Every
town (and I do mean every town) has that one house. Sometimes it has
a story. Sometimes it has two (little house humor for you). Sometimes
it's occupied. Most times it's long abandoned and becoming one with
the earth. But there is one thing that everybody can agree on: it's
haunted. By ghosts. By people who long ago abandoned any type of
social doctrine. By monsters. Sometimes they're all three. And by
god, our little town of River's Glen had a doozy of a haunted house.
It was 3 stories (hey not all of them are the same...), used to be
white and stood up on a hill on the edge of town. A bare oak stood
out front all year long and on blustery days, it would scratch on the
house making the most eery noise. Kids would often exchange stories
about that house. A rich man was murdered there by his jealous wife
because he had an affair with a house maid. A bunch of kids were
murdered there when the owner of the orphanage went psycho and took
an axe out of the wood shed. It had a room where a crazy man would
perform surgery on unwilling patients... By time I had reached my
fourteenth year I had heard them all. And I believed none of them.
Being
a very skeptical teenager I had never taken much heed to the
children's stories. I never did believe in ghosts. Even my mom would
regale me with stories about how I was the bravest child. Never had
to check under the bed. Never had to check the closet. My skepticism
kind of set in then too and I think she was just trying to brag. I
remember being very afraid of things in my closet. I remember things
but that's a different story. The point of me telling you about my
skepticism was to tell you I had visited the house many times.
Finding the back door wide open gave me plenty of opportunity to go
in and out. Much to my disappointment, the house was completely
empty. Aside from a few caches of garbage around from my idiotic
peers, it didn't contain any secrets. There was no operating table.
No blood stains. No secret closets. No locked attic. The place was
clear.
On
that summer day we sat down at the park looking up at the house,
exchanging stories again. There were some new girls in the group and
some of the boys had to try to impress them. I stayed invisible near
the back of picnic area but I could hear them clearly. A pretty
redheaded girl named Ashley scoffed at one of the older boy's grisly
story of cannibals living in the house.
"Bullshit
Scott." The words made him start and stare at her.
"It's
not bullshit. My brother told me about it. There's a room downstairs
that he would keep his victims in. He'd also cook them downstairs in
a big cauldron that's still..."
"Eh,
it's still bullshit Scott." I said, breaking my silence. The
girls had already began to giggle and move away from him. He glared
at me as he realized they were leaving. "I've been in there."
"No
you haven't. Nobody has. Nobody's brave enough..."
"It
doesn't matter." I waved him off and grabbed my bike. I didn't
feel like arguing with Scott Howard. He was a jock and a hard head. A
stellar member of the debate and football team, but a poor person to
actually argue logic with. Passion always won out on his end.
"Let's
go then. Prove it dummy."
"We
can't. Somebody's bought it." I pointed up the hill. It was
perfect timing. A wood paneled station wagon and a large moving van
had just pulled into the driveway in front of it. It was hard to tell
at that distance but a man in a white shirt stood checking it out.
"Aw
shit. I hope they warned him." A couple of Scott's friends had
began to whisper among themselves as they watched the man talk to the
movers. I started to ride away. I didn't feel like staying there much
longer. This was likely to dredge up even older stories about the
house and I had grown tired of those ones a long time ago.
The
talk remained at whispers among us through the summer and into the
fall months. At school there wasn't a day that didn't go by that
someone didn't mention that house on the hill. It seemed the new
tenant was a bit of a shy guy. He hadn't come down into town once
(that they knew of) and even rejected the welcome basket the chamber
of commerce had sent to him. Well that was the rumor anyway. My
mother worked for the chamber and I know they didn't send a basket.
He hadn't registered his address in town yet. I always shook my head
and walked away whenever someone would bring it up. It was becoming
quite clear to my friends and acquaintences that I was growing tired
of hearing about the house and it's new occupant.
Before
you could blink though, Halloween was upon us. At the very least, the
decorating. The local drug store had painted an amazingly detailed
cemetary in their window. The one salon in town had put up spider
webs all around with fake spiders and bats dangling from it. The
video store had put it's horror movies in the movie spotlight
section. Houses had up orange lights. Fake mummies. Comical witches
smashed against trees. Cut out wooden skeletons. But one house stood
out. One house was better decorated. And of course it would be that
house. Out front he had dug up the dirt to look like fresh graves. A
very well done skeleton hand jutted out of one. A large realistic
looking spider sat in the far corner of his porch. Red eyes flashed
from the bushes. And hanging from the oak tree were bodies covered in
burlap. A pair of shoes dangled out of each one and they were
suspended by a thick piece of rope ending in a hangman's noose at the
end. Kids would get closer than they had dared before to admire the
decorations. I decided I was going to admire them from the front of
the house. He wasn't going to bite me.
“How
you doing young man?” The tenant came out of his new house holding
a stack of what appeared to be thick headstones. They were foam but
it was hard to tell with the way they were painted. He began to set
them up at the head of the graves.
