Finally compelled to move, I stood briskly and blindly fumbled for the doorknob. Once I assured that the door was locked, I rushed to the window and threw open the shade. I used the pale moonlight and the distant glow of Mr. Newberry’s ever-faithful lamp atop his pole barn to find my jeans. I slipped them on and felt for the keys in the front pocket. I looked over the driveway. Outside, the wind had picked up. It lashed the tall bushes. There sat Everett’s old Grand Am. It glowed under the moonlight like a jeweled chariot, with the promise of whisking me away from danger.
The steps began to creak. The demons were making their way upstairs. As they crept down the hall, their eager chatter filtered beneath the door. Gently, politely, the doorknob twisted back and forth, producing a series of clicks. There was no doubt the demons could’ve easily burst through and ripped me apart in seconds. Yet they savored my fear. They could smell it. They wanted me marinated in it before they ate me.
I lifted the window. The warm night air poured freely into the room. I was ready to remove the screen, lift my legs over the edge, and jump—when curiously, the doorknob became still. I turned back. Only for a moment. The weak light from outside couldn’t even begin to penetrate the infinite black hole that had become the room. And out of this blackness, a twisted face appeared. Caught off guard, my body jolted. It climbed from the shadows and flipped its cloak over its shoulders, exposing its chest and stomach, which were invisible against the black backdrop of the room. Clever demon, it had found a way, through a dark portal, to beat the horned monsters to the prize. It sneered, bringing its melted face before mine, allowing me to view its leathery skin up close. It was pulled in extreme positions, like invisible pins holding down the hide of a dissected animal.
I frantically shoved the screen, and it popped out of the frame. The cloaked monster, however, was not about to let its prey escape. I felt its powerful hands clamp on to my shoulders. It spun me to face it. All I could see was black as it shoved me into itself, forcing me into its body of darkness. I struggled, grabbing the edges of its cloak, kicking my legs like a helpless frog being eaten headfirst by a hungry snake.
Inside of it, the darkness was overwhelming. I tingled like my blood had stopped circulating. This sensation took over my entire body. It felt as if I were slowly transforming from organic matter into static electricity. I became dizzy. Disoriented. I began to see shapes that were even darker than the dark and vast space before me. The shapes danced closer, morphing into beings with thin bodies and large, oblong heads. They floated in front of me as if they were treading water. Their bodies had no bones. No flesh. They were just—dark matter. They warped and twisted into odd formations. Some had limbs stretching more than twice the length of their bodies, appendages so thin, they became nothing more than faint wisps across the deep space.
It became all-consuming, this world of never-ending blackness. It would’ve been easy to just let go, to join the dark beings that had gathered to witness my arrival into their world. Yet I could still feel my bedroom wall with my bare feet. I could still feel the wind blowing up the back of my T-shirt. It took all my strength, all my concentration, to brace my heels against the wall and begin stepping up its side. I knew if I were to slip, my attempt at escaping would surely fail—and I’d be swallowed whole. I climbed until I felt the window’s ledge. And then, I stretched my legs as far as I could before hooking my ankles to the other side. The cloaked demon tried pulling me deeper inside it, but I flexed my feet tightly, holding on as long as I could.
The black-as-ink beings crowded me. Their bodies overlapped, merged, and split apart again. They caressed my neck and face. Their touch was electric. Wherever they touched, the tingling sensation intensified. I realized, as they wrapped around my neck, that they wanted me to join them, that they were helping the demon devour me. They choked me as they coiled and tugged with their electrified limbs.
So that it could finish its meal, the monster lunged forward to unhook my feet. Yet as it did, I stiffened my legs and held tightly on to its cloak. Instead of my being absorbed further into it, it inadvertently pushed me forward. My shins and kneecaps scraped over the ledge. Just as it was about to push me out the window, I let go of its cloak and transferred my grip to the windowsill. I squatted for a moment with my feet planted against the siding. And then, I pushed away from the house. The dark beings lost their grip on my neck, and my head separated from the demon’s body. I imagined that I had kicked off the edge of a swimming pool to perform a backstroke and that I was gracefully floating over the driveway. But in reality, I fell to the grass with a thud, my head narrowly missing the cement.
