Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House

by Michael Swanson

  Looking down to her finger, when he looked back up she dropped her hand and stepped away.

  Lee cleared his throat. “Let me show you around back. We might get lucky there."

  Phoebe gave him a curious look and offered questioningly. “You never know where you might get lucky, hon."

  Lee stepped away from the window. It always made him feel funny when country girls used the word “honey” or “hon,” when addressing him. He knew it didn't really mean anything, but still, he always felt funny about it. It just sounded a little too familiar, like a promise. And the way Phoebe tacked “hon” on to the end of her sentences; the word when she used it definitely sounded full of promise. In fact, everything about her accent conjured up an emotion in him which tasted like a fat, fresh biscuit, full of gravy and sopping with butter, a real southern tradition. And that last line about getting lucky, there was such an undercurrent, he had no doubt but that Phoebe was probably playing some kind of a game with him. The problem was, with girls, he usually never new what their game was until he'd already lost.

  Lee let it drop and brushed past her, starting off toward the back by skirting the bushes planted close by the corner of the house. When they came around so they could see the back of the house and the grounds, he stopped and swung his arm out appraisingly. “Here's where I was working."

  Lee pointed to the long trellis running the length of the back of the house. “I had to dig out all the old dirt and put in fresh new soil from a mound down by the river. I did all the trellis and all the bushes down in the garden, too. And this whole place is huge, as you can see. It stretches all the way down to the river."

  Phoebe looked around appreciatively, unable to hide her growing excitement. But, when she started to speak she stopped.

  "You know, Phoebe,” he offered. “I really don't mind if you talk."

  She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her red shorts and kicked at the grass. “But when I get going, sometimes I just can't just shut up. ‘Specially when I get worked up about something. My dad pokes fun at me and calls me ratchet jaw. And you really should see me some times. I get to yabbering and yabbering. It's like how my dad's also always tellin’ me, ‘Phoebe, you was born making noise and you'll probably die making—” She put her hand to her lips. “See there I go again."

  Lee couldn't help but smile. “Don't worry about it. I kinda like it."

  "You do?” Phoebe took her hand from her mouth, and again touched him lightly on the shoulder. “I'll say something for you Lee Coombs; you do know how to make a girl feel to home. I was so afraid I wasn't going to make any friends here."

  He had to swallow and catch his breath. He wasn't used to girls touching him, and it did kind of set him off. “Most girls are usually a little shy,” he finally managed to say. “I don't know. Just don't worry about it. If you bother me I'll let you know, okay? Fair enough?"

  "Okay,” she smiled back. “Fair enough."

  She pointed to the little house. “What's that over there, a play house? Do they have kids?"

  Lee shook his head. “That's Mrs. Ballard's sewing house."

  She gave him a you've got to be crazy look. Then she saw he was serious. “A sewing house?"

  Lee shrugged and nodded at the same time, his hands stuck in his pockets.

  "Does she sew a lot? I mean, I never heard of anyone who had a separate house just for sewing. That's kind of crazy don't you think? But I guess rich folks is always crazy. Course, I don't know. I don't know any rich folks. But that's what folks always say. It sure is an odd little place, though. It just seems weird, doesn't it? Don't you think it seems weird? What do you think it is about it that's so weird?"

  Lee nodded at the appropriate moments and began to get a little sharper at squeezing in quick answers to her flood of questions. He put a finger to his lips to signal for her to be quiet as they came near the path that passed by the front window and led down to the river.

  "Oh,” she hushed. “I'm doin’ it again, ain't I?"

  "No, no,” Lee whispered. “It's just she's probably in there. And take it from me; we definitely don't want to disturb her."

  "What's that supposed to mean?” Phoebe looked startled, and again touched Lee on the shoulder. “You mean she's in there? Right now? What's she doing in there?"

  "Nothing,” Lee shrugged. “Not a thing. She just sits in there staring at the back door."

  "Back door? Why've they got a back door? It can't be but five feet to the front door."

  Lee was beginning to enjoy being the tour guide. “It leads down to a bomb shelter."

  "A bomb shelter?” Phoebe said this maybe a little louder than she should have.

