"Who the fuck is Gary Shin—Jason Shindle? My student?"

  "Yes, Jason's father."

  "Good Jesus of grief!" I groaned.

  Self looked up at the clerk. "I'll take him across the street and get him cleaned up."

  "Where'd he go?" I asked looking up and down Main Street.

  "He drove off. He won't be back."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "He smashed one of the bank's windows. He'll be so scared he might leave town," Self laughed.

  I glanced at Self. Shithead would leave town, not for hitting a man with a rock, but for crashing the bank's window. I shook my head, but the pain stopped me.

  Self helped me to my feet and guided me across the street while I recounted my dealings with the blue car on the highway.

  Inside the pharmacy, he flipped the Open sign to Closed and directed me to a little closet of a bathroom. "Go in there and spit. It's good he hit you in the jaw and not your higher up. Hell, then you might have a concussion, and there would be blood rollin' out everywhere. Bright side, right?"

  "Right," I attempted to say, then stepped into the tiny bathroom. The phone rang somewhere in the store as I spit into the basin, expecting to see a tooth or two, but there was only spit mixed with blood. It didn't look that bad, but, damn, did it hurt like hell.

  Bill called across the store. "Did you lose any teeth?"

  I shook my head. "Nope, just some dignity."

  "No, Frank, I think he's okay, just a bit bloody. Somebody is going to have to go have a talk with Gary." He paused. "Good, have Philip slug him in the face and see how he likes it, the bastard."

  I spit again. "Well, hell, Frank, he threw a rock through the bank's window, so you know Randy is going to go jerk him bald." He paused. "Okay, okay. I'll holler."

  A moment later Self pushed his way into the closet. "So you still got all your teeth?" He snorted. He handed me a small paper cup with a clear liquid in it. "Swish this around, but don't swallow it. It might burn a bit, but it will help clean your mouth out."

  "What is it?"

  "Moonshine."

  I did as he said but swallowed it on purpose.

  "Hell!" I gasped.

  "You don't listen so good, do ya?"

  He led me to a chair and gestured for me to sit. As I did, he pulled up another stool, looked at me, and smacked my face.

  "What the fuck?" I stood, holding my cheek.

  He looked at me apologetically. "Sorry, I was testing to see how bad the pain is."

  I regarded him cautiously. "It's bad enough."

  He sighed and patted the stool. "Sit down. I promise I won't slap you again."

  I pulled the stool back and sat.

  "You likely have a cracked tooth in there. You'll have to go see the dentist, which is a fate worse than death around here. The actual dentist is fine, but his assistant—"

  "Clint? Please, no."

  "You know him?"

  "He showed up outside my place the first night."

  "Yeah, that sounds like him."

  Self shook his head in disdain. "I told that boy's aunt when he was young they needed to watch him. He was always experimenting or cutting on something. One time I think he boiled a cat just to see what it would look like."

  "Seems like the type," I said.

  He slapped his thighs then spun and headed toward the far aisle of the drug store. "The dentist comes through once a month. But you're in luck. He'll be here next Friday."

  "I have to wait a whole week? Yeah, I'm real lucky."

  Self laughed, "That's right, young man. Don't let Shindle break your spirit. The dentist sets up shop there in the big store. If you can't wait that long you can drive down to Lynch or Benham. They are two of the nearby coal towns, but then again, you don't have a car. Oh, well." He ducked down. "You will need an anti-inflammatory for your jaw and something for the pain." He popped up and pointed to me. "Are you allergic to anything?"

  * * *

  "Die don' dink sho," I said not even understanding the babbled words that came out of my bloody mouth.

  Responding like he understood. "Uh huh. No matter." He moved toward the counter, placing aspirin next to the register.

  He returned holding a bottle with a big “sorry you feel like shit grin on his face.” "Use the aspirin, and I'll put some Anbesol in your bag as well, it will help some until you can get to the dentist."

  He looked at me empathetically. "It hurts pretty bad, huh?"

  "Are you going to slap me again?"

