Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House Read online

  Lee's face was scarlet; his eyes dark and glazed. Sitting up, he pulled his arm out from under Jeff, but not before he planted both knees down on Jeff's back just above the kidneys. For a moment he brought both arms out in wide arcs ready to bash Jeff's head in from both sides. But he stopped. And with the jeers of the riotous mob around him, egging him on, he hung there ready to let loose at the first movement.

  The other kids had gone absolutely nuts. Perched on cars, and crowding around some boys were screaming, “Kill him, Lee. Bust his head. Kick his ass.” The violence was contagious and sickly intoxicating. Some of the girls had turned away, yet others had pushed forward squeezing through to get a better look. Lisa Stroud had been picked up by her father right out of the front door and was already halfway home, missing entirely her golden opportunity to let Jeff impress her.

  Lee's shirt was out, and two buttons were missing. His sides were heaving, and a big bruise was forming on his left cheek from one of Jeff's successful swings. Slowly, he got up off Jeff's back, then shakily assumed his fight stance with his left first out and his right tucked back in closer to his chest, just as his dad had shown him. He fully expected Jeff to get up and come after him, and he was going to be ready.

  Jeff didn't move.

  The longer he laid there the more silent the crowd became.

  Finally someone said, “Is he dead?"

  Lee moved forward cautiously, still expecting a trick. As others came around closing in, Lee leaned down and grabbed Jeff by an arm, rolling him over.

  His face was a mess. There was no doubt his nose was broken, no doubt at all. He had blood coming out of one ear, both eyes were closed, and a tooth lay in a little pool of blood and spit on the grimy concrete.

  The circle closed in, everyone wanting a look.

  Jeff coughed and spit out some foamy blood. Only the right eye fluttered, then opened.

  Lee stepped back, resuming his stance.

  "You want more Jeff?” he croaked. His mouth had never been so dry. His throat burned so badly it was a wonder anything had come out at all.

  Jeff was coming to.

  "Come on. Get up,” Lee managed to say. “I'm not gonna hit you while you're down."

  Jeff raised an arm to shield his face and shook his head.

  It was over. The king was dead; long live the king.

  Now, here in Art's field the two faced each other again, one of the relatively few times in the months since that Saturday afternoon at the movies when these two boys had found themselves together and without adult supervision. But, as of today, there had not been a rematch. Every boy there was waiting to see what Jeff would do.

  "Shit,” Jeff slurred out slowly, stepping back and turning away like he had somewhere to go. “Its y'all the one's gonna get your butts whuped today."

  For a moment, the tension was broken. Half a dozen boys let out their breath.

  "Hey Lee. You'll let me have a ride, won't ya?” Ronnie closed in eagerly.

  A couple of other Crabbe Street boys had shown up, and Jeff ambled over to punch one in the shoulder and push the other.

  Lee moved back and offered the handle bar. “Yeah Ronnie."

  A line had started to form.

  "How ‘bout me?” Art was next, getting right up in Lee's face. “Huh, Lee? How ‘bout me? I get a turn, don't I?"

  "I don't know.” Lee watched as Ronnie pedaled off toward the street. “You don't ride so well, Art."

  "How ‘bout a Coke?” Art moved in closer and put a hand on Lee's shoulder. “I can get you a Coke."

  "Maybe,” said Lee. “But don't ask me again until after the game. We'll see how you play. How about that?"

  Art's face darkened. You could see the lines of the veins in his ears as the light of the sun lit them up from behind.

  Ronnie was heading up Griffith as fast as he could go.

  Burl Tanner, a squat kid much like Ronnie but with big lips and a double chin, pushed forward. He had his little brother Fred glued to his side, like always. Burl was the only one who actually liked to play catcher, and Fred was a passable right fielder if there wasn't anyone around older and bigger.

  Burl covered his eyes with his hand so as not to look into the sun. “Nice bike, Lee."

  "Yeah, nice bike,” Fred echoed.

  "Thanks."

  "Ronnie told us you moved into to your Grandma's place, right next door to the Ballard house?"

  "Yeah.” Lee was intent on watching the road as Ronnie had ridden out of sight.

  "You were workin’ over there?” Fred chimed in with his peculiarly high voice. “Alone?"

