Dead End Street Page 7

  David grinned. “Of course I’m kidding.” He shook his head. “You guys are pitiful. You want to know what was really upstairs? I’ll tell you—an old man, a bum, a wino about as harmful as a June bug.”

  “How do you know that?” Marlene looked wary.

  “Because I took the time to talk to him. He needed a place to crash, that’s all. He hadn’t even been in the Tuttle house before last night. He had just gotten in the house and settled when we all marched in. He was afraid he’d get in trouble for trespassing and tried to escape. That’s when he knocked over the old dresser.”

  “That was the crash we heard,” Erin said, thinking aloud.

  David nodded. “Anyway, he was more scared of me than I was of him, and he promised me he’d get out right away. He said he was on his way to Pittsburgh and would be gone before morning light.” David laughed. “That was the way the guy put it: ‘morning light.’”

  Erin shook her head. “I still don’t want to go back.”

  “Me neither,” Roy said, crossing his arms in front of him.

  “But you guys, we’ve only got one more story to go before we decide whose was best.” David turned to Roy. “Roy, don’t you want the same chance everyone else had? Don’t you want to play by the same rules, have the same atmosphere when you tell your story? Hell, you might even win.” David didn’t believe this last part. How could anyone, especially Roy, come up with a better story than his?

  “I don’t know.” Roy sounded hesitant. He looked over at Erin, as if she would tell him what to say. “Why can’t I just tell my story here when the time comes? Why won’t my house be just as good as the Tuttle house?”

  Marlene rolled her eyes. “Even I can answer that.”

  “Look, club rules say that everyone should have an equal chance to tell his or her story at the Tuttle house. Changing the rules for one person, the last person, I might add, will throw the whole thing off,” David said. “Pete, this was your idea. Is that what you want to happen? Is that what you had in mind for the club?”

  “No,” Pete admitted.

  “All right, then. I’ve told you who was in the house, and I’m sure he’s long gone by now. There’s no more to be afraid of than there ever was.” David shrugged and gave them all a rare smile. He half-believed what he was saying, himself; the other half worried a little that he was leading his friends into terrible danger. And he didn’t quite understand why he would allow this to happen. But David had never been one for unfinished business, and the club had only one more story to go. If his stern father had taught him anything, it was that a man didn’t leave things undone.

  Marlene shook her head. “I don’t like to admit it, but David’s right. We should meet at the house one more time. I hate to see us abandon this thing when we’ve come so far.” She looked around to the others for approval.

  Pete agreed. “Maybe we should see this thing out, the way we intended.” He grinned. “Half the fun of this was being scared in the old, abandoned Tuttle house. Why give it up now?”

  “Because we could get hurt?” Erin ventured. Her voice was weakening. Even she didn’t sound too convinced.

  “There’s really no more chance of that than when we started,” Marlene said. “Now come on, we have one more story to tell. Let’s do this thing the right way.”

  Roy shrugged. “I guess the majority rules. But let’s make it an early meeting. How about Saturday morning instead of after school next week? I can be ready.”

  David smiled. “Saturday it is, then.” He would have admitted it to none of them, but he prayed they would all make it out alive.

  And then Marlene did something that made David wonder if she really believed everything he was telling them. When they had gotten to Roy’s, David noticed how Marlene had snooped through all of the electronics stuff belonging to Roy’s father. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now Marlene stood and crossed to the workbench. She looked like she knew exactly what she was going for.

  Marlene picked up a small handheld black tape recorder. It was one of the kind that took microcassettes. Everyone quieted down when she held it up. “Roy, is this what I think it is?”

  “Be careful with that, Marlene. That’s a Matsui 501, one of the best tape recorders you can buy.” Roy grinned at his own knowledge. “It’s voice activated.”

  “Exactly,” Marlene said. “Does that give any of you any ideas about the Tuttle house?”

  None of them were quite sure what she was getting at. Finally, Pete sat up straighter, looking excited. He was practically bouncing.

