Evil Heights, Book I: The Midnight Flyer

by Michael Swanson

  "Yeah, we started,” Ronnie replied, becoming excited. “But, Nelson hit a homer in the third inning to tie the game, and it sailed all the way clear across Mix St. and busted out Old Lady Ringle's front window. She came runnin’ right out with the ball, like she must have been at the window waitin', hollerin’ that she was callin’ the Sheriff, and we were all gonna have to pay for the window."

  "That didn't make y'all stop playing?” Lee was a veteran of many battles with Old Lady Ringle. That woman had such a large collection of confiscated baseballs, whiffle balls, and footballs that she could probably open her own sporting goods store had she wanted to.

  "Well, then Frank, he hollered out for her to give us the ball back, that it was just an accident. So of course she yells back she's keepin’ the ball."

  Lee was all too familiar with the scenario.

  "Then Art pulled his pants clear down to his ankles and mooned her."

  "In broad daylight?” Lee was impressed.

  "Yeah,” Ronnie had to chuckle at the memory. “Standin’ right out there by the street, big as life."

  "Really?” Lee asked. “Pants down to the ankles?"

  Ronnie nodded and crossed his heart. “So now, she got really pissed,” Ronnie continued excitedly. “She about threw a hissy fit. She stomped back in and about ten minutes later Fat Larry showed up."

  "What'd y'all do?"

  "We scattered."

  "What happened to Art?"

  "I don't know,” replied Ronnie.

  "Then we got to go find out,” said Lee.

  The two boys worked their way through a series of back ways, fence jumps and cut throughs, which eventually brought them over to Art's house on the corner of Mix St. and Griffith Ave.. This was a section of the western most reaches of Pickford Acres, and most of the houses sat on large lots two or three times the size of the plots where Ronnie lived.

  Art's place was a poorly maintained two-story house with peeling paint and a dangerous, sagging balcony along the front. Attached by a little roofed walkway was a garage with a bowed down roof that resembled a swayback old horse. Just to the side of the big corner lot was the field the kids played on. Art kept it mowed, with a riding lawnmower his mother let him use, and sometimes he'd let other kids ride. Right across the street from the middle of the field was Old Lady Ringle's house, a sprawling ranch style with painted, white brick and an immaculately kept lawn.

  A truck from Patterson's Department Store was out front, as Lee and Ronnie passed by. Two workers were struggling to carry in an immense roll of new carpet. The old stuff, the workers must have just removed was piled up in heaps around the yard.

  Mrs. Ringle, who was standing out to the side of the walkway, directing the workmen, stopped her harangue of the poor men long enough to give Lee and Ronnie a hateful glare. She took the confiscated ball from her apron pocket and held it up for them to see.

  "Just ignore her,” Lee advised. “She wants us to get mad."

  Ronnie got there first and knocked on Art's front door. Lee kind of hung back watching the men struggle with the big roll trying to get through the narrow door, while Old Lady Ringle shadowed their every move. After a minute or so, and another knock, Ronnie said he thought Art probably wasn't home. Just then, the door opened, and Art appeared in the gloom.

  "Hey y'all,” Art said, putting his face to the screen to look out. “Just you two?"

  "Yeah,” Ronnie said. “Just me and Lee. We came over to find out what happened yesterday."

  Art opened the screen. “Come on in. I'll tell ya'll all about it."

  Art's house was always dark inside. It was cold too, as his mother could afford air conditioners. Each room had its own window unit, and Art always kept it freezing inside during the summer.

  "Y'all want a Coke or something?"

  Ronnie had already found the big, green ceramic frog bowl filled with candy bars. He rooted around tossing out ZagNuts and Baby Ruths until he found a Snickers.

  "Sure, a Coke would be good,” said Lee, snagging his favorite, a Butterfinger.

  Art went into the kitchen and came back carrying three bottles. The T.V. was on, as always, and the boys sat down on the long couch, though not really to watch the baseball game on the screen.

  "You all moved in at your Grandma's?” Art asked.

  "Yup,” Lee replied.

  "Do you like it?"

  Lee shrugged.

  "Ronnie says you been working over at the Ballard Place all week, huh Lee?"

