Ghosts of Black Bear Mountain, page 31
part #1 of Middwood Series
"Oh shit," I said, and I couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. Well damn, there goes my badass to dumbass.
As he got closer, I remembered how hard a simple back slap from him was. "Are you going to take me to jail?"
Slowing shaking his head, he walked toward the porch. "No."
I scratched my beard. "Are you going to beat me up?"
"No." His foot hit the first step.
By the time he got to the top of the stairs, I was reminded that Philip was a good foot taller than me. I bit my lip and stayed quiet.
He raised his chin. "It's a bit cold out to be shirtless."
I said nothing.
"Matt?" he asked raising his eyebrows.
"Um," I tried to think. "It's too warm inside."
"Maybe you're just sick."
"That's what they tell me." I laughed, but I was talking like a crazy person, like I was drunk. Like Magnolia.
"Are you? Sick?" He put his hand on my forehead. His fingers reached more than halfway around my head.
"Don't kill me."
"What?" He laughed. "If I killed you, I couldn't get my cereal."
"Oh. You really want some cereal?"
"Well, you did offer, and I am hungry."
"Oh." I began to move but jerked to a stop. I didn't know if he was toying with me or if he was being serious. I stepped to the door. "Um, sure. Come on in." My breath came in shallow gasps. I stopped. "On second thought, why don't you wait here and I'll bring it out to you?"
"No. Thanks. I don't like the cold. Let's go inside."
He followed me into the kitchen. While I poured him a bowl, he took off his hat. We ate our cereal standing up, him leaning against the refrigerator and me standing in front of the sink.
I felt exposed. "I'll be right back."
"Where are you going?"
"I left my shirt outside."
I moved toward the door, but he sidestepped, blocking my path. "I thought you were hot?"
"No, I'm good now."
"You wanted it off so leave it off."
I returned to my bowl and went back to eating. I forced down the remaining three spoonsful. It was like eating sandpaper.
He finished and held the bowl out to me. "That was great. Thanks."
I took it from him and went to put it in the sink. I didn't want to turn my back to him, but I didn't want to make him angry. I turned.
He rushed up behind me, grabbed me by my shoulders, spun me around to face him, and lifted me off the ground.
My eyes widened and I stared at my feet as they dangled. He had me in his vice-grip hold. Even if I was dumb enough to try and fight him, he had my arms immobilized. I wasn't about to start kicking him.
I didn't do anything.
"Look at me," he said calmly.
I did.
"You know I could hurt you if I wanted to, don't you?"
I stared into his eyes and my chin melted into a nod.
"Good. But, Matt, I don't want to do that. So will you do me a favor?"
I nodded.
"Will you do that for me, Matt? A favor? I don't mind coming over here again. I don't mind at all. I enjoy the company, but Bankward is a man you don't want to dick around with. And Franklin is trying to help you. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good."
He dropped me, and I stumbled back into the counter.
"Thanks for the cereal." He put on his hat and his heavy boots stomped through the living room, out the front door, and down the wooden steps.
When I heard his truck drive away, I ran to the door and locked it. I then crept to the shutters and closed them without exposing myself. I reached for my shirt, but it was gone. I looked all around the kitchen and in the living room, but it wasn't there. I peered out the shutters. It was laying on the front steps. I shrank away from the window. I didn’t dare go back outside.
The phone rang. I picked it up but said nothing. I hated Franklin Mullis at that moment. I'm not sure I ever really liked him in the first place.
"Matt, I'm sorry for having to do that."
"I'm sure." There was a biting restraint in my voice like a collared dog.
"Don't be sour. Be an adult about this. I'll get it sorted out as soon as possible."
I didn't say anything, but he didn't hang up. Finally, I said, "Do you think I killed Magnolia, Frank?" There was a clicking sound in my throat.
"I'll be honest with you, there is always something strange going on in Middwood. I don't know if you did it or not. If you did, I'll find out. If you didn't, I'll find out. So if you are innocent, you can relax. That I can promise you."
"How will you know the truth when you find it?"
"I have my ways, and I've never been wrong before."
"What about your daughter?"
He was quiet. "Try and get some rest."
I hung up and waited a few minutes to see if he would call back. He didn't. Even though he had sent the sheriff over to put me in my place, I knew I was the one being a dick.
I squeezed my burning eyes as I leaned against the refrigerator. I exhaled, and my throat gave another click. It only did that when I was exhausted.
I decided I'd had enough fun for the day, and I was ready to do something I didn't get to do much. I made my way upstairs. For once, I wanted the darkness.
69
I woke, when several knocks rapped on my front door. My temples ached while the rest of my head pounded. How long had I slept?
I covered my ears and laid back down.
The chipper pecks continued on my door.
"What?" I croaked.
More damn knocking.
"Go away, ghost children," I moaned to myself. My mouth as bitter tasting as the venom in my words.
I yawned through the cotton dryness on my tongue, as I smacked my lips, pouted, and crawled toward the noise.
I made my way to the door and opened it. A small brown package floated in front of my face. I was instantly annoyed.
