Come As You Are

by Steven Ramirez

  She shows me a sheet of lined notebook paper. On it is a drawing of a pit. And inside, hands are reaching up. It’s not very good, but there’s something about it that makes me want to look away.

  “What is that?”

  “Don’t you remember?” she says. “It’s what you were drawing when you passed out.”

  “Please, just throw it away.”

  She crumples it up. “I called your dad. He’ll be here soon.”

  Now I’m scared. For as long as I can remember, my dad had never picked me up from school. Was Mom sick? There’s a knock at the door. I see my father standing in the doorway, unshaven and wearing an old T-shirt with a paint stain on it. Way to make an impression, Dad. He looks worried, which makes me even more scared, and I can tell something is wrong at home.

  “Hey, buddy,” he says. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” Then to the nurse, “Guess he’s still upset about his friend.”

  “Of course,” the nurse says. “I’ll sign him out.” Then to me, “Take care, Ivan. Be sure to rest. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  But I know it isn’t going to be okay. Ollie had warned me, but maybe it’s already too late. Craig is taking over my life. I have to get rid of the notebook. Tonight, I tell myself on the ride home. I’ll do it tonight.

  “How’s Mom?”

  “Why do you ask?” Dad says.

  “I don’t know. I thought she would pick me up.”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  Dad doesn’t say anything for several blocks. Maybe he’s trying to think up a good lie. At a red light, he looks at me, more serious than I’ve ever seen him.

  “She had an accident with a kitchen knife,” he says.

  “What!”

  “Ivan, calm down. She’s fine. I drove her to the emergency room, and they stitched her right up. She’s resting. We’re having pizza for dinner. You love pizza, right?”

  This was the notebook’s fault—I knew it. Though Dad didn’t say anything about her, I wonder now if my sister is also in danger. And what about him? What, my whole family is about to get it because I’m refusing to finish the list? It’s not fair!

  We’re close to my house now, and the voices have started up again. They sound like tiny foreign words blowing toward me on the same wind that’s sending Ollie all over hell and back. Some of the voices are angry, and others sad. Are these the voices of other kids who read Craig’s list and died? I don’t want to find out. Instead of listening to them, I squeeze my eyes shut and try and think of something else. Luckily, Dad turns on the radio to an alternative rock station. Trying to be relevant, I guess.

  Dad had ordered my favorite, pepperoni and mushroom. I’m not even hungry, though. But I don’t want my parents to get suspicious, so I force down a slice and chug a glass of cold milk. The food is sitting in my stomach like a rock. I feel like hurling. But I have to appear normal till I can sneak out of the house later.

  Mom doesn’t look too bad. Her right hand is bandaged, and she’s eating with her left. Dad gives her another slice and cuts it up to make it easier for her. I’m pretty sure they still love each other, even after all the bad luck.

  “Mom, does it hurt much?”

  “It’s so stupid, Ivan,” she says. “It was like the knife flew out of my hand. Guess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  Dad shakes his head. “I’ve always said those knives were too sharp.”

  My sister looks at me sympathetically and touches my hand. Totally unlike her.

  “You okay, Ivan?”

  “Yeah. I think I’m just tired.”

  The room becomes darker suddenly, but no one else seems to notice. Beth has turned into a creature with red eyes and a forked tongue. And her voice sounds like someone sawing through a metal pipe. She’s squeezing my hand so tight; I want to scream. When I look down, she has claws instead of fingers, and they’re digging into my skin and drawing blood.

  “Finish the list, Ivan,” she says in that metallic voice, “or I’ll slaughter everyone here. Except you, of course. You, I want to live so you can spend the rest of your stinking shit life listening to the wretched voices of your family roasting in hell. Mom, Dad, and that ripe sow Beth. There’s a good boy.”

  I shut my eyes tight, and when I open them again, everything is normal. Beth is telling Mom and Dad a funny story about cheerleading practice, and they’re laughing. I need to get out of here before I explode.

  “Can I be excused?”

