"Look here," he went behind the counter and pulled a receipt book out from below, "this is what you do."

  He graciously walked me through the process.

  "Thank you for helping me."

  "I'm a preacher, I help the lost," he chuckled.

  "Speaking of that, thanks for that introduction on Sunday."

  He laughed. "Did you enjoy that? I was just funning with you. Since you're a teacher, I was sure you could handle it. Sarah always could."

  "Sarah?"

  "Sarah, Frank's daughter."

  I froze. "Sarah, the former teacher, was Franklin's daughter? I didn't—"

  A girl ran through the front door. "Sorry, pastor, but something has come up. Could you come to the church?"

  "Is everything all right?" I asked.

  "Oh yeah, it always is," Gresham replied. "Just town stuff. Good luck with your order, Matt."

  "Thanks. I'll get the hang of it sooner or later."

  "I'm sure you will," he said, and with a smile and a slap on my back, he turned and followed the girl out.

  As I walked back home, I accepted I would have to change my way of thinking about how things were done here in the backwoods. It wasn't a big deal. It was only change.

  I sleepwalked most of the way up Windy Hill, and as soon as I was inside, I made my way straight to my bathroom and dropped one aspirin and pulled out two Bufferin. One aspirin, even if it had been kissed, wouldn't help me. I had stronger pills for headaches, but I couldn't remember what bottle they were hiding in. I swallowed the Bufferin and the LSD along with it.

  "Damnit!" I looked at myself in the mirror, realizing I'd just wasted a more intense trip. "Damn. Damn. Damn"

  I walked into my Tomb, then walked straight back out. Exhausted or not, I couldn't stand to be in there. Instead, I went back downstairs to the living room, opened the shutter on one of the windows, and dropped myself down on the purple sofa to enjoy my trip.

  I pulled the ottoman to me with my left foot. "Oh, brother that feels good." Unless a person spent extended time with twenty-one kids, they had no idea what real exhaustion was. It was calm and quiet in the house, complete and utter silence. Perfect, other than the low steady hum of the refrigerator, but even that was soothing.

  The phone rang.

  My first phone call, I thought as I stumbled into the kitchen. "Hello—"

  "Matt, Casteel is heading down to tow your car," Franklin grumbled. "It's late as hell, but he wanted to grab it before it got dark."

  "Thank you for the—"

  He hung up.

  "... call." I pursed my lips as I nodded. "Thanks, Frank." I hung up the phone.

  "Shit." I closed my eyes.

  I had about another fifteen minutes before the pills kicked in.

  I rushed upstairs and leaned over the toilet. I stuck two fingers down my throat until I gagged. Nothing came up. I reached in further but stopped. I had a limited number of pills and wasn't about to let one of them go to waste. I slid to the sink and put the stopper in the drain. I would fish it out and hope it was still laced enough to be good for later.

  I pushed two fingers to the back of my throat and threw up in the sink. The remains of lunch and one Bufferin lay in the basin. I pulled up the stopper, rinsed the sink, and tried again.

  Nothing.

  After the third try, I still had not managed to produce the second Bufferin tablet, or, more importantly, the LSD.

  My throat burned, and my eyes were ready to pop out. I gave up. Without looking in the mirror, I washed out the sink and splashed water on my face. I didn't want to face myself. It would be a hard fight, but I had to stay clear.

  * * *

  I could try throwing up again. I wasn't sure how long it would take for this Casteel to hook up my car, but I'd have to go down there to give him the key. "Fuck," I whined.

  Fifteen minutes later I was leaning on the hood of the Falcon when an old orange truck pulled up beside me.

  The driver raised his blue trucker's hat and rubbed his fingers over his red-and-gray buzz cut. "Are you that teacher?"

  "Yes. I'm—"

  He hit the gas pedal and peeled off.

  "What is going on?"