  Lee put his finger back to his lips.

  "Yeah,” he hushed. “Mr. Ballard, her dead husband, was real scared about the communists blowin’ everyone up with the H-bomb. They say it's like a whole house down there, with beds and a T.V., a kitchen and everything."

  Phoebe's excitement showed through. “Can we see it?"

  Lee shook his head. “I don't think so."

  "Have you ever seen it? Have you ever been down there?"

  "No,” Lee thought about lying, but decided against it. “No one's ever seen it. At least no one that I know."

  She dropped her hand from his shoulder disappointedly. “Then how do you know what's down there?"

  Lee shrugged. “That's what people say is all."

  Phoebe took the initiative and walked gingerly out onto the stone path, stepping like a mime doing a silent routine. Her white sneakers didn't make a sound. Lee followed her, and as they came around they both kept their eyes glued to the big window by the door.

  Whether it was because they were sneaking, or if it was something else, but Lee noticed the air had suddenly grown very still. As well, he saw that the front door wasn't completely closed, almost, but just not quite all the way. He suddenly had this frantic urge to jump over and shut it, to slam it, to press against it with his shoulder until he heard the lock's bolt fall in the jamb. It was like it was terribly, desperately important that it was kept closed. He didn't do it though, he couldn't imagine getting that close, actually walking up on the little cement slab there under the roof's awning, touching the knob, coming in contact, breathing the air. Some of the stillness had seeped out and was standing there. He couldn't see it, but he could smell it. Even in the sunlight it was there.

  They hurried around to the front window, and there she was, sitting in there all by herself.

  Phoebe's eyes grew wide, and she looked over to Lee questioningly. Maybe she hadn't really expected to see someone really sitting in there. “Is that her?” she whispered.

  Lee nodded.

  Mrs. Ballard had her back to the window and was as motionless as a store window manikin. Her antique of a white dress was soaked with sweat clear through around the arms and all the way down the back. Like a faded and poorly lit photograph, the visible side of her face was a sickly shade of gray. Her hair, as always, was pulled back into a tightly packed bun, and in the stark, still light of the little house, the fine silvery-gray hairs along the nape of her neck stood out visibly above the tight lace of her collar.

  Phoebe moved ahead, still tiptoeing, keeping her eyes on the figure inside. Once they had passed by both windows and the little house was behind them, it seemed the air had begun to move again.

  "That's the creepiest thing I ever saw,” Phoebe was still whispering. “Does she always do that?"

  "I guess so,” Lee caught himself whispering, too. Fresh in his mind was the memory of those faces which had appeared in the glare, pressing against the glass. And too, he could vividly recall how Mrs. Ballard had looked, staring at him out of the window, with her straining veins and awful, yellow eyes. This time he was happy she'd stayed still. If she had moved at all as they passed he might have embarrassed himself and jumped or maybe even yelled, which he figured would have been the worse thing he could have done around a girl like Phoebe.

  Grinning, she poi
nted at the little house and brought her voice back up to normal. “I think we saw our first ghost."

  "I'd say so,” Lee replied, actually relieved.

  Phoebe pointed again. “Oh, look at the statue! Over there! Is it real?"

  Lee didn't know what to reply. It didn't matter though. Phoebe ran over and immediately had her hands on the young lady, beaming back at Lee, presenting herself like a hunter who'd just bagged a trophy.

  "This is a real statue, ain't it?” She was obviously very excited by the find. “Just like in a museum, huh?"

  Lee ambled over keeping his hands in his pockets. He stood a few feet away facing the statue appraisingly, and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Have you ever been to a real art museum, Phoebe?"

  Phoebe let go and cantered over to stand right next to him. “No, but I've seen pictures. Have you?"

  Lee nodded. “Sure, I've been to the state art museum at the capital. I've seen a Rodin. Not a copy, but a real one."

  Phoebe looked at him, letting him know in no uncertain terms she didn't have the slightest clue what a Rodin was. “A what?"

  "Rodin. He was a sculptor. He did ‘The Thinker'.” Lee struck a pose kneeling down with his fist balled up under his chin and his elbow on his knee. “Like this,” he mumbled keeping his chin to his hand.

  Phoebe laughed. “You're kidding?"

  Lee stood up. “Well that's the best imitation of it I can do."

  She obviously noticed he looked a little hurt. “Hey, don't worry about it, Lee, hon. I'm sure you're a real good thinker. Was the statue made of stone, like this one, or metal?"

  "The Thinker is bronze, cast bronze."

  She was staying by the side of the young lady, her hand around the figure's waist, and swinging out, her feet pressed against the base. “What's this one made of?"

  "It's made of Valencia marble,” Lee said, stepping up. He suddenly realized though, that despite the fun he was having in telling her what he knew, the last thing he wanted was for Phoebe to think he was some kind of stuck-up know it all, talking as if he knew everything about cast bronze and Valencia marble. “I don't really know all that much about that kind of stuff,” he backtracked. “Mrs. Ballard told me about it. And it was she who said it was imported from Europe. Italy I think she said."

  "Well, where ever she came from,” Phoebe didn't even try to hide her awe. “She's really beautiful.” And with Lee now having stepped up closer she let her hand fall upon his shoulder and even leaned into him.

  "I think she looks a little strange.” He found he was warming up to the idea of this girl being so close, especially since they were obviously so alone.

  She kept her eyes on the statue. “What do you mean?"

  He pointed, moving his finger around. “Her face. She looks confused, or maybe like she's worried. Don't you see it? It's a subtle her expression. Sort of like she's squinting."

  Phoebe gave him her little shove and moved away. “I didn't think you were lookin’ at her face,” she offered reproachfully, and then stepping over right up next to the statue she looked up at her.

  Lee was glad Phoebe wasn't looking at him as he wasn't looking at the statue's expression, he was looking at Phoebe.

  She turned back to face him. “You know?” She affected a kind of a shocked and surprised expression, arching her eyebrows and pursing her lips. “She's not wearing a bra."

  Lee was devastated. He'd never even heard a girl mention the word bra out loud before.

  "She's not!” Phoebe declared. “See! You can see her nipples."

  Lee couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  Phoebe bent over slightly and slapped her knees with both hands. “You should see you're face!” she declared. “Why Mr. Lee, I do believe you're blushing."

  Lee was glad he couldn't see his face; it certainly felt hot enough. Trying to salvage some shred of dignity he took a stance off to the side of the statue, and let the comment about women's lingerie go.

  "No really, Phoebe, you don't think she looks kind of addled?” He swallowed hard and stepped another step back, trying whatever he did to not look at the sculpture's breasts. And the second to the last thing in the world he wanted to do right now was for Phoebe to look him in the eye.

  Phoebe followed, moving back a couple of steps.

  Lee kept his eyes on the statute. What was that look Phoebe had been giving him? Was she messing with him? Leading him on? And now the comment about the bra, and then actually coming right out and pointing out the statue's nipples! He couldn't believe how his heart was beating. And worst of all, she seemed to be enjoying his discomfort immensely. He asked himself, “Who is this girl?"

  "I guess,” she offered, “now that you mention it, I'd say she does look a tad bit lost or worried. The way her gown's clinging to her body, it looks like she's been out in some kind of a storm with the wind blowin’ somethin’ fierce."

  Lee could see that Phoebe was right. Her description made sense. The statue's sheer nightgown was plastered against her body, and she wasn't posed as to be so much walking, but rather bracing into a stiff wind.

  "She is pretty, though,” Phoebe appraised. “Don't you think so?"

  Lee pursed his lips and nodded.

  Phoebe stepped around to face him. “Prettier than me?"

  Now Lee really did swallow hard. He fought the new panic back. She was standing there looking at him; he had to say something. “No, I mean, yes,” he stammered. “What I mean is, yeah, you're prettier.” As soon as he'd said it he asked himself, “Did I really just tell her she was pretty? Oh gee, what am I saying?"

  She gave him that freckly grin again and squinted, cocking her head like she hadn't heard. “What was that?"

