Beast of a Feast

by Melanie Jackson

  “So, you did it?” he asked eagerly.

  I nodded my head.

  “You made it all the way to the end?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  By this time, everyone in the Wash had gathered around me to pat me on the back and congratulate me. Some of them wanted to know if I’d found any monsters or dead kids while I was in the pipe. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to be the first to quash any of the juicier rumors. I was surprised when Chris Parks walked up to shake my hand. His nose had stopped bleeding and looked like it was going to be alright.

  “Congratulations, Boston. You’ve got guts,” he said. Then, after hesitating only a moment, he added, “You know, Gartner never made it to the end of the pipe.”

  “He didn’t?” Elmer asked in dismay. “That big phony!”

  “Nope, he only made it about twenty yards before chickening out and turning back,” he informed us. “However, I did make it all the way to the end. So, welcome to the club.”

  “Thanks, Parks,” I said, truly feeling the admiration was mutual.

  Larry Gartner showed up at school the next week with a splint on his nose. He never did tell anyone in authority who had punched him, I’ll give him that. Still, his name was mud from that point on. And I never heard of him harassing kids after that day. I think he knew that if he did I would have beaten him up again. Later, when I was working at the bar, I ended up having to serve Larry, who became an insurance salesman and notorious barfly at Harley’s.

  Chris Parks and I eventually dated. He even took me to his senior prom, though I was only a sophomore. He was sweet. We broke up when I refused to have sex with him after the prom. He’d actually booked a hotel room at the venue. Afterward, I lost track of him. I heard later that he had joined the marines and been killed in action over in Iraq. That made me sad.

  Elmer, Bruce, and Billy went away to college and never came back. Elmer and I found each other again on Facebook and are now friends.

  As for me? I became known as the only girl who had traversed the full length of the Black Pipe. I was also known from that day forward as someone you didn’t want to mess with. To the best of my knowledge, I’m still the only girl to have traversed the Black Pipe. And I know that I’m still someone you don’t want to mess with.

  * * *

  I walked over to the mouth of the Black Pipe and the boys followed. Leaning on the lip, I shined my flashlight into the ominous, gaping hole. Of course, I saw nothing.

  “Daniel!” I called into the pipe. “Daniel Evans, are you in there?”

  I heard no reply other than my own voice echoing back.

  “You guys haven’t been in there, have you?” I asked.

  “Us? No way,” Scott insisted.

  His friends concurred.

  “You mind taking care of my dog for me?” I asked.

  “What? You’re not going in there, are you?” Scott asked.

  “I sure am.”

  “Haven’t you heard the rumors?”

  “Don’t worry,” I assured him. “I’m roving mutant-proof.”

  I handed Blue’s leash to Scott. He took it and scratched my dog behind the ears. I could see that Blue had taken an instant liking to the boy, so I didn’t feel too bad about leaving her behind with him. I did feel bad about having to reenter the pipe after all these years.

  It was harder than the last time climbing into the mouth of the pipe. The boys helped me up. Once inside, I found that I had to crouch over far more than I had in my youth. Also, the water was running harder, forcing me to really step to either side to keep my feet dry. In fact, the only plus this time was that I carried a flashlight. I began duck walking into the darkness.

  It took fully fifteen minutes to make it to the end of the pipe. Even though I carried a flashlight, the trip was just as eerie as it had been all those years ago. I called Daniel’s name repeatedly all the way. By the time I arrived at the larger drainage system to stretch my back, I was confident that Daniel was nowhere in the darkness. Then I heard sloshing coming from behind.

  Turning my flashlight back down the pipe, I spotted Blue splashing through the water in my direction dragging her leash through the muck. Scott was right behind her giving chase.

  “Scott, what are you doing here?” I asked as he emerged from the gloom.

  “Sorry, but your dog got away from me. I tried to catch her but she was too fast.”

  Blue leaned into me slobbering up at me with her happy face on. I wanted to scold her but realized there was no way that was going to happen.

  “So this is it?” Scott asked, looking around in wonder.

  “Yep, this is it,” I replied. “Welcome to the club. And don’t ever come here again. The pipe really is dangerous when it rains.”

  The combination of my flashlight and the light coming in through the manhole cover above was enough to allow the boy to take in the sights. Like me my first time, he looked disappointed. No roving mutants, cave-ins, or dead children. Just cement, darkness, and water. I eventually handed him the flashlight so he could lead the way back while I handled Blue.

  When we made it back outside, the other two boys were there to marvel over our accomplishment. I knew they’d all have stories to tell at school the next day, but first I led them on a tour of the Wash and marsh while I looked for Daniel. They seemed impressed by the fact that I knew my way around. I didn’t explain that I knew this place like the back of my hand. Unfortunately, along the way, we saw no sign of the missing boy.

  Saying goodbye, I returned to my afternoon rounds. I quit early so that I could hit the grocery store and stop by my father’s place for a late lunch/early dinner. He was waiting on his front porch for me, sitting in an Adirondack chair sipping a beer and staring at the nearly bare trees. I stored a fresh twelve pack in his fridge and spread the other things I’d bought on the counter to make sandwiches. I brought two fresh beers along with two sandwiches out front to share. We didn’t say much until I broke the silence with my infernal questions (that’s what Dad always calls them).

  “Dad, did you ever go into the Black Pipe as a kid?” I asked.

  “Sure did,” he replied nonchalantly. “And before you get all caught up in baring your soul and confessing to childish misdemeanors, I’ll let you know right now that I heard the rumors around town that you did the same.”

  “Sure did,” I replied, taking a sip of beer. “I just went in again today.”

  This got his attention.

  “What in tarnation for?” he turned to me to ask.

  “I was looking for a lost boy. I was sure he’d be somewhere in the Wash or the marsh. He wasn’t though, and now I’m really worried.”

  “You know, you stretch your luck sometimes.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean that you’re one of the lucky ones, and as a result you take your luck for granted. But someday your luck’s going to run out and leave you high and dry.”

  Usually Dad doesn’t scold.

  “I assure you that going into the Black Pipe today did nothing to tap my reserve of luck. It was all a calculated risk.”

  “That’s what you think,” he replied and went back to eating his sandwich and drinking his beer. “Did I ever tell you the story of the unlucky man?”

  Only a hundred times, I wanted to say. Instead I played dumb and shrugged my shoulders.

  So he told me the story for the hundred and first time…

  The Story of the Unlucky Man

  Though this is the story of an unlucky man, it begins with the story of a man who was very lucky indeed. Lucky John they used to call him. John lived in a nice home, had a beautiful loving wife, and two adoring kids—one boy and one girl. He had a fine job he loved that had made him financially secure. He won every game he ever played, so much so that he paid for his yearly vacation to Vegas with his wife out of his table winnings. He was disgustingly healthy though he never had to exercise and had a metabolism that kept him thin no matter what he ate. Yes, John
was a lucky man indeed.

  One day John was at work fueling an airplane when something happened that required him to draw too many times on his pool of luck. You see, he was standing on the wing, twenty feet off the ground, attaching a fuel line to the tank when he accidentally created a spark that caused the fuel tank to blow. But John was lucky. The fuel tank was almost empty, which kept the explosion small. He was barely singed by the flames and all the serious pieces of flying debris completely missed him.

  However, the explosion blew John off the wing of the plane causing him to fall twenty feet to the ground and land on his back. Still, John was lucky. His flat impact with the tarmac cushioned the blow and as a result he was able to eventually rise to his feet without a concussion or any broken bones.

  By this time, the first fire truck had arrived. They started to spray foam fire retardant over the plane. Unfortunately, they didn’t see John until it was too late and ended up covering him in foam. But John was a lucky guy. He didn’t suffocate inside the cloud of fire retardant as he probably should have. Instead, he was able to claw himself out of the rising mound of foam to daylight.

  John came running away from the plane and was run over by a fire truck.

  Now there’s a moral to this story. John was a lucky guy, but he went to the well one too many times. All it took was one piece of bad luck and he was labeled an unlucky man for having died young, leaving a beautiful life behind.

  * * *

  “You know, you embellish that story every time you tell it,” I pointed out.

  “You mean that every time I tell it, it gets better,” he replied with a wink.

  “So, Dad, is it better to be lucky or talented?”

  “I find it takes some of both to make it through life.”

  Again we slipped back into silence.

  “What time to you want your mother and me to come over for Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “The usual time,” I replied without even missing a beat.

  In reality, my mind was in a tailspin. The dining room table was now officially full.

  “Of course, Aunt Dorothy will be coming along,” he added.

  “Of course.”

  “Should we bring anything?”

  “A bottle of wine or a pie would be nice.”

  “Now, sweetie, you know your mother’s going to insist on doing more than just that.”

  “See if you can stop her. Besides, Mr. Jackman is already helping out.”

  We finished our sandwiches and beer and I brought the empty plates and bottles inside and cleaned up. Then I went back out to give my father a kiss on the cheek and headed home to see what Alex had managed to scrape up to eat. The answer to that question turned out to be nothing, so I was glad that I’d wrapped a spare sandwich and brought it along with me.

  In the afternoon, I again felt the need to do something to get my mind off Daniel Evans and back onto Thanksgiving. So I made some Thanksgiving table decorations.

  The first of the decorations were small turkeys made out of folded orange doilies. The body was made from rows of doilies folded in half, the tail a fanned out doily, and the head involved an intricate set of folds that produced something similar to the head and neck of a turkey. The end result looked pretty decent. By the time I was done making ten of them I’d gone through half a roll of Scotch tape and had Elmer’s glue all over the table. I cleaned up to begin afresh.

  My next decoration was only a sample since I knew the decorations would wither and turn brown by Thanksgiving if I did them all now. It involved using an apple as the body of a turkey and poking real feathers into it for the tail. Colored construction paper was then used to form the head and neck. It didn’t take long to make, but though they had seemed keen in kindergarten, my apple turkey looked terrible when I was done, so I threw it away and moved on.

  My last set of creations was pilgrim hats made from black construction paper. It was hard taping the brim onto the bowl of each hat, but in the end they looked cute with the little gold foil buckles just above the brims. I decided I would place them upside down on the table and fill them with nuts. I was sure that Mr. Jackman would approve wholeheartedly.