  Mom looks at me. “I’m worried about you, Ivan.”

  “I’m okay. Really. It’s just that I have a lot of homework tonight.”

  “Try to go to bed early,” Dad says.

  I get up from the table and kiss Mom on the cheek. I don’t know why I did it, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

  Instead of doing homework, I’m sitting in my room, staring at the wall. The voices have started up again—taunting me—but I’m choosing to ignore them the way I choose to ignore the pounding in my head and the fact that my stomach is jackhammering. The things on the list I completed made me stronger—able to harm my enemies. But they also gave me the strength to resist. And that’s just what I’m doing.

  Nothing is going to keep me from destroying the notebook. I wish I could see Ollie one more time so I could tell him. I still can’t believe he’s gone. Everything that happened was because of the evil in that notebook. And I wonder now if this kind of bad exists in the world, then does that mean God exists, too?

  It’s almost ten o’clock. The house is quiet. I open my bedroom window and stare out at the big oak tree, whose branches don’t quite reach close enough. Could somebody die falling from a two-story window? I have no choice—I have to chance it.

  I toss out my backpack, and it lands on the grass. Then I climb out the window, stand at the edge of the roof, and look down. The only sounds I hear are the voices in my head. I can see a green hose rolled up next to the house. And some empty flower pots from when Dad had decided to take up gardening that one time.

  The largest tree branch is maybe three or four feet away. Though I’ve often thought about trying this, I never actually did because I was always too scared. It’s too far—I won’t make it. I could end up breaking my arm. Or worse. I could take the stairs, but I’m pretty sure Dad would hear me. The pain in my head from the voices is blinding me. I have to try. Just do it, Ivan.

  Taking a breath, I crouch down, then spring forward. Amazingly, I catch the branch and hook both arms around it. Now, what? I look down. The lights are on in the den, which means Dad is watching TV. Using one arm at a time, I swing forward inch by inch till I am close enough to the base of the branch to get a foothold. Then I push myself toward the center of the tree and, steadying myself, stand straight up on the thickest part. Finally, I climb down to the lowest branch, jump off, and land on my butt on the wet grass.

  I can hear Luckman yelling at his dog. He sounds drunker than usual. One time, I saw Dad go outside to see what was going on. When my neighbor spotted him, he threatened to shoot Dad if he didn’t mind his own damn business. Dad had had a few beers and wasn’t scared at all. He took out his cell phone to call 911. Grinning, Luckman picked up the dog by the scruff of the neck and carried him back into the house.

  I sneak around the side of the house now, silently unlatch the gate, and run to the sidewalk. I would’ve taken my skateboard, but I was afraid the wheels would make too much noise. I race along the grass till I’m way past my house. Then I continue on to the gas station. As I get closer, I see the flashing lights and hear the familiar sound of a police radio.

  Two cop cars are sitting nose-to-nose in the parking lot with their lights on. A fire truck and an ambulance are parked next to them. And some gangbangers are sitting on the curb in handcuffs. I move a little closer. That’s when I see the body. One of the EMTs is already zipping up the body bag. The concrete is covered in fresh blood. One of the cops is placing a severed hand in an e
vidence bag.

  So much for Plan A. I decide to head to the school.

  I had never been at the school this late at night. The place is creepy and deserted—not even a janitor around. Far away, someone is screaming. Or is that in my head? I’ve heard the cops sometimes patrol the area, looking for vandals. I’ll have to be quick. I run over to where the old lockers are and enter through the gate. The voices are angry now.

  The door to Craig’s locker is ajar like it always is. My heart racing, I set down my backpack and remove the contents one by one. Lighter fluid, matches, and the notebook. Opening the locker door, I place the notebook inside. I hear a noise and look around. Nothing. The voices have stopped, but my head still hurts. I keep seeing images of my family in hell—flames everywhere—their arms raised like they’re pleading with me. But I can’t stop. It’s almost done.

  I pop open the top of the can and squirt most of the lighter fluid onto the notebook, completely soaking it. The smell of butane gets up in my nose, making me a little high. I set the can down on the ground, take one of the kitchen matches, and light it. Before tossing it in, I remember to stand back to avoid getting burned. I’m about to toss the match in when I hear a gasp.

  “No, don’t!” a voice says.

  It isn’t one of the voices in my head, though. I turn around and see Hershey the janitor limping toward me. What is that old coot doing here at this hour? Ignoring him, I toss the match in, and a ball of flame shoots out of the locker, almost frying me. Hershey is next to me now, breathing hard. He grabs my hand.

  “What in hell’d you do that for?” he says.

  “I had to stop it.”

  “Stop it? Stupid kid. You didn’t stop anything. Look!”

  He’s pointing inside the locker. Though the flames are consuming the notebook, it isn’t turning to ash the way I thought it would. Something greenish and bright is rising out of the smoke. It looks like…claws.

  “What is it?”

  “Get behind me, kid,” he says.

  Taking a greasy rag from his back pocket, he uses it to slam the locker shut. As quickly as he can, he spins the combination lock to keep the door from opening again. I can hear a piercing scream and pounding coming from the locker. It’s unreal. Using one hand, Hershey takes off his shirt, balls it up, and presses it against the door to keep in whatever it is that’s trying to escape.

  “You know where the janitor’s room is?” he says.

  “Sure.”

  “Take the keys off my belt, go in there, and look for a can of red spray paint. Bring it back here. Quick! I can’t hold this door closed forever!”

  The janitor’s room door is open. Inside, the can is sitting on a shelf all by itself. I grab it and rejoin Hershey. The thing inside the locker is going batshit. I pull off the top and hand the spray can to the janitor. He drops the shirt and sprays a bizarre symbol on the door. It’s a circle with some writing around it. And in the middle are symbols I’ve never seen before.

  “What is that?”

  Hershey steps away, sets the can down on the ground, and puts his shirt back on. I realize the thing inside isn’t making any noise.

  “A sigil,” he says.

  “A what?”

  “It’s for warding off evil. Come on.”

  I stuff everything into my backpack, and we run toward the parking lot. The only car sitting out there is a metallic blue Ford Fairlane in perfect condition.

  “Get in,” he says, climbing in behind the wheel.

  I’m scared of the old man, but he did save my life, so I climb in the passenger side and plop down on the cushy vinyl upholstery. As soon as I’ve buckled the old-fashioned seat belt, we peel out of there. My heart is still beating so fast; it takes me a while to notice the voices and the headache have completely stopped.

  Hershey refuses to say anything on the way to his place. I always thought this guy was a loser and lived under a bridge somewhere. But as we walk in, I can see that the one-bedroom apartment is neat. I recognize Ikea furniture and lamps. And though the old man’s appearance needs work, he keeps the place nice. I also notice there are no family photos anywhere—only religious statues.

  I take a seat on the sofa as he heads into the kitchen. “Hershey, what was that thing?”

  “My name’s James, by the way. Hershey’s my last name.”

  “I’m Ivan.”

  “Want somethin’ to drink?”

  “No thanks. So, can you tell me what it was?”

  “A demon,” he says, taking a seat next to me and popping open a soda. “Actually, multiple demons.”

  “So, Craig was a demon?”

  “No. He was a stupid kid who used to get picked on a lot.”

  “Like me and Ollie.”

  “Yeah. Finally, he got sick of it, so he… I told him to stay away from that Satanist.”

  “What’s a Satanist?”

  “Somebody who communes with demons.”

  “You mean, there’s some guy running around putting people in touch with, with…the Devil?”

  “Demons. He used to live in this town. Went by the name o’ Bob Raven. His house was over on Rhododendron.”

  “Isn’t that by the mall?”

  “Wasn’t a mall back then. The neighborhood was all houses with a couple o’ schools. City condemned the whole thing when some big developer came in and offered them millions to build a brand-new shopping center. Raven’s house was part o’ the deal.”

  He goes over to a small desk and opens a drawer. Pulls out what looks like a scrapbook. When he sits down, he hands it to me. As I flip through, I see pages of old newspaper clippings with photos. One of them is of a white-haired old man dressed in black and wearing a black hat, standing at a podium. He looks like an undertaker. The caption reads, Citizen Testifies at Public Zoning Hearing.

  “That’s Bob Raven,” he says.

  “So, they were going to kick him out of his house?”

  The janitor nods. “And no matter what he did, he couldn’t fight it. But he tried. Lord, he tried. That was a bad year, Ivan. Two council members dead from freak accidents. Kids gone missing. A whole lotta mutilated pets. The worst of it was on Halloween. All o’ the houses on one street burned right to the ground. Some people said it was Bob Raven, but they could never prove anything.”

  “So, what happened?”

  He takes a long swallow and looks at me. “There’s no way you can scare a crooked politician—that’s a fact. And the mayor was as crooked as they come. The deal went through all right. The mayor and his buddies got paid off, and Raven was forced out. The mayor must’ve feared Raven, though. Because after they tore down his house, he called in an expert from some Christian college to salt the ground.”

  “Why?”

  “To purify it.”

  The old man explains to me how, while all this was going on, Craig had heard about Bob Raven and decided to visit him. He was a seventh grader at the time—like me. One day he rode his old bike over and gave Raven all of the money he’d been saving for a new one—three hundred bucks. Raven promised to coach him after school. Craig went over there every day.

  The Satanist never gave the kid anything in writing. Instead, he made him copy stuff down in the notebook. Then he performed a ritual over it. When he was finished, Raven told the kid to go through the list and recite the spells and all of his troubles would be over.

  “So, Craig made the list from Bob Raven’s instructions?”

  “He did indeed,” James says. “I kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn’t. In fact, he became even more determined. Turns out the list was the curse ol’ Bob Raven had put on the town.”

  “Whatever happened to him?”

  “No one knows.”

  “And Craig?”

  The old man looks away. I can see he’s crying, but I pretend not to notice.

  “James?”

  “We lost a lot of people that year. Some who’d never done anything to hurt Craig. Some who had.”

  “And
Craig made it through the whole list?”

  “Yeah. Then he disappeared. Like Bob Raven.” He wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “The thing is, Raven knew all along what would happen to Craig if he made it through the list.”

  I think about what Ollie had told me. Craig was in hell, along with the rest of the demons probably. Something occurs to me.

  “Hey, James. How come you know all this stuff about Craig?”

  He gives me a sad look and smiles, holes showing where normal teeth should be.

  “He was my best friend.”

  “What? When did all this happen?”

  “1967. Craig and I went to school together.”

  “Holy shit! But if you knew, why didn’t you destroy the notebook yourself?”

  He’s angry now, and I’m wondering if it had been a mistake coming home with him.

  “The notebook vanished with Craig. After that, I thought everything was fine. I graduated high school and went to work as a mechanic. Seven years later, I read about some kids in the area who’d died mysteriously. On a hunch, I went over to the school to check things out. That’s when I found Craig’s old locker. And the notebook inside.”

  “Why did it come back?”

  “I don’t know, but it was seven years to the day Craig disappeared.”

  “Did you try to get rid of it then?”

  “Sure, but it wouldn’t let me near it. It was like there was this force around it, protecting it. I knew it was a matter o’ time before some other bullied kid found it, so I quit my job and went to work as a janitor at the school. I needed to keep kids away from the evil. That’s what I’ve been doing all these years.”

  I feel like someone gut-punched me. “James, I am so sorry. I mean for everything. And about treating you like…”

  “It’s okay, Ivan. I’m used to it.”

  He gets to his feet and throws away the soda can. I’m thinking about Craig and about what I did to Franklin. James must know what I’m thinking because now he’s standing in front of me, looking serious.

  “How far did you get?” he says.

  I don’t want to talk about this, and I stand up to leave. He grabs my arm; he looks angry. I try to pull away.