E Minora in Dark Shade

4-6

4

Billy Harris feels sick.

Despite the boy's protests, Mr. Holbrook was kind enough to go inside and get them something to drink. In his absence, he had a few moments to process things. That was the problem. There was already so much happening that his little brain couldn't handle everything. Every second since he discovered McDougal's bunker until now. Travis was dead. Mr. Holbrook had said that, and there had never been any words that sounded so terribly bitter yet sweet. The stepson of his bus driver had never been anything but cruel since they had met in the second grade. Every year, getting worse and worse. The cursed names, as were the pranks and beatings, were only getting more vile. He wasn't alone in this. Kids from school and around the neighborhood all had tales of Travis Creighton. Some worse than others, but others just as worse as before. He was dead now. So, why did it feel so wrong?

That thing in the bunker...

Was that fate deserved even for a miscreant like Travis? This, Billy had no answer. He didn't even know, not really, if this had been what Mr. Holbrook aimed. But it was the only thing of logical sense with the atmosphere of everything that had occurred. The only other explanation was that just inside the house was the body. Shot or stabbed, maybe strangled or poisoned. If that was the case, then why didn't he get up and haul ass home?

"I don't condone kids guzzling down sugar like this. But I figured I would give you some choice about what you wanted, son." Mr. Holbrook entered the garage with a small ice chest filled with soda cans, water bottles, and silver juice pouches. The cherry ones. The best ones.

It sank in quickly as the bus driver opened the chest and pulled out a can of Coke. Mrs. Holbrook wasn't around either. Had he also—

"I apologize for everything that's happened in the last few days, Billy. It's all just so awful."

Billy pulled his own can from the chest, taking a small knot of ice into his palm and squeezing pointlessly except to watch the liquid drip onto the dry cement where it splattered—splattered...the blotch reminding him of dripping blood. He let the now sliver fall to the ground. A part of him wanted to look into the man's eyes. Something kept him frozen. This foreign feeling of reality shattered had possessed him since he came home from that awful place. Nothing seemed real.

The thought was random. "Mr. Holbrook?"

"Yes, Billy?"

"What if my parents come by and see us sitting here? What will you tell them?"

Mr. Holbrook smiled the warm reaction he often gave to the kids he drove to school. The smile that only now Billy realized had never found itself staring at his allegedly dead stepson.

"The truth, Bill. Only the truth—that the mower is broken down and that I asked you to sit with me for company."

That was enough to rest that concern as he drank his soda down to half and wrapped his hands around it to feel the cold of the aluminum. It was as good a time as any to get started. While the sun was high in the sky, and daylight made the world seem safe.

"I met them over at Walnut Street Park. Travis and Gary and Stan. That was where they said they wanted to meet. Travis was upset because I didn't have my bike. More that I wouldn't ride the handlebars. I don't like the way it makes my behind feel."

Mr. Holbrook was still and eager.

They had ridden from the park to the condemned McDougal place. Billy wasn't much into the spooky stuff as most kids his age were. There was something about the house that made his skin crawl with tiny prickles, knowing full well that the adult speculation made it more than what it appeared. Every town has ghosts and places for them to live. This town was no different. Their ghost was McDougal. His house a monolith they used as testament to their whispers and tall tales. There was a more potent feeling as the big kids rounded the place willy-nilly as if they owned the joint. Billy wanted to ask a million questions like, Are we allowed? Are we supposed to? What if someone sees us? But he knew better than to stoke the anger of his nemesis when he had been in a calm state. Rare for a kid like Travis. Around the house to the back where things appeared worse in tall grass and stray trash dumped by residents too cheap to pay for removal. That was illegal, Billy knew. His dad told him once that tall grass was where you could find rats, among other rodents. And trash? Well, go poke around and find out. What if there were rats there now? There was no sign of rats; if there was, they were beyond the yard and through the trees that seemed to enclose them and stare as if to warn them away.