Rev 1: Tried to smooth out pronoun vs name usage
Rev 2: Revisions for fixes and content. Incorporated ideas from Cloudy and Chris, that were helpful.
Rev 3: More show less tell, and other fixes
After school Tyler had about an hour to himself before his mom got home, unless she was delayed again. She worked at Millie’s, a boutique downtown. Her boss Janet would often keep her late, sobbing over her latest failed relationship. Mom thought of this as her ministry to other wronged women and often invited her to church. He got to hear these stories at dinner, prefaced by: Here’s why you should never do this. At least she had stopped adding, “This sounds so much like your father.” He couldn’t count on her being late though, to be safe he had to leave in the next twenty minutes.
He headed to his room to change into his costume. He settled on black jeans and a maroon long sleeved shirt, and then draped the cape over himself. It was about three inches too long and dragged slightly on the floor. He’d have to remember to get Ally to help him fix the length, if she was still speaking to him. Next, he headed to the garage to get the garden trowel and recover the shoe box, which was hidden under bags of frozen corn in the outside freezer.
The garage door was sticking again. He knew that he should take it off its hinges and use the hand plane on the rubbing edges. He and his dad had worked together on weekly honey-do lists that his mom had stuck to the side of the refrigerator. The list still included: un-stick garage door, fix leaky upstairs faucet, put bleach in A/C, and clean out gutters. She hadn’t added anything new in the last six months. It bothered him to see that unfinished list.
Forcing the door open, He located the shoe box, checked to make sure the tape was secure on the lid, and stuffed it and the trowel into his overnight bag.
The cemetery was about a twenty minute walk, he’d have to leave now to meet Ally at six. He left his mother a note that he was heading to the church, and went to meet Ally at the cemetery. After their yearly ritual, he’d have to convince her to come to Michaela’s with him. Standing around alone at a party was not his idea of a fun night; she had to come.
The cemetery even in the dim twilight of autumn was about as ominous as a strip mall. There were no mausoleums, no gargoyles, just small stone partitions scattered over grassy acreage with sugar maples and oaks strategically placed. The plots were all family style like some buffet restaurant. The newer graves had the traditional headstones, while the older part of the cemetery had iron crosses with name plaques affixed to them—some only bearing family titles like Grandma. Tyler had pulled out a few of these crosses and switched them around. After his dad left though, he’d returned them to their proper places. It suddenly seemed important that families should stay together.
Ally was late. He checked his watch every few minutes. Was she still coming? Finally, he unpacked the shoe box and began to dig a hole with the trowel.
“I can’t believe you started without me.” She sounded pissed. He flinched.
“I wasn’t really starting just seeing how hard the dirt was.” That came across lame even to him.
He looked up and saw Ally dressed in a sheer green outfit with a pattern of ivy running up the side. She had a pair of dragonfly wings on her back, and her blond braided hair was encircled by a tiara of leaves. “Wow, you look... beautiful,” he said. Her face colored then and opened up like a flower in bloom.
She never did pretty for Halloween, so this was a change. Usually, she went for something darker. He had always assumed it was her being self-conscious—not tonight though. She smiled broadly, perhaps his comment had drained away some of her anger.
“This is my Midsummer Night’s Dream fairy walk-on costume for Titania’s court,” her lithe dancer’s body twisted in a smooth pirouette. “Are we ready to start?” She smirked.
Each year since they were nine, as a Halloween tradition, they would reenact some aspect of a Stephen King book. Since they’d found his dad’s stash, they’d read them in secret. Later they began buying them, and were methodically checking one off each year. Last year (when Halloween was allowed in his house) it was The Stand. Tyler went as Randall Flagg and Ally was a Captain Trips’ victim. Her mother helped them come up with the fake pus and blood, which was mostly just corn starch, baking soda, and food coloring. It must have looked realistic though, as it made Mark throw up when Ally died near him—best Halloween ever.
This year the book was Pet Sematary. It was one of the problematic books along with everything by Richard Bachman (do they count?), and Gerald’s Game (no desire to act it out together). Pet Sematary’s problem was in finding the actual animal to bury. When they had discussed this one in the past, Ally had tried to sound hardcore by joking that they should find a rabid dog at one of the animal shelters, and offer to dispose of the body after it was put down, handling both Pet Sematary and Cujo at the same time.
Tyler had shut her down with two words, “Old Yeller.” Ally’s eyes started to tear up, and she had turned away from him. That movie had made them both cry when they were kids, though Ally would never admit it.