  About fifteen feet away, he slammed on the brakes, kicked the truck into reverse, and sped toward me. I jumped up on the hood as he stopped inches away from the front bumper.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  "Hell, son, if your eyes got any wider they'da fallen out. I wasn't gonna crash into her," he hollered out of this window. "I figured you was smart enough to get outta the way. Guess not."

  "Well, you drive like a madman." My heart raced as I stepped down from the hood. I realized he hadn’t stopped as close to me as I had thought.

  "You're the madman, son." He kicked his driver door open. "I saw your flat tire on the mountain."

  "It's you. The old bastard who drove past me after my blow out." I pointed. "I recognize the hat."

  He gave me a quick once-over, and he didn't seem impressed. "City folk comin' to save us, poor hillbillies. I know who you are," he gritted through his teeth as he pulled at his right leg.

  "Go ahead and pop the hood," he ordered.

  I reached under the hood and pulled it open. I tightened my jaw as he dropped out of the truck, grunting in pain.

  "You okay?"

  "Of course, I am," he snapped.

  I noticed his shirt looked odd. I couldn't tell if it was real or the acid, but his right arm hung limp. Then I slapped my hand over my eyes; he didn't have one.

  He cocked his head, and I looked up at his face. He glared at my stare. "You finished gawking?"

  I giggled, "Sorry." Of all the times for my shit to kick in. "I'm really sorry."

  He sighed, then pointed his chin at my car. "Keys in it?"

  I nodded.

  As he hobbled over to the driver's side he studied the Falcon. "Not the prettiest girl at the dance is she?"

  My head swam. "Maybe not, but she's the only girl I dance with."

  He snorted.

  "I don't like anyone talking about my car."

  He continued his examination, and to my surprise, kept his two-toothed mouth shut. He got in, leaving the door on the passenger-side open.

  I pointed. "It doesn't start."

  He sighed. "No shit, son. That's why I'm here."

  "Right. Right." I said with a half grin.

  "Are you okay?"

  "I haven't slept much. No sleep since I got no windows."

  After trying to crank it three times, he got out and walked back to his truck. I was about to ask if he was leaving but decided to see what he would do next.

  "I'll have it back to ya in a few days. Ain't nothing major. Cracked fuel tank and a broken belt. Now, if you'd had one of those foreign cars you'd be up the creek. Good thing you bought a Ford."

  I nodded like I knew anything about cars.

  "I'll hook her up and haul her off."

  "Need some help?"

  He gave me an angry look. "Son, just because I only got one hand doesn't mean I'm helpless."

  I shrugged. "I was just offering."

  He went back to pulling the chain from the bed of his truck. "I know. You city types are always offering something, but no, I can manage just fine."

  "Well, thank you for coming," I blurted out.

  Still working with the chain, he nodded. "You can thank Franklin and the town. They're paying for it."

  I gave up trying to be polite to him. "Okay. Have a good one." I saluted and turned to go back to town.

  "Did you ever serve in the military?"

  I turned. "No."

  "Then you can take that salute and shove it up your ass," he barked, then spit.

  Imagines of him in the war filled my mind. An explosion and him clutching his arm in agony. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—It's the...Moons up!"

  "Get on home, Big City."

  I backed away from him, then turned toward home. I heard more grunts and strains over my shoulder as he continued connecting the two vehicles. I tasted my foot all the way up the hill. I decided I needed something to get the profound taste of stupidity out of my mouth.

  38

  After walking for what seemed an eternity, I finally found the house. I decided I would dine on the most exquisite cuisine in Kentucky, a cheese sandwich. Under the circumstance of the drugs, I knew fire wasn't a good idea. How I'd eaten all the food Grandma Rollin had brought I had no idea. I hadn't eaten in hours, and, since I'd emptied my stomach in the sink looking for a pill...

  I moved to the living room and sat down with my dinner and the kids' writing assignments.

  I needed to try and focus on their paragraphs, but afterwards, I would go straight to bed. If nothing else, I thought, the effects of the drugs would make the experience more bearable.

  I opened the shutters. It was past six o'clock and the sun had lowered. I stared over the houses across the street, to the back of the bank building, all the way down to Keeper's Bridge.

  I stared longer, and my mind started opening up.

  A slight purple breeze caused the smaller limbs to sway and the remaining leaves grabbed each other’s hands and twirled. There was no sun, but all the shadows turned white and played "Do Wah Diddy Diddy" on the banisters and railings of my porch. "I love that song."

  I glanced at the mountains and they pulsed in violent red. The music stopped. Witches flew through around the summit of Black Bear Mountain.

  I slapped my face. "Play the music and let's get to work."

  There were about twenty assignments I would have the joy and horror of reading and correcting. Even if they were terrible, twenty didn't sound that bad. I divided the students' work into three categories: collections, hobbies, and facts of the town.

  I read the collection papers first.

  I like to read comic books, but my mom hates them. Sometimes I take them from the store. I know Jesus don't mind none because I'm reading.

  I like frogs. I have tried to collect lots of them. I am sad though because I have never had more than six. I collect more than six but then some of them die. I like to collect them and make my sister mad.

  I collect books. When I get older I want to read all the books so I can be as smart as Jackie Kennedy.—Carla

  I like to hunt arrowheads. Arrowheads belonged to the Indians. Lotsa Indians were killed by the cowboys. But some live yonder on past mountain.

  I have four hair brushes. I brush my hair each night 101 times. 101 is one more than 100. All the other girls brush their hair 100 times. I want to be prettier than them. Maybe if I get ten brushes, I will be the prettiest.-—Allison

  I have a small ball of rubber bands. It is fun to play with. It is fun to look at to. I want it to be the size of my head so it can bounce to the moon. I'll be in all the papers.—Weezer.

  I dont colect nothing. Mom hate me and wont let me she colects men There is always a new man around all the time She tells me not to tell or she will cream me Dont tell her I told you she wonts to collect you two.—Scarlet

  I laid my head against the sofa cushions and turned to look out the large window onto my yard. My eyes were moving slower than my head. I stared outside, but it took a few seconds for thoughts to register.

  The few leaves still clinging to the oak trees across the street were twisting and turning in the wind. I relaxed into the cushion, feeling myself slipping away.

  I jerked awake. My head was groggy, but my eyes were rejuvenated. How long was I asleep? Thirty minutes, an hour? I went to the window and found the sky completely dark.

  Shining house lights from the next street over glowed. As the wind stirred the branches, the lights danced through the leaves. I closed one eye and held up the pencil in front of the other. I pretended to erase one of the lights by covering it with my eraser. When I moved the eraser, the light reappeared. It was silly, but wondrously entertaining. Swallowed or not the aspirin was definitely working.

  I continued reading.

  This town is a coal mining town. We make coal in the mountains. The coal keeps us all warm in the winter.—Jason

  My daddy was a coal man. He in heaven putting coal in the sun with jesus. I get to see him every day the sun is out.

  Grandma Rollin is the best cook in town. She could put The Bucket out of business with one pan of biscuits. Once I get married I hope she will teach my wife to cook.—Montana

  This is a town in Kentucky. Kentucky sucks. I hate the smell of this place, I don't like the people, I don't like the politics, I don't want to work at Sears, but I gotta say I love that beard.—Magic Hands Peter

  That one made me smile. I did have a proper beard.

  I pushed on with the few remaining papers:

  This town is haunted. When kids die they turn into devils and hurt people. I don't want to die and hurt people like them.—Meg

  Even with no windows I'm still scared at night. I don't like being afraid of the dark. I ask for a candle but my mom says I would choke with no air. I recently met someone though who makes me feel safe. Please don't tell momma I wrote this.—Amy

  Since you are new you should know not to go outside after it gets dark. Joshua Johnson and the other ghost children killed the last teacher. I hope they don't kill you too.—Kate

  "Who the fuck is Joshua Johnson?" But I finally had some insight into the town's crazy folklore. I read Kate's again. Middwood would make anyone go insane.

  Kate's paragraph was cute. As absurd as it was, it was nice she was worried about me. All I had to do was figure out which twin was Kate and thank her.

  I could make name cards and have the twins wear them while they were at school. They would read. "I'm Kate," and the other would read, "I'm Satan's daughter." I laughed so hard I coughed like old man Franklin.

  I settled deeper into the sofa, warm and cozy. I moved the pencil's end to a different light and covered it. I moved the eraser, and the light was gone. "Magic," I whisperer in delight.

  My game was finished, I lowered my hand and opened both eyes, but was surprised to find the light was still gone.

  My chest warmed and a dull pain tightened my shoulders.

  "Dark magic," the words escaped my lips like someone else spoke them.

  I leaned forward, and the light returned.

  It hadn't gone out. Something was blocking it.

  Something was out there. I was being watched.

  39

  I couldn't tell if I was I awake or not. Panic poured over me, drowning me in loss and confusion like my brain was melting.

  "Matt, wake up. Wake up, Matt!" The serious tone of a voice I couldn't place shouted. Stinging slaps went across my face. I threw up my hands to block the blows but found no contact.

  Shifting in my seat, I tried to get a full view of the lower half of my yard, but then something in the corner closest to the street moved. I craned my neck to see around the porch railing, but it was impossible from where I was.

  "You're reliving last night, Matt. You aren't awake, boy." The words disturbed me, it was the tone of my father when he would give false warnings.

  "Never go out after the sun sets..."

  I advanced to the door. I couldn't stop myself, nor did I want to. I had to see. I opened the door and stepped over the threshold into the night. It was freezing, and the stirring wind carried the char of firewood.

  “Go back inside.”

  "Voices in my head, visions of monsters, haunted dreams, damned rules. None of it's real."

  I boldly stepped further onto the porch and focused my sight on the tree.

  There was nothing.

  I scoffed. I spun to go back inside.

  Look again. Look, my mind nagged.

  I twisted and rotated around, and I realized I couldn't see the whole tree. There was still a porch post obstructing a small part of my view. My hands shook as blood pulsed in my veins. I was cold and my arms and legs felt weighted. My stomach churned, and I thought I might vomit. I tried to breathe, but there was no air. Every part of me was being pulled down. I fought against gravity. I struggled for control, but I was helpless.

  I collapsed onto the porch banister.

  I gasped for air. Blood flow resumed and gave me a dizzying high that made me feel like I was floating. I tried to steady myself, afraid I would faint.

  "What was that?" It was the second time I had had that type of episode. The first time was on Windy Hill Lane when I went to get my toothbrush.

  I pushed myself upright from the rail. My head swirled. "Easy does it."

  At first, it appeared only as a blue haze, but after blinking again and again, my eyes cleared. The blur lifted.

  There, less than ten yards away, stood a child.

  I closed and reopened my eyes, but the child was still there. "Crap."

  She wore a short, simple white dress, and from her height, she couldn't have been any older than five or six.

  Her frowning chin stuck out as she watched me.

  I glanced around to check if Peter was creeping in the bushes, watching his theatre unfold—but no one else was out.

  I closed my eyes and swatted away all the stupid moths and witches flying around in my head. She was probably scared to death. She must have been out playing when it got dark. Maybe she thought hiding under the tree was the safest place for her. Stupid town rules.

  I walked barefoot across the grass toward her, "Hello?"

  The little girl continued to stare at me. I moved closer. She didn't seem afraid but studied me with her big, innocent eyes.

  I stopped several feet away when I thought there were two of her. I took a deep breath, fighting against the drugs. "Are you lost? I'm Mr. Christian. I'm a teacher."

  From behind me, a voice snarled, "Turtle’s not feeling well." I jumped forward with fright and fell beside the little girl.

  "Stay away from her!"

 

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