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Text File | 1993-09-09 | 31KB | 438 lines

Dusty Memories
Copyright (c) 1993, Ed Davis
All rights reserved


                                  DUSTY MEMORIES
                                    by Ed Davis

         "You know, skipping the movie tonight won't kill you, Jimmy."
         Jimmy Morton ignored his mother's concern and accepted the fifty
      cent piece she reluctantly offered.  "I'll be fine.  It's a Roy Rogers'
      movie, I gotta go," he explained, as he closed the last snap on his
      corduroy jacket.  He walked onto the porch and retrieved his kerosene
      lantern.  He scraped a wooden match across the lantern's rusty base and
      wrinkled his nose, against the acrid smell of the ignited sulphur.  The
      wick accepted the caress of the flame and Jimmy dropped the glass
      chimney into place, shielding the scudding flame from the gusty wind.
      His mother administered a last kiss and watched while he climbed the
      crosstie stairs leading from the farm house to the graded road.
         Jimmy glanced back at the familiar house, with it's windows glowing
      warmly in the darkness, and waved his arm in silent farewell.  He
      tramped down the smoothed strip serving his family as a road, toward
      the paved county lane a quarter mile away.  The maintained section of
      the dirt road deteriorated into two ruts, guiding the boy toward the
      excitement of another Saturday movie with his two closest friends.
         The pale yellow circle of light from the lantern barely illuminated
      the two ruts that bisected the rain soaked meadow.  Countless vehicles,
      crossing the field regularly, ground the wavering, parallel grooves
      into the fertile earth, leaving a permanent scar, and in daylight, oil
      and grease smears were visible on the grass between the ruts.  On this
      wet October night the stains were hidden in darkness.  The grass was
      brown, under the overcast sky, and the wind carried a damp prediction
      of more rain.  The entire day had been a wet, cold, and dreary
      forewarning of the coming winter.  Snow would soon invade the
      countryside.
         Ten year old Jimmy was unconcerned with tomorrow's weather.  While
      he struggled to straddle the right hand rut with one booted foot on
      each side of the muddy trench, he worried that his slow progress would
      make him late for the movie.  He did not want to miss the cartoons
      preceding the feature.  The darkness behind him seemed to tug at his
      corduroy coattails, as he concentrated on the rut in the unsteady light
      from his lantern.  With his feet slipping in the mud, he continued into
      the night, his lantern swinging on the bail he held firmly in his right
      hand.  A blast of cold air plunged down his collar and he shivered.
      The cone of light moved slowly across the dark pasture, finally
      lighting his arrival at the asphalted smoothness of Huffman Lane, a
      narrow county road which served the Mortons and the other farmers
      living along it's winding length.
         He allowed a smile to lift the corners of his sternly set mouth, and
      his young face relaxed as he stomped his mud caked boots on the shiny
      black roadway.  The tar reflected his lantern's light and gave several
      drops of oil a pearlescent glow, with yellow and blue highlights.  He
      failed to notice the small display of concentric colors and ignored the
      globs of rich brown earth from his boots, as he turned south and headed
      for the small town.  The lights sparkled in the darkness, like a beacon
      made of star dust, beckoning to the boy.  His pace quickened, his legs
      stretched, and he strained to make up the time he lost struggling along
      the sloppy road.  He crossed the first two fingers of his left hand and
      silently wished a delay upon his friends.  He didn't want to be late
      arriving at the old house, their usual meeting place for their Saturday
      get together.
         Two miles away, one of Jimmy's friends was indeed being delayed.  He
      was impatient, as usual.  His anxious pacing was caused by the mother
      of the trio's third member.  Bill Walter's mother was certain proper
      nutrition could only be achieved by Bill's cleaning all the food from
      his plate.  Bill was willing to comply, but his mother insisted he eat
      some very strange vegetables.  He envisioned a brown paper bag for the
      remnants of his evening meal.  His mother insisted the food belonged
      inside Bill.  He remained unconvinced his health, for the rest of his
      life, could possibly hinge on the three Brussel sprouts that leered up
      at him, from his otherwise clean plate.  Next to spinach, those cabbage
      like balls were his least favorite food.  He suspected his mother
      served them on Saturday night so she could blackmail him into eating
      them.  He and his portly mother were locked in a battle of wills.
