Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House Page 14

  "Tsk, Tsk, Tsk,” she said, shaking her head. “All these houses, such a waste."

  "Not totally,” Lee came back. “Ronnie, you remember I told you about him ... my best friend, anyway, last summer we built a great big tree house down by the river with some of the wood and stuff we scavenged. We even got a roof on the place and everything."

  They'd begun walking again, and Phoebe picked up the pace, her pigtails bobbing. “I had a tree house when I was little,” she said absently. “My dad built it for me and my sisters. We used to play dolls in it; until it got so rotten my dad said we couldn't go up in it any more."

  With a sense of relief, they were leaving the houses and nearing the southern edge of Broaddus Marsh where it began to fall back from the road. In the distance they could see as well as hear the cars scooting by on the highway. Lee noticed Phoebe was being quiet, and figured she must be about as dry in the mouth as he was.

  The intersection of Seminole and the highway was no more than perhaps fifty or sixty yards away when Lee came to an abrupt halt. Phoebe had to skid her shoes in the gravel, almost slipping, to stay with him.

  "What is it?"

  Lee's face was drawn, and his eyes weren't fixed on anything. He looked sort of glazed over.

  "Lee?” Phoebe asked. “You okay?"

  He came back to himself and returned her gaze; then, as though he'd been suddenly touched from behind, he whirled about.

  "Look at that!” he cried.

  Phoebe turned to see behind them an enormous plume was rising up out of the road between where they were and the houses. Trash, leaves, and a towering cloud of dust was twirling up skyward.

  Phoebe gripped Lee by the shoulder with one hand and pointed with the other. “It's a tornado!"

  "No, no,” Lee said, sensing her fright. “It's just a dust devil."

  "Look at it!” Phoebe sputtered. “That's a tornado!"

  "No, don't worry, Phoebe,” he came back. “Tornados are huge. And too, people say they're supposed to make a sound like a freight train when one's coming up on you.” Reassuringly, he put his hand on her arm. “Trust me; it's just a dust devil. Just watch."

  The cloud of dust was swirling, weaving about like a drunk who couldn't make up his mind where to fall. It had sucked up every scrap of paper and half the dust on Seminole road. For a moment, the funnel looked as though it was going to reach up into the sky, and Lee found himself suddenly thinking maybe Phoebe was right.

  Lee wasn't even paying attention to himself when he thought out loud, “Biggest damn dust devil I ever saw."

  Phoebe moved in a little closer. “If it comes at us, what'll we do?"

  Lee came back to himself, realizing right off he'd said damn. “I've never heard of one hurting anyone,” he replied. “If it gets any closer though, we better run, though. I don't think I'd like to get caught up in that thing."

  With a wobbly twist, beginning at the base, and like a top running down, the towering funnel of swirling debris began to disperse from the bottom up, raining its load of dust and trash as broke apart and dissolved. In moments it was just gone.

  Lee looked Phoebe up and down. She was sweat streaked and red about the cheeks and neck. He'd seen that look before on boys at summer football camp, just before they passed out from the heat.

  Phoebe stood back and brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek. “What you lookin’ at?"

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine.” She actually had a trace of suspicion in her eyes. “What about you?"

  Lee shrugged. “I'm okay."

  "How'd you know that dust devil thing was there?” The trace of suspicion in her voice matched her eyes. “I didn't hear nothin'."

  Lee shrugged again. “I don't know. I just felt something. You know, like sometimes you just ... you know, you just feel stuff. Don't you?"

  Phoebe again shook her head, and her suspicious gaze never softened as she said, “A brainiac who feels things, huh?"

  Lee really didn't like the “brainiac” remark, and it must have showed.

  "I'm just funnin’ with you, hon',” Phoebe came back; her eyes changing to match her smile. “This is a hell of a wild place you got here,” she said, obviously changing the subject. “Dust devils, swamps, weird old ladies, haunted houses. And here I thought I was in for a dull summer of changing diapers and listening to babies squall."

