Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House

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  Renaissance E Books

  www.renebooks.com

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  EVIL HEIGHTS

  BOOK II

  MONSTER IN THE HOUSE

  By

  MICHAEL SWANSON

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  ISBN 1-58873-814-0

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2005 Michael Swanson

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information:

  Publisher@renebooks.com

  PageTurner Editions/Futures-Past Horror

  FIRST BOOK EDITION

  THE EVIL HEIGHTS QUARTET

  BOOK I. THE MIDNIGHT FLIER

  BOOK II. MONSTER IN THE HOUSE

  BOOK III. LOST AND FOUND

  BOOK IV. IN THE PIT

  CHAPTER ONE: PAY DAY

  Lee let the wheelbarrow down with a thud that he could feel through the ground and all the way up through the soles of his tennis shoes.

  Damn it was hot!

  He was drenched head to toe in his own sweat. His striped t-shirt stuck to his ribs and back like a horrid second skin, and his jeans were soaked. Lifting up his cap, Lee wiped his forehead, but it didn't really do any good.

  He looked up towards the house at the long row of new soil, smooth and black, which stretched all the way along the long porch trellis and south wall of the stately brick house. Lee'd finished all that section a couple of days ago.

  The blazing glare of the sun washed off of the crosshatching of the white woodwork of the trellis with a blistering surreal brightness. But the matted tendrils of the creeper roses clinging to the woodwork looked different today. Clinging to the trellis, the green, almond-shaped leaves seemed to have more color than yesterday, and somehow, even appeared more abundant.

  Since he'd started this morning, as he'd worked, Lee had been thinking about a poem they had studied in school last winter. Like a song that repeats itself, the words had just popped into his mind and stayed with him. It was the one line: “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noon day sun,” which he had running over and over in his head. In February, the poem by Noel Coward had seemed kind of crazy, yet now he found himself starting to understand what the lines truly described. He thought about it a little more and realized that since he wasn't even English, that left only one other possibility as to where he fit in amongst all things under this noon day sun.

  At least he wasn't alone.

  Away off, down by the river he could hear the echoes of the big riding lawnmower's persistent drone bouncing off the high bluff walls punctuated by an occasional bang as the blades ran over a root or a rock. Blondie, a black man with massive hands and blotchy yellow-white hair had arrived this morning with his pick up truck and trailer. He ran a lawn service and had a deal with Mrs. Ballard. Lee didn't know too much about him, but he cut Mrs. Barton's grass, too, and from her he knew that Blondie was considered “Uppity” amongst most of the colored people, as he had a strangle hold on just about all of the affluent yard work customers anywhere around Lenoir.

  A couple of times that morning, Blondie had glared down from the seat of his John Deere mower at Lee as he struggled with the wheelbarrow. The man had filmy, yellowed eyes set back flatly in the folds of his mottled face. Lee assumed this look was meant to intimidate, as Blondie would probably be assuming Lee was after the Ballard account. But, in Blondie's favor, after watching the boy struggle with the wheelbarrow all the way up from the river, on their most recent close passing, the old black man had given him a wink and a slight tip of his wide straw hat.

  Lee jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled about to find Brenda standing right behind him with one of her enormous glasses of ice water. Over the noise of the mower he hadn't heard her walk up.

  It was her turn to be startled, and she almost lost the glass.

  Lee's hand shot out, and he rescued it just before she dropped it.

  "Oh Lee! You startled me jumping around like that,” Brenda said, taking a half step back and clasping her free hand to her breast. Letting him take the glass, she let brought her hand up over her eyes to shield her face from the morning glare. “I thought you'd heard me come up."

  "The mower,” he said nodding his head in that general direction. “Thanks, for the water.” He was holding the glass in both hands and rubbed it on one cheek and then the other. “I was about to melt."

  Taking a first, long drink, Lee gulped deeply, looking at Brenda over the edge of the glass. Two more gulps and he had to come up for air.

  "You'll be finishing up soon, I expect.” Brenda offered brightly.

  Lee coughed.

  "Slow down,” she admonished, shaking her head, every bit like a reproachful mother. “There's plenty more where that came from."

  "Thanks,” he managed to choke out.

  Two more deep swallows left only the clump of ice cubes standing alone on the bottom.

  "I can't say as I blame you.” Brenda fanned herself with the hand that wasn't shielding her eyes. “Feels like it's a thousand degrees out here under this sun."

  Like a little figurine on a cuckoo clock emerging from a doorway at a specific hour, Mrs. Ballard wafted out of the porch entry, floating in her peculiar manner down the walkway towards the little house. Again today, she wore a high-collared, ankle-length dress with a lace bodice, and the thing buttoned up securely all the way to her chin.

  Noticing that Lee's eyes had fallen upon something behind her back, Brenda turned to catch sight of Mrs. Ballard just as she stopped before the door to the little house. She signaled, beckoning at the housekeeper with a wafting gesture.

  "Hang on, Lee. The Missus wants me.” Brenda hitched up the skirt and white apron of her maid's uniform and clopped away in her blocky, black shoes.