“Um...doing
good. These are awesome. Your decorations.” I pointed to them. He
laughed and brushed his hands off on his slacks. If you were to
describe him in one word I'd say 'nerd' but not exactly. His hair was
slicked back and neatly trimmed. He had thin frame glasses that
didn't look to be in any sort of disrepair. He wore a white short
sleeved shirt but it was missing pens. Bright orange suspenders
adorned with little black jack o' lanterns held up his khaki slacks
above his patent leather shoes. Just enough to show off his socks,
which had a very positive pattern of pink flamingos wearing
sunglasses. It seems like a comical get up but he pulled it off. I
couldn't laugh at him. On him it looked normal.
“I'm
Jonathan Ogden. You can call me Mr. Ogden.” He approached me and
held out his hand. I shook it, strong like my father taught me.
“I'm
Brian Carson. Nice to meet you. “ Mr. Ogden walked back to his
headstones. I looked up at the bodies hanging from the tree. Each of
the shoes were dirty. Scuffed. Some were worn down on the soles. Each
one even had a pair of socks. Mostly white but some were neon
colored. “The shoes look used.”
“They
are. I buy them at Good Will. Well did. I think I may try a couple of
the thrift stores in town now. Seems like I should do my part for
local business.” He put up the last headstone and wiped his hands
again. “Some of them I wear a bit to make them look a bit more
used.”
I
pointed to a pink pair of runners shoes. “Like those pink ones
there?” I felt at ease with Mr. Ogden. The joke may not have set
well with some people but I felt like he would laugh. And I was
right.
“Don't
knock it Brian. Most comfortable shoes I've ever worn.” He winked
at me. “Almost regret putting them in the decorations.”
I
became good friend's with Mr. Ogden the following months. I would
help him with various chores for extra money. Sometimes he'd help me
with a science project, if dad just didn't know what I was doing.
Even the children's idea of him changed. The house was no longer the
haunted house. It was just Mr. Ogden's house. And the stories just
faded into legend. They stayed around but no longer about that house.
They were used around campfires to scare the younger kids.
That
Halloween me and a friend of mine named Jason stopped in to help Mr.
Ogden hang his decorations. He had offered us each twenty bucks to do
it and to be honest I was running out of money renting horror movies
at the Video Stop. Jason didn't need the money, having come from a
richer family but since he was pretty much spending every weekend at
my place, he decided he should chip in for the pizza and movies too.
Mr. Ogden had already dug the graves and was adding the skeleton arm
as we approached.
“The
bodies are just inside the door if you boys want to bring them out.
I'll get the ladder and come hang them in a minute.” Jason shivered
at this and I laughed.
“Don't
be a superstitious prat. They're decorations.” I laughed as we went
inside the house. The bodies were lined up like some sort of
warfield. It was kind of freaky looking but I didn't let Jason see me
shiver. Sometimes I think he only did things cause I showed I was
brave enough to do them. I didn't want to break his resolve.
“Are
they...”
I
picked one up with one arm and shook it at him. “No. They are not
real. Grab a couple.” We each took turns carrying them outside. I
noticed something strange about the burlap decorum as we hauled it
out onto the lawn.
“The
shoes are different.” I noticed a pair of loafers this time. A
newer pair of running shoes that were only a little dirty. A pair of
Chuck's. A wildly different set than last year.
“Can't
repeat myself too much. I mean it's bad enough I'm using the same
spider. Gotta change something up right champ?” And I agreed with
him. I noticed today he wore black suspenders with a green zombie arm
near the bottom of them. His socks were pink flamingos again. I
noticed over the months he only wore those socks on days he wants to
have fun. Otherwise it was all business with the plaid. And again I
think only he could pull it off.
It
only took a few hours to get everything put up where he wanted it. We
helped him paint a couple of fake wood coffins he had made and by the
end of it we had more brown on us and our shoes than we had on the
coffin. We helped stretch the spider webs across the front porch. We
even helped as much as we could with the bodies but he wouldn't let
us climb the ladders so we just watched. At the end of the day we
walked our bikes back down the hill towards the Video Stop. Exhausted
but forty dollars between the two of us.
“You
know it was months ago so I can't be sure...but I think those Nike's
belonged to Scott Howard.” Jason said without much concern in his
voice. Around February Scott disappeared. His mom and dad had split
and his father had moved up north somewhere. So when he was no longer
at school everyone just assumed he had moved with his dad. When the
missing posters went up we all just assumed he had ran away to be
with his dad. It was no secret his mother was an alcoholic. There was
no reason to believe otherwise and it didn't really concern us much.
The police even seemed reluctant to launch an investigation.
“Maybe
his mom just donated his stuff to the Treasure Dive. I mean she did
just move.” I don't know why his comment bothered me. Maybe cause
even though he said it offhand, it felt like he had accused one of my
good friends of something terrible. I didn't want anyone thinking bad
of Mr. Ogden. He was a nice guy.
“Yeah
you're probably right.” And that was that. He didn't say any more
about it. We walked into the Video Stop and rented Halloween for
probably the thirtieth time and didn't talk about Mr. Ogden's
decorations anymore that night.