  "Yeah,” Lee mumbled, spilling candy bar crumbs all over. He held up his hands.

  "Damn! What happened to you?” Art asked incredulously.

  "Thorns,” Lee said, almost choking. He swallowed and took a drink of Coke. “I've been replanting her rose bushes."

  "So you've actually seen the old lady? You talked to her? Have, ya, huh?"

  Lee was doing his best not to let Art's attentiveness get to him. Something about how Art was too eager reminded him of this cartoon that had a little dog who was always chasing after and sucking up to a bigger dog. The little pest would bound around asking the other dog all kinds of stupid questions and always finishing them with, “Huh? Will ya, huh? Huh?"

  "Yeah, Art.” Lee tried to not sound peeved; after all he was eating Art's candy and drinking his Coke. “I talked to her yesterday, and the day before that, and even the day before that."

  "Is she scary? What'd ya see? You've been in the house, huh?"

  Lee finished off his Butterfinger and licked his fingers. “The inside is real pretty. You wouldn't believe it. She's got all these little pieces of crystal in the windows that make rainbows."

  "Rainbows, huh?” Art couldn't hide his disappointment.

  "Y'all want to hear something weird?” Lee asked.

  Both Ronnie and Art moved in closer.

  "She's got these weird statues out back in the garden. One of them is a girl. You can see her nipples."

  "Aw, man!” both Ronnie and Art exploded at the same time.

  "Nipples?” Art added, way too enthusiastically. “For real?"

  Lee nodded. Now that he had their attention he lowered his voice for effect. “You know what else?"

  Both Art and Ronnie were rapt.

  "Mrs. Ballard goes out every morning and sits in this little house out back; she just sits there, almost all day."

  "So?” Ronnie came back, sounding disappointed after Lee's build up. “What's so great about that?"

  "You should see her,” Lee replied. “It must be a thousand degrees in there, she doesn't even open a window; and all she does is sit and stare at the back door. It's crazy."

  "Back door?” Art asked. “Back door to what?"

  Lee stared at Art. “It's supposed to lead down to a bomb shelter, how ‘bout that?"

  "They got a bomb shelter?” Ronnie asked impressed. “Have you seen it?"

  Lee shook his head. “No. No one's allowed."

  "Why's that?"

  "I don't know."

  "Okay, so she's got naked statues, and sits in front of a bomb shelter?” Art said sounding more than a little disappointed himself. “That's it?"

  "Pretty much,” Lee responded.

  Ronnie opened another Snickers, “Art, I told you Lee and I went over to the train yard, the other day, didn't I?"

  "Yeah you did. Damn, y'all got guts, goin’ over in the broad daylight.” Art was obviously still sucking up. “Did y'all get chased by Fat Larry?"

  Ronnie had the candy bar sticking out of his mouth so he just shook his head.

  Lee was suddenly reminded he needed to ask Ronnie about the other day and what had happened.

  "Did y'all see anything?” asked Art.

  Lee crumpled up his empty Butterfinger wrapper and tossed it on the coffee table. “Ronnie saw a lady ghost. She tickled the back of his neck."

  Ronnie smiled proudly, but his mouth was so stuffed with candy bar he couldn't say anything.

  Art leaned closer. “Really?"

  "Yeah, you sh
ould have seen him run!” laughed Lee.

  Ronnie still couldn't talk, so he punched Lee on the arm. Finally, he swallowed, “You were first.” He mumbled, spitting out crumbs as he spoke. “Lee ran like a rabbit. He was already back on the other side of the fence, while I just walked along, calm as you please. Ain't no ghost gonna make me run."

  "Yeah, right,” Lee held up his fist like he was going to punch Ronnie.

  Ronnie flinched, and moved back.

  Lee remembered, suddenly feeling the bulge in his pocket.

  "Hey, y'all want to see something keen-o? Look what I found while I was digging at the Ballard's.” Without getting up, he squirmed around and dug the glass eye from the pocket of his jeans.

  Lee held it up between his thumb and forefinger.

  "What's that,” asked Art, leaning in across Ronnie to get a better look, “A marble?"

  "It's an eye,” replied Lee. “A glass eye."

  The sparkles in the iris flickered as it reflected the light from the television.