         "You are not going to any movie until your plate is empty.  Eddie
      can whistle and call 'till tomorrow.  Now eat."  The battle was nearly
      over.  Bill realized time was running out.  Eddie would not wait much
      longer and the new Roy Rogers movie would pass into history.  Bill
      feared he would be the only person in town to miss it.  He reluctantly
      pushed one of the green globes into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed
      it, while craftily pocketing another.  He could throw it at someone in
      the show, he planned.  A suitable end for the despised vegetable.
      After what seemed a suitable interval, he put the third leafy ball in
      his mouth.  "I've cleaned it up," he announced, talking around the lump
      he held on his tongue and carrying his plate to the kitchen sink.  His
      mother forced him to wait while she rummaged through her purse for his
      show money.  He saw the two quarters shining between her fingers and
      heard the final decree.  "Swallow, and you can go."  Bill seldom used
      profanity, but the cold leafy mass in his mouth would bring vulgarity
      to even the most pious child.  He ended the agony and forced the green
      glob down his throat.  His mother squeezed his jaw, checking that he
      had indeed swallowed.  She smiled and relinquished the vital coins,
      smearing a moist kiss on his departing cheek.
         Bill clutched the silver discs and grabbed his blue and gold jacket
      with his other hand.  He dashed out the back door and spotted Eddie, as
      his exasperated friend jumped over the hedge at the edge of the yard.
      "Hey, wait up," Bill shouted, pulling his jacket tight and fumbling
      with the zipper.  He raced across the grass toward the hedge and
      freedom.  Eddie waited and pocketed the chromed flashlight he always
      carried for their weekly outings.  He really didn't want to go alone.
         "What took so damn long?"  Eddie had no compunction about strong
      language.
         "Brussel sprouts."  Bill announced the torment he had just suffered.
         "Yuchh."  Eddie echoed his friend's sentiments.
         The boys silently meditated the dual perils of vile vegetables and
      unfeeling mothers as they sauntered down the alley.  Bill patted the
      lump of damp supper in his pocket and grinned at his victory.  They
      shrugged their jackets tighter across their shoulders, against the
      creeping cold and dampness.  The illuminated clock on the Methodist
      Church steeple glared down and finally reminded them of their later
      than usual passage.
         "We better move out," Eddie advised, pointing to the clock.
         "Right, we can cut down Water Street and save some time,"  Bill
      offered.  Neither boy wanted to forego the tradition of the weekly stop
      for candy at the newsstand, but Bill's confrontation with his mother
      forced them to take drastic measures.
         "Awright, damn it," Eddie agreed, reluctantly.  Damn was one of his
      favorite words.
         The boys turned the corner and moved down Water Street toward the
      old house and their friend, away from the multi flavored pleasures of
      Tiny's Newstand.
         Walking up College Avenue toward Water Street, Jimmy arrived at the
      old house ahead of his friends.  He walked along the weed tangled
      driveway picking a path to the darkened mansion.  A light rain began
      peppering his thatch of red hair.  Great, now I can get soaked, he
      thought.  I'll have to wait inside.  He climbed the broken stairs
      leading to a small porch deciding the leaky roof was better than
      standing in the growing rain and forced him through the gaping doorway.
      Out of the weather's anger, he felt warmer.  He shook, like his
      retriever coming out of the duck pond, and droplets of water splattered
      the dusty clutter at his feet.  He knew his way around the old mansion
      from previous explorations, but tonight his familiarity with the place
      evaporated into the cloying darkness waiting just outside his lantern's
      light.  His earlier explorations were made in the comforting light of
      day and he never found any trace of spirit like occupation.  In the
      dark, however, the place seemed different, more sinister.  He felt his
      heart thumping inside his chest and the sound of the thub dub beating
      slowly filled his ears.  Jimmy remained near the outside door, ready
      for flight.  Wet was bad, but being grabbed by someone or something and
      dragged into the black bowels of the house...  Well that was worse.
      Gooseflesh raced up his legs and down his slender back.  The two waves
      of crawling flesh broke at the top of his buttocks, and he jumped
      through the open doorway.  His entire body quivered with the intensity
      of his sudden fear.  A distant street light swayed, as a revitalized
      wave of rain rushed toward the grey, weather worn building.  Jimmy was
      fascinated by the misty rays of light and the crystalline sparkle of
      the raindrops.  He preferred to focus his attention on almost anything,
      except the empty but seemingly occupied mansion.  Rain burst against
      his face, and he elected to enter the sheltering room once again.  Just
      inside the door, he vowed.