I dug the keys out of my pocket while hoping to God my legs still worked after the fall. I twisted my neck to see Everett’s car and the bushes thrashing beyond it. I wasn’t so sure the thrashing was caused by the wind. Just as likely, there were monsters lurking within the bushes. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring my pain as I stumbled across the drive. I jumped in the car and sped down the road, not brave enough to look in the rearview mirror.
I drove through Ruthsford and past its cemetery hidden by the pines. I drove far into the country until I spotted an old wooden barn. Isolated and lonely, it was surrounded by a vast field of weeds and clover. I pulled off the road and drove straight through the field, listening to the weeds tickle the underside of the car. I parked beside the sad barn. Its paint had long since faded. Its sagging roof threatened to cave in. The planks that made up its outer walls had buckled. I wondered how many more years it could stand before collapsing under its own weight. I figured we could keep each other company for a while.
After assuring the doors were locked and that there were no demons in sight, I reclined the seat and rested my eyes. I had escaped, but my mind hadn’t. Occasionally I saw flashes of its stretched face and of the dark beings that dwelled inside it. I had never been so afraid in my life. But my fear was overshadowed by my anger. I knew why I was attacked. And I knew exactly who was to blame.
21
Clip-On Ties
Surrounded by horses, I fed them carrots, apples, and tall grasses I had pulled just beyond the fence. I pretended I was one of them. That I could communicate with them. Our telepathic conversations were simplistic, consisting of such topics as which apples were the sweetest and how soothing the sun felt on our backs.
Everett and Kirsten had just returned from her father’s ranch outside Houston. They had spent two weeks riding horses and exploring the city before making the cross-country trip back to Michigan with two new colts. Her father had given them to her to keep at her mother and stepfather’s ranch. I hung out with the older horses as they got the new ones settled.
“You should be a trainer!” shouted Kirsten as she and Everett appeared at the far gate.
As they made their way across the pasture, the grouping scattered. I stood exposed with my bucket of treats, peeved they had interrupted us so soon after we had just gotten acquainted. “They don’t need to be trained,” I replied quietly. “They’re fine the way they are.”
“But you’re a natural,” she insisted, completely missing my point. “It’s amazing how you can get the most timid horses to come up to you.”
I had to squint into the afternoon sun to see them. They were holding hands. Whatever it was—maybe the glowing sun or the ranch as a backdrop—they looked as if they were straight from some postcard or magazine ad featuring the perfect married couple. Phillip had been right about one thing: we were growing up. The seasons seemed to change at a faster pace than when we were younger. Three years had passed since the disappearance of Ian and Todd the Toad. I was seventeen, about to graduate from high school. Everett had graduated the year before. He worked fulltime at a lumberyard driving a forklift, stocking wood, and loading it into the beds of pickups. Any spare time he had, he spent with Kirsten. She had started her own business giving horse-riding lessons and breaking in colts for novice equestrians. After work, Everett would help her with her stable chores.
It re
mained inconclusive whether it was the spirit of revenge or an initial infatuation that sparked Everett’s interest in Kirsten. Whatever the reason for their strange union, I thought they would’ve grown tired of one another. They hadn’t. Because of Kirsten, everything was different. Ever since that cold November day she had infiltrated our basement, my vision of Everett continued to waver. I was stuck between an Everett whom I trusted totally, unconditionally, and one who, as Phillip suggested, had manipulated my mind. Yet if the latter was true, he had since had his fill, had grown tired of the novelty.
Everett was no longer eager to hear my dreams. No longer interested in running through the cornfield in the middle of the night. I begged him to fly the spaceship with me just one last time. And the next day, I found a stack of job applications in my bedroom. Job applications! He had collected them from gas stations, fast-food restaurants, and grocery stores.