  "Yeah.” Lee didn't look down at Fred.

  "Did ya see anything?” Fred's freckled face was an open book, he believed in everything about Cherry Heights even more than he used to believe in Santa Claus.

  Lee reached in his pocket and pulled out the glass eye. He held it out in his open palm. It looked hard and dingy yellow out in the bright sunlight, like a smokers tooth.

  "What's that?” Burl got up closer. “Some kind of marble?"

  "It's an eye,” Art said so everyone could hear. “An eye from a dead guy. Lee dug it up from a grave back behind the Ballard house."

  All of the boys stopped what they were doing and crowded around.

  "Whoa!” Billy Reynolds, their regular third baseman putting his finger out gingerly. “Can I touch it?"

  Lee let him roll it around with his finger in Lee's outstretched palm.

  Jimmy Rolls leaned in. “Where'd ya really get it?"

  "Art told you. I dug it up."

  All the guys were listening now. Even Jeff was standing at the back of the group.

  "From a grave?” This was from Phil Coleman. “Really?” Phil was what the other kids called a “string bean.” He lived on the other side of Valentino from where Lee used to live and was the best pitcher around. Unfortunately, his parents were extremely devout Jehovah Witnesses’ and they rarely let Phil out to play with the other boys. “Godless heathens, every last one of ‘em,” Lee had once heard Phil's dad say.

  "There ain't no graveyard at the Ballard's,” Jimmy argued.

  "Yeah, that's what you say,” Robert Cox sneered. “My daddy says when the Yankees took over the place, they dug out big ol’ pits and filled ‘em with all the bodies of all the Rebs they killed. Bodies are as thick as worms back there. That's why there's so many ghosts."

  Phil Black, one of the Crabbe Street boys pushed forward. “You think it really came from a dead guy?"

  "I'd imagine so,” Lee appraised. He picked the eye up between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up so everyone could see the glossy sparkles inset into the green iris and the black hole in the center. “There was other stuff too I dug up. Lot's of pieces of bone, and teeth, and hair, and junk like that."

  An entire chorus of, “Whoa,” came from the group.

  Ronnie had ridden back, unnoticed by the boys.

  He called out from the back of the pack, “What y'all lookin’ at?"

  Ralph Speeler turned around. “Lee's got a dead guy's eye."

  "Oh, yeah,” Ronnie responded eagerly. “I've seen it already."

  Lee put the eye back in the pocket of his blue jeans, and quickly moved through the boys taking the bike back from Ronnie, who couldn't seem to thank him enough. Lee walked it back to stand it up on its kickstand under the shade of the oak, followed the whole way by Art who wouldn't give up.

  "Come on, Lee,” he whined. “Just one ride. Please. I won't hurt it. I swear. Come on. You let Ronnie ride it. You can have Cokes all day, candy bars, too. Come on."

  Lee looked over to Ronnie who just shook his head in sympathy.

  "I told you,” Lee sighed. “Maybe. After the game."

  "Tell ya what?” Art's expression of woe suddenly changed. “I can invite you to come to work with me tomorrow. My mom wants me to clean out the back of the store."

  Lee's smile broke out just a little, but he instantly looked away, feigning concern as if he'd spied somethin
g on the chain guard. Another thing his dad had taught him was it never paid to show someone too much of what you're thinking.

  "Sorry, I can't tomorrow, Art.” Lee reached down and rubbed, though really there was nothing there. “I've gotta help my dad.” He didn't want to say anything about Phoebe in front of the guys. He'd made the mistake a while back about talking about kissing with Ann Palmer. The guys had taken to calling her his girlfriend, and it had gotten back to her. She'd been so angry with Lee for telling that had been the end of the kissing. Too, she had made him feel so awkward and had bad mouthed him so much to the other girls Lee had actually been relieved when her family moved away before the start of last spring's semester. The worst of it was, he had really liked Ann.

  Art's face fell. He'd pulled his trump card and it had been ignored.

  Lee stood up and now looked at Art. “How ‘bout next Saturday?"

  "Sure!” Art exploded, almost hopping up and down like a little kid. “Next Saturday, sure!"

  Lee squinted at him. “I get the Cokes too, right?"

  "Sure, Lee. Sure.” Art grabbed the handlebars and kicked up the kickstand.