Jason
went missing January 30th.
I really didn't know why my mom was freaking on the phone that night.
I was just trying to enjoy the second episode of The Simpson's but
something that was on my mom's face made me mute the TV and join her
in the kitchen.
“Mom...what's...”
“Jason
didn't come home today honey.” I immediatly darted outside. I had
to go find him. I knew he would do the same for me. But it didn't
matter. I rode all night in the freezing cold. I was shivering and
red by time I gave up and headed home. My parents gave me a strong
lecture about disappearing like that but I took it in stride. I knew
for a fact they'd have done it for their friends at my age. But I was
scared anyway. This wasn't like Jason. He was happy at home. Despite
having workaholic parents, they always found time for him. He had a
great home life. And even in the moments he was being punished, or
things weren't even up to their usual standards, he never even joked
about
running away. That wasn't like Jason.
They
had given up by time October rolled around. It had been a sad summer
of me hiding in my room and reading. I didn't go by the Video Stop
since the last time Jason and I had. I didn't even want to keep going
to school but Mom made me. But about the time the police had given up
on finding him (in town at least) was the time I figured I should
stop moping and get on with it. It was tough sure but I really
couldn't be sad about it forever. After all I hadn't gone missing.
When
I got to Mr. Ogden's I could see he had another helper there. Betty
Pearce. If this had been a year earlier I'd have been too nervous to
help. Not that I wasn't nervous now. Betty was one of the prettiest
girls in school. With her green sweater that revealed a form I had
began to notice the last couple of years, her blue jeans and bright
white tennis shoes. If I hadn't been trying to get over Jason's
disappearance I may have thought twice about helping Mr. Ogden. But I
was in no state of mind to really worry about what girls thought of
me. I was going to help him decorate. Get my mind off everything.
“You
know where the bodies are.” Mr. Ogden pointed after our greetings
and catching up. Betty was stretching spider webs across the front
window. She smiled at me as I passed and I smiled back. It added an
extra bounce in my steps.
I
threw the last body on the pile beneath the tree when I noticed
something that made my heart lurch in my chest. It brought back a
memory I didn't want to think of, a memory that disturbed me then and
disturbed me now. “...I
think those Nike's belonged to Scott Howard...”
On
one of the bodies were a pair of Reeboks. Splashed across the front
toe was a spot of brown paint. They were unmistakeable. They had only
sat by my front door almost every weekend.
They were Jason's.
I
sat staring at them for a long time before Betty had realized I
wasn't moving. She must have gotten concerned. She touched my
shoulder and I about jumped out of my skin.
“Are
you alright Brian?”
“Yeah.
Yeah Betty. Um...I gotta go.”
“Oh...ok.
I'm sorry.” She blushed like she did something wrong.
“Hey,
nothing to be sorry about. You can have my twenty bucks. If he's
still willing to give it to me since I'm splitting. Either way...”
And I took off. I didn't look back to see if Mr. Ogden noticed I had
left. Or that Betty had just gone back to work. I didn't notice.
Cause I was for the first time, actually scared. And if I had thought
more about it, then I would have gotten Betty out of there.
And
when Betty went missing the following winter, I regretted my
cowardice. I would have to wait and see. Maybe it was just a strange
coincidence. I'd bide my time and see before I blew the whistle.
Because there was no way I was going to do it without evidence. He'd
no longer be my friend if I did and I was wrong. Maybe the killer
himself donated the shoes. Maybe it was just a lucky coincidence.
Maybe. But what if I was wrong?
I spent a lot of days at the
Treasure Dive, inquiring heavily about shoes. After a time the
shopkeeper said she'd call me if any had come in. I even talked to
Betty's mom. She had been wearing the white shoes when she
disappeared.
My
seventeenth Halloween gave me the answer I didn't want. When I handed
up the white shoed body I hesitated.
“Something
wrong Brian? You've been acting stranger than normal these past few
months.”
“Betty
and I were...sort of going together.” I lied. “Losing two friends
like that kind of...screws with you. Plus you know...puberty.” I
shrugged it off. He chuckled at the last joke.
“I'm
really sorry about your friends Brian. It's odd how many kids
disappear around here.” And I nodded. River's Glen was a very
strange town. Lots of crap had happened over the years here. People
blamed all sorts of things. There were as many stories about the town
as there were about this house.
“If
that's the last one Mr. Ogden. I'd like to go.”
“Sure
Brian. I'll talk to you later.”
I
was sick to my stomach but I knew what I had to do. The white shoes.
Those white shoes. They confirmed what I didn't want to admit. What I
didn't want to know. And I had to take care of it.
The
following Halloween, everyone was disappointed in Mr. Ogden's
decorations I noticed. There wasn't a spider on the porch. There were
no coffins, no shallow graves. No headstones. No evil eyes in the
bushes. And there was only one body.
It swayed in the wind a
little heavier than the previous ones. And dangling out of the burlap
were two patent leather shoes. And socks with a very positive pattern
of pink flamingoes, wearing sunglasses.
