The Awakening

by McBean, Brett

  Toby nodded. “And that shower scene, very cool.”

  “Yeah. Wish they had used more blood, but still, pretty damn creepy.” Frankie picked up the remote, turned down the volume on the TV.

  “How you holding up?” Toby asked Frankie. “Think you can manage Frankenstein?”

  Frankie huffed. “Of course. It’s even older than Psycho. I won’t be scared.”

  “Just like you weren’t scared when that old woman came out of the room and sliced that cop’s face? You jumped a mile.”

  Frankie shrugged. “So, you about shit yourself when the lady was getting slashed in the shower.” Frankie smiled.

  “As if.” Truth was, Toby had been more than a little spooked by the movie. For an old black and white horror movie, it was eerily effective.

  Frankie got to his feet. “Well, I’m getting some Dr. Pepper and some M&Ms. Gotta stock up for Frankenstein. You want anything?”

  “A can of Coke. And I’ll share your M&Ms. Unless they’re peanut. You know how I hate nuts.”

  “Let me go check.”

  Frankie left the family room.

  Toby remained sitting on the sofa, feet resting on the coffee table. If Suzie was home, she’d yell at him for having his feet up on the table—she hated the thought of dirty, smelly feet on any place where you put food and drink.

  Without Suzie and Leah, the house was quiet. No wonder Frankie wanted Toby to stay for the horror movie marathon. These movies were creepy enough watching them with friends. He could only imagine what it would be like watching them alone.

  And Toby knew that Frankie disliked being home alone. He would never admit it, but he hated it when his mom worked the night shift. Those nights, he was always extra persistent that Toby stay the night, or until as late as Toby’s mom would allow him to stay.

  “Bad news,” Frankie said, poking his head around the corner. “We’re all out of Coke and there’s only peanut M&Ms. And it’s a small packet of peanut M&Ms.”

  Toby pulled his feet off the table, placed them on the carpet and turned around. “What else do you have to drink and eat?”

  Frankie made a face. “There’s one can of Dr. Pepper, some grape juice, cherry Kool-Aid, and a bag of pretzels.”

  Toby groaned. “I hate cherry Kool-Aid. And pretzels. Man, we can’t watch another movie without proper food and drink.”

  “We could always go to the Circle K. You got any money?”

  “Yeah, a little. But Circle K’s over on the other side of town. It’ll take ages to walk there and back. We’ll miss half the movie if we go.”

  “Yeah you’re right.” Frankie stood by the kitchen entrance, deep in thought. A grin broke across his face. “It’d be a lot quicker by bike.”

  Toby sighed. “Yeah, but you haven’t got...” He stopped, noting the look on Frankie’s face. “Oh, I see. You want me to do all the work? Typical.”

  “Hey, this way it should take you no more than half an hour to get back. And don’t worry, I’ll fill you in on the movie.”

  “How thoughtful of you.” With a groan Toby got to his feet. “Well you’d better give me some dough. I haven’t got much. I’m saving most of it for tomorrow.” He slipped on his Nikes.

  “Hey, me too. So I can only spare five.”

  Toby made a face. “Five bucks? That’s all you can spare?”

  “Hey, tomorrow’s the main event, bro. We’re gonna go nuts for our campout. I want us to have as much junk food as we can carry. And since, well, you know, I’m not exactly rolling in cash, I can only spare five bucks right now.”

  Toby sighed. “All right. But you had better come through with the goods tomorrow.”

  “I will, I will,” Frankie said. He turned and disappeared. When he came back, he handed Toby five ones. “Get me another can of Dr. Pepper and a big bag of peanut M&Ms.”

  “Yes, Sir!” Toby took the money and stuffed the notes into his pocket. He started for the front door.

  “I’ll be sitting here in front of the TV, waiting for you, watching Frankenstein.”

  Toby stuck his finger up at Frankie. “Uck Fou,” he said, and with the sound of Frankie chortling, headed outside.

  Belford’s one and only 24-hour convenience store was located on Redina Street, one of the three main roads leading out of town.

  It took Toby ten minutes to reach the Circle K, its luminous red and white lights a startling contrast to the dark, sparsely populated farmland which surrounded the store.

  Parking his bike out the front, he stepped into the bright interior and bought a can of Coke, a can of Dr. Pepper, and two packets of M&Ms—plain and peanut.

  The Circle K was surprisingly empty for a Friday night, and when he stepped outside, bag in hand, he discovered the reason why.

  As he walked over to his bike, he heard the end of a cell phone conversation.

  “...Jinks Field? Fuck, this I gotta see,” some older teenager said, standing by his car.

  Instead of hopping on his bike and riding away, Toby hesitated, taking longer than was necessary to hang the bag over the handlebars.

  What was going on at Jinks Field? he wondered.

  The older teenager hung up, then speed-dialed a number. “Shaun, hey, it’s Paul. You heard about what’s going down at Jinks Field? You are? Yeah, I’m on my way there now. I know, apparently the old bum was perving on them. Fuckin’ old perv. Okay, okay, see ya soon.” Paul hung up, jumped into his car and sped away from the Circle K.

  Old bum? Are they talking about that drifter me and Frankie saw today?

  Toby knew he should just get on his bike and ride straight back to Frankie’s.

  But he was curious. What exactly was happening at Jinks Field?

  And what was that about the old bum perving on some people?

  With nerves tingling in his gut, Toby hopped onto his Schwinn and started pedaling towards Jinks Field.

  Man, Frankie’s gonna be spewing when he finds out he missed this.

  Not that Toby knew what ‘this’ was.

  The night grew dark as he left the lights of the Circle K behind.

  He pedaled hard, legs pumping, sucking in the sultry night air through his nostrils.

  By the time he turned onto Longview Road, he could hear the distant sounds of cars’ engines and shouting.

  What the hell’s going on?

  He reached Jinks Field, puffing and sweating. He skidded to a halt, stopping at the outer edge of the gathering, mostly teenagers standing around the large car park, or sitting and standing on the hoods of cars, shouting, drinking, egging on whatever was at the center of this show. Some of the spectators were throwing beer or soda bottles along with the cries of “Get him!” and “Give the pervert a welcome to remember!” A few were even throwing stones. At what, Toby couldn’t see. His view was blocked by bodies and parked cars, their headlights pointing in all directions, giving light to the otherwise lightless area. He could just see movement through the throng of onlookers and stationary cars, could hear the roar of engines, and it looked to him like cars were going in circles, kicking up gravel and clouds of dust as they went.

  Spotting Warrick standing on the hood of someone’s car, Toby rode over to him. When Warrick saw Toby, he smiled and jumped off the car. “Hey Fairchild,” he shouted. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  Head starting to hurt from all the noise, the dust starting to scratch his throat, Toby said, “What’s going on?”

  Warrick motioned with his head and Toby followed on his bike.

  They stopped a little way up Longview, where the noise wasn’t so deafening.

  “Man, is this crazy or what?” Warrick said, face dripping with sweat. His eyes held a wildness that was unnerving. And his breath smelled of beer.

  “Yeah, I guess so. But what’s it all for?”

  Warrick ran a hand through his greasy hair. “Some of us are just... well, let’s say giving that bum a nice Belford welcome.”

  With feet resting on the ground, Toby said, “What
do you mean?”

  “Well, apparently the old hobo was caught perving on Nate and Val. They were parked by Jinks Field, making out, when Val sees this face appear at the window. She screams, so Nate jumps out and, seeing it’s that nigger bum, starts beating on him...”

  Nate Jenkins was a senior in High School. Val, a junior, was his long-time girlfriend.

  “...Anyway, he calls some of his friends, tells them what happened. They come right on over and get in on the action. Word quickly spread, and now...” Warrick turned and waved a hand. “Now it’s a party.”

  Toby gazed at the wild scene below. “So those cars in the middle of the crowd, what are they doing?”

  Warrick chuckled. “Circling the hobo, what else?”

  “You mean he’s in the middle of all that?”

  “Of course Fairchild, what do you think I’ve been telling you?”

  Toby watched some high school senior pelt a bottle into the middle of the circle.