  "We got it all,” Lee said. The way she smiled at him disarmed him totally; the sting of the “brainiac” remark forgotten. He hooked his thumbs into his shirt and stood up proudly to his fullest. “You better stick close, if you want to be safe."

  Phoebe's eyes brightened and she let loose of her grip on his shoulder only to give him another of her limp wrested shoves. “Yeah, I've heard that line from boys before,” she came back. “How close is close?"

  Lee suddenly felt a flush that surely would be obscured by the heat already in his cheeks. Her expression, her eyes, there was no mistaking what she was referring to.

  She must have sensed his discomfort in the same manner she had sensed his not liking the, brainiac. “How ‘bout that drink, Mr. Tour Guide?” she said turning back to face the highway. “How much further?"

  Lee was only happy to fall into a quick step, again leading the way. “Not far.” He pointed across the highway. “Just up there, across the highway."

  Here, in the light of day, as they approached the intersection, it didn't look like anything at all. It was just any old street corner, crushed paper cups, bits of wrappers, and scattered cigarette butts. But Lee could clearly remember what it had looked like that night, with the yellow glow of the streetlight forming a pool down on the road. How it had seemed so distant, as he'd busted his lungs to reach the safety of the light. He knew he'd never see this particular stop sign again and not think of that night.

  They had to wait, standing right by the stop sign, before finally getting a break in the traffic large enough to allow them to run across the road.

  CHAPTER SEVEN: PIG'S FEET

  Little's Icehouse was busy. A few farmers from out in valley were loitering out front. They had their stake bed trucks, packed with melons, tomatoes and corn, and were standing under the awning in their worn overalls drinking beer from brown bottles and smoking home rolled cigarettes. A family with six or seven kids was just piling back into a tired, green Chevy station wagon with a piece of cardboard taped over one of the side, back windows. Cars were coming and going with one pulling out and another almost immediately pulling in.

  Little had the big fan going in the back to help cool things down, and the sunbonnets and baseball caps hanging up along a string at the open garage doors at the front, were dangling and swaying, like bait, in the vigorous breeze.

  "What would you like?” Lee asked, moving along down the row to the trough with soft drinks.

  "I'll take an orange,” Phoebe said, dipping her hand in the icy water. “Do y'all have Nehi here?” She scooped up a palm full and splashed water along the back of her neck. “Ooooh, that feels sooo good,” she cooed.

  Lee reached in and easily fished her out a Nehi orange. It wasn't difficult to spot down in the icy slurry. The bright orange bottle stood out amongst the browns and blacks of the colas like one of the big Koi goldfish in the pond at Loo's Chinese restaurant downtown. Expertly, with a slap at his wrist, he popped open the top on the opener and handed the dripping bottle to Phoebe. Reaching back in, he grabbed a big RC for himself.

  They made their way to the counter; both taking little sips between rubbing the bottles on one cheek and then the other.

  "Hey, I remember you,” Little bellowed. “Mister Lee. Right?"

  "You got me.” Lee looked up as he fished into his pocket for some change.

  "Oh here,” Phoebe reached into her shorts. “How much is mine?"

  Lee stepped up, blocking her way to the counter. “Don't worry about it."

  Phoebe grinned curiously, “Well thanks, Lee. You know, you paying makes this sort of like a date, doesn
't it?"

  He grinned at Mr. Little and pointed up to the sign. “Hey, it's tomorrow ain't it?"

  Little slapped both hands down on the counter. “Aw, son, no, you should have been yesterday!” He leaned across. “You just missed it."

  "...Come back, tomorrow,” Lee said right in time with Mr. Little.

  While Little was braying, Lee hurriedly put two dimes and a nickel on the counter, looking at Mr. Little instead of at Phoebe, who was sipping her orange with one hand and flapping at her blouse with the other, attempting to catch some of the breeze. All she was catching was Mr. Little's roving eye.

  "We're going to take the bottles with us Mr. Little,” Lee said stepping back.

  Little slapped his hand down over the money and pulled it back along the smooth wood to the edge where it fell off into his other hand. Taking his eye off Phoebe for a moment, he caught Lee looking at the pink pig's feet floating around in the big glass jar. To Lee's horror there weren't nearly as many floating around in the brine, as there had been the other night.

