Evil Heights, Book I: The Midnight Flyer

by Michael Swanson

  The darkness was still there, having waited for him on the other side of the streetlight.

  Lee began to get angry with himself.

  "What a baby,” he thought. “You're worse than Patty."

  It was easy to be rational as he stood there in the light, looking across the highway. “You know, there really wasn't anything there,” he told himself. “Scairdy cat!"

  Still, he hadn't moved out another step.

  All of a sudden, it came to him, a way out.

  On the wall by the small side door Mr. Little used in the winter when the large garage doors were closed, was a pay phone. He could call and say he twisted his ankle in the dark and needed a ride home.

  Instantly, he produced a nickel from Maggie's change. He lifted the receiver and dialed in the number.

  The busy signal droned back at him.

  "That's right,” he remembered, “Dad's talking to Terry at work. He might not be off the phone for an hour."

  Reluctantly, he fingered his nickel from the return slot and stepped down into the parking lot. “I wonder how fast I can run carrying a bag of sugar,” he thought. “Not as fast as before,” he was sure.

  Crossing over the highway was easy. Standing in the edge of the pool of light around the stop sign was the next step. He looked out from the safe, warm glow and steeled himself for what had to come next.

  "It's nothing,” he said out loud. “Come on Lee. I can't believe you."

  Still he didn't take another step.

  "Okay, you big baby. Then how are you going to get home?” he tried berating himself. “All this because of some stupid dog. You know it was a dog."

  He knew it wasn't any dog.

  Deep down, though he couldn't see anything, he knew it was still out there, waiting for him. It wouldn't show itself at first; that wasn't its way. It would allow him to get well away from the safety of the light, and then things wouldn't be so funny.

  But there was nothing he could do. He couldn't stand here all night. Gripping the bag even more tightly, he stepped out, taking it at a walk, but ready to run, determined to get home or die trying. With the resolve of that first step his fear had become anger. “Catch me if you can, asshole,” he whispered out loud.

  With a groan and a squeal of breaks, behind him, a car turned off the highway.

  Lee jumped to the side without looking, spinning in time to see a black Chevy pull in behind him.

  A man leaned his head out of the open window.

  "Hey, watch out kid,” the pitched Mexican accent was unmistakable. “You're in the middle of the road."

  Lee had only seen Javier around a couple of times and had only spoken to him briefly once before in passing. He lived down at the dead end of Seminole Road, his property running right along side Spit Creek.

  The man looked at him quizzically. “You're the new kid, aren't you, the one who just moved in to the house of the old lady who died?” His English was thick, but he spoke slowly and Lee had no trouble understanding him.

  "Yes sir."

  "Lee, isn't it?"

  "Yes sir. Lee Coombs."

  "You need a ride?"

  Lee could have kissed him.

  Once inside the car, Javier drove along slowly, obviously wanting to chat.

  "I always see you running,” Javier's teeth were big and white in the light from the dashboard. “You like to run, huh?"

  Lee looked at him and then back out the window. “I guess so, sir."

  "Call me Javier,” the man came back. “If you see my father you can call him sir."

  "Yes, sir,” Lee replied.

  Bumping along they were nearing the outskirts of the mangled houses. Lee looked deeply into the darkness, but nothing was there, at least nothing that would show itself.

  "How you like living in that house?” Javier asked, something in the trunk of the Chevy rattling as it absorbed the impact of a pothole.

  "I guess it's all right. But, I kinda miss my old home."

  "I know just what you mean,” Javier agreed. “About a thousand years ago I used to live in Mexico, but the work's a lot better here in this country. Juana and me, we got our own place, and no one messes with us. But, there's still a lot I'll always miss about old Monterrey."

  Lee immediately seized upon the sound of the words. It was like nothing he had ever heard before. “Meh-he-co” and “Mont-terrr-ray,” he repeated in his head, turning the sounds over and over.

  Having left the houses behind, they were passing the deep darkness that marked the Ballard Estate to the left and the edge of Broaddus marsh to the right.

  "Crazy, what he did to those trees,” Javier said, letting go of the wheel to jerk a thumb towards the window. “I was the foreman for the men he hired to do the cutting. We even told Senor Ballard he was crazy."