  Lee took off his cap and rubbed his forehead with the sweaty glass, then slid it down over one cheek and then the other. Finally, he tipped out the last few drops letting it run down the back of his neck.

  Mrs. Ballard was talking to Brenda who had her back to him. The old woman took something out of her dress and gave it to the housekeeper, then turned in abrupt dismissal and produced a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

  Brenda came back holding a brown envelope in her hands.

  "This, young man, is for your fine efforts, out here."

  Lee handed her back the glass and held out his hand for the envelope.

  Brenda accepted the glass but pulled the envelope back.

  "Sorry, Mrs. Ballard said not until you finish up.” She moved slightly forward and lowered her voice as if it was really necessary. “Is she still looking?"

  Lee peered over her shoulder and spotted Mrs. Ballard. She was watching from the window of the little house.

  Lee nodded.

  Brenda put the envelope in the pocket of her apron. “Don't worry it'll be here when you get done.” She turned to go, then stopped and rattled the cubes in the glass. “You'll be wanting more water, I expect?"

  "Yes ma'am.” Lee's eager nod made Brenda laugh.

  "I'll leave a glass in the shade of the porch. You can come get it whenever you like.” She tried to look reproachful. “You know, I've g
ot other things to do than being a water girl."

  Lee watched her for a moment as she walked back towards the house, swinging the glass low in her hand as she went. She was one of those people who could make anyone feel like she was their best friend. Almost everything about Brenda reminded Lee of Jeannie, except for the color of the two women's skin. Jeannie was an immense black woman who worked at Dugan's Drugs. The pharmacy was in the front. But tucked back in the rear of the store, past the cologne and the comic books, the patent medicines and panty hose was the lunch counter and soda fountain. It was a bright, clean place with rotating, red vinyl and chrome stools in the front along the counter and a row of black and tan, vinyl upholstered booths in the back.

  If you needed a dose of codeine cough medicine or a custom concoction to cure an itch Mr. Dugan was the man to see. Bald, bespectacled, and always wearing a white coat, he could be seen appearing high up, as the pharmacy area had a raised floor. But if you were hungry, Jeannie was the one who had the prescription to cure all your ills. Her hamburgers, French fries, and onion rings were the best, absolutely the best. Lee's mouth watered just thinking about the smell that hit you when you walked in the door. Jeannie had a knack for getting the edges of the buns toasted to crispy perfection, and the blend of mayonnaise and ketchup, pickle, lettuce and tomato was always just right. Somehow she always remembered who you were and how you liked it; you never had to tell her twice. She would stand at the grill, with her back to the customers, yakking away, flipping burgers, and occasionally reaching over to rattle the deep fat fryer, never still for a second. And when she turned around and handed you that wicker basket lined with waxy paper and gave you a dose of those big white teeth of hers, you knew you'd come to the right place. “Service with a Smile” the sign read above the long mirror which ran the length of the wall behind the Hamilton blenders and soda taps. Brenda and Jeannie, though of different races, were twins, as they both lived by that motto. It wasn't a matter of money; neither made much, Lee was pretty sure. But they both were genuine, happy people through and through, and they genuinely liked other people, and to them, making others smile was what it was really all about.

  When he turned back, the wheelbarrow was where he had left it, still waiting for him with its heavy load of dirt. Since finishing up on the porch trellis he had been working out amongst the scattered stands of roses out in the garden. The whole layout was a jumbled mess; there was no rhyme or reason to anything. For Lee, the most frustrating part of this portion of the job was that it seemed he was coming across groups of bushes he'd overlooked. More than once, he'd thought he had finished up only to turn and find another stand of decrepit, dried up rose bushes where none had seemed to be before. Moving about with his wheelbarrow and shovel, he just wandered; sometimes he wasn't even sure of where he was. Often, he set off, thinking he was heading in a new direction, only to end up, momentarily, back where he'd started. A few times he'd even felt like he was lost; all the huge oleanders, azaleas, rose beds, and the meandering pathways they created looked the same.

  But, the garden wasn't all just plants gone to seed, there were a few surprises hidden about. In various locations decorations had been installed. There were birdbaths, a Roman-styled sundial, and even a couple of dried up fountains, filled with leaves and debris. Yesterday he'd come across this one particular fountain, done out of a pinkish stone, a real monstrosity. It was at least eight or ten feet tall, and easily ten feet around at the base. It was located in a secluded hollow, which was different, as most of the garden barely provided enough room between the stands of plants to allow Blondie's riding mower the space it would need to move through. The imposing fountain had five tiers rising above a tiled, diamond-shaped reflecting pool. He imagined the pool wasn't very deep, but couldn't tell exactly, as the bottom was chocked full with dried grass clippings, small branches and leaves. Each of the ascending bowls looked like a mutant tulip flower, flattened and mounted one above the other, large to small. At the very top was poised a winged figure fashioned out of a tarnished metal, probably copper or bronze. The figurine carried a bow and arrow, and Lee immediately guessed he was supposed to be Cupid.