  Little dropped the money into the register, slapped the drawer closed with his belly, and handed Lee back a penny. He then picked up the tongs and snapped them together a couple of times. “You sure I still can't interest you in one of these fine pickled pig's feet?"

  Lee was aghast, especially with Phoebe standing right here.

  "First one's free, ya’ know?” He clicked the tongs again.

  "I'll take one!” Phoebe blurted out. “I love ‘em. I mean if it's free? For real, mister?"

  Little treated her and anyone within a quarter mile to one of his louder and longer guffaws, after which he had to take a moment to spit again down behind the counter. It didn't seem to bother Phoebe a bit. She had her eyes fixed on the jar. Little had his eyes fixed on her.

  With his stubby fingers, Little unscrewed the lid, then pinched a piece of wax paper from a box and put it down on the counter. He placed the edge of the lid down on top of it so it wouldn't blow away in the breeze caused by the suck of the big fan. Leaning up so that his enormous bellybutton popped up into view over the counter, he reached in and clamped down on one of the fleshy, pink monstrosities. Once he had it, he took it out and held it out for them to see.

  "That's a good one, ain't it?"

  Lee couldn't believe what he was seeing. It had toenails. He'd dissected things that had looked better than that.

  Little put the nasty thing down on the square of paper, and with a roll and twist he had it wrapped it up.

  "Here ya’ go little lady.” He handed it to Phoebe, watching her blouse intently as she leaned past Lee to pick it up. “You enjoy now, ya hear."

  He looked back to Lee. “Last chance.” He picked up the lid and tongs. “Your girl friend sure seems to like ‘em."

  Phoebe had expertly peeled away some of the paper and was already gnawing.

  Lee shook his head, then said something stupid: “She's not my girlfriend."

  Phoebe looked at him sidelong, peering over the mound of rubbery, pink flesh she had stuck in her mouth. She had an awkward angle as she had to keep her head cocked to the side so the fluids wouldn't dribble down her chin.

  Little let an animated frown drag his face down. “Well that's too bad, ain't it?” He easily changed his expression back to a leer and reached out to run a finger along Phoebe's cheek. “And she's a cutie too."

  Strangely, Phoebe didn't seem to mind. She didn't even draw back. Maybe it was she was just too busy eating.

  A line of customers were standing in back of them, so Lee and Phoebe walked out, finding a place to stand outside by the big, green trashcan positioned by the door near the phone. Lee had to hold her Nehi for her while she tried to eat. Phoebe was having a pretty difficult time gnawing on the piece of pig foot and trying not making a dribbly mess down her chin and blouse. Finally she gave up and tossed the thing in the trash. She noticed Lee's look.

  "What?"

  "Nothin'."

  "Haven't you ever eaten pig's feet before?"

  Lee shook his head.

  Phoebe's little smile crept back, and she pushed him with her limp wrist, keeping her greasy hand away from his shirt. “Ya know. I bet there's a whole lot of things I've done that you haven't? I don't make straight A's but I know a thing or two. Pig's feet are good."

  "Champagne, too,” Lee agreed.

  She pointed at him. “Yeah, champagne, too. I'd bet they'd go good together. I'll have to remember that. At my wedding we'll have champagne and pig's feet!"

  Not waiting to catch his expression, her loss, she walked over to the trough and dipped her hand in the water then shook it towards the parking lot. Finally, she wiped it on the back of her shorts and taking her bottle back from Lee, she took a long drink of her orange Nehi. “Where to now?"

  "I was thinking about the old train yard?” Lee looked to the big Hamm's beer clock on the wall above the cooler in back. The bear's big hand was on two and the little one was at the three. Some lighted device in the back was creating an illusion as though a river was flowing in the background. The sparkly water looked like it was cascading down a series of little waterfalls.

  "Keen-o!” Phoebe said, picking up on Lee's last word. She took another drink. “I like trains."