Everett had plans to buy a new car for himself with his paychecks from the lumberyard. So he promised that if I got a job, he’d give me the Grand Am. It was a nice enough gesture. But with him being so insistent I get a job, I was onto him. The message was clear. He wanted me occupied so he and Kirsten could spend more time—alone. True, wherever they went, I pretty much tagged along. I hated it. But what else was I supposed to do? With Kirsten always around, hanging out with Everett—without her—was nearly impossible. As hurt and annoyed as I was, by habit, I still did as he said and filled out every stupid application he had given me.
He took me for a haircut and let me borrow the clip-on tie he had used for his interview at the lumberyard. He said it was important I looked clean-cut for my interviews. “It doesn’t really matter that you have no experience as long as you look clean-cut and come off as polite. Say you’re a hard worker. Tell them you’ll have your own transportation. It’s that easy,” he promised. And it was. In a couple weeks, I had a job bagging groceries.
There was a lot to remember: Don’t pack soaps, detergents, or anything poisonous with food. Heavy items go on the bottom. Refrigerated items together. Ice cream in the special freezer bags. Don’t bag milk unless requested. Eggs packed separately with breads and placed last in the cart so they’re on top.
If a customer wanted carryout, I had to load the bags into their trunk. Petrified by conversation, I trailed far behind as I followed them to their car. But the distance wouldn’t keep everyone from talking, mostly about the weather. “Now if I could just take you home with me to carry these bags into the house” was the typical parting statement. I’d force a laugh as if I hadn’t already heard the same lame thing a thousand times. Aside from the small talk, I looked forward to carryouts. On my way back, to escape the frenzy inside, I’d take my time wandering the lot collecting far-off stray carts.
“We’d better get going,” pushed Everett. I dumped out the remaining carrots and apples from the bucket before reluctantly leaving the horses. Mom was preparing a meal to welcome Everett and Kirsten back from their trip. Although it was early spring, she was having summer fever, so the menu was corn on the cob and barbecue chicken on the grill.
I was feeling the change of season too. Everything was melting. The ground was moist. Worms were making their way to the surface once again. The first of the robins had arrived and were hopping across lawns, pecking the muddy ground. Buds had appeared and were beginning to unfold. In the woods, the snow and ice had melted, flooding the low areas. Tadpoles and mosquito larvae were already swimming in the pools of murky water. In a few weeks, the higher grounds would be covered in the lush blooms of white and purple wildflowers. Everything was coming alive. It made me want to run through the field and into the woods. I wanted to balance across the logs connecting the Indian mounds. Build a fort. Sit on the roof all night long looking over the neighborhood and up at the stars. But I couldn’t do any of those things. I was no longer a kid. I was graduating from high school. Soon I’d no longer even be a teenager.
When we came into the house, Mom was sprinkling paprika on her famous deviled eggs. Dad was on the patio putting the final coat of barbecue sauce on the chicken. The rich smoke blew through the screen door and saturated the house with its sweet aroma. “Kirsten, your hair’s getting so long and so pretty,” gushed Mom. “I wish I could find that shade of auburn in a box.”
“Aw, thanks, Angie.”
“Dinner’s almost ready. Would you and Everett please set the dining room table? And, Ayden, go in the basement and bring up some pop,” Mom said.
“We’re not eating outside?” I asked, disappointed.
“We were going to. But when I went to take the cover off the picnic table, I noticed the side of the house was just covered with flies.” She shrugged.
When I came back from the basement, I found Kirsten and Everett nuzzling beside the table. They giggled at being caught. I dropped the assortment of two-liters in front of them, prompting them to finish setting the table.
While we ate, Dad told us about the freezing rainstorm in Illinois he had to drive through a few weeks before. “The rig ahead of me smashed into a Celica. Bam!” We jolted as he clapped his hands together and then slid his palms over one another. “Boy, did that tiny thing go rolling across the median.” But the bulk of the talk was about Everett and Kirsten’s Houston trip. And after hearing every minute detail about that, we had to endure an endless update on Kirsten’s horse-training business. I tuned her out and instead focused on the rays of light coming through the sliding glass door and warming the table. I was picturing the flies sunning themselves on the side of the house—when it happened.