  The car hit another jarring pothole.

  "But, I got to admit,” Javier quickly put his other hand back on the wheel. “I've met quite a few crazy Gringos in the years I've been in this country. Must be the water."

  Lee smiled at this, and Javier smiled with him.

  It seemed no time before they pulled up to the front of Lee's drive. The lights were on and the blinds in the front window open, and he could see inside and see his dad still talking on the phone.

  "Thank you, Mr. Fuentes,” Lee said, his gratitude real.

  "Javier. Call me Javier."

  "Haaveeair,” repeated Lee, trying to get the soft sound of the first syllable just right.

  Javier grinned appreciatively at the effort. “You stop on by my house some time when you're running by. I'll teach you about cabrito."

  Lee loved the way he rolled his R's. The way the word flowed out, “cabrito” sounded like something Reverend Hauser would tell him he shouldn't do on Sundays.

  He was careful not to slam the car door, and careful to remember his bag of sugar.

  "Thanks, Javier,” he said leaning back in.

  Javier swung the shifter forward. “Any time, amigo."

  The red taillights bounced off into the darkness while Lee walked slowly up to the front door. He waved the bag with the sugar above his head when his father noticed him through the window come into the light.

  Ted was just hanging up the phone, when Lee walked in, the screen door slamming loudly, aided by the powerful suck of the attic fan.

  "That was quick,” his dad said. “I'll have to send you out to the store more often; you're faster than driving. With gas at twenty-one cents these days, a lot cheaper, too.” He walked over and tousled Lee on the head as he passed by. “You keep this up, son, and I'll bet you'll break all my records, when we get you playing football in high school."

  Lee said nothing; he was spent. He put the bag on the table.

  Maggie, who had just come out of the kitchen, came over and unrolled the top of the crumpled sack, peering inside like there might be something alive in there. Lee turned and headed down the hall towards the bathroom.

  Maggie called out from behind. “What'd you do to your shirt?"

  Lee twisted around tugging at his shirttail, which had come out during his run. “I don't know,” he called back. As he got to the bathroom door he heard Maggie say to Ted, “That kid's about the most destructive thing I ever laid eyes on. Tears up clothes like there's no tomorrow."

  With the door locked behind him, he peeled off his clothes, letting his pants just fall to the floor. Scissoring his arms to pull his shirt off over his head, without even unbuttoning the thing, he quickly turned it around to see what Maggie had been gripping at him about. The shirt tail was split at the bottom, having been torn cleanly in three places, and right in the center, between his shoulder blades, was one long, four of five inch slit, as clean and neat as if it had been done by a razor. Holding the shirt out, spreading it with his arms, he felt a cold lump form in his stomach. Maggie would never believe him; he could just see himself trying to convince her of what had happened. Yeah, right. He knew he'd do better to think up some kind of a lie about having
gone under a barbed wire fence. Lee wadded it up and tossed the shirt in the direction of the waste basket. So much for the dog theory.

  Stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain around he didn't even touch the hot water knob, allowing the cold water from the shower to pour out, washing away the sticky sweat. He stood in there so long he lost track, and was finally startled back to reality by Maggie banging at the door hollering at him to not waste so much water and then telling him the lemonade was ready.

  After finishing the second glass, he dragged himself to his room. Usually he never noticed if his blinds were open or shut. It had never even occurred to him before tonight that it would matter. Tonight though, still leaving the light on and trying not to look outside he closed the thick slats and pulled the curtains shut.

  He hesitated at the light switch, before flicking it off.

  "What a baby,” he told himself.

  But there was no denying he felt good once he got under the sheet, and some of the chill that had crept into his toes began to subside. It was good to be so tired. Sleep came quickly, and if he dreamed, he wasn't aware.

  CHAPTER FIVE: SATURDAY

  Pancakes for breakfast was one of the many things Lee liked about Saturday mornings. He had already eaten three of four big fat ones drenched in syrup and melted butter. Maggie had a knack with pancakes; she could get them golden in the middle and yet still with the edges crispy and brown. Patty toyed with the one Maggie had made especially for her which resembled Mickey Mouse. She had stuck raisins in for the eyes, nose and a curving row for a big, happy smile.