  At just that moment, the answer came to David, too. He decided to let Pete have his moment.

  “Yeah! It’s voice activated,” Pete blurted out.

  “Right. That’s just what she said.” David rolled his eyes.

  “Let me finish, David. Sheesh. Since the tape recorder is voice activated, we could leave it at the Tuttle house until our next meeting and see what it picks up.”

  “That’s brilliant!” Roy shouted. “Who knows what might turn up on there?”

  “I don’t know if I want to know,” Erin said quietly. Her brown eyes sparked with fear, and she cast her gaze down at the floor.

  “Oh, come on,” Roy urged. “It’ll be fun. I’ll even go over there, myself, and place it in the house.”

  David had to admit he was afraid once more…afraid of Roy going to the Tuttle house alone and discovering David had lied. “Listen, Roy,” he began. “Why don’t you let me drop it off there? I’m more familiar with the rest of the house now, and I can find a good spot for it. Some place out of the way. We wouldn’t want any more bums, if they should come along, stealing your father’s fancy tape recorder, now would we?”

  Roy thought for a moment. “That’s probably a good idea.”

  David agreed quickly and hurried over to Marlene, snatching the tape recorder out of her hands before anyone had a chance to change his or her mind. “I’ll go right now. The longer the recorder’s there, the better the chance of it picking up something. If there’s anything to pick up, that is.” And with that, David darted out of Roy’s garage.

  Outside, the night air was cold. David shivered, but not because of the chill. Because he wondered what he had just done. What might he be exposing them to?

  But hey, you didn’t get tough from turning away challenges. Right? At least that was what his dad had always told him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Roy’s Tale

  Morning light transformed the Tuttle house. Clear and liquid as spring water, it seeped into every crack, every doorway, every window, making the house look clean in its own decrepit way. Cobwebs sparkled, dust motes danced in shafts of sun, and the grime on the floors and other surfaces appeared soft, rather than like dirt. There was nothing like a clear morning in early autumn.

  And the sky was the impossible blue that only comes with autumn. The kind of sky you see in postcards…infinite.

  The weather had helped the group’s mood. Everyone gathered in the house felt better than they had in weeks. Gone was the wariness that had accompanied their latest visits. How could anything bad happen to them on a day like this? The sun was too bright, the leaves too colorful, and the air too crisp and sun-warmed.

  David was speaking. “I put the tape recorder in a secret place.” He grinned. “I think we should wait until Roy tells his story before we check to see if anything’s on it.” David swallowed, hoping everyone would buy his line. He knew that if there was something odd on their tape—as there might well be—it would send everyone rushing from the house. For some reason, David wanted more than anything, to see the Halloween Horror Club run its proper course. He hated to think he was anything like his father, who was fiercely competitive in just about everything he did, but competitiveness stood out as a very good reason for making sure Roy told his story here. So that it could be judged properly alongside David’s.

  Marlene, for once, sided with David. “Okay, you’re right, David. If there is anything on
that tape, it’s extra to the real purpose we’re here, so why don’t we let Roy get started. Besides, I still feel weird about this place and the less time spent here, the better. I love horror in movies and books, but in real life?” Marlene gave them all a weak smile. “Not so much.”

  * * *

  Roy stood up before the group. His story, written in a spiral-bound notebook with a red cover, looked to be quite long and involved. He grinned sheepishly and ran his hands through the red hair sticking straight up on his head. He whispered, “This is dedicated to Erin.”

  Everyone looked at Erin, who refused to look back.

  Roy cleared his throat, and with a cracking, wavering voice, began his tale.

  “This is called, ‘Spellbound.’” Roy turned a page and began.

  “On the last night of his life, Simon Gregg drove into an early evening sky so pale it made the tree’s budding limbs look black in contrast. Simon had traveled the country road many times. Barely paved in the level heartland of Nebraska, the road stretched endlessly toward a distant sky.”

  “Guy’s a poet,” David whispered.

  “And didn’t know it,” Pete responded. Both boys cracked up.

  “Sh-h!” Erin scolded.