  He chuckled. "No. But I’m thinkin' that sucker is going to scream like a virgin later on." He flattened his huge lips. "Have you ever taken painkillers?"

  My eyes flipped up to his. Oh God, yes, I pleaded. "Once or twice."

  "And you did okay with them?"

  "Oh, yeah, I did fine."

  "Okay. Wait right here." He made his way back behind the pharmacy counter and searched one of the shelves.

  He returned with a mischievous grin. "I'm giving you a few of these. You’re going to love them. Go home and take one, then go straight to bed. These will knock you out. Tomorrow, if you don't get your car back and you don't have to go anywhere, you can take the second one, and the final one on Sunday." He grinned while he warned me with his index finger. "Don't tell Franklin. It will be our little secret."

  A warm feeling ran through me. I have no idea what came out of my mouth, but it was meant to be a heartfelt thank you.

  53

  On the walk up Windy Hill, my face felt like a kickball, big, red, and fat. My jaw was loose and bouncy like there was a layer of water underneath the skin. The more I walked, the stronger the pain got. Self told me if he had a vehicle he would drive me home. Apparently, he lived in one of the houses close to me.

  I wanted to be home so bad, but every step up the hill was like another rock to the face. This was the type of day where you needed a car, or maybe someone to go home to who would make you an ice-pack while you laid on their lap and complained. If I was getting weepy, then it was worse than I thought. I get weepy when I'm sick, but I wasn't sick. I’d been stoned for being a sinner by a Cro-Magnon Pharisee.

  After the first two people glared at me on Windy Hill Lane, I stopped making eye contact with passersby. At that moment, I hated them as much as they hated me.

  At the house, I went straight up to the bathroom and turned on the shower, then I took the bottle out of the bag Self gave me and shook out two pills and held them. "Up yours, Randy Bankward." I spat. "That goes for the whole back-ass town."

  I dipped my wrist for the third pill to fall out. "Fuck me, too."

  The room filled with steam, so I got naked and got in. I closed the curtain and plopped down in the shower, the water flowing over me, burning hot. I leaned back against the cold porcelain edge and screamed, jolting me and sending pain to my cheek. I relaxed once my body warmed the surface.

  I had no idea how long I sat in the tub. I tried to open my eyes, but they felt like they were glued shut. It took three tries, but, finally, they opened. I stared into the dark, sideways world of the hallway.

  This is the backwoods mister. It's so backwoods its sideways.

  I walked forward but realized I wasn't moving. I looked down. My feet were walking, but they weren't touching the ground.

  I can fly.

  I tried to soar to the end of the hall, toward the bathroom, but nothing happened.

  I can float at least. Who wants a stupid superpower like floating? I thought.

  I tried to reach the floor with my toes with a significant lack of success. Then I decided to push off the wall my face was up against. It took me a second, but I finally realized I wasn't floating, I was on the hall floor.

  I pushed myself up, and the vertigo was so severe I gripped the sides of my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

  I was in front of the Tomb, naked and soaking wet. I was cold and starving.

  Then I heard a voice. "I will come for your ass, and you better hope I'm alone."

  A fearful frown bent my face. "Mr. Bankward?" I whispered.

  "Do you understand what I'm saying?" the voice asked.

  "Mr. Bankward, where are you?" I called out.

  He cried with fake, pitiful, childlike agony, "I'm in the closet. Let me out."

  I gasped. "The devil painting." I covered my mouth to keep from talking.

  I lay there quietly and listened to the devil until my stomach's voice grew louder than his. Being hungry was enough of a reason for me to creep past the closet that held whispering devil painting. My courage rose, and I pointed an authoritative finger at the door. "You stay in there, Devil. You stay in that closet. Ha."

  I was descending the stairs to the living room when they transformed into a flat, slippery rock. I slid with a whistle. I was on a mission. There was one thing that a man would do anything for. Unfortunately, I was downstairs, and I forgot what that was.

  I rose and fell when a wave went through the room. I leaned against the stairwell like a drowning person would hold an ocean buoy. My face drifted toward the kitchen.

  “The kitchen,” I exclaimed. “That’s right.” I was hungry. I knew there was a reason.

  I couldn’t walk anymore, so I rolled myself along the wall toward my destination. I abruptly stopped. My stomach didn’t like rolling. I was dancing with the room and the floor was stepping on my body. “Oh, boy, stop that." I squeezed my eyes together and took a deep breath. "Don't throw up. Do not throw up."

  I was twirling around the room, despite walking in a straight line. Or not so straight because walking into the kitchen, I found myself face-planted into the living room wall. "Why am I up? I need to go to bed before I hurt myself."

  The kitchen answered in a roaring voice that seemed to come from God himself, "You want some food. You'll have to eat cereal again."

  "I happen to like cereal, thank you very much," I answered matter-of-factly.

  The voice was silent, and then in a softer tone replied, "Well, in that case, I'll get your bowl ready."

  "Ah, thank you. You know, I'm not feeling so well, and I could use a friend."

  "Matt, I know what it's like."

  "I know you do and that is why I'm so thankful."

  I smiled. Such a nice kitchen.

  The living room carried me and dropped me off at the dining room, and there it was. My favorite bowl from my Rose-Mary Grand waited for me on top of the table. The off-brand cornflakes were already poured in the bowl with a spoon. The spoon was so shiny I shrieked in horror.

  "I'm just as much afraid of you as you are of me, heifer," the spoon said.

  I immediately picked it up and felt a few stray cereal flakes kissing my feet. I made peace with it and turned back to the spoon. "I thought you were too shiny, but now I completely understand."

  I’m not sure how I got there, but I was in the dining room munching on dry cereal with my new best friend, Shiny Spoon. Spoon was talking a mile a minute about everything. He or she was giving me the scoop about everyone, which was funny because, while it was in my mouth, I couldn't understand what it was saying. I was being polite and listening, although I never cared much for gossip.

  "Speaking of that, I'm surprised this crunching isn't hurting my tooth."

  "I know, I know, it's good stuff."

  The cold from the dining room window behind me was nice since the rest of me was so warm. Spoon was talking when my attention drifted to a warming sensation on my back. The living room shutters were open. It was nice to have something to look at even though it was dark outside. Something to distract me while I ate my snack and talked to Spoon. My head plopped to the left. I was dumbfounded because the shutters were open in the dining room, too. When had I opened the shutters?

  I held my index finger up to my mouth. "Shhh," I told Spoon.

  I was munching the cereal when a figure walked out from behind me. Spoon kept talking, but its volume rose as it spoke. My eyes followed the figure from my left shoulder as it moved around the corner of the table. It was human, but without detail, like a dark shadow. I tried to blink when it walked in front of me, but my blinks felt more like winks. "That's not right." My crunching slowed, but then I figured I was being rude.

  "Oh, hello," I said, but it sounded like "herro" in my ears, and I laughed and spit, a few rogue flakes jumped from my mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm so high. Forgive me."

  The figure moved into the kitchen. I shrugged it off, and I refocused on Spoon, who was complaining about the students. "Now, Spoon," I said, "You've to give the kids time to adjust. All that school stuff is hard."

  I took another big bite to cut off whatever it was going to say next, but the taste was perfection. It was corny crunchy followed by fresh, creamy goodness.

  "Hey, where'd this milk come from?" I looked to Refrigerator, but Refrigerator wasn't going to give me any clues. She had been quiet the whole time, like a good Christian woman who stuck to her morals. "Amen!" I held up my spoon in victory and shouted, "Thanks for the milk!"

  The smell of a farm animal hit me, or at least the scent I associated with a cow. Maybe it was just the sound of my snoring or the ripples of milk washing up the flat side of my cheeks.

  I raised my head.

  I was face down in a milky pool at my dining table. There were two-toned corn flakes dried on the horizon. My eyes strained to focus on the living room window, but regardless, there was early morning sun shining in through the shutters.

  I massaged my left cheek. The pain pulsed, but my skin was cold, clammy, and bloated from sleeping in the liquid puddle. "Great. I'm a ghost child." I said while I tried to hold my head steady with one hand and wipe the milk away with the other. I pushed the chair from the table and paused, making sure I wasn't going to puke. More milk and little tan shards lay on the floor between my feet. "What the hell were those pills?" I cocked my head to the side. "That shit was great."

  54

  Saturday, November 7, 1964

  Sunrise 7:03 am. Sunset 5:30 pm.

  * * *

  I got cleaned up and dressed in my pajama bottoms, a white undershirt, a flannel shirt over that, and my cozy socks. I relaxed because nothing mattered, because today was a gift, a reward. It was Saturday, and Saturdays are a joy to teachers everywhere. Saturdays are a blessing from the Lord God Almighty, giving teachers a break from children, alive or undead. Teachers, we love our jobs and we love our students, but those two days away are the only reason we don't double our neckties or scarves around a water pipe and jump.

  Sure, I could enjoy the sun for a full day, but I needed rest. Besides getting my car back and seeing a dentist, sleep was the only thing that could help me. I just wanted to open the shutters, relax on the sofa, and drink my coffee. Then, later on, revisit the kitchen for another bowl of the finest generic cereal Middwood money could buy, if I had any left. It would be heaven with no cares and no problems.

  I made a pot of coffee and I settled onto the sofa. The dark, rich, caffeine aroma in my cup made my mouth water. I closed my eyes in sweet anticipation. I raised the rim to my lips and braced for the hot goodness.

  Knock, Knock.

  "Crap," I growled and whipped my head back onto the sofa's cushions, spilling some of my coffee onto my lap in the process. "Dammit."

  I regained my composure but held a steady frown.

  A dwarf of a figure appeared in my window.

  "Shit," I hissed to myself.

  "Matt, open the door," Franklin barked.

  "Do I have to?" I whined.

  "It's important."

  Of course, it was important, important to him, but I'm sure I couldn't have cared less.

  I cracked open the door. "I'm not wearing any pants."

  Wrinkling his nose he

  * * *

  said, "Let's not play this game again."

  I sighed in defeat and stepped out of the way. I opened my eyes to shut the door. Franklin's Old Spice cologne over-powered the subtleness of my coffee.

  "Have a seat," he instructed.

  I waited on the sofa for what the elder of Middwood, Randy Bankward, had decided to do with me.

  “Do you want some good news first?”

  “They still make that?”

  Franklin huffed out a laugh, “Casteel said he will drop off your car first thing after sun-rise.”

  I tried to be excited, but my tongue touched my tooth and I groaned.

  "How's your tooth?"

  My tooth throbbed so bad it was like it wanted to answer for me. "I'll be fine once I get to a dentist."

  "I'm sure it hurts like hell. Bankward is furious at Gary, and since he shattered his door, he spent the night in jail."

  "Because of the door? What about what he did to me?"

  Frank held out a hand and started over. "Look, luckily Mr. Bankward is a sensible man."

  "Is he?" I crossed my arms.

  "Yes, that, and that Peter came forward about... the boy...the ghost."

  I couldn't help but roll my eyes.

  He searched my face, and he wasn't pleased by what he saw. "You making light of it isn't helping you."

  "Not helping me? What do you mean?"

  I wasn't sure if he was referring to my situation with Bankward or my lack of buy-in to Middwood's ghosts. To be honest, I didn't know what I believed at this point.

  "Matt, I will admit I am not a fan of you acting like this. What you did yesterday, that is not the Matt that I hired a week ago."

  I pointed to my face. "The Matt you hired last week wasn't getting stones thrown at his face by crazy ..." I trailed off because it wasn't true. Marbert had punched me in the face and the stomach.

  I was a lousy teacher and probably, under it all, a terrible person.

  I sank into the sofa. "I'll be honest with you. I'm trying, but this town is so... different."

  He expression softened. "I'm sure it hasn't been easy for you."

  "Easy? This town is anything but easy. I can't sleep. Kids keep playing nasty pranks on me... God, I hope they are real kids who are doing those things. Again"—I pointed—"rock to the face. Something is always happening."

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35