  Lee noticed the way she pursed her lips just as she put her mouth to the bottle. Maybe it was the pig's foot, but her lips were decidedly pink. He thought about those lips and pink champagne and pig's feet, what a combination.

  "What?” she asked, catching him staring.

  Caught daydreaming, Lee couldn't think of a thing.

  "Do I have some pig's foot on my cheek?” she asked, rubbing with the back of one wrist.

  "Yeah, there,” Lee lied, “you got it."

  "Thanks, she said, stepping past him real close. “Come on, let's go."

  They made good time coming back on Seminole Road. While they were in between the ruined houses and the Ballard place Javier passed them by going the other way in his black Chevy. He waved but didn't stop.

  When the two came walking down the section of the street which ran between their houses, Lee was relieved to see that no one was outside. The Ford wasn't in the driveway, so he knew his dad and maybe Maggie and Patty weren't home. They'd probably gone to the grocery store to get things for tonight. Strangely though, as they came up to face the house, he noticed the front door was standing wide open.

  "Here Phoebe, give me your bottle. I'll put ‘em up on the porch."

  Bottles were worth two cents apiece. Lee never threw one away, but he'd probably collected thousands. He always wondered who it was that was so rich or stupid they could afford to throw them away.

  He took her bottle and ran up to the front door. Putting the bottles down by the porch railing he opened he screen and then stuck his head inside.

  It was dead silent, just the tick of the clock and the T.V.'s dead, green screen looking back at him.

  "Hey, any one home?” he called out. “Maggie! Dad!"

  Nothing. No one was home.

  "Now that's weird,” he thought as he closed and locked the door.

  He ran back to Phoebe who was still waiting in the street.

  "Hey, let's take a short cut,” he said. “You can climb a fence can't ya'?"

  "Probably better than you,” she replied.

  Lee led the way down the driveway and going through the gate to his backyard between the house and the garage. They were almost immediately greeted by Flapjack, who'd come running at the first noise.

  Phoebe jumped back.

  Lee's grin broke out. “Come on it's just my duck. You're not scared of a duck are you?"

  Phoebe stood behind Lee putting him between herself and the flapping, honking menace.

  "Does it bite?"

  Lee laughed and knelt down catching the duck around the neck in a big hug. “No, he's a good boy. Besides, he doesn't have any teeth."

  Of course, Flapjack was ecstatic and wasted no effort showing it.

  Phoebe was s
tanding with her back to the gate and had her hands folded up protectively crushed against her blouse.

  "Come on.” Lee reached up with a free hand. “You can pet him."

  He touched her hand and brought it reluctantly down.

  Flapjack held still and let Phoebe stroke the soft feathers at the top of his head. To show his appreciation he even waggled his feathery tail.

  "Oooh, he's so cute,” Phoebe cooed. “Look, he wags just like a little puppy dog."

  The ice broken, she knelt down and gave him a stroke clear down his neck and along his back.

  She looked across at Lee. “What's his name?"

  "Flapjack.” Lee got it in, just before the floodgates opened.

  "Where'd ya’ get him? Was he just an egg? Did you see him hatch? What does he eat? Do you know if he's a he or a she? He's big. How much does he weigh? He doesn't look very old. How old is he? Can he fly?” She looked Flapjack in the face and talked directly to him. “Can you fly boy?"

  Flapjack ended the questions by going for Phoebe's lips in what must have been a nibbling version of a duck's kiss. Phoebe, to her own credit, stood her ground and let Flapjack have at it. Finally, though, it got to be too much, and she had to stand up and spit, then wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.

  Lee had stood and was gaping, awe struck by the display.

  Flapjack, he didn't care. He wanted more and wasn't shy about letting everyone know it.

  "I think he likes you,” Lee said finally.

  Phoebe spit again, and then again.

  "I think he bit my tongue.” She stuck out the tip for Lee to see.

  Lee leaned in. “Looks okay to me."

  Phoebe felt the tip with her fingers and stuck it out all the way in an attempt to get a look at it herself. “I guess it just feels weird,” she finally decided.