  “This Saturday night was like all the others. Simon drove, his radio tuned to KRCG, the only country/western station that his beat-up Chevy pickup’s tinny AM radio could pick up. Garth Brooks, Alan Jackson or Trisha Yearwood wailed into the crisp night about how they’d been wronged by life, by love. A cold can of Coca-Cola rested in a cup holder beside him, and thoughts of Peggy made him press harder on the accelerator as he hurried to pick her up.

  “Simon glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror, saw the shock of red hair standing up in front, the green of his eyes illuminated for a second by the headlights of an oncoming car, and the bridge of red spreading across his cheeks and nose from a day in the sun house painting. Behind him, the pale blue of the sky deepened into navy. The night would be starless and black.

  “He didn’t notice the black cat until it was much too late. Obscured by the gloom, the cat wasn’t visible until Simon’s headlights reflected in its yellow eyes. Slamming his foot on the brake, Simon yanked back on the steering wheel, trying to stop the truck with the leverage of his own body.

  “But it was too late.

  “The cat’s scream and the bump of the truck as its front tire rolled over the animal came simultaneously.

  “And then he heard the wail. A woman’s cry, so lost and forlorn it broke into pieces the solitude of the night. Simon glanced to his right, from where the sound had come, expecting to see the cat’s owner standing beside the road. But he saw only a blur of white disappearing into the bushes lining the road.

  “Simon called out, ‘Hey!’ wondering why the cat’s owner would run away.

  “A rush of wind chilled him; the night sounds of crickets, cicadas, and frogs returned. Simon looked in the rearview mirror and saw an old woman wearing a black dress standing directly behind the truck. She could have been someone’s grandmother—small, probably weighing no more than 90 pounds, with wispy white hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Wire pince-nez glasses rested on the bridge of a long, hooked nose. She noticed Simon staring at her in his mirror and smiled at him.

  “The smile chilled Simon for a reason he couldn’t explain. There was no life in the expression, only malice. Why was the old biddy standing in the road, anyway? She’d get herself killed if a car came along just now.

  “He looked back in the mirror as he put his hand on the door release to get out and tell the old lady she’d better be getting home.

  “She wasn’t there.

  “Simon jumped out of the truck. He hurried to the back, not really expecting to see her. He didn’t. He looked in every direction. There was no sign that a woman, or anyone else, had been anywhere near where he stood.

  “Simon shrugged and decided he’d better get along to Peggy’s. She would be wondering where he was, and he’d spent long enough here. He was lucky a car hadn’t come along and rear-ended him. Stupid cat.

  “Thinking he should at least have the decency to move it off the road, he walked to the front of his truck.

  “The cat was gone.

  “‘What the hell is going on?’ Simon hunkered down to peer beneath the truck. No cat. He shook his head. He’d only had two beers. Could he have imagined the cat?

  “Just then he heard laughter. It was high-pitched and sounded old. Simon couldn’t place from what direction the laugh came, and he glanced around him in all directions.

  “The evening was placid.

  “Once more he looked down at the spot where the cat should have been and shrugged. He said to himself, ‘Maybe I better put all of this behind me and go right on like nothin’ happened. Nothin’ did happen, right? If I’d hit a cat, I’d see it. But there’s no cat, and I didn’t see an old lady, either.’

  “He turned to get in his truck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something out of place on the front bumper of his pickup. There was a splash of red, looking almost like the nail polish Peggy wore, shiny in the moon’s glow. Simon reached down and touched the spot. It was warm and wet.

  “He hurried back to the cab, slammed the door behind him, and roared off into the darkness.

  “Later that night, Simon turned to Peggy and mumbled, ‘Hon, do you believe in witches?’ He wasn’t sure how much he really wanted her to hear about the cat incident. After pulling back some of Peggy’s dark hair, he kissed her neck and bit softly at her ear lobe.

  “Peggy giggled and pulled away from him, positioning her long legs so they rested on his lap. She leaned against the door. Her skin looked bone white in the light of the moon, her dark hair a shadow around her head.