  Now his mouth was dry. She was peering back at him squarely in the eyes. But somewhere he found the resolve and managed to reach down and pull off a cool reply. “Sure, I think you're prettier.” He stared her back, an eye for an eye. Then a thought came to him so he just went for broke. “Course, I haven't seen you in your night gown,” he nodded to the statue. “And I bet you're wearing a bra."

  He knew right off he'd got her. It was Phoebe's turn to turn away and feign interest in something else, and asking, “Is all this one big garden?"

  "Yeah.” He knew now was the time to let it all drop. “You wouldn't believe it. I don't think it was originally meant to be like this; it's so overgrown now, I think it's gotten out of hand. I imagine it used to be real pretty back in here. Now though, it's sort of like a labyrinth back in there."

  She turned back about. “A what?"

  "A labyrinth,” he hesitated as he explained. “You know, like a maze."

  "That's a heck of a two dollar word there, hon,” she came back. “Labyrinth, huh?” That grin came back to her face. “Sounds like something boys aren't supposed to talk about in front of girls."

  Lee had to smile at this, matching her grin for grin. He thought about her use of the word bra and nipple a moment ago, definitely not words for polite company, and wondered about testing her reaction if he were to bring up something boys weren't supposed to talk about in front of girls.

  Again, though, he decided to let it go. “You want to see the rest?"

  "Sure,” she came back. “Whatever you got. I'm all yours."

  He had to think about that reply for a second. It was beginning to dawn on him that Phoebe wasn't dumb at all, despite her homespun accent and outbursts of spurious chatter. Lots of what she said could be taken more than one way. And sometimes, he was pretty sure, she was doing it on purpose, playing with him, testing him out.

  "Okay?” he asked. “Can you see the other statue?"

  She looked around, swiveling her head alertly. Finally she gave up. “You're kidding, right?"

  "No.” Lee crossed his arms. “He sees you."

  Again, she looked.

  Lee ambled over further away from the walkway. When he got to the precise angle he waved her over and pointed at the thick clump of bushes and trees. “See ‘em now?
"

  She actually jumped. Her surprise was plastered to her face. “I see him!” She ran over. “It's a him, right?"

  "I call him the Peeper,” Lee called out.

  Phoebe bent the obscuring branches back and looked in. When Lee got there she had stuck her head in. Then she pulled back, letting the branches go. And when she faced him, her eyes were as bright as Lee had ever seen. She showed him something else new, too. She'd bitten the bottom of her lower lip, tucking it under her upper teeth affecting an expression like Patty did when she'd seen something naughty.

  "That's quite a man you got hiding back in there.” She untucked her lip, and that grin came back. “Must be a Yankee."

  He didn't want to come right out and ask her how much of the statue she'd seen. Instead, he asked, “What makes you say he's a Yankee?"

  They were so close he could again smell the baby powder. Somehow they kept ending up right next to each other.

  "Look at that hat, for one,” she appraised. “Only a Yankee would wear a hat like that."

  Lee had to laugh.

  "Too,” she finally moved back a step and pulled at the front of her blouse, pumping it back and forth, “He seems a might bit excited.” That grin grew even broader and two tiny dimple-like creases formed in her cheeks. “Course, maybe he ain't a Yankee. He appears a tad bit too well growed, if you know what I mean?"

  She'd seen it, no question now. Though he admired her observational skills, once again, her frankness was a little disconcerting. He didn't know any girls who acted like this one. Maybe things were different in Gatlinburg, or maybe it just was she was different.

  She continued to flap at her blouse. “Why do you think they got him in stuck in a bush?"

  Lee shook his head. “I think the bushes grew up around him."

  She ceased her flapping and pulled the branches apart again, definitely not even looking up at the statue's face. She pulled her head out and gave Lee a low whistle. “Pretty well growed. He's gotta be a southern boy."

  One thing Lee knew was that he wasn't about to try to explain a codpiece, if in fact that was what it was. This statue had been endowed with quite a sizable bulge, and he wasn't sure if Phoebe even would understand what a codpiece was or if she simply thought the statue was “glad to see her,” as the joke goes. Without thinking about his words Lee offered, “Want to see more?"