  "Let me see,” said Ronnie, reaching out and plucking the thing from Lee's fingers.

  He held it out in the palm of his hand and poked at the iris.

  "Keen-o!” Ronnie and Art said together.

  "I'll buy it from you,” offered Art, leaning in more closely to get a really good look.

  Lee snatched it back. “Not for a million bucks."

  "Do you think it's from a dead guy?” asked Art.

  "If it came from the Ballard place it had to come from a dead guy, stupid,” said Ronnie tearing open another candy bar.

  "Come on Lee,” whined Art, “I'll give you five bucks."

  "No way,” said Lee. “It's not for sale. But I will take another candy bar."

  "Let me see it for a sec?” Art seemed on the verge of a hissy fit. “Come on. You let Ronnie hold it."

  Lee slowly handed it over, dropping it into Art's outstretched palm. Art's eyes grew wide. “Whoa!” He poked at it with his finger, rolling it around in his palm so he could see the full iris. “How come I never find anything like this?"

  * * * *

  Lee walked back over to the candy bowl and began rooting around. “So what happened yesterday, Art? Ronnie says you mooned Old Lady Ringle."

  A proud smile opened up across Art's face making his ears seem to spread even wider.

  "Oh, you should have seen me.” Art got to his feet. “The old bag nearly died."

  Pocketing the eye, he began to unbutton his pants.

  Lee and Ronnie realized too late, he was going to reenact his triumph.

  Art spun around, and with his thumbs hooked in around the waist of his shorts, he pulled his pants and underwear all the way down to his ankles. Bent over he said to the floor, “She saw the full moon at high noon."

  "Damn, Art,” complained Ronnie animatedly shielding his eyes with his hands. “We don't want to see your butt!"

  "Yeah, save it for the old ladies,” Lee added.

  Art stood up and turned around, his pants still down around his ankles.

  "There's something really weird about you, Art,” Lee said, shaking his head and making eye contact with Ronnie, who was obviously thinking the same thing.

  Getting no further reaction, almost grudgingly, Art pulled his pants back up.

  Lee came back over, peeling the wrapper off his candy bar and put out his hand to Art. “Come on, give."

  Art was having a difficult time grappling with his pants. “What?"

  "The eye.” Lee stared down at him. “I saw you put in your pocket. Let me have it back."

  Stopping for a moment with his fumbling with the snap, Art pulled the eye from his pocket and deposited the eye in Lee's palm.

  Right off Lee could feel how hot it was. Art must have the hottest and sweatiest palms in the world.

  "So what happened after Fat Larry showed up?” Ronnie had finished his Coke. He stuck his finger in the open end, and waggled the bottle around in the air. “Hey, how ‘bout another?"

  "Sure, help yourself,” said Art, zipping up and falling back on the couch. His cheeks were flushed, but he plainly wasn't embarrassed.

  "Get me one, too,” Lee said as Ronnie passed by.

  "Y'all won't believe this, but he actually dragged his fat butt out of the car and waddled up and pounded on my door.” Art took a triumphant swig of his Coke.

  "Yeah?” Lee sat back down and began peeling off the wrapper. “I don't think I've ever seen him get out of the car."

  "Well, he did.” Art was excited at being the center of attention. He actually bounced up and down on the couch, just like a little kid. “He said he was going to tell my Mom, and if I didn't tell him who the other boys were he was going to make me pay for the window all by myself."

  Ronnie came back into the room carrying two more Cokes. “What'd you say?"

  Art held out his fist and dramatically raised his middle finger.

  "Oh, yeah. Sure. You shot the bird at Fat Larry, to his face?"

  "You're damn right, I did, Ronnie,” Art protested. “Don't think I didn't either.” He put the other finger up on his left hand and pumped both hands up and down.

  Lee and Ronnie looked at each other, and then said together, “Yeah, sure."

  "Yeah, well, anyway, my mom's pissed, and she said no more baseball for a while. Least while she's at work."

  "That bitch!” exploded Ronnie.

  "Hey, that's my mom,” protested Art.

  "No, not her! Old Lady Ringle,” clarified Ronnie. “We got to do something. We got to get her back!"

  "Count me in,” said Art.

