There's Blood on the Moon Tonight

by Bryn Roar

  Emma blushed. “I declare, Rusty Huggins. Just where do you put it all?”

  “Dad says my stomach is a bottomless pit.” Rusty shrugged and grinned. “I think he might be right.”

  Everyone laughed and Emma slid the rest of the chips from her plate onto his. Rusty protested, while holding out his plate for more, causing another uproar of laughter. As if Rusty was the second coming of Flip Wilson. Tubby wasn’t the only one enjoying the company of someone new at their dinner table.

  “What’s your father say about the storm?” Mr. Tolson asked Rusty, as he munched on an ear of corn. Rusty was relieved that neither of Tubby’s parents had mentioned the fire thus far. Probably because they were both too busy to look out a window very often. Chances were, neither had his own folks.

  “What storm? You mean that tropical depression off the Florida Keys?”

  “It’s not a depression anymore,” Mr. Tolson informed him, with the self-satisfied-air people always seem to get when passing on news about bad weather. “It’s a tropical storm now, just a few miles-an-hour from becoming a hurricane. Heading north they say, away from the Keys. Jack, they’re calling it. Rather pedestrian for a force of nature, don’t you think, Rusty?”

  Rusty smiled. He liked the way Mr. Tolson spoke to him. As if he wasn’t a kid. “My dad didn’t think it would affect us, Mr. T. Its trajectory seemed bound for the Keys. Besides, it’s kinda late in the season for a major storm. What’s its trajectory now?”

  “Your father wasn’t alone in that assumption. Nobody was more surprised by the storm’s sharp northern turn than the National Weather Service! And no, because this storm is so unpredictable, they’re just giving out several different scenarios. Most of which don’t include us at all,” Frank said, noticing the worried look on Emma’s face. “Your father a weather watcher like most of the fishermen around here?”

  “My dad is obsessed with the weather. The only reason he let my mom and I talk him into getting a satellite dish was so he could get the doggone Weather Channel! Mom says he missed his true calling. He should’ve been a meteorologist or one of those TV weathermen.”

  “See, Dad,” said Tubby, seeing a ray of hope for the three-channel limbo they now found themselves in. “We need to get a satellite dish, too! That way you could stay up to date with all the bad weather!”

  “That’s what my Weather Band radio is for, Ralph. Besides,” he said, winking at Rusty, “who needs the Weather Channel when Ham Huggins is down the street?”

  Rusty pushed back his chair and carried his dishes to the sink, hoping to make up for his bad table manners. “Thank you for the wonderful meal, Mrs. Tolson.”

  Tubby laughed. “Gee, Rusty, it was just Sloppy—”

  Emma snapped at her son. “Hush up, Ralphie! You could learn a thing or two from this nice young man.” The ice in her eyes melted the second she turned them on their guest again. “I hope you left some room for pie and ice cream, Rusty. The vanilla’s store bought, but the apple pie is homemade. My own recipe, in fact.”

  “I was wondering what that heavenly aroma was!” said Rusty, laying it on a bit thick in Tubby’s opinion. Not used to compliments, Emma blushed again. “Oh! And would it would be all right if Ralph spent the evening at my home?” Rusty continued without pause: “Later on we’ll be meeting some friends at the wax museum, up the street…that is, if it’s okay with you and Mr. T?”

  After dinner Tubby and Rusty migrated to the rocking chairs on the front porch. They watched the first of the cars pull into the lot for the 9:00 p.m. show, and as his skinny friend polished off his second piece of pie a-la-mode, Tubby wondered aloud at Rusty’s power of persuasion. “She said yes! Just like that! Jeepers, she didn’t even stop to mull it over!”

  Rusty belched hugely. “You sound disappointed.” He licked the crumbs from the plate, set it down on the porch rail, and let fly another impressive burp.

  “Are you k-kidding me?” Tubby stammered. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for her to cut the apron strings. I’ve begged, pleaded, and threatened! Then you come along and say, ‘Can Ralph spend the night?’ and she goes, ‘Sure. Why not.’ Tubby shook his head and sighed. “Women…I will never understand them.”

  Rusty looked incredulous. “You mean to tell me you’ve never spent a night away from home before?”

  “Not even summer camp, Rusty.”

  “That’s weak. Well, as my daddy likes to say: ‘every journey begins with a single step, my son.’”

  “That’s profound, Rusty. What does it mean?”

  “Hell if I know. Old people do go on, don’t they?” Rusty stood up from his rocking chair. “Now how ‘bout showing me that projector like you promised?”

  *******

  It was dark when Bud and Josie crawled out of the rabbit hole, the smell of smoke still thick in the air. Bud’s right arm tingled where Josie had fallen asleep on it. It had been well worth the discomfort, though. He’d let her sleep until eight thirty, all the while drinking in her strawberry scented tresses. Like summer vacation, the time had flown. They stood silent and still outside the Bunker for a moment more, listening for any voices filtering out of the forest.

  Satisfied that the authorities had since moved on, Josie and Bud began their trek home.

  Bud patted the pocket of his army coat, the heavy bulge of the loaded .38 giving him some measure of comfort. Rusty wasn’t the only one who’d had the disquieting notion that there might be other rabid animals on the loose. While he and Josie had been stuck down in the Bunker, he’d given more thought to what had happened that day. It struck him as odd that none of them had ever seen the large gray bitch before. Moon Island was too sparsely populated for an animal that size to stay unnoticed.

  Unless, of course, it came from the Army Base.

  Josie grabbed his other hand. “Thinking about that Vermicious Kanit?”

  Self-conscious of Josie’s small cool hand in the midst of his huge meaty paw, Bud’s palm began to sweat. He resisted the nervous urge to light up another cigarette. He’d been self-conscious of the tobacco on his breath while kissing Josie. He wondered if his mouth tasted like an ashtray—like the old commercial said. Maybe it was time to quit. Unlike most kids who take up the habit out of peer pressure or to simply look cool, Bud smoked because it helped to soothe his nerves and settle his ever-restless hands. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, that gray nightmare. More specifically, where the hell she came from.”

  “It must have something to do with the Research Center, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I think so too. And if there’s one—”

  “There might be others!” Josie exclaimed, looking around at the surrounding trees with something new to worry about now. She hadn’t considered the idea, either.

  “Oh, I’m sure there aren’t,” Bud said, trying to allay her fears. “At least not any on the loose.” Despite the distance they’d already traveled, he wondered if he should go back for a flashlight. He felt like an idiot, forgetting it in the storeroom. “Let’s just keep our eyes open, and after tonight maybe steer clear of the woods for awhile.”

  Bud could barely see Josie nod in the dark. He didn’t bother telling her his plan of discussing this with his dad later on. Like most kids his age, Josie didn’t trust adults with news that could get you into trouble. But Bill Brown wasn’t like most adults! And Bud was anxious to hear his old man’s opinions on the matter.

  He wasn’t crazy, though. He wasn’t going to tell Bill about the fire he’d set. His old man would never be cool with that bullshit.

  *******

  Meanwhile, back at the Moonlite Drive-In, Rusty and Tubby were clomping down the wooden stairs outside the projectionist booth. Tubby hadn’t been kidding about his old man. Mr. Tolson had nearly chewed Rusty’s ear off when asked how the old Century projector worked. Not that Rusty had minded. In fact, he’d thrilled to the demonstration. They had stuck around until the first show started at 9:30, but left when the projector broke down again, a
nd Mr. Tolson had himself a minor meltdown.

  “Your old man sounds like that Dr. Smith character on Lost In Space. When he gets pissed off like that.”

  Out in the lot, a handful of cars beeped their horns at the still darkened screen.

  Tubby imitated his father: “Why you pondiferous pile of pusillanimous projector parts! I’ll melt your substandard sprockets down for spare change!”

  “Hey, that’s pretty good, Tubby! You should give Bud lessons on that shit. He couldn’t impersonate a dog barking.” Rusty remembered Mr. Tolson’s offer before he’d gone off his nut. “Say, you think your old man was serious about that job offer up there?”

  “Sure he was,” Tubby said, hitching up his bookbag. He’d taken his schoolbooks out and replaced them with some overnight items. It contained the most grown up pair of PJ’s he owned (horsies), his toothbrush, and a change of duds for tomorrow. His mother had embarrassed him by checking out the underwear he’d put in the bag. And right in front of Rusty, too! Tubby had said nothing for fear she might use it as an excuse to change her mind. The bookbag also contained some of his purchases from Moon Man’s. Tubby glanced over at Rusty. He’d been annoyed with his dad for putting his friend on the spot like that. “Are you saying you’re interested in the job? I gotta tell you, Rusty…my dad…he’s really cheap.”

  “Oh, I’m interested! And the money doesn’t matter. Like Bud said, I want to be a filmmaker someday. And what better way to start on that path than being a projectionist! Tarantino used to work at a video library, you know. Shit, this beats the hell out of that!”

  “That’s great! You and I working together…what’s wrong, Rusty? Why the long face? ”

  “My old man. I don’t think he’ll let me quit the shrimp boat. He’s got it in his head I’m gonna take over the family biz someday. And I hate the smell of shrimp!”

  Tubby sighed sympathetically. He was going through the same thing with his dad. He loved working at the movie theater, but his path lay elsewhere. “I don’t suppose that charm you worked on my mom, works on your pop, huh?”

  “Nah,” Rusty shook his head. “Parents are always immune to their own kid’s bullshit.”

  “Yeah, I’m beginning to see that,” said Tubby. Suddenly he smiled. Earlier Rusty had helped him out; now he had an idea on how to return the favor. “I’ll get my father to call your dad. Don’t worry about it, Gnat. He’ll fix things. He’s like you…good at smoothing things over.”