With a hint of apprehension, Everett cleared his throat before scooting his chair closer to Kirsten’s. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Kirsten and I have been seeing each other for three years now. It’s no secret how I feel about her.” I didn’t understand what was happening. But Mom immediately did. She stood from the table without pushing back her chair and produced a grin that rivaled the grins Everett and Kirsten had been flashing all day. She clasped her hands together in excitement. With only a few words, Everett had turned her into a giddy child. He finished by simply saying, “We’re going to be married in June.”
With that, Mom rushed to wrap Kirsten in her arms. She then moved to Everett and kissed his forehead. “I’m so happy! I’m so happy!”
Even Dad put down his cob of corn to dole out hugs. “I knew something was going on the way you two couldn’t keep off each other,” he said. Kirsten turned bashful, gazing to her lap with a shy smile while Mom, Dad, and Everett broke into laughter. It was hard to tell if they laughed because of Dad’s remark or because of Kirsten’s modest reaction to it.
“That’s the good news,” Everett warned.
“What could possibly be bad?” asked Mom. “Sure, it’s a short engagement. My gosh—only a couple months! But it’s right. It just feels right, doesn’t it?”
“We’re moving to Texas,” Everett announced. Mom returned to her seat, the light drained from her face. As quickly as it had rushed in, the energy in the room dissipated. “When we went to visit Kirsten’s dad, we looked at houses down there,” he explained. “The cost of living is so much cheaper. Here, we’d have to move into a trailer or some crappy apartment. But there, even on our budget, we can afford a decent house. Kirsten’s found a stable that wants to hire her. And the weather’s so much nicer. You guys can visit in the winters to get away from the snow.”
“But what will you do there?” Mom asked.
“There’re plenty of lumberyards. I’m sure I’ll find something.” Mom shoved a spoonful of bean salad into her mouth, looking unconvinced. Kirsten pulled a section of her long hair behind her ear, her eyes nervously darting between Mom and Dad, attempting to read their faces. “It’ll be all right,” he promised. “And Kirsten’s dad is down there if we need anything.”
“They’re young, Angie. Let them learn by trial and error,” Dad piped up before starting back in on his corn.
“Oh. You’re right,” she conceded, forc
ing the return of her smile. “You’ve always been bold, Everett. It’s just who you are. And things always seem to have a way of working out for you. So if you think this is the right choice for you and Kirsten, then I’ll trust your judgment.”
I didn’t say a word as I watched it all unfold. On the outside, I was silent. But on the inside, I felt like a ghost no one could hear even though I was screaming at the top of my lungs. At some point, my brain had switched into protective mode. Parts of it shut down. The faces around the table became unfamiliar. I felt the sensation of seeping out of my body. I tried to keep it from happening, but my mind desperately wanted to evacuate, to flee from what it couldn’t handle. And so I separated from my body, through the top of my skull, and found myself floating several feet over my head in a kind of vacuum. My body stood from the chair, but I was not controlling its muscles. I was no longer behind its eyes, although I was tethered to it, pulled along by it like a balloon on a string as it left the dining room. Nobody called after me. Nobody cared as my body lumbered through the side door and into the backyard. It marched instinctually through the field.
Parts of the ground were still frozen, while other sections were beginning to thaw. My feet stumbled over the earth without feeling the textures beneath. At the back of the field, the weeds from last season were still there, dingy and matted. Yet the forest was awakening, with tiny buds that had begun dotting the tree limbs. Being there was comforting. It was a familiar place. A special place. Where were the cats? I hadn’t seen them in so long. I checked behind the log where they had appeared years before, but they weren’t there.
My body crossed the property line and entered the cornfield. Dad had found out from Mr. Newberry that he wasn’t going to plant corn that season. He was going to let the soil rest for a season or two, let it become rich again before planting a new crop. So without the land being tilled, a healthy growth of dandelions had taken over the landscape. They grew up the slope. Their heads were covered in that fuzzy, white down, waiting for strong winds or passing critters to shake loose their tiny parachutes and send their seeds airborne.
Where the Cats Will Not Follow Page 13