  I stored my doily turkeys and pilgrim hats in a safe place, removed glue from my person and the table, and attended to various cuts on my fingers. Then I went to bed with Alex—after enjoying another piece of lemon meringue pie.

  Chapter 4

  I slept late the next morning, allowing Alex to go it alone in the kitchen, so I wasn’t awake to answer the incoming phone call, nor was I there to listen in on Alex’s conversation. However, as soon as I stepped into the kitchen in search of coffee I knew that something was up from the expression on Alex’s face. He started to speak but I held up my hand to stop him so I could get a cup of coffee before hearing the news. As I suspected, the bulletin was bad.

  “I invited my parents to Thanksgiving dinner,” he said, letting me have it point blank like a shot to the heart.

  I took a large sip of coffee before I replied. Then I took a larger one.

  “Why?”

  “Chloe, they’re my parents. What was I supposed to say when my mother called asking to come? After all, your parents are coming, and they aren’t even married to each other anymore.”

  “Alex, don’t you remember what happened last time we were all together?”

  “This time it will be different, I promise.”

  I released a heavy sigh.

  “Alright. I suppose what’s done is done. At least your sister isn’t coming this year.”

  Alex refused to look me in the eye. I almost jumped up and throttled him.

  “Alex, you didn’t?”

  “Before I could say anything my mother told me they’d be coming too. They are flying up Wednesday.”

  “Not your snotty nephew too?”

  “Sorry, but what do you expect my sister to do with her kid?”

  “Drowning comes immediately to mind!”

  I began drumming my fingers on the table top, trying to calm down.

  “Okay. At least we won’t have the cats to contend with.”

  “I made Mom promise to keep them in their carrier.”

  “Alex!”

  “There’s more,” he warned.

  “What more could there possibly be?”

  “Mary Elizabeth.”

  “Of course, why not? Alex, where are we going to put all these people?”

  “And…” he began again, tentatively.

  “What? You’re not done?”

  “Mom wants to talk with you about the dinner plans.”

  “More likely she wants to take over the dinner plans.”

  “Would that really be such a bad thing?”

  “Alex, this is my home, it will be my dinner.”

  “What about Mr. Jackman’s help?”

  Like a fool, he wouldn’t shut up and let it go while he was already way behind.

  “There’s a big difference. Mr. Jackman’s help was solicited. Mr. Jackman’s help is helpful!”

  “But Chloe, my mom is a great organizer. You should want her help.”

  I held up a hand to stop him from saying more. In the silence, I finished my coffee, hand still extended. I stood and placed the empty mug in the sink and began walking back to the bedroom.

  “I’m going to shower and get ready for work,” I informed Alex.

  “What about Mom?”

  “Call her back and tell her I’ll talk with her after work.” Then I added, “After I’ve had a chance to calm down.”

  Being a reasonably intelligent human being, for a man, Alex recognized that it was time to stop trying to convince me of how good his news was and let me go away and be by myself for a while. I steamed away most of my anger in the shower. I then pulled out more hair than usual brushing it into place, donned my uniform, and walked back into the kitchen. Alex had stepped out back to gather a bouquet of flowers in my absence. I recognized them as my prize chrysanthemums, the ones I had planned on using
as a centerpiece for Thanksgiving.

  “I love you, Chloe Boston,” he said, properly sounding and looking like a scolded boy.

  “I love you too, Alex Lincoln,” I replied, accepting the bouquet and giving him a kiss.

  I put the flowers into a vase, certain that they wouldn’t last more than a few days, and walked to the front door. I looked back and saw that Alex was once more at the kitchen table, absorbed in reading yet another computer manual. I smiled to myself and ushered Blue out to my waiting tricycle.

  I pedaled with extra ferocity and arrived at work earlier than usual. I was so focused on Thanksgiving dinner that I was almost run over at a corner along the way. Afterward, I tried to pay added attention to my riding but couldn’t stop from arranging people at tables in my mind. According to my count, we now had fourteen people coming to dinner. With all the leaves inserted, my dining room table could seat ten. That left four people to sit at a card table in the living room. I wondered who I could foist the honor upon. I was leaning toward Alex, his parents, and his sister. I liked Mary Elizabeth so she could be at the big table—as long as she wasn’t seated near Aunt Dot.

  I found Jeffrey waiting in the conference room, still trying to better my Angry Birds score. I watched during the morning paving and line painting debate, and then it was my turn to stand and report no issues involving parking enforcement. The Chief didn’t show this morning, so it was soon time to rise and leave the room.

  Rather than jumping immediately into my patrol cart, I thought I’d take a look at the investigation report on the Daniel Evans case. I went to the filing cabinets where ongoing investigation records are kept to look it up. The report wasn’t there, so I stopped by the Chief’s office and knocked on his open door.

  “Yeah, what do you want, Boston?” he said, looking up from a desk covered in paperwork. He was scowling hideously.

  “Hey, Chief. I was looking for the Daniel Evans case report. It’s not in the filing cabinet.”

  “Then it’s probably on Gordon’s desk.”

  “Oh? Why would it be there?”