Still with her back to him she had said, “What about Misery? Amputation or Hobbling? Book or Movie? It has to be that scene.”
“Stick with Sematary, stop changing the subject” he had said. “Maybe we could follow Jack to see if he really tortures animals, like a good little sociopath.” While it was a possibility, they decided they didn’t really want to know. This year though Tyler had gotten lucky.
He peeled the tape off the shoebox lid to reveal a frozen chipmunk that had been hit by a car. Ally scrunched up her face at the sight of it. “Eww… maybe we should have gone with Firestarter this year, or Carrie.”
“No, I’d have a hard time explaining why I needed pig’s blood to my mom. She already has enough issues. I don’t need to add to them.” He picked up the chipmunk with the trowel and dropped it in the hole he had dug. He began to bury it with the loose soil, patting it down with the trowel. “Now ve vait for eet to rise from da dead,” he said in his best Igor imitation.
“Seems like a waste to use any of the magic that way,” A raspy voice said from behind them. They spun to see a gaunt man leaning on a shovel.
He was angles and bones without an ounce of fat. If a scarecrow could come to life, it would surely look like this; his smile was like a line cut into his face and resembled a stitched seam. He wore an untucked white linen shirt that hung loosely over baggy gray tweed pants stopping about four inches below the knee. His two-toned black and white lace up oxfords held a bright military shine. He looked like he had stepped out of a vintage horror movie—the kind Tyler often watched.
“Don’t you kids know anything? There’s power for the taking on this night. The veil between the two worlds might as well be a soap bubble.” He shook his head. “And You…” His gaze took them both in, and he pursed his lips, “you waste it on a chipmunk. I pity the future.”
Tyler motioned for her to get behind him. Crazy man with a shovel was not what they needed right now. They both inched back slowly so as not to startle him.
He laughed. “I thought you kids wanted to see something. Here!” He struck the shovel hard against the earth.
Tyler tensed and nothing happened. He let out a breath. “That’s it?”
The man wet his thin lips with his tongue, “Return,” he said.
There was a sound that resonated inside Tyler like a harp being plucked, it made his face vibrate, and his teeth chatter from something other than fear. Before it died away, the abandoned garden trowel rolled off the chipmunk mound. The dirt there began to stir like it had bugs moving in and out of it. Two paws pushed up through the mound followed by the head of a slightly decomposed, slightly frozen chipmunk. It spotted Tyler and snarled. Its back half was crushed but it began to drag itself toward him with its front paws.
Tyler’s brain was issuing commands but his feet weren’t working. He remembered every horror movie he’d ever seen with his dad. The monster or killer or zombie or angry toy would be shambling in pursuit after the victim, yet they stood frozen. He had always thought they were idiots. He would yell at the screen for them to run, but they never did. Staring at this zombie rodent working to close the ten feet between them, he finally understood.
With five feet to spare, his mind turned the engine over for his feet. He took a half step back, and then jumped backward when the man’s shovel came down with a resounding thud, pulping the chipmunk beyond recognition. Guts and some kind of undead yellowish ichor spurted out.
“Zombies are nasty things,” the man said.
Tears welled up in Tyler’s eyes. “What the hell just happened?”
“Funny you should mention Hell, Tyler Maltz. Didn’t think you believed in it. Do you believe in it, Allison Parker?” The man’s gaze pinned her.
“Who are you?” her voice was shrill.
“Well, I’d say I’m a friend, but let’s not start off with lies.” His eyes appeared to glow with an inner light, though it might have just been a reflection from one of the cemetery light poles. “You’re barely out of the caves and you want to know who I am.”
“On second thought, I don’t care who you are just leave,” she said.
He absentmindedly rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger seemingly lost in thought. “I am the one who walks between your choices in their ever constricting circles. I remember the taste of moonlight, and tears, and I know that magic doesn’t always have to be—” He flipped over the bottom of his shovel admiring the stain, “messy.”
“Look I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but we’re going to leave. You can keep your magic.” Tyler slowly stepped backwards.
“It’s never that easy boy.” The man rested the shovel against his shoulder. His face grew somber. “You’ll be visited by three spirits.” His body shook with barely contained laughter. “No, no it’ll just be me. Since you don’t want to listen now, I think I’ll go to that little party tonight. We’ll, talk later Mr. Maltz, Miss Parker.” He tipped an imaginary hat. He then said something as he turned away that Tyler couldn’t make out, but it carried that same harmonic resonance. The wind moaned, and the stench of rot rose from the ground around them. It intensified into a thick, pungent odor. He saw Ally fall first, and then he followed gagging on the musky air.