  "You better eat up, Patty,” her dad cautioned. “Lee'll feed your pancake to Flapjack."

  "Flapjack is a pancake, daddy,” she giggled.

  Lee couldn't remember the last time his dad had been at home on a Saturday and the family had all eaten breakfast together. On this bright morning so many things seemed so good right now. The frightening run down Seminole Road two nights ago seemed as though it had never happened.

  Patty heard it first. “Daddy there's a car."

  "Must be Uncle Ed,” Ted said, finishing his milk in one great gulp. “Are you going to want to give us a hand, Lee?"

  Lee folded half of his last pancake into his mouth. He gulped down his milk and followed his father out the front door, chewing mightily to keep from choking.

  A new, yellow Thunderbird with wide balloon white walls and lots of chrome had pulled in behind the Fairlane. A man sporting a loud red and orange sport shirt and wearing dark glasses, hiding below a rakishly angled beach hat, was untying an aluminum extension ladder from the top of the car.

  "Hey, Ed,” said Ted, rounding the car to help with the other side. “Hadn't seen the new T-Bird, yet. Looking pretty sharp there."

  "Yeah, I thought I'd put a few miles on it. Picked it up Thursday. It's a killer, isn't it?"

  "Hi, Uncle Ed,” Lee said, having strangled down the last of the pancake. “Can I help?"

  Ed Miles wasn't really Lee's uncle, but Lee could never remember ever calling his dad's best friend by any other name.

  "Come on ‘round here and give me a hand with this line,” Uncle Ed offered, waving him over with his free hand.

  Lee ran up, always eager to be helping the men.

  As soon as he got to Ed's side, the tall man winked at Ted across the car and made a lunge for Lee.

  Lee had expected something like this, and Ed grabbed nothing but empty air.

  "A little too slow today, huh, Uncle Ed?” Lee taunted. He was grinning ear to ear, poised to run just a couple of steps away. “Must be all that beer you've been drinking."

  "Yeah?” Ed came back. “You better run, boy."

  As though he had read Uncle Ed's thoughts, a split instant before he lunged again, Lee took off.

  Lee had a good three-step head start on Uncle Ed, the two cutting and dodging between the oak trees lining the drive as Lee tried to maintain the distance. Ed though, was quick, and try as he might Lee couldn't gain any more ground.

  Ted walked around to the back of the car to watch the chase. He only took his eyes off for a moment to lean down a bit to pick up Ed's goofy hat, swinging his arm down to pluck it from where it had fallen to the grass.

  "Go, Lee! Go!” yelled his dad, cupping his free hand around his mouth. “That old man couldn't catch a cold."

  Lee could hear Ed's gasps of breath just behind him.

  Ed was quick, too, and he was putting out an all out effort in his attempt to close on the dodging, weaving boy.

  For the second time they rounded the big magnolia in the center of the yard, and Lee slipped, losing one foot for a second. That was all Ed needed to close the gap. With a tackling burst of speed, he had his arms around Lee's waist, and grappling with him from behind was trying to drag Lee down. In a series of fluid moves Lee spun around twisting in his grasp, then planted his right leg, and with a twist to Uncle Ed's wrist sent him flying to land hard on his back. Immediately, Lee looked terrified and ran over to hold his hand out to the man lying on the lawn.

  "I'm sorry, Uncle Ed,” Lee apologized breathlessly. He looked up to his dad, real fright in his eyes. “I didn't mean to, honest, dad!"

  Ted, though, was anything but angry. Laughing and waving the hat, he called out, “Kicked your butt, didn't he?"

  Uncle Ed took Lee's hand and pulled himself up.

  Lee still looked terrified. “I'm sorry, Uncle Ed. I just—"

  Red faced, Ed clapped Lee on the shoulder cutting off his apology. “Damn, boy. That's some of that army judo stuff your dad showed you, huh?"

  Lee swallowed and nodded. “I really didn't—"

  Ed cut him off again. “No need to apologize.” He grabbed Lee by the shoulders, looking the big kid eye to eye. “Next time, though, you're not going to catch me like that, unawares. No more cutting you any slack from here on out."

  Lee nodded.

  Still seriously red-faced, Uncle Ed walked back towards the T-Bird, sucking wind and brushing grass from his legs and the seat of his pants. He accepted back his hat and leaned back sitting down on the edge of the trunk. After a mighty exhale he managed to say, “Taught him pretty good, didn't you?"

  Ted nodded, his grin spread across his face. “The kid took to it like that damn duck of his takes to water. He can flip me two out of three."

  Uncle Ed put his hat back on and straightened it slightly to get the angle right. “What's the coach going to do with him?"

  There was no denying the proud look plastered across Ted's face. “I was wanting him to play running back like I did, but that new coach, Coach Billings, wants to give him a try at quarterback."

  "JV, right?"

  Ted shook his head. “Varsity."

  "You're kidding?” Uncle Ed said more to Lee, than to Ted.

  Lee nodded a quick nod. “Coach Billings says I'm too tall for running back."

  "But hell, Lee,” Uncle Ed said questioningly. “By all rights, you should still be in Junior high if it wasn't for your grades. It'd be a long while before you could ever start at the varsity level, least not at quarterback."

  It was Ted who replied. “Billings came out and saw him play three times last year. He says he's going to give Lee a shot. It's all up to Lee. Right, son?"

  Uncle Ed reached out and shook Lee by the shoulder. He looked every bit as proud as Ted. “Summer drills should be starting up pretty soon, huh?"

  Lee shook his head. “Not until August."

  "Since when?” Uncle Ed looked stunned. He glared wonderingly at Ted. “What happened to June camp?"

  "Remember, last summer, that Smith kid, the one who died? Heat stroke. School board won't let ‘em practice ‘til August."

  Uncle Ed looked stunned. “I knew the kid died, but—” He just shook his head.

  Standing away from the car, Ted clapped Ed on the shoulder. “Times are changing."

  "You got that right,” Ed replied.

  Lee, standing back, had completely regained his breath, where Uncle Ed was
dripping sweat in streams down his neck and was still breathing hard. Ed had settled down enough, though, to pull his pack of cigarettes from his shirt's front pocket and light one with a quick flick of his lighter, reminding Lee exactly of Carl. Moving a little to the side so Uncle Ed wasn't directly in front of the sun, Lee looked him up and down. For the first time in his life he looked different to Lee. He wasn't good ol’ Uncle Ed, Daddy's friend who brings me candy, chases me, and tosses me in the air. He looked like just a man. Times were certainly changing.

  As his dad and Uncle Ed talked, Lee had a moment to think about then and now. He and Uncle Ed had preformed some variation of this chase and catch as long as Lee could remember. In the old days, after Uncle Ed would catch him, he'd toss Lee high up into the air. To Lee it had seemed like he was flying. He'd laugh so hard, and he'd get so dizzy. In all his life every memory he had of Uncle Ed was a happy one. The same with Uncle Ed's pretty, young wife, Miss Laura, she'd always paid extra special attention to Lee.

  Unlike Lee's dad, Ed Miles was a native to Parson's County. His family went back for generations. He had been starting quarterback on the same Lenoir High football teams of ‘44 and ‘45 Lee's dad had played on. The two had been friends from the day they'd met, doing almost everything together up until the time they graduated. But, after that, the fortunes of the two had changed dramatically. Ed had gone on to college with an athletic scholarship, and now owned the most successful real estate company in the valley. He had married a beautiful, red-haired history major he'd met in college, and they now had three daughters: one a little older than Patty, one the same age, and one still in diapers.

  Ted, on the other hand, had not been offered a scholarship. His playing was good, but his grades were dismal. It didn't help that Darva Anne, Lee's mom, had turned up pregnant just a couple months after graduation. Three years later, fed up with a spoiled, unhappy wife, and low paying, menial jobs, Ted had enlisted in the army in 1949. Not too long after he'd been shipped out overseas. PFC Theodore Coombs was called home from Korea, fresh from the battle of Heartbreak Ridge, immediately after being notified that his young wife had died, a victim of the Asian flu epidemic of 1951. Since he had a young son to care for, Ted was allowed a hardship discharge before serving his full term. In no time he found himself learning what real responsibility was, as a widower and a father.