"Did someone at this address order a Sears package?" a voice asked in a bad New Jersey accent as from some old detective movie I would have hated.
The box was lowered to reveal what was behind it: the smiling face of Peter.
"Hey," I said blankly. "What are you doing here?" I asked leaning against the door. "I'm sleeping."
"I'm delivering your order, sir," Peter informed as he danced the box about.
I covered my eyes with my palms. "Don't move so much so quickly, I might throw up."
"Oh, brother. Are you drunk?" Peter asked enjoying himself way too much.
"No," I said the word in two syllables.
"Someone is being a grouch."
"Sorry. I'll be back to myself tomorrow."
"Sign the paper, and then you can have it. I don't know how you guys do it down in Atlanta, but this here is the back—"
I lowered my hands. "Please don't say that."
He held out a worn, brown mini-clipboard.
"Oh, you were being serious? You work for Sears?"
"I make a few deliveries in the afternoon."
"I thought you were just being... Peter."
"Since Magnolia died there is no school, so here I am."
I signed the slip and took the box. He looked at me with his stupid smile. He was waiting for something. I stared at him blankly.
"You're welcome," he said.
"Oh, okay, good. I thought you were waiting for a tip," I said, then I chuckled. I began to shut the door, but he didn't move.
My laughter subsided. I shifted my weight and let the box rest on my hip. "Okay. I got it. Thank you."
"What's in the box?" he asked with youthful curiosity.
"Peter, I'm really beat."
"Mail-order bride?"
I sighed. "Bedsheets."
"Why do you need bedsheets if you never sleep?"
"Peter—"
He stepped into the doorway. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"It's getting late."
"Well, I want to hear what happened."
My shoulders drooped lower. "Have a good night, Mr. Janowski."
"I like the way that sounds. Will you start calling me that?"
"Goodbye," I said, pushing him out of the threshold.
"Okay, have a good night," he said and spun to go.
I turned my head and started to shut the door, but before it closed Peter rushed passed me and bounced up the stairs.
"Peter, not now. Please." I shouted after him.
He went into the bathroom, then came back out. He leaned against the banister, pointing his thumb back like a cocky hitchhiker. "Why did you take the painting down?"
I frowned. "I thought it was silly."
"You took the painting down because it scared you, didn't you? Did you burn it?"
"No, I put it in the hall closet."
"Takes balls. Big, hairy balls," he said with prideful, dramatic nods.
"Well, that's lovely," I said with unease. "Have a good night." I moved back toward the opened door and held it for him.
He looked down at me. I thought he was going to smile or say goodbye, but he didn't.
"It's almost one of the town rules."
"But it's not," I said.
"But it almost is, and you’re breaking it. God knows you’re already in deep shit," he assured me.
"I'll put it back."
"You don't have to. I'm your friend, so I'm not going to tell on you. I just haven't seen anyone without a painting in the john."
"Peter, go home before you get us both in more trouble."
"I have to use the bathroom."
"You were just in there."
"But I got distracted by the lack of the painting."
"Why didn't you just say you needed to use the bathroom when you got here?"
“I n-e-e-d t-o p-i-s-s.”
“I’ll give you a quarter if you go pee on Mrs. Judy’s flowers.”
“Come on!”
"Do you really have to go that bad?"
He didn't answer.
"God." I sighed and pointed to the bathroom.
He hopped in and shut the door.
I guessed he did have to go. Moments later he flushed and reappeared.
"Good, now go home."
"I can't go home," he said with a serious face.
"Why not?"
He did a little twirl. "It's too dark. Joshua Johnson will get me," he joked, then disappeared down the hall. "Let's see. What other kinda crazy stuff have you been doing?"
"Do not go down there. Stay out of my room—Peter!"
"No, no, Mr. Janowski, please," he corrected from out of sight.
"Please, come back downstairs!" I muttered, "God, I hate children."
From upstairs exploring, he called, "Oh, a locked door. What's in here?"
"I have no idea."
"What do you mean? It's a locked door in the house you are staying in."
"Franklin said it was to remain locked—"
"Want me to pick it? You know I can."
"No. Stop." I shook my head. "Where does a kid in Middwood learn to pick a lock anyway."
"Boy's Life."
My face went blank.
"Come on. Don't you want to know what's in there?"
With a firm tone, "I said no!"
"God, you are uptight." He moved into the Tomb, and I could hear his voice and footsteps through the floor. "You know, Christian, it's almost a criminal act."
"I know, and that's exactly why I want you to leave."
"You wear funny underwear."
"Peter!" I demanded.
"I'm just kidding. There isn't any up here."
I held my temples and walked through the kitchen and sat at the dining room table. If I ignored him maybe he would finally come downstairs. I took the box he'd brought. The photograph displayed the perfect bed with correct sized, perfect, turned-down sheets topped with two big, fluffy pillows. It read, "You'll sleep like a dream." I sighed longingly.
"I wish Joshua Johnson would come. I'd give you to him," I said to myself with a smirk.
Peter shouted, "Hey! Why did you lock the door?"
I yelled up to him, "I'm downstairs, you bozo!”
Snap.