  Rusty shrugged. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

  Tubby changed the subject to something he’d been wondering about ever since Bud brought it up earlier. “Uh, Rusty…if it’s not too much to ask…what exactly happened to Bud Brown’s mother?”

  Rusty wondered if he could put Tubby’s question off until Josie could answer it better. She knew how to be more tactful about such things. Rusty didn’t want to say anything that might hurt Bud. Then again, if he told Tubby he didn’t want to talk about it, wouldn’t that only further validate his insecure notion that he didn’t belong?

  He came to a halt and gave Tubby a hard look.

  Tubby paled. “Hey, listen…it’s none of my business. I’m sorry I even asked.”

  “You’re right. It ain’t none of your business. Just like it’s none of my business. Or even Josie’s business. It’s nobody’s got-damn business! But since you’re Bud’s friend…you are Buddy boy’s friend, ain’t you, Tubs?”

  Tubby looked down at his sneakers. “I don’t know much about being, or even having a friend, Rusty. All I can tell you is this: None of you guys know how grateful I am to you for helping me out today. Especially Bud Brown. You don’t have to tell me a thing. But if you do, I promise I would never use that information to hurt him.”

  Rusty reached out to pat Tubby on the shoulder. “I don’t mean to come off so melodramatic…but dude, this is some melodramatic shit. So don’t take this the wrong way; I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, but I wouldn’t be a friend to Bud, or to you, if I didn’t say this right out loud. If you do hurt Buddy boy with what I’m about to say…then you and I are through as amigos. Got it?”

  “I understand,” said Tubby, wishing he’d never brought it up at all. “Really though, I don’t want to know anymore. Let’s just forget the whole thing.”

  “I’d like nothing more. But the fact is, once some of the kids around town find out you’re one of us, they’ll tell you anyway…and their version is grade-A boolshit!”

  “All right, Rusty. So tell me the grade-A truth.”

  Rusty continued slowly up the street. Tubby wobbled along, remaining silent as his new friend gathered his thoughts. Night had fallen hard on Moon Island, the moon and stars above muted somehow. An ideal setting for a scary story—thunder and lightning, the only elements missing. Way off to their left, they could hear the surf shushing ashore at Crater Cove. To their right, the Pines loomed tall and dark, like the ramparts of a medieval castle. The street lamps spotlighted the dirt road up ahead, every twenty-five yards, as the boys drifted into town. Crickets chirping and the soft patter of bugs knocking themselves senseless against the sodium-arcs made the quiet seem all the more unsettling. The night seemed so forbidding that Tubby nearly jumped out of his skin when Rusty began the sad, sordid tale…

  *******

  “Oh, sweet Sonny Jesus,” Tubby lamented afterwards. He had never heard anything so awful in all his life. Not in a book. Not in a movie. Not even in his worst nightmares.

  As they walked underneath a buzzing street lamp, Tubby turned to see if Rusty might not be having him on, although for the life of him, he couldn’t see how anyone, except maybe Lester Noonan, would think such a story amusing. If Rusty was pulling his leg he was one heck of an actor. In fact, Gnat looked queasy and gray.

  As if the tale had poisoned him somehow.

  They walked along in solemn silence, leaving Huggins Way behind them, stopping in front of Moon Man’s display window. Robby the Robot had a closed sign hanging from one mechanical claw. The display graph, where Robby’s mouth was, showed ragged lines, jumping high and low, as the robot snored away in sleep mode.

  Tubby was looking right through the robot, though, seeing an altogether different scene in the window…

  Mrs. Brown’s severed head, tossed cruelly into the air, again and again, like some loop of film running endlessly through a projector…

  Her eyes open and blinking…

  Criminy! What a creepshow!

  He knew he was in for some wicked dreams. Despite that, he was too curious to leave it alone. There were some gaping holes in Rusty’s story that needed filling.

  “Where did Mrs. Brown get killed? In the house…right there with Bud?”

  “No. The killer caught her in the parking lot of the Academy. Back then the Browns lived on the West Side. In Reva Heights. Named after my grandmoms. I think their house was almost eight miles from the school. That’s why she didn’t just walk home. Mrs. Brown was the President of the PTA, and she was the last to leave the school that night. As I recall I was sick, so my mom, who was the V.P., missed that meeting.” Rusty shivered, and Tubby could tell his friend was thinking: There but for the grace of God…

  “The next morning they found evidence of her murder in the parking lot; right where her car had been parked according to witnesses. Huge pool of blood, Ralph. So huge, there was little doubt as to where she’d expired.”

  “But why’d the killer go to all that trouble to take her…her head back to her home? It doesn’t make any sense. And how did he even know where she lived?”

  “Crazy doesn’t have to make sense, Tubby. It does what it damn well pleases. They found her car up the block from the Brown residence. Mrs. Brown’s nude body…what was left of it…was sitting up in the passenger seat, strapped in with the seat belt. Her hands in her lap. All prim and proper. Listen to this shit…the nut job was so insane he carried her head from the car, all the way up to her house. Plain as day for anybody to see!”