  “‘What did you say, Simon?’ She giggled again.

  “Simon popped open another Coke and looked out the window. Darkness pressed in against the glass. He took a drink of the soda, and somehow it didn’t taste right…too sweet, sickening. And when he and Peggy had been kissing before, that hadn’t felt right, either. Not like it used to.

  “‘Now what was it you said, sweetie?’ Peggy swung around so she could snuggle against him.

  “‘Nothing.’ For just a moment, Simon wished she wasn’t there.

  “Peggy giggled again. ‘Yes, you did,’ she taunted, poking a finger in his ribs. ‘You asked if I believed in witches.’ Peggy watched herself in the rearview mirror as she reapplied her lipstick. She puckered at herself, then smiled. ‘Why did you ask that?’

  “Simon wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her. Maybe he was going crazy. But that wasn’t the real reason. Simon knew he was as sane as the next guy.

  “He was afraid. Simon didn’t know why, but he felt a dread, a sense that something terrible was going to happen to him tonight, and he wanted Peggy to stay close to him until it was morning. But having Peggy spend the night with him was hardly possible. For one thing, her father would kill him for sure if she did, and for another, he didn’t want her to know how fearful he was. She wouldn’t think he was much of a man if she knew.

  “So, he would face the night alone.

  “‘Hey, I was just kidding.’ Simon tousled Peggy’s dark hair. ‘I better be gettin’ you home. Daddy’s gonna be waitin’ at the gate with the shotgun loaded.’

  “Peggy smiled and agreed.

  “It was getting very late as Simon dropped off Peggy. After leaving her house, Simon drove along the deserted road he had just traveled hours before. Only this time, he noticed how the night had grown impossibly darker, thicker. It seemed as if his bright lights could barely pierce it.

  “He peered into the headlights’ beams watching for a cat or an old woman to appear suddenly, listening for the old woman’s wail, her cackle of laughter.

  “Clouds obscured the moon. The realization came to Simon that he had been driving an awfully long time and should be almost home by now. But the road stretched on, its end a black horizon, imagined rath
er than seen. The little digital clock on the dashboard told him it was three A.M. He had dropped off Peggy at one.

  “Forty-five minutes was all it took to get home. Had he made a wrong turn? His mouth got dry as he realized there had been no turns to make.

  “Simon slammed the truck to a halt. What was going on? He hopped down from the truck’s cab and looked around him. He couldn’t even see the wheat fields, freshly plowed for spring planting, because of the darkness. Worse, he couldn’t smell the earth he knew should have been there. Glancing down at his feet, he barely made out the white of his Nikes. The asphalt beneath him was not visible at all. He fell to his knees, a scream catching in his throat, and brought his face close to where the road should have been.

  “And saw nothing.

  “Gasping, he ran in the direction of the field, praying he would soon feel the soft warmth of the newly plowed soil. But all he felt after running for nearly twenty minutes was the same eerie solidness beneath his feet.

  “There were no fields.

  “Simon dashed back to his truck, slammed the door behind him, and locked it. He revved the engine a couple of times, put the pickup in drive, and floored it, roaring off to a black horizon at 90 miles per hour.

  “After a while, Simon laughed with relief. The sky was lightening. The wheat fields flanked him. Up ahead, a billboard advertised Skol. A farmer on his John Deere tractor, ready to start the day, waved a bright red bandana at him in greeting.

  “Simon Gregg drove on, confident he was headed home.

  * * *

  “The wreckage of the Chevy pickup rose before the State Highway Patrol car. The truck’s front end had collapsed in, grim evidence of how hard the truck had smashed into a big maple near the road. As the trooper pulled onto the berm, he was certain the driver couldn’t have survived the crash.

  “When he reached the truck, he saw the boy inside, noticed the shock of red hair, and recognized him as Simon Gregg. The patrolman’s and Simon’s fathers had grown up together. The trooper did not look forward to telling the elder Gregg that his boy was dead.