  "You better be careful,” Lee warned. “You wreck it and—"

  "I won't. I swear. Cross my heart.” Art almost fell over as he tried to straddle the frame and cross his heart at the same time.

  Grudgingly, Lee watched him peddle across the grass. While Art wobbled about the street, Lee concentrated on nothing else. In the mean time, the rest of the boys were still straggling in from all directions, emerging in ones and twos from every street and short cut.

  Twenty-five had shown up to play this morning, fourteen from around Valentino Street and the rest from Crabbe and a few from even a bit further north. This was the first big game to come up since the start of summer vacation, and everyone was hot to play.

  It was with great relief Lee saw Art successfully manage to make a circle and start to head back. Still, almost at any second he was sure Art was going to lose control and crash to the asphalt. But a few moments later, Art pulled up and got his feet down on the ground.

  "Oh thanks, Lee,” Art beamed. “It's just too cool. I'm gonna have to tell my mom to buy me one just like it.” He stepped over the center bar, again almost falling over as he was too short for the frame.

  Lee steadied the bike. Art could fall flat on his face, but Lee wasn't about to let that bike hit the grass for anything.

  "Come on!” Jeff hollered out. “You wimps ready?"

  Lee parked the bike under the oak and came loping back over.

  Lee and Jeff took turns choosing their players from their respective groups. The seven boys who weren't chosen straggled off to sit under the shade of the oak and hope that someone got hurt or had to go home.

  There really weren't any visitor or home team rights at Art's, so Lee flipped a nickel, and Jeff called it. Tails it was, and the Crabbe Street boys would bat last.

  The first few innings were rather uneventful. The sun was hot, and the boys weren't in the form they'd be later on in the summer. The pitchers were still warming up, and for the most part the batters ended up popping up for an easy out, or skidding an infield grounder to either second base or the short stop. There were almost no strikeouts, and of course, no walks as they had no umpire to call balls or strikes. If the batter swung and missed, it was a strike; if he didn't it was just another pitch.

  After the fourth inning, the Crabbe Street boys were up one to nothing, off of an in the field home run that started as a fly ball to deep left field. Though it was an easy catch, Art dropped it, and then couldn't find it in the grass until the runner was already passing third. It didn't help at all that when he finally had the ball he heaved it in the general direction of first base instead of to home plate.

  Before the start of the fifth inning, when Jimmy suggested they take a water break, there wasn't any argument on either side. Most of the boys ran over by Art's garage to get in line to have a drink from the hose. Everyone's face was red and flushed, even the boys who hadn't done much.

  Lee sat with his back to the oak, his feet by his bike, sipping his second Coke. He'd even managed to talk Art into giving one to Ronnie. He could hear the guys hollering over by the garage. Someone was taking too long and the few last guys to get a drink were impatient to have a turn at the hose.

  "Hey y'all,” Lee said, then took another drink. “Did y'all hear about what happened to old Lady Ringle?"

  Ronnie was attempting to stretch a long blade of grass between his fingers to make a whistle. He cast a look to Lee, which read, “Hey, I thought we weren't going to say anything, right?"

  Lee shook his head, “This is something else."

  Ronnie nodded. “Yeah, what?"

  The Crabbe Street boys were together on one shady side of the oak, and the Valentino group occupied the other. Everyone's cheeks were still red and streaked with sweat, and the boy's shirts were soaked as much from sweat as from gulping at the flow from the garden hose.

  "Maggie and Patty were at Millie's beauty parlor last Monday when who do you think waddled in?

  Art grinned lasciviously, “Bridgett Bardot?"

  "President Eisenhower?” Burl chimed in.

  "No, you bunch of morons,” Lee came back. “Old Lady Ringle."

  "I was close,” Burl said. “She looks like Eisenhower."

  "No, she's balder, and she's got a mustache,” Phil added, causing just about everyone to chuckle or grin.

  Most of the boys had quit what they were doing and were now paying attention. Ronnie had his grass whistle ready but held off on putting it to his lips just yet.

  "Any one want to guess what happened?” Lee asked, now that he had their attention.

  No one offered a thing.

  "Maggie said that the old bag was complaining about Patterson's messing up her house.” Lee was looking from guy to guy. “She said they let all kinds of bugs and frogs and stuff in when they were installing her new carpet."

