The place reeked of a sour blend of urine, smoke, stale air, and unwashed bodies. But there was also a strangely familiar trace of another smell, lingering as if secreting itself within the sour reek.
Gouged into the wall, below the one small window, were the scrawled words: “Candy Pants.” For some reason it struck Lee as a funny thing for someone to have carved into the wall. There was graffiti all over, the normal stuff, people's names, dates, various obscenities, and graphic records of “Seniors Rule” back to 1947. But this “Candy Pants” was slashed into the wall, as though someone had used a blunt screwdriver and been angry or in a terrible hurry.
Phoebe kicked at some of the mess on the floor. “Gross,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “It looks like someone dumped out a garbage can from a roadside rest stop.” Phoebe moved back to the first berth on the right and looked in. “I'd say someone's been in here, too."
"Why's that?” Lee came around her to stand in the cramped door way and peer over her shoulder into the tiny room. On the floor were the shredded remnants of a sleeping bag with it's fiber-fil stuffing hanging out in half a dozen places, a couple of six-packs worth of various types of empty beer cans, and a number of used condoms, one of which was even stuck to a wall.
"Eeeew,” Phoebe squealed. “I can't believe anyone would do it in a place so gross."
"Do what?” Lee said, and then instantly regretted it.
Phoebe just turned to him and made a sour face.
"Oh yeah,” he tried to catch up and save face. “Oh yeah, you're right. It's pretty gross."
"Is this all there is?” she asked, taking her hands off the sides of the compartment and unconsciously rubbing them on the back of her pants.
Lee wondered which would get dirtier, the hands or the pants. “There's still the caboose."
From the pocket of her shorts, she pulled a small, silvery wristwatch without a band. She held it up to a stream of light coming in from a crack to read it. “It's after four.” She put it back. “How long will it take to get me home?"
"No more than fifteen minutes. If we have to we can always jump my fence.” Lee stopped and thought about Flapjack sounding the alarm when they climbed the chain link. Surely his dad and Maggie would be home by now. “Maybe twenty,” he corrected himself. “It'll be safer to go out by the front gate."
"Okay. Show me the caboose and then I've gotta get home. Uncle Boyd's gonna be crazy, I've been gone so long."
Someone had boarded up the back of the sleeper car, probably in the winter to keep the wind out, so they had to go back out through the front. As they were passing back out, on the floor, Lee saw something that caught his eye. Obviously, this bottle was the source of that other singularly pervasive odor he'd noticed when he'd entered the car. Even had it not been for the label, the shape of the bottle was distinctive. Aqua Velva ran through his mind.
Once outside the air was wonderfully sweet compared to the sour rot inside the car.
The caboose had lost its steps altogether, so Lee had to put his hands on the base of the open back door and jump up to get his waist up high enough to roll in on his stomach. He was immensely grateful this floor wasn't like the one in the sleeper.
Phoebe held up her hands, and with Lee pulling and her scrabbling her feet on the bottom iron, she was able to follow him up and in.
The rounded bottom of a potbellied stove was all that remained, probably because it was bolted to the floor. There was a hole in the ceiling where the flue had once been. As with all the cars, this one held its own ample collection of bottles, cans, and broken glass. There still remained a section of cord hanging through eyehooks up at the top left of the ceiling, a remnant from the days when the conductor would have used this to signal the engine.
Phoebe jumped up and grabbed it. She pulled it and sang out: “Toot, Toot. All aboard."
"That was probably the brake,” Lee instructed. “If you pulled that the engineer would hit the brakes, and everyone would go flying.” To illustrate the point, Lee flung himself into the front wall and rebounded dizzily, weaving about like a staggering drunk.
Phoebe laughed.
Feeling egged on, Lee continued his act bouncing off the walls, but after a minute or so, and when he noticed Phoebe was no longer laughing, he stopped realizing his performance had wore a little thin.
