far this year. Man, that’s freakin Hulkish.”
“Shut up,” Lucas said. “What the fuck are you, his new girlfriend? Maybe I should kick all your asses and dump you off with Sissy James. Fuckin’ idiots.”
Bubba shrugged. “I don’t care for him.”
Lucas barked a laugh. “‘I don’t care for him.’” He slapped Bubba in the stomach and made him cough. “That’s what I like about you Bubba, always so damn proper.”
When Bubba looked over at Lucas, his eyes were already cherry red, stoned out of his mind. This was the second roach he’d finished out of the ashtray. He chuckled.
“I just want you to stop spillin’ my beer,” said Sammy.
“Hey,” said Opie, trying to recover his standing, talking while he held in a hit, smoke pluming from his lips with each word. “I don’t like the guy, I’m just sayin’ he’s a damn good receiver. That ain’t the same thing.”
“Just shut up everybody,” Lucas reached down and turned off the music. “Mission number one is about to commence. We’re coming up on the old witch’s house now.”
Lucas slowed the Mustang as he drove past the cemetery and pulled through the thick fog around the corner to the bottom of Washington Hill. Darkness had fallen, and the only light on the street came from a yellowed streetlamp with a halo of icy mist. Lucas drove the Mustang around the corner and started up the hill.
“Have you still got the eggs, Opie?”
“I gave them to Anthony.”
“I’ve got them,” Anthony said.
A few seconds of tense silence in the car ensued as the dash lights glowed on their faces, smoke drifting from the remnants of the joint. Lucas took the last hit before tossing it in the ashtray and peering through the fog. He stopped in front of the solitary house at the top of the hill and killed the headlights.
“Man, I don’t know about this,” Bubba said. “I heard that last year around Halloween, some kids came up and Tee-Peed the place. They all heard like growling and weird noises and shit, and one of them was never seen again. This old lady ain’t no one to mess with.” Bubba was whispering, staring out the windshield as if expecting something awful to emerge from the darkness where the house stood.
“That’s bullshit. You’re seriously afraid of some decrepit old dame who hasn’t left her friggin’ house in six years?” Lucas shook his head, rolling to a stop directly across the street from the place. The trees blocked all vision of the house from the road. With the fog, the tunnel of overgrown foliage crowding the cracked front walkway looked like an ancient pathway to some forgotten world of sorcery and night.
“She’s a witch, man. Not just some old woman,” said Opie. “They say the guy that lived here with her disappeared, too. They say she ate his guts and drank his blood and hung up his bones around the house to ward off his ghost.”
“That’s it,” Lucas reached around into the backseat and slapped Opie across the face, then punched him in the chest, causing the smaller teen to wheeze for air. “Get the fuck out.”
“My beer,” Sammy complained as it sloshed over into his lap at the commotion.
Opie scowled at Lucas, clutching his chest. He slipped out from behind the seat as Bubba opened the passenger door and let him out. “Fine with me,” he said, leaning down to whisper, “if you guys disappear or get eaten by some witch beast, don’t friggin’ blame me.”
Lucas scoffed, but everyone else was quiet as Opie disappeared into the fog, running down the hill toward the area of town where he lived.
“Okay,” Lucas said. “I’ll leave the car running. Everyone grab as many eggs as you can carry, then we’ll sneak through that front walkway. As soon as you see the front of the house, throw everything you’ve got and get back here fast cause I’m not waitin’ for anyone this time.” Lucas gave a meaningful look to Bubba.
“How about if I just stay in the ca
r?” Bubba said.
“How about if I send you home with Dopie?”
Bubba flattened his lips into a grim look.
“Let’s do it.”
They climbed quietly out of the car, the cold night air and icy mist particles clinging to their clothes, blanketing them with frost. They divvied up the rotten eggs, as many as each could carry, and Lucas led the reluctant crew across the slushy road to the sidewalk, past the mailbox that read V. Maeveen, leaning crookedly from the curb. The snow was thick and undisturbed on the uneven walkway to the house. They took a few steps up to the walk and even Lucas paused before forging ahead into the tangled hollow that led, presumably, to the front step of the house. They couldn’t tell for sure. The tunnel could have led into the mists of nothingness for all they could see.
“I don’t know, Lucas,” Bubba said quieter than he’d ever talked before.
One stern look from Lucas was all it took to keep the rest of them from voicing their fears.
Lucas stepped up onto the first stair leading into the wintry hollow of the witch’s front walk. His feet puffed through the fresh powder but crunched through the older snow crust beneath. It made scrunching sounds as it packed under their feet. Sammy came after Lucas, close behind him, his face black in the night, eyes white as pearls. Bubba was behind him and Anthony took up the rear. Crisp vines hung from the brush above, and the scent of pine surrounded them. Branches brushed against their coats, tangled around their legs, scraped like icy talons against their faces. Lucas pushed through first, placing his feet carefully along the treacherous walk. Bubba stumbled and caught himself, but made a startled “oof!” sound that betrayed them to the shadows.
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