  Both Art and Ronnie looked to Lee.

  "Let me think about it,” said Lee, “I'll come up with something."

  The boys spent another hour or so, just lounging around, eating candy, drinking sodas, and half-heartedly watching the baseball game on Art's large T.V..

  Without any warning, and with his signature half grin creeping across his face, Lee said, “I know what we need to do."

  Ronnie, who had been pounding away at Art's piano, quit and came over to the couch, and both he and Art crowded in close around Lee.

  "Old Lady Ringle always goes to church on Sunday morning doesn't she?

  "Yeah!” Art said.

  "Early or late service?"

  "Usually early. Her car's not there when I go out to get the paper for my mom."

  "O.K., great,” said Lee. “If my dad isn't working, he likes to sleep in on Sunday, and we usually go to late service."

  Lee knew Ronnie's family never went to church, so it didn't matter for him.

  "I'll get over around nine. Will your mom be up?"

  "No way,” said Art, catching Lee's fever; even though, he still didn't know the specifics of the plot. “She's got a date tonight. She may not even come home. And if she does, she never gets up before noon on Sundays."

  "Come on, Ronnie,” Lee said heading to the door. “We've got things to do. You coming, Art?"

  Art stood in the doorway. “No, I can't. My mom grounded me for the mooning."

  "You're mom's not here,” Ronnie shot back. “She's at work. Who'll know?"

  Art hung at the door. “I can't. She might come home for lunch."

  Both Lee and Ronnie knew Art rarely set foot outside of his own yard. He could always come up with excuses for why he wasn't allowed.

  "Okay, see you tomorrow morning,” Lee said, grabbing Ronnie and pulling him out the door.

  * * * *

  Early the next morning Lee and Ronnie appeared at Art's door. Lee was carrying a big cardboard box and Ronnie had a rolled up brown paper grocery bag.

  Right off, when the door opened Lee whispered, “Is your Mom home?"

  "Yeah,” said Art, “But she didn't get in until real late last night. She was out with some new guy. Don't worry about her."

  Art pointed to the big toilet paper box Lee had salvaged from their recent move. “What's in the box?"

  "You'll see,” said Ronnie, squeezing between Art
and the door, and heading right to the candy bowl.

  "Come on. What's in the box, Lee?” whined Art.

  "Critters,” Lee came back.

  "Critters?” Art's face showed he didn't understand.

  "Toads and lizards and stuff,” said Lee, his grin breaking out across his face.

  Art pried at the edge of the folded over box top. “Let me see."

  "Cut it out!” Lee moved away and put the box down on the piano. “They'll get out."

  Ronnie came back into the room from the kitchen and handed Lee a Coke. All three boys took their places at the edge of the curtains, peering out of the window to watch for Old Lady Ringle to leave for church.

  Before Lee could drink even half of his Coke, the old lady emerged from her house and fiddling with her keys the whole time, waddled down to her car, parked out in the drive. She looked around briefly, as though she sensed something but then opened the door and got in.

  She had no sooner disappeared around the corner, than the three boys ran from the house, Lee carrying the cardboard box and Ronnie the bag.

  They got to the front door and knelt low. There were low hedges on either side, which helped shield them from view. Lee, a little nervous, took a second to look around and make sure no one had just come out of the house on the other side of Art's field.

  "Open the mail slot,” Lee ordered.

  Art stuck his fingers in, opening the brass slat.

  Lee peeled back the corner of one of the folded flaps on the top of the box. A green lizard with a pink neck immediately leapt free and made good his escape into the Azalea bushes by the walk.

  "Damn,” said Ronnie. “One got away."

  "Don't worry about it,” replied Lee. “There's plenty more where that one came from."

  Ronnie helped Lee position the box over the opening, and both boys with their free hands began thumping the back of the box vigorously, laughing more and more.

  They could hear the sounds of live things skittering across the cardboard, and the occasional plop as something heavy hit the floor inside.

  "This is so good,” said Art, peering low to get a peek through the slot. “They're going inside!"

  Through the brief space afforded between his fingers, Art could see the various lizards and amphibians as they scampered off in every direction. The toads being heavier than the lizards, they actually made a sound when they hit the newly carpeted floor.