Rev 2: Revisions for fixes and content. Incorporated ideas from Cloudy and Chris, that were helpful.
Rev 3: More show less tell, and other fixes
Chapter 3
After school Tyler had about an hour to himself before his mom got home, unless she was delayed again. She worked at Millie’s, a boutique downtown. Her boss Janet would often keep her late, sobbing over her latest failed relationship. Mom thought of this as her ministry to other wronged women and often invited her to church. He got to hear these stories at dinner, prefaced by: Here’s why you should never do this. At least she had stopped adding, “This sounds so much like your father.” He couldn’t count on her being late though, to be safe he had to leave in the next twenty minutes.
He headed to his room to change into his costume. He settled on black jeans and a maroon long sleeved shirt, and then draped the cape over himself. It was about three inches too long and dragged slightly on the floor. He’d have to remember to get Ally to help him fix the length, if she was still speaking to him. Next, he headed to the garage to get the garden trowel and recover the shoe box, which was hidden under bags of frozen corn in the outside freezer.
The garage door was sticking again. He knew that he should take it off its hinges and use the hand plane on the rubbing edges. He and his dad had worked together on weekly honey-do lists that his mom had stuck to the side of the refrigerator. The list still included: un-stick garage door, fix leaky upstairs faucet, put bleach in A/C, and clean out gutters. She hadn’t added anything new in the last six months. It bothered him to see that unfinished list.
Forcing the door open, He located the shoe box, checked to make sure the tape was secure on the lid, and stuffed it and the trowel into his overnight bag.
The cemetery was about a twenty minute walk, he’d have to leave now to meet Ally at six. He left his mother a note that he was heading to the church, and went to meet Ally at the cemetery. After their yearly ritual, he’d have to convince her to come to Michaela’s with him. Standing around alone at a party was not his idea of a fun night; she had to come.
#
The cemetery even in the dim twilight of autumn was about as ominous as a strip mall. There were no mausoleums, no gargoyles, just small stone partitions scattered over grassy acreage with sugar maples and oaks strategically placed. The plots were all family style like some buffet restaurant. The newer graves had the traditional headstones, while the older part of the cemetery had iron crosses with name plaques affixed to them—some only bearing family titles like Grandma. Tyler had pulled out a few of these crosses and switched them around. After his dad left though, he’d returned them to their proper places. It suddenly seemed important that families should stay together.
Ally was late. He checked his watch every few minutes. Was she still coming? Finally, he unpacked the shoe box and began to dig a hole with the trowel.
“I can’t believe you started without me.” She sounded pissed. He flinched.
“I wasn’t really starting just seeing how hard the dirt was.” That came across lame even to him.
He looked up and saw Ally dressed in a sheer green outfit with a pattern of ivy running up the side. She had a pair of dragonfly wings on her back, and her blond braided hair was encircled by a tiara of leaves. “Wow, you look... beautiful,” he said. Her face colored then and opened up like a flower in bloom.
She never did pretty for Halloween, so this was a change. Usually, she went for something darker. He had always assumed it was her being self-conscious—not tonight though. She smiled broadly, perhaps his comment had drained away some of her anger.
“This is my Midsummer Night’s Dream fairy walk-on costume for Titania’s court,” her lithe dancer’s body twisted in a smooth pirouette. “Are we ready to start?” She smirked.
Each year since they were nine, as a Halloween tradition, they would reenact some aspect of a Stephen King book. Since they’d found his dad’s stash, they’d read them in secret. Later they began buying them, and were methodically checking one off each year. Last year (when Halloween was allowed in his house) it was The Stand. Tyler went as Randall Flagg and Ally was a Captain Trips’ victim. Her mother helped them come up with the fake pus and blood, which was mostly just corn starch, baking soda, and food coloring. It must have looked realistic though, as it made Mark throw up when Ally died near him—best Halloween ever.
This year the book was Pet Sematary. It was one of the problematic books along with everything by Richard Bachman (do they count?), and Gerald’s Game (no desire to act it out together). Pet Sematary’s problem was in finding the actual animal to bury. When they had discussed this one in the past, Ally had tried to sound hardcore by joking that they should find a rabid dog at one of the animal shelters, and offer to dispose of the body after it was put down, handling both Pet Sematary and Cujo at the same time.
Tyler had shut her down with two words, “Old Yeller.” Ally’s eyes started to tear up, and she had turned away from him. That movie had made them both cry when they were kids, though Ally would never admit it.
Still with her back to him she had said, “What about Misery? Amputation or Hobbling? Book or Movie? It has to be that scene.”