  "Naw!” Art let out. “Lizards and frogs, and stuff?” He tried to look amazed and innocent, but it didn't come off; he just looked silly with those big ears of his. He reached over and punched Ronnie playfully on the shoulder. “We got her, didn't we?"

  Ronnie immediately punched him back, hitting Art at least twice as hard. “Cut it out,” he complained. “You touch me again and I'm really gonna nail you!"

  "Anyway,” Lee continued, “she waddles on in and takes her place waiting. She's yapping about her house being all infested with vermin..."

  Fred broke in, “What's vermin?"

  "You know, Fred,” Burl replied. “Vermin is like slugs, and snakes, and people's stupid little brothers."

  "Do y'all want to hear this?” Lee asked seriously.

  "Shut up, Fred!” a couple of the boys fired off.

  Lee took another long drink then took a moment before continuing. “Then, when it's the old bat's turn, she goes and sits in Sue's chair."

  "Which one's Sue?” Phil asked.

  "The short one,” Ronnie snapped. “Now shut up, and let Lee tell us what happened."

  "Well, she's laying back in the chair, and Sue puts the cape around her and leans her back to the sink and goes to wash her hair,” Lee paused for effect. “Then, this big old green lizard jumped out!"

  "A lizard,” Art yelled. “Shit fire! No! Really? Out of her hair?"

  Lee's grin was plastered across his face.

  Art, possibly forgetting Ronnie's threat, nudged Ronnie in the ribs, then quickly scooted away before Ronnie could make good on nailing him.

  "One of our lizards?” Ronnie asked, eyeing Art.

  "Whose else?” Lee screwed up his face reproachfully at the stupid question. “You don't think she goes to the store and buys a lizard to wear in her hair?"

  "You never know with that old bat,” Ronnie replied, looking down, picking around for his blade of grass, which had fallen out of his hands when he'd was shoved by Art. He found the particular blade and snatched it up.
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br />   "What do you mean, ‘your lizard'?” Phil asked.

  Ronnie and Art looked to Lee.

  Under the suspicious gaze of all the boys, Lee's shrugged. “Well, it just could be that a little verminating went on over at Old Lady Ringle's."

  "Verminating?” Burl chimed in. “What the hell's that?"

  The secret was out, and Art couldn't wait. “Hell, we got her back for stealing our ball the other day, didn't we Ronnie, huh, Lee?” Art was beside himself. “We dumped a shit load of bugs and toads, lizards, and even a couple of snakes through her mail slot."

  "No way,” half a dozen boys called out at the same time.

  Everyone was again looking at Lee for confirmation. He nodded.

  "Yes, way!” Ronnie joined in. “We even dumped a hognose snake in to keep her company."

  A chorus of “Keen-o,” rang out.

  "That'll teach her to screw around with us,” Ralph added.

  "What do you mean us,” Ronnie shot back. “You got a mouse in your pocket? I didn't see you there. It was me and Lee."

  "Hey, and me too,” Art added.

  Ronnie screwed up his eyes and twisted his mouth. “Oh yeah, Art was a big help."

  "Do y'all want to hear the rest of it?” Lee asked. “Or don't y'all?"

  Phil scooted his glove under him to sit on. “Yeah, what happened when the lizard jumped out of the old bag's hair? Shut up everybody, let Lee tell us."

  "Okay,” Lee said. “Anyway, this huge old lizard hopped out of her hair! It scared the beejesus out of Sue, and she fell off her box, and busted her butt on the floor.” He slapped his hands together for effect. “Wham!"

  Art began to whoop while slapping himself on the leg.

  Ronnie, too, broke out laughing.

  "Then,” Lee held up his hands for everyone to quiet down. “She fell back into the sink and got a hose full right in her ugly face."

  Art about lost it. He jumped up and yelled, “Ahhh! Right in the kisser!” For effect, he slapped himself in the face and fell back on the ground.

  Lee got up from where he'd been sitting and like a football coach addressing the players at halftime, turned left and right so he could make eye contact with everyone. “And so get this. When she's laying back in the chair gurglin’ and screamin’ she start's kickin’ in the air.” Lee pantomimed with his fingers, wiggling them like a pair of frenzied legs.