The Experiments of a Lifetime

Mrs. Versinger's Back Yard

The day was June 14, the summer sky clear of any clouds. No promise of rain. That was trouble for the terrible drought of Louisiana's. The two kids were playing an innocent wrestling match, the younger being on top. Her short black hair was tied up in a knot behind her head, though her bangs were an easy target for pulling. She play punched and punched, watching her brother's face twist up as if he were getting hit. They stopped abruptly, the little sister walking up to a video camera that was flashing. "It's out of memory!"

"I guess we'll just play around until mom can get us some new film." The brother dusted his clothes off and ran a hand through his red hair. The younger wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand and reached down for a tennis ball. "Grab the bat! Let's play some baseball."

The older walked over to the edge of the fence and picked up a wooden bat. Waterlogged to death but the kids didn't care, they wanted fun and they were going to get it. The younger went around pointing out where the bases would be. She stood over the 'mound' and prepared to pitch at her brother. The ball came flying at him, with surprising accuracy. He reared up to swing and hit the ball. It flew across the yard and hit the fence. His long legs were helpful as he ran through the bases, stopping at second base.

The sister held the ball in her right hand and threatened to tag him out if he moved. "Nice try. Now who's gonna pitch?" He asked putting his hands on his hips. "Well I'll bat now and you can pitch," she said throwing the ball to him. She walked up to the home plate and positioned her feet on either side. She held the bat and watched her brother stretch his arms for the pitch.

It was lobbed at her, rolling over the home plate. "How can you not keep it off the ground?" She asked kicking the ball back and getting back in her stance. This time it came at her, but was way too high. "You're gonna kill a bird with that!" She yelled picking up the ball and throwing it to the red head. His face was red now, not with sunburn, he was getting embarrassed. The last time he lobbed it over the home plate, and she took a swing at it. It flew over his head and over the fence.

"Not it!" She called putting her finger on her nose. "You're going to knock and I'll do the talking," he said grabbing his sister by the ear. They walked out of the gate and to the house beside them. Mrs. Versinger's house. She was a kind old lady with pure blonde, but clearly dyed, hair. No, she wasn't actually old, but she was an old soul, always sitting inside with candles burning and a newspaper in hand. Her son, nobody knew. She was very protective of the little boy.

The little girl knocked on the door, and stepped back, her brother taking her place. The door opened and the smell of cigarette smoke was released from the house. It never smelled like that, it was always teeming with the smell of fresh pies, or bread. A lady with raven hair stepped out, a cigarette between her cracked lips.

"What do you two want? You want the kid? Wanna play with him? Little boy never comes out. Why don't you come in and meet him." She grabbed the redhead by the wrist, her brittle nails scraping against his young skin. "Ah, no. You see we-" the lady turned around and tightened her grip.

"Yeah yeah, come meet the boy will you? This is the only time he'll get a chance to socialize." The girl followed into the house. It wasn't well kept like usual. Now it had cans and other trash littering the house. "Markus! You didn't clean up like I asked did you?" A boy emerged, no more than eleven years old. His hair fell in dark curls and freckles popped out on his pale skin. He took small steps toward the trash on the ground, and started picking it up by hand. "Not now child, come meet our visitors."

His body looked tired, and his hands bruised. The long sleeved shirt he was wearing had tiny red spots along his back, not really following a pattern. He stood up from the once hunched position on the floor and walked over to the siblings. "I'm Markus." The pale sickly hand was extended out for the older to shake it. The redhead took the hand in his and gave it a firm shake, "Vernon. You can call me Vern." The boy scanned over the younger for a moment before reaching his hand out to her. "Eleanor. Eleanor Rose."

It was cold, she noticed. The hand was colder than it was inside. His dull eyes looked like they were full of tears, perhaps tears of fear. "Why don't you three go play?" He nodded his head and gestured for the siblings to follow him.