“Stick with Sematary, stop changing the subject” he had said. “Maybe we could follow Jack to see if he really tortures animals, like a good little sociopath.” While it was a possibility, they decided they didn’t really want to know. This year though Tyler had gotten lucky.
He peeled the tape off the shoebox lid to reveal a frozen chipmunk that had been hit by a car. Ally scrunched up her face at the sight of it. “Eww… maybe we should have gone with Firestarter this year, or Carrie.”
“No, I’d have a hard time explaining why I needed pig’s blood to my mom. She already has enough issues. I don’t need to add to them.” He picked up the chipmunk with the trowel and dropped it in the hole he had dug. He began to bury it with the loose soil, patting it down with the trowel. “Now ve vait for eet to rise from da dead,” he said in his best Igor imitation.
“Seems like a waste to use any of the magic that way,” A raspy voice said from behind them. They spun to see a gaunt man leaning on a shovel.
He was angles and bones without an ounce of fat. If a scarecrow could come to life, it would surely look like this; his smile was like a line cut into his face and resembled a stitched seam. He wore an untucked white linen shirt that hung loosely over baggy gray tweed pants stopping about four inches below the knee. His two-toned black and white lace up oxfords held a bright military shine. He looked like he had stepped out of a vintage horror movie—the kind Tyler often watched.
“Don’t you kids know anything? There’s power for the taking on this night. The veil between the two worlds might as well be a soap bubble.” He shook his head. “And You…” His gaze took them both in, and he pursed his lips, “you waste it on a chipmunk. I pity the future.”
Tyler motioned for her to get behind him. Crazy man with a shovel was not what they needed right now. They both inched back slowly so as not to startle him.
He laughed. “I thought you kids wanted to see something. Here!” He struck the shovel hard against the earth.
Tyler tensed and nothing happened. He let out a breath. “That’s it?”
The man wet his thin lips with his tongue, “Return,” he said.
There was a sound that resonated inside Tyler like a harp being plucked, it made his face vibrate, and his teeth chatter from something other than fear. Before it died away, the abandoned garden trowel rolled off the chipmunk mound. The dirt there began to stir like it had bugs moving in and out of it. Two paws pushed up through the mound followed by the head of a slightly decomposed, slightly frozen chipmunk. It spotted Tyler and snarled. Its back half was crushed but it began to drag itself toward him with its front paws.
Tyler’s brain was issuing commands but his feet weren’t working. He remembered every horror movie he’d ever seen with his dad. The monster or killer or zombie or angry toy would be shambling in pursuit after the victim, yet they stood frozen. He had always thought they were idiots. He would yell at the screen for them to run, but they never did. Staring at this zombie rodent working to close the ten feet between them, he finally understood.
With five feet to spare, his mind turned the engine over for his feet. He took a half step back, and then jumped backward when the man’s shovel came down with a resounding thud, pulping the chipmunk beyond recognition. Guts and some kind of undead yellowish ichor spurted out.
“Zombies are nasty things,” the man said.
Tears welled up in Tyler’s eyes. “What the hell just happened?”
“Funny you should mention Hell, Tyler Maltz. Didn’t think you believed in it. Do you believe in it, Allison Parker?” The man’s gaze pinned her.
“Who are you?” her voice was shrill.
“Well, I’d say I’m a friend, but let’s not start off with lies.” His eyes appeared to glow with an inner light, though it might have just been a reflection from one of the cemetery light poles. “You’re barely out of the caves and you want to know who I am.”
“On second thought, I don’t care who you are just leave,” she said.
He absentmindedly rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger seemingly lost in thought. “I am the one who walks between your choices in their ever constricting circles. I remember the taste of moonlight, and tears, and I know that magic doesn’t always have to be—” He flipped over the bottom of his shovel admiring the stain, “messy.”
“Look I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but we’re going to leave. You can keep your magic.” Tyler slowly stepped backwards.
“It’s never that easy boy.” The man rested the shovel against his shoulder. His face grew somber. “You’ll be visited by three spirits.” His body shook with barely contained laughter. “No, no it’ll just be me. Since you don’t want to listen now, I think I’ll go to that little party tonight. We’ll, talk later Mr. Maltz, Miss Parker.” He tipped an imaginary hat. He then said something as he turned away that Tyler couldn’t make out, but it carried that same harmonic resonance. The wind moaned, and the stench of rot rose from the ground around them. It intensified into a thick, pungent odor. He saw Ally fall first, and then he followed gagging on the musky air.
#
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson
