“How far?”
“Almost to the end.”
“So, you didn’t do the last step?”
“No.”
“But it was you who killed that kid in the skate park.”
I’m scared he’s going to call the cops on me. “No, I—”
“Don’t lie to me, boy. You killed him using demon power.”
I’m shaking now. “He killed my friend! I—I didn’t mean to do it, I swear! It just happened. I tried to stop, but—”
He lets go and pats my shoulder. “Shh…”
“Are you going to tell the cops?”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “They’d think I was crazy. How could a kid rip somebody’s head off?”
“James, your eyes!”
Blood is running down from his eyes like tears. Unafraid, he walks into the bathroom and rinses his face. When he returns, he looks normal again.
“That’s been happening ever since I returned to the school,” he says.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Jeez, James, you really scared me. What are we going to do about the notebook?”
“I don’t know, kid. You can’t destroy it with fire. Or anything else. The sigil you saw me draw? I painted that thing on the door lots o’ times, but rust keeps eating it away. Usually takes about two or three days.” He stands. “Let’s get you home. Your folks must be worried.”
I walk outside and wait for the old man to grab his keys. There’s someone in the parking lot, standing alone in the dark. A man dressed in black and wearing a hat. He looks ancient, with pale skin, black eyes, and long white hair. He’s looking right at me. My blood turns to ice.
It’s Bob Raven.
We’re sitting outside my house in the car. All of the lights are off, and everyone’s in bed. I’d decided not to tell James about what I saw earlier.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” he says.
“The list calls for a sacrifice. For me, it was my friend Ollie. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but…”
“Why ain’t I dead? Because Craig had no problem cutting off his finger like the list called for. He wanted the power so bad, and he didn’t care what he had to do. None of the bad stuff ever touched me. I guess that’s the one thing I can be grateful for.”
“Sorry.”
For the first time, I notice he’s wearing a gold cross around his neck. It looks too small for him, like it was made for a kid. He catches me looking at it and holds it.
“Got this when I made my First Communion,” he says. “I was eight. It’s blessed.”
“So, are you religious?”
“My parents raised me Catholic. Never used to believe in any o’ that stuff the priest told us. But it’s real, Ivan. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different. It’s why I pray all the time.”
“Sometimes I wish I could pray. You know, for my family and stuff.”
“Just do it. It ain’t hard.”
I run across the lawn to the back gate. Then I go inside, climb the tree, and hop over to my bedroom window. It’s almost twelve-thirty. Everyone is asleep. I try doing the same, but there’s too much going on in my head. Demons are living inside Craig’s old locker. Sooner or later, the door will open and they’ll escape. What then? A worse thought hits me.
When they do get free, I’ll be the first on their list.
Now that Ollie’s dead, I have no reason to be late for school. I don’t blame him, you understand. We would take our time, talking all the way there—I can’t even remember about what. Though we had just seen each other the day before, we always had something new to say. As I head over to the campus on my skateboard, flying solo, I still talk to him, but only in my head. Lame, right?
When I arrive at school, Kirk is waiting for me. Alone. He looks like Jason minus the hockey mask, ready to kill somebody. Me. I pretend to ignore him and skate past. He just stands there, watching me. I’m surprised when he doesn’t do anything, and I keep going.
I take my books from my locker. The warning bell hasn’t rung yet. When I turn around, Kirk is standing there again, that same evil look on his face. Those tools he likes to hang out with are behind him, grinning. Closing my eyes and taking a breath, I prepare for the beating of my life. Other kids are standing around us as if someone had sent out a secret invitation to a fight. I clear my throat and look at Kirk.
“What?”
“How’d you know about my parents?” he says.
I have to think fast. The voices are no longer in my head to help me, and I can’t see anything new about Kirk’s life. He’s like any other stranger—a mystery. Think, Ivan!
“Kirk, everyone in school knows.”
I glare at his two friends. Then Kirk does the same, his anger building. Too stupid to know what just happened, his buddies look at each other. Then one of them catches on, and his little rat’s eyes become huge.
“We didn’t say nothin’, Kirk! I swear!”
Screaming like a wounded animal, Kirk grabs each of them by the collar and smashes their heads together, which makes a dull thud like watermelons hitting the ground. Then he drives them into the lockers as the crowd chants.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!”
I slip away before Mr. Charbonneau and the other teachers arrive and head around back by the chain link fence. When I pass Craig’s locker, I notice that the sigil is lighter and rust is eating away at the edges. Unable to resist, I go inside and touch the door with my finger. It’s hot, yet there isn’t any smoke. The warning bell rings, and I have to run all the way to class. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing Kirk for a long time.
At lunch, I find James sitting inside the janitor’s room with the door open. He’s holding a bologna sandwich in one hand and a juice box in the other. But he’s staring at the ground like he doesn’t even know the food is there.
“James?”
He looks up. His eyes seem hollow and dark. I can see a dried drop of blood on his cheek. He tries to smile, but it comes off as fake.
“You okay, Ivan?”
“Yeah. The locker—”
“I know. The demons are still inside. It’s gonna come open. Matter o’ time.”
“What can we do? How about calling a priest?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then what?”
“I shoulda stopped him,” he says.
“Who?”
“Craig. This is my fault. I coulda done it if I’d tried harder.”
I feel bad for the old man. After all these years, he still carries the guilt of losing his best friend. But it’s not his fault, the way it wasn’t my fault that Ollie died. I don’t know what to say.
“I’m gonna fix this,” he says. “Tonight.”
I’m worried about him. I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve come to care about the old man. From what I can see, he hasn’t had much of a life. He doesn’t deserve this.
“James, what are you talking about?”
He throws his lunch in the trash and gives me a pat on the head. “Go on, now. Take care o’ yourself. And don’t ever mess with Satanists or Ouija boards or nothin’. You hear what I’m tellin’ you, Ivan?”
“Sure, James, but—”
“Leave!” he says. “Ain’t you got class? Go on.”
He scowls at me as if he hates everything about me, so I take off, cursing him under my breath. That’s what I get for caring about some stupid old man. He can rot in hell, for all I care. Maybe it’s what he wants—to join his friend down there.
It’s night, and I’m sitting in my room, trying to do homework. But I can’t concentrate. The headaches and the voices haven’t returned, but all I can think about is what James said. I’m gonna fix this. I can’t imagine what he could even do. If he opens the locker, the evil will escape. Then what? I use my computer to do a quick search on demons. So much has been written about them—demons, demonology, demonic possession… Then it hits me. I need to go to t
he school right away. Maybe it isn’t too late.
It’s only been dark half an hour. My dad and Beth are out. I convince Mom I have to run down the street to a friend’s house to pick up some homework I forgot about. I promise to be back soon. She buys it.
Outside, as I pass Luckman’s house, I hear something. It sounds like talking. Though I’m in a hurry, I decide to take a quick look. I sneak up to the fence and peer through the crack by the gate. Luckman is standing in the dark, next to a big oak tree. His dog is next to him, whining softly. One of those Coleman battery lanterns sits on the ground, bathing the scene in a white glow that makes my neighbor look like a sad ghost.
Luckman takes another swallow from the bottle he’s holding and looks at the dog. I’m afraid he’s going to punish the animal again, but he just stares at it. Then he sets the bottle down, crouches, and strokes the animal’s fur. I must’ve coughed because my neighbor turns around. I back away and make my way silently to the sidewalk.
I run all the way to the school, hoping I’m not too late. When I arrive, I see James’ car in the parking lot. Maybe there’s still time. I hurry to where the old lockers are and find the janitor standing in front of Craig’s locker, spray paint in one hand—tan paint, the same color as the locker door.
“James!”
He looks at me as I approach, his eyes angry and sad at the same time.
“I told you to stay away, Ivan.”
“Don’t do it, James. Please. We’ll find another way.”
“There ain’t no other way. This was always the answer. I knew it in my heart, but I refused to accept it. Please, go. I have to do this.”
A horrible screeching noise echoes from inside the locker, and the sound of banging on metal starts up. I can see the locker door buckling from the force. Soon, it will burst open on its own. I can’t think what to do to stop this.
“James, no!”
But he’s not listening. Instead, he removes his cross and places it in my hands. Then, raising the spray can, he paints out the sigil as the screeching and pounding become louder. As he does this, his eyes begin bleeding again. I feel like my heart will explode, and I drift back. The pounding is hurting my ears as James throws away the can. Then the door flies open. A greenish glow lights up the old man, and his eyes bug out. The screeching dies down to a kind of purr and multiple greenish claws with black fingernails reach toward him.
I can see that James is afraid, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he shuts his eyes and waits. A flash of green light shoots out, and James falls onto his knees. Holding his head, he roars with pain, as if those things inside him are eating him alive. Then he looks at me, his eyes no longer human. They’re blood red, and they look like fire. He tries speaking, but he can only choke out a single word.
“Run!”
I don’t want to leave the old man, but I know it’s not him anymore. So, I do as he says. As I reach the sidewalk, I hear a car door slam and an engine starting. When I turn around, I can see James driving off, peeling out of the parking lot like a drag racer. He zooms out past me and onto the deserted street. Then he’s gone.
The streets are quiet as I make my way home. When I reach Luckman’s house, I can see cop cars, a fire engine, and an ambulance. EMTs are rolling a gurney with a body bag on it toward the ambulance. Soon after, a cop exits the house, walking my neighbor’s dog on a leash. Though I don’t like talking to cops, I decide to find out what’s going on and walk up to one of the detectives who interviewed me.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“What happened?”
“Suicide.”
Another cop walks out of the house, carrying a shotgun in a clear plastic evidence bag. The cop with the dog stops next to us. I had never seen Luckman’s dog up close before. He’s old, and his back is covered in scars. He looks at me, one eye watering more than the other.
“What do we do with him?” the cop says to the detective.
I reach for the leash. “I want him.”
“What about your parents?”
“They won’t mind. Please.”
The detective nods to the cop. Then to me, “See if you can give him a better life than Mr. Luckman did.”
Mom is waiting for me at home with milk and cookies. She hadn’t done that in years. When she sees the dog, she doesn’t say anything. I take a seat at the kitchen table, and the dog lies down next to me.
“He was so alone,” she says, patting the dog’s head. “What’s his name?”
“I’m naming him Ollie.”
She kisses me on the head. “Good. Ollie it is, then.”
Now the hot tears come. Tears for Ollie and James and all the other people in this town who’ve ever suffered. I don’t have it so bad. Mom stands behind me, holding me and making soothing noises. I suddenly feel very tired. Mom notices and touches my face.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” she says. “I’ll clear a nice spot for Ollie, and tomorrow, we’ll buy him some food. Okay, Ivan?”
But I don’t say anything.
When I come downstairs in the morning, my dog greets me, wagging his tail. I find Dad sitting at the kitchen table, wearing a suit. He’s shaven, and his hair is cut. Beth is finishing up some homework, and Mom’s making breakfast for everyone—eggs, bacon, the works. Normally, I would beat it out of the house without eating. Today, I decide I need to be with my family. I’m wearing James’ cross under my shirt. I still don’t know if I believe in God, but after everything that’s happened, I feel like it will protect me, the way it protected James all those years.
“Shame what happened to Luckman,” Dad says. “Ivan, you did a good thing volunteering to take his dog.” He scratches the animal behind his ear.
“Did you notice your father’s wearing a suit?” Mom says to me.
“Yeah, what gives?”
Dad smiles and messes up my hair, which he knows I hate. “I have a job interview, Ivan.”
“Way to go, Dad!”
A newscaster’s voice interrupts us. I see Mom adjusting the small portable TV sitting on the kitchen counter.
“In other news, a local man lost control of his car last night on a mountain road, plunging eight hundred feet into a ravine. A witness who was directly behind the vehicle called 911. Emergency crews arrived within minutes. A helicopter was used to lower rescuers into the ravine.
“No one other than the driver was in the vehicle at the time of the accident. He was pronounced dead at the scene. Police have identified him as James Hershey, a janitor at a local middle school. It is believed Mr. Hershey has no immediate family. Next up, traffic.”
Mom turns off the TV and shakes her head. “That poor man. Did you know him, Ivan?”
“Not really.”
“He must’ve been drinking,” Dad says. “Why else would he drive off a cliff?”
After breakfast, I grab my skateboard and head for school. I think about Kirk. He’d been suspended for fighting, but I know sooner or later he’ll return. I don’t care. I realize I don’t hate him the way I thought I did. Hey, I’m not insane. I know we’ll never be friends or anything, but maybe we can at least live and let live. One day at a time, I guess.
At school, two men in dark blue coveralls are ripping out all the old lockers. I watch as they drill out the bolts and yank the lockers out one by one. And for a second, I think I see James standing behind the men. My imagination probably.
I mean, seriously. Whoever heard of a ghost making an appearance during the day?
Nailed It
The flight had already been delayed forty-three minutes. Jerry tapped out a few more sentences on his laptop and considered what he’d written.
“What’s that, a book?”
The closeness of the voice made Jerry look over. He acknowledged the kid sitting by the window, an empty seat separating them. He was in his early twenties, with gray teeth. Gaunt and pale like a survivor from the dead of a Detroit winter.
He was typically dressed—blue jeans torn p
recisely at the knees, a faded tee shirt from some long-forgotten rock concert, and a new silver-studded black leather jacket. His short, spiky hair, gauged earlobes, and nervous look made Jerry curious.
“It’s a story,” Jerry said. He cringed as he waited for the inevitable follow-up.
“What’s it about?” At least the kid seemed sincere.
“Well, it’s really about compulsion. You know, compulsive behavior.”
“Oh, yeah.”
He did not understand in the least. Instead, he read the warning on the emergency exit next to him. An apologetic flight attendant appeared. Her pleasantness developed a momentary chink, manifesting itself as a pronounced facial tic as her eyes quickly took in the kid, then happily migrated toward Jerry.
“Are you both prepared to assist in case of an emergency?”
“Yes,” Jerry said.
Not making eye contact, the kid nodded. “Sure.”
“The captain is so sorry about the delay. We’re going to serve some snacks now.”
“How much longer, do you think?” Jerry said.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to say with all this fog. Maybe twenty minutes?”
“Mm.”
“Would you like beer or wine?”
Jerry said “Mm” again as the flight attendant distributed little foil bags of sweet salted nuts and cheddar cheese Goldfish. Soon after, complimentary wine and beer followed. Jerry decided on a glass of some generic merlot.
“Free beer, that’s pretty awesome,” the kid said. “I hate flying, except for the free beer.”
“Mm.”
Jerry tried losing himself in his writing. Strangely, something about this kid reminded him of the man in the story. Peripherally, he watched as his tightly wound companion examined each of the four foil bags, took a swallow of beer, and started at the beginning.
“I knew a guy once—” Jerry said.
“What!” The kid seemed startled and almost spilled his beer.
“Sorry. I was just saying, I knew a guy once who was neat to the point of neurosis. I guess you laying out those little bags reminded me of him.”
Come As You Are Page 6