A branch of a bush broke outside the window.I shot to my feet, spinning to window behind me. My spine still tingling and radiated with heat.Run, run, run, the voice in my head clear and sharp.
I grunted at myself as I rubbed the nap of my neck. “This town has made me one jumpy cat."
Peter called again, but his voice sounded farther away. "Okay, okay. Open the door.”
“Just a second, I’ll- “
The bushes rustled, and I slowly lowered my arm.
My heart rate quickened, as I examined the closed shutters. There was nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. The shutters were closed, but eyes touched me like unwanted hands. I glanced through the dining room door to the window in the living area. It was shut.
I held my eyes on the window in front of me.
My chest expanded. I must have been holding my breath. I was being silly, I told myself. Even though I slept all day, I was exhausted, hearing things.
“Matt?” Peter called.
My words failed me. My throat was like lead.
I hesitated, but I slowly reached out of my fingers towards the little gold hook that held the shutters closed.
“Stop being a child,” I told myself.
With both hands, I grasped the two little knobs and spread open the shutters.
I froze face to face with Joshua Johnson.
The eldest ghost child peered at me his eyes somewhere hidden under his hooded sweatshirt with only a thin sheet of glass between us.
The boy stood still.
I clenched my fists to my sides. “Leave me alone. I don’t want to see you. Do you hear me?”
He stepped closer to the glass.
“No. I won’t turn my back on the window.”
Joshua Johnson lifted his arm and revealed an ax in his right hand. I regarded it, but then glared back into the darkened hood.
“Go away,” I shouted
Joshua raised the steel point of the ax and placed it against the window. He raked it across the glass. The screech was loud enough to drown out the double bass of my heart.
I reached out and flung the shutters closed.
"Go away! Do you hear me? Go away!”
“What’s going on down there?” Peter shouted, beating on the door.
I fixated my widened eyes on the window as I retreated toward the kitchen. “I’m not turning around. I’m not turning around.”
The glass shattered and the shutters burst open. My arms covered my face, as shards of glass and splintered wood sprayed across the room.
70
Joshua Johnson stepped through the window.
He was here to kill me, but . . . Oh no, Peter.
As I kept my eyes locked on the darkness of the hooded face in front of me, I tried calling out to Peter to stay upstairs, but my voice was hardened lead.
Joshua took the blade from the window, drew it back, and shattered the glass with one swing. My arms covered my face, as shards of glass and splintered wood sprayed across the room. When I looked up, his ax was coming straight for my head.
I ducked and dove to the right.
Joshua's blade cut into the frame of the dining room door jamb.
His blade was embedded so deep he had to use both hands to retrieve it. With that much force, he would have easily taken my head off.
I scurried away under the dining room table as he recovered his weapon and looked down at me on the floor. He raised the weapon above his head.
I dashed for new cover, as the ax blade ate through the table top protruding only an inch from my scalp.
Peter pulled and banged on the door. "What's going on down there?"
I wasn't going to make it, but I hoped Peter stayed in the Tomb.
Joshua kicked the table, and it flipped over, uncovering me. I scrambled through the doorway to the living room, but he grabbed me by the back of my shirt. He threw me head first across the room into the staircase wall. My face cracked the plaster.
He immediately grabbed me again by my arm and my hair, lifted me up, and flipped me down into the table behind the sofa. The table and I crashed to the floor.
I was dazed and had lost my glasses in the attack, but, from the floor, I could see part of his face. I could make out a huge devilish smile.
I couldn't look away.
He raised his ax.
"What the fuck?" Peter shouted somewhere toward the top of the stairs.
"Stay back," I struggled to say.
Peter stuttered a chant, fumbling over his foreign words.
Joshua turned his attention to Peter. I pushed myself to my feet and jumped onto the stair's banister. Peter, still trying his chant, cursed at himself, then grabbed my arm and helped pull me over. My foot struck something as I hurdled over the railing.
I couldn't see what was happening behind me, but somehow we managed to get up the stairs.
"Come on!"
We made it down the hall to the Tomb, but the door was locked.
I shoved my weight against the bloodwood, but it didn't budge.
"Hurry, Christian!"
I panicked as I slammed myself against the door. "It's locked."
Peter pushed. "I swear I didn't lock it."
We were trapped. The door was too thick and heavy to kick in. The thing that was supposed to keep us safe was keeping us out.
"Matt, he's coming!"
I spun, and Joshua Johnson came into view as he reached the top of the stairs. He moved in a graceful rocking motion with steady, calm steps. Joshua swung his arm out, and the metal point of his ax penetrated the wall's plaster. He held the handle firmly, and the blade dug an unsteady trench down the length of the hall.
As the chipping paint flaked and fell, I remembered swinging punches at Isaac as he held me under the tub's faucet. It was pointless to try and fight a ghost.
Peter held his leather chord in his hands, saying a silent prayer.
Pointless or not, I would do my best to protect Peter, or at least give him a chance to escape.
I stepped forward, putting myself between Peter and Joshua. I gritted my teeth. "Come on you bastard."
Joshua pulled back his ax and swung.
I raised my arm to take the blow, but I was pulled into a room.