  Toby swallowed, tasted grit. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed.

  “I just can’t believe Dwayne’s missing all this. I called him before, told him what was going down, but he said he was busy, or some shit. Man, it’s not like him to miss out on a scene like this. If he was here, he’d be throwing bottles the hardest. Nah, on second thought, he’d be in Bruce, circling that motherfucker like a... a...”

  “Shark?” Toby said.

  “Yeah, like a shark. Say, come down with me. You can see better standing on a car. If you’re lucky, you can see the hobo through the dust, cowering like a baby.”

  Toby looked at Warrick, at his thin face glowing with bloody excitement.

  “Well...”

  Torn between curiosity and fear, Toby didn’t know what to do.

  “Come on Fairchild. Help us give this nigger pervert a proper welcome—and a proper sendoff.”

  “Okay,” Toby said, and he immediately felt bad for wanting to watch this mob hurt and humiliate a complete stranger.

  He was perving on some teenagers...

  Toby rode back behind Warrick. Resting his bike and the bag of food and drink on the ground, he followed Warrick onto the hood of some guy’s car. It buckled slightly under the weight. Once Toby was steady on his feet, he stood and looked out. He saw a ring of kids screaming and hollering with delight, raising their bottles to the night like flaming torches, while three cars raced ‘round and ‘round. The dust was thick, so Toby only caught glimpses of the man huddled in the middle.

  Someone in the inner circle shook up a beer can and then sprayed the contents over the bum. Everyone laughed and cheered.

  “What if the cars get too close and lose control?” Toby shouted in Warrick’s ear.

  Warrick didn’t answer straightaway. “I dunno,” he said. “We’ll just have to wait and see.” Then he screamed, “Get out of town, pervert!” Then he cackled.

  The choking dust, the smell of sweat, exhaust and beer—it was too much for Toby. Starting to feel queasy, he nudged Warrick on the arm. “I’ve seen enough. I’m outta here.”

  Warrick said, “You don’t want to stick around?”

  “For what?”

  “For whatever happens once everyone gets tired of this.”

  Toby shook his head. “No, I think I’ll...”

  A police siren cut through the mob’s bloodlust and the cars’ engines.

  “Shit, the cops!” Warrick cried, and he jumped down to the ground, Toby following.

  With the sound of car doors slamming and tires squealing, Toby hurried over to his bike, snatched it off the ground and hopped on.

  Toby didn’t even bother to look for Warrick; he just started pedaling up Longview, then across the street and into a patch of woods. There he stayed, hidden behind an elm, watching as two cruisers, lights blinking, sirens blaring, tore down the road, swerving to miss cars driving in the opposite direction.

  Once they were past him, screeching to a halt at the parking lot below, Toby left, but not before scanning the area for any sign of the hobo.

  He looked through the settling dust, through the cars and teenagers that hadn’t been quick enough to make a getaway before the cops arrived, but saw no sign of the stranger. He gazed over to the field, the scene of countless baseball games, town picnics and Fourth of July fireworks. He looked to the bleachers, dark and shadowy. There was no trace of the hobo.

  Must’ve made a getaway, Toby thought and then he rode away from Jinks Field.

  “What took you so long?” Frankie said.

  Toby walked around to the front of the sofa and fell into it. He placed the bag on the table, then proceeded to tell Frankie about what he had seen.

  “No way,” Frankie said afterwards. “Man, I always miss out on the fun.”

  “Serves you right for being lazy,” Toby said.

  Frankie reached into the bag and took out the can of Dr. Pepper. An empty can of the same drink sat on the table, along with the half-empty packet of pretzels. “Hey, this is warm.”

  “Sorry, want me to go down to the store and get you another one?”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure, right after I fly to the moon.”

  Frankie popped open the can and took a sip. “Ah well, warm Dr. Pepper is still better than no Dr. Pepper.” He faced Toby. “So this bum was really in the middle, with cars driving all around him?”

  Toby nodded.

  “Wow.”

  Toby opened his can of Coke and took a sip of the lukewarm soda. On the television screen Frankenstein’s Monster was reaching up towards a stream of sunlight which was shining through the roof of some old castle. “So, what’d I miss?”