  Facing the fountain to either side was a pair of rough-hewn stone benches, neither of which looked like it would be very comfortable at all. Lee figured that hidden back in here amongst these huge, overgrown oleander bushes, this alcove had once been meant as a secluded destination for lovers. But the ugly and imposing fountain amid the ominous and overpowering oleanders left Lee with a distinctly eerie feeling, reminding him more of a graveyard than a garden. Of course, he was well aware that that could be a good thing; as if your girl was scared she'd want to stick close. He knew from hearing older guys talk that was one of the main reasons the high school guys liked to take their girlfriends to the train yard.

  Nearby, in back of one of the benches, he'd found this heavy looking iron valve sticking up out of the grass, and curiosity getting the better of him, he had decided to give it a try. Twisting the round handle with both hands, he'd been surprised to find that it moved easily, though it had squeaked rustily the first half a turn. No sooner had he given it a full twist than he'd heard a gurgling and bubbling sound along with a hiss of escaping air issuing from the top of the fountain. Twisting it fully open, in a few moments, a single burst of dirty, brown water spurted out of the top. A few moments later, the first burst was followed by another, and then another. Then a gusher broke free, spewing leaves and debris out of the top tulip. This release formed into arcing fingers of water, which spurted up and out of the center, breaking apart into a spread of individual streams radiating out like a canopy under Cupid's feet. The water fell over the scalloped lip of the first tulip and was caught by the bowl of the larger, second tulip. Lee was sure once it was full the water would overflow down from one flower into the other and would finally cascade down to fill the reflecting pool below.

  Amazingly, just after the fountain had ceased alternately spurting and belching air and the flow had evened out, Cupid had begun to rotate, circling about clockwise with his ridiculously little wings spread and pointing his bow and arrow up at the clouds. One of the jets in the center of the top piece must have been partially clogged or misaligned as its water didn't arc out, but shot straight up the central metal support rod, which held the smirking cherub aloft. The stream deflected off the little guy's rounded lower abdomen and squirted out. The thin sprinkle of water passed around in a circle following Cupid's rotation, hitting each of the benches as it passed. To Lee, it had appeared as if the god of love was urinating a stream of rusty, brown water.

  This was great! If a couple were sitting on either bench they'd find themselves peed upon. Lee couldn't help but grin mischievously, realizing what the wetting would do to dampen a couple's romantic mood.

  Unfortunately, after a minute or so of watching cupid rotate, a harsh groaning and a terrible vibrating sound issued from somewhere within the fountain. It was so loud and so painful sounding, Lee had hurriedly turned off the valve, and backed away, deciding it might be best to just leave the thing alone for now.

  The birdbaths he'd run across were in just as bad condition as was the fountain. Since, obviously, no one came around to fill them, they were dependant on rainwater. There hadn't been much rain recently, and those he ran across were all bone dry.

  In one of the birdbaths, a black, granite bowl mounted on an intricately Spanish-styled wrought iron framework, was the desiccated body of a large, dead, black bird, possibly a carrion crow. The beak was the size of a Brazil nut and shiny black. The eyes were gone, just hollows in the skull. The creature was lying in the flaky residue of what had once been the water. For some reason, when Lee saw the decayed corpse, the word poison inexplicably flashed through his mind. “Maybe some oleander leaves had fallen in the water,” he'd thought. Everyone knew oleanders were terribly poisonous, and there sure were a lot of oleanders about.

  The sundial he'd found was located just at a point where the garden had starte
d to slope down towards the river. It was actually a beautiful piece, made of a red and white streaked sandstone, with metallic gold Roman numerals inset along the rim, and a triangular chromed wedge standing in the center. Lee had studied about sundials and Roman numerals and was eager to see if he could tell what time it was using the sun.

  The timepiece was situated in the center of a stand of draping weeping willows and wisteria, hanging down like enshrouding curtains. After brushing off the fallen leaves, he'd tried to catch the angle of a shadow, which would enable him to read the time; but there just wasn't any shadow. No matter what the position of the sun in the sky, the direct light would never reach through the willows. The clock stood forever out of the direct light of the sun, eternally oblivious to the time of day.

  Lee had known right off what this was an example of. It had been a vocabulary word last semester. Irony, pure and simple, that's what the shadowy sundial was.

  Amongst the rambling pathways weaving between the overgrown bushes, and stands of ornamental fruit trees gone wild, he'd also come across the statues of the two children Mrs. Ballard had mentioned. The life-sized figures were well hidden, ensconced where the maze was the thickest. Lee judged they were close to the location of the tulip fountain, which might possibly have been the very center of the garden.

  The statues were of a barefoot peasant boy dressed in shorts with suspenders and a girl around Patty's age dressed the same as her companion, but with long tresses flowing down her back. Both figures were starkly white, made from the same lightly veined marble as the girl in the nightdress, and like her, streaked with gray bird droppings crusted about the head and shoulders and blotched with a few motley patches of green, garden mold, mostly on the legs. The boy was leading the way, striding forward boldly with a walking stick in his left hand, while the girl traipsed along behind, swinging an empty, woven basket in her right hand. Almost immediately, Lee had been reminded of the story of Hansel and Gretel, the two lost children whose hunger for sweets had almost gotten them eaten up by a wicked witch.