The caboose had no windows, not even the frames remained; it was just open to the air. On both sides, there were long, open sections with jagged scraps of wood and twisted pieces of metal sticking out of the woodwork that made up the walls. Since they were a few feet higher up than ground level, a breeze blew through from one side to the other.
Not wanting to leave just yet, Lee wandered around pretending to be interested in the ceiling and then the view out of the other side.
Finally it was Phoebe who said, “Thanks Lee, I think I've seen enough. We ought to be goin'."
She let go of the cord she'd been hanging on and walked over to the back door.
Lee could feel his heart pick up another notch, so he just went for broke and blurted it out. “What would I have to do to get one more kiss?"
There. He'd said it.
Phoebe's sly grin broke out all over.
She considered the prospect for what seemed, to Lee, the longest time, then said, “I guess one more wouldn't hurt."
In an instant, Lee was right in front of her. Feeling the importance of every second, lest she change her mind, he quickly put both arms around Phoebe and pressed up close. This time, she closed her eyes first, and it was he who placed his lips to hers. And if the breeze continued blowing through the car he couldn't feel it.
The longer they kissed the more excited he became. After the last time, he had learned not to keep his lips so tight, and now found it incredibly exciting to let his slip over hers, softly, gently, one over the other, his nose rubbing up, now and then, against her cheek. She responded in turn by moving her lips, opening them ever so slightly. He was so aroused, so feverish; his heart was just pounding and pounding. The sensation of that first, tiny touch of her tongue took him by total surprise. He pulled back and opened his eyes, trying to compose himself, but she kept hers closed and followed back into him. They fell into another kiss, longer and with real passion now beginning to bloom. The smell of her breath and the taste of her were even more tantalizing than before, and when she exhaled with the most quietly feminine little sigh he almost lost himself right then and there.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Lee was trying to sort it all out while taking it all in. In one of those quick flashes, he knew all too well the guys always talked about girls, about kissing and touching. He also knew most of it was all lies. This was unlike anything he'd ever imagined. This kiss wasn't anything like those awkward pecks he'd shared with Ann in her back yard. Sensations flooded him, coming in from all points of his body. And suddenly, now, it was the awareness of her breasts, each so firm against his chest, which seized his attention. He thought frantically in a flurry fraught with desire and fear, “Can I? Should I?"
With subtle stealth as a perceived ally, and concentrating on his kissing so as not to break the mood, he brought his right hand from around her back over to her side. The bare skin of Phoebe's midriff was tight and slick with perspiration. He sensed a change in a breath when his fingers touched her skin, but she didn't stop him. Now, with his heart choking him, boldly he crept his hand higher. Her ribs were rounded under her skin. Incredibly, his fingertips came into contact with the bottom curve of her left breast, pressed so tightly up against his chest. Now was the moment; one way or the other he was at a threshold, and nothing would ever be the same.
She didn't stop the kiss, but leaned back slightly to allow room for his hand to slide completely up. Even as he did it, he couldn't believe it, that singular moment when he felt his fingers glide up, and he could feel her breast. There it was, a girl's breast under his very own hand.
Phoebe broke it off, pulling her head back. She cleared her throat, but
even with that her voice was dry and raspy. “That's a little more than a kiss there, isn't it?"
He didn't know what she meant. He wasn't even sure what language she was speaking; the blood was pounding so loudly in his ears.
"Your hand,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. “I think you got it on my breast there, hon."
"Oh,” he mumbled, instantly letting her go. “Oh, gee.” His cheeks were suddenly burning as all he could think to do was apologize with a shaky, “Excuse me."
Phoebe tried unsuccessfully to pull back. Still, she didn't look angry, in fact, she looked as if she were on the verge of smiling.
"I've never heard a boy apologize like that before.” She shook her head questioningly. “Excuse me? Is that what boys around here say when they get happy hands? You know, it's not exactly like you just bumped into me in the hall in school, you know?"
Lee still had his other hand around her waist, but he was so dazed he still wasn't letting her go. “Sorry,” he stammered. Now he was beginning to feel embarrassed. Obviously, he had gone too far. Still though, he been so caught up and it seemed like she'd wanted him to. Right now he didn't know if he should be embarrassed, or what.