  “Oh, yeah, cool movie. Not as exciting as what you saw tonight, but still, for an old movie, it’s all right.”

  Once Toby was up to date with the story, once both boys had their respective packets of M&Ms open and were happily munching away, Toby relaxed back and watched the rest of Frankenstein—his thoughts occasionally turning to what he had witnessed tonight, and wondering what had become of the stranger.

  When Toby arrived home that night at eleven o’clock, he found his parents in the family room, watching TV—some war documentary, judging by the grainy black and white images of tanks on the screen.

  “Hi hon,” his mom said, turning around and smiling.

  “Have a good time?” his dad said without averting his gaze from the screen.

  Standing just outside the family room, feeling the breeze from the air-conditioner, Toby muttered, “I guess.”

  “Hey kiddo, come and sit with your old ma and pa for a bit. We haven’t seen you all day.”

  Toby rolled his eyes and thought, Great, a talk, then shuffled over to the old wicker chair that sat adjacent to the couch his parents were on.

  All Toby wanted to do was go up to his room and listen to some music, perhaps get started on the book he had borrowed from the library—a Stephen King novel called The Shining, which, according to some kids at school, was supposed to be super scary.

  “So how was the last day of school?” his dad said, finally turning his attention to Toby when a commercial break came on. “Kiss any girls, beat up any guys?”

  “It was all right. Though I did kiss some guys and beat up a few girls.”

  His dad laughed. His mom just shook her head.

  “That’s my boy. Got a sharp wit, just like his old man.”

  “You’ve got wit,” his mom said, “but I don’t think it’s very sharp.”

  “Hey, you’re getting funnier in your old age, my dear. I guess spending too much time around me has finally paid off.”

  “So my mother was right,” his mom said. “You are a bad influence.”

  His dad leaned over and kissed his mom on the cheek. “You bet I am.”

  This was typical Fairchild conversation; most of the time it was about nothing, with the odd sprinkling of meaningful discussion thrown in for good measure.

  His dad worked as a bank clerk at Belford Community Bank, a job he’d
had since he was seventeen and which was, according to the man himself, as tedious as listening to their neighbor across the street, Mr. Klein, prattle on about how everything was so expensive these days, not like back when he was a youngster. But the job paid well, even if he didn’t always get along with his boss, Rudy Mayfour.

  His dad often bitched about Mr. Mayfour, calling him all sorts of colorful names, the worst of which he waited until he thought Toby was out of the room (but in reality, Toby was just out of view, not out of earshot).

  Toby had occasionally heard people refer to David Fairchild as crude, even obnoxious, but Toby, who got along well enough with his dad, as well as any of his friends got along with their fathers, simply saw his dad as a bit of a comedian, someone who had no qualms about speaking his mind.

  By contrast, his mom, who worked at Belford Library, was quiet, introverted—she and Toby were a lot alike in many ways. How she put up with his dad’s crude humor baffled Toby, but they seemed to get along well. They hardly ever fought, or if they did, it was behind closed doors.

  “But seriously,” his mom said, “how does it feel finishing middle school?”

  “Feels okay, I guess. I’m glad it’s over and that it’s summer vacation.”

  “We’re very proud of you, you know.”

  “Just because I finished middle school? It’s no big deal, Mom.”

  “My word it is,” his dad said. “Our little man is growing up.”

  Toby shifted in the chair. He hated it when his parents talked this way. Why couldn’t they be more like Suzie?

  “Well anyway, we just wanted to say how proud we are of you. So what did you and Frankie get up to tonight?” his mom said, probably sensing Toby’s discomfort.

  “The usual,” Toby sighed. “Why?”

  “I only want to find out what my son’s been up to, that’s all.”

  “He’s in a mood because we wouldn’t let him camp out tonight as well,” his dad said.

  Toby sighed again. He hated it when his dad was right; or at least, partially right, in this case. “We played some basketball, then had dinner, then watched a horror movie marathon on TV. Happy? Am I free to go?” He decided to leave out the part about watching a mob of teenagers torment a hobo.