"Don't worry about it.” She laughed a quick self-conscious giggle, and then pushed him with her limp-wristed pat on the shoulder. “You don't have to apologize to me."
It was confusing for Lee; in some ways it seemed like she had wanted him to touch her, and then just as he did, she acted as if she didn't. For him everything was so much simpler; he just desperately wanted to keep doing what they'd just been doing.
Phoebe started. “What's that?"
"What's what?” Lee came back from his dreamy fixation on the fact that for the first time in his life he'd really, actually touched a girl's breast.
She was serious. “Hush! Listen!"
Lee strained his ears. For a moment, he thought he heard the breeze or maybe felt the breeze, but it was still so hot and confusing in here. Then he heard something too, laughing, far away, echoing like drips down a well. Yes, it was definitely laughing, a woman's laughing.
The air had stilled down to nothing, and there was a sense of a peculiar semi chill. He was aware the bright light streaming in through both sides of the caboose had dimmed, as though a heavy cloud might have just passed overhead. The air had that crisp, electric, sweet scent and that expectant half chill exactly like that which precedes a sudden and violent summer storm.
The laughing was growing louder, though it wasn't a happy sound at all. It was ugly and dirty, humiliating and mean. It was moving closer, coming down through the sleeper car towards the caboose. No, it was in here with them, all around; it came from everywhere, resonating off the walls and casting about, echoing from first one direction and then another.
"What—is—it?” Again, Phoebe spoke in single syllables. Her face was ashen, her freckles standing out against the pallor of her skin. “Lee?"
Lee didn't know why, but instinctually he knew they had to stay very, very still.
"Shhh,” he whispered.
Phoebe pressed herself even more tightly up against Lee, if that was even possible. Accidentally, his hand was once again in contact with her breast, but neither one noticed nor cared.
What an ugly sound the cackling made pure petulance. Someone was laughing, and just as surely, somewhere someone was suffering from it. With it came this malevolence, there was a pressure, a presence in the air, all around, tangible, formidable, real. Dead air, exactly like that behind the store windows with its manikins, and in the little house, too. It was still and claustrophobic; nothing dared move, the air clung to the two of them, touching their skin, stealing the sweetness from the breath, even in their lungs and leaving a foul taste in their mouths.
At the edge of perception a new sound emerged, hiding momentarily between the teasing cackles and vengeful lunatic titters. It was an old time jazz rag, spilling out of a badly tuned piano, accompanied by a hollow bass rhythm thump, thumping along like a flat tire on hot asphalt. It was awful and ugly.
"Lee!” Phoebe buried her face into her neck, trembling. “Lee, I don't like this."
"Sssh,” he cautioned with a hush of breath. “Phoebe, be still."
Loud enough to make them both jump, an angry, deep basso of harsh mumbling burst out from the air as though someone was pressing a violent argument against whatever it was that was so willing to laugh. The light coming in from the missing windows had gone a deep, sickly green, and a foul, meaty smell, rank and thick, like that found lingering in back of a filthy butcher's shop, permeated the dead air.
Phoebe was shaking. “Lee, I'm scared."
Now more than before, Lee knew it was absolutely imperative they remain still. “Hush,” he whispered again, this time with his lips right up against her ear. “Be still, Phoebe. I don't think it knows we're in here.” How he knew this, or why he had said it he hadn't a clue. But he knew it; the same as he had known the other night that he had better run and run fast. Now, this time, it was a time to stay very, very still.
"What doesn't know were in here?” she hushed, quaking as if she were on the verge of a panic. If Lee hadn't been holding her so tightly she surely would have bolted from the back of the caboose and maybe broken a leg in the fall. Then they'd be in a real fix. Then, if they had to, they couldn't run.
Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Lee thought he saw a shadowy outline pass across one wall. Then, just when he thought it hadn't been and it had only been a trick of the light, there it was again. Phoebe had her face buried in his neck, there's no way she could have seen it. It was a silhouette of a woman's head and shoulders. Her hair was a tangled mess, loops and snags, and there were earrings; for sure they were earrings, gawdy and dangly, framed for a moment along with the dark outline as it appeared on the wall. He knew it. He knew it like he knew his own name. This is what had been laughing, and it was here now in the caboose with them. Candy Pants, the word he'd read scrawled out on the sleeper wall rang out in his mind. Candy Pants!
A booming jumble of noise, shrieks, laughter and one long, horrific scream came roaring out of nowhere.
Phoebe screamed.
Lee clutched her. He wasn't about to let her go. The shadowy head had turned their way. Now, it had seen them. God! He closed his own eyes, clenching them shut. He knew what it wanted, and he wasn't about to look into those eyes.
"Go away!” he cried out. Then he reached down inside himself, finding his anger stronger than the fear. “Goddamnit! Go away! Leave us be!"
Then suddenly it was just gone, the sounds, the pressure, the heat, the smell; and that whole awful, eerie feeling seemingly just melted away, and with it, the sunshine was back.
Phoebe was shaking, her lower lip quivering.
Lee had his lips at her ear. “Phoebe? Don't you feel it?"
"What?” she quaked. “Feel what?"
The light in the caboose was back to normal, and that ominous feel of impending violence, of an approaching storm had vanished. Even the breeze was back.
"Phoebe, it's over.” He pulled back to look at her. “Can't you feel it? It's gone."
She pulled back and swallowed. Lee looked at the fright in her face and a strange thought jumped into his mind, could this be the same girl who said she had brazenly run through the night painting those red X's on people's doors?
Lee looked straight into her frightened eyes, communicating to her his flood of relief in one heavy exhale of his own. It was gone, the pressure, the smell, that awful and ponderous stillness. But again, like a memory of a trace of a lingering taste he could taste just a tang of it lingering in his sinuses, there was that distinctively sharp aroma, Aqua Velva.
Then the smell was gone. Phoebe, Phoebe was in his arms; the feel of her, she was real. And strangely, holding her like this he knew he hadn't been frightened. Not really. Not for himself. The emotion he'd experienced had been something different.
What was that quote? "That which does not kill us makes
us stronger." What had just happened here was nothing compared to the other night out on the road. Yet had he not been holding Phoebe, if it was just him, and he was all alone, Lee knew he would have been scared. He would have bolted and ran as fast as he could, not stopping until he'd torn open the door and thrown himself into the safety of his own house.
Whatever it was, whatever had come into this caboose had been ugly, mean and miserable, and there was no doubt it was eager to share its misery. But having Phoebe in his arms, for some reason, he hadn't even thought to be afraid. He'd steeled himself, only wanting to make sure she was safe.
A tear had formed at the corner of Phoebe's right eye; it was poised and ready to spill down her cheek. With a finger he lifted it away.
For a long, clear moment they stood like this, the two of them pressed together, the warmth coming back into their toes, and just holding on to each other. This was no longer passion; she clung to him for survival and him to her because she needed him to.
But it was Phoebe who came out of it first and noticed how close they were.
"Excuse me,” she said, lifting her head away and pushing back slightly so he'd know to let her go.
Lee released her, and when she stepped away the tear below her other eye, the one he hadn't seen, fell, running down her cheek.
She reached up and wiped it away with the back of her hand.
Now it was his turn to hear something, and this time there was no question what was coming was real.
CHAPTER EIGHT: FAT LARRY
Lee hurried over to the window just in time to catch sight of the patrol car as it rounded the corner on the gravel path, up the tracks near the locomotive.
"Fat Larry!” he said excitedly. “Phoebe, that's what we heard!"
Phoebe still looked scared. Her fingers were all knotted together, and she'd begun to sniffle. There was no doubt from her face that she didn't believe what they had just experienced had been anything called a Fat Larry. She reached up with a finger and rubbed away the last of the tear's streak from her cheek, then let out with out a huge, shaky sigh.
Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House Page 16