          Jimmy rested his glowing lantern on a once white, metal table, the
      only furnishing in the room.  He turned the lantern's wick to it's
      maximum intensity and was pleased to watch the room fill with yellow
      light, defeating the darkness and dispelling his feeling of being
      surrounded.  Leaves, bits of plaster, and dust littered the floor,
      while streamers of peeling wall covering drooped from the walls, like
      weeping willow branches.  Laths, once covered with pristine white
      plaster, were exposed, becoming the widely spaced teeth of a grinning
      Halloween mask.  Spiders plied their delicate trade, with deadly
      earnest, in every corner.  Their intricate lacework, dust coated like
      everything else, caught the lemony light and seemed to sway from it's
      impact.  Jimmy looked away, leaving the lantern's light to protect his
      back, and focused again on the splashing rain rinsing the ragged porch
      decking.  He crossed the first two fingers of each hand,  making his
      second wish of the evening a double.  Hurry, please hurry, he silently
      pleaded.
         A sudden crash, from somewhere deep inside the darkness, riveted his
      attention.  His heart stopped beating.  "Eddie...  Bill...?"  He
      croaked.  His voice stalled, as the fear gripping him amplified.  His
      chest ached.  He finally realized he was not breathing.  He sucked in a
      lungful of the cool night air and suddenly grinned.  Those two guys are
      already here, they're waiting on the next floor up; waiting for me to
      panic and run out into the rain.  Then they'll tease me for years, he
      thought.  His new understanding dispelled his fear, the goosebumps
      crowding his flesh died, and he began planning his revenge.  As normal
      breathing returned, he pictured the ornate, curved staircase leading to
      the next floor and rejected the idea of using it.  He wanted to get to
      the floor above them and the old curved stairs no longer went that
      high, having broken away from the supporting columns years before.  He
      would take the servants' stairs.  This narrow, steep flight of steps
      would bring him out on the highest floor of the building, one level
      above his friends.  Eddie and Bill did not know about the smaller
      accessway and would not expect him to get above them.  He could turn
      the tables.  He'd scare the pants off both of them.
         Picking up a broken lath from the cluttered floor, he moved to the
      narrow door leading into the dark stairwell.  His lantern's light
      revealed a narrow passage filled with rising stair treads, spider webs,
      and darkness.  His resolve needed another boost.  He laughed bravely,
      picturing his chums fleeing into the falling rain and his own superior
      bravery being demonstrated when he calmly walked out behind them.
         The stairs protested occasionally as he climbed the seldom used
      passage, clearing the dusty efforts of an army of spiders with the
      jagged lath.  Emerging in the attic and flooding the room with his
      citrus light, he rested for a few moments and scanned the old dress
      patterns attached to the low walls. Rain beat a soulful rhythm on the
      attic's only window and brought his mind back to his plan.  Ahead, a
      half opened door beckoned.  "They've gotta be right under that room
      over there.  "That's where the noise came from," he said softly to
      himself.  Reassured by the sound of his own voice, he moved silently
      across the low room, feeling the phantom presence of women who once
      worked there.  He pushed gently on the wooden door.  It opened easily
      into the room.
         Jimmy held his lantern high and peered into the murky darkness.  The
      door created a fan on the dusty floor, and he watched a miniature
      whirlwind spin across the downy soft accumulation.  He sucked his lungs
      full of air and courage.  With the hair at the nape of his neck
      standing on end, he stepped forward onto the unblemished floor.

         Bill and Eddie turned left onto College Avenue and followed the
      waves of rain toward the old mansion and their waiting friend.  Their
      feet sloshed through the puddles while the falling rain raced ahead,
      washing the world clean.  The skies, behind the moving line of
      precipitation, were clearing and promised a sparkling panorama of
      stars.  The boys stopped at the huge gate posts.  The massive iron
      gates lay on the ground inside the rusty, wrought iron fence.  Their
      eyes followed the graveled drive, weed choked now, around its curved
      length to the second gate.  The duplicate barrier still stood erect,
      barring the way to all but the smallest creatures.  The once immaculate
      grounds, like the driveway, were a tangled jungle of wild and
      domesticated plants.  The silent struggle between the greedy, wild
      plants and the more passive domesticated varieties was over for the
      year.  Saplings would be the ultimate winners, becoming trees.  Thistle
      and ragweed gave a good account for their species, and the thorny roses
      were able to cope with the onslaught.
         The delicate looking plum trees, like the roses would survive.  Bill
      and Eddie saw the struggle as a jumbled snarl of weeds, their concern
      focused on the house looming into the cloudy sky.  The three story
      structure, with few remnants of its onetime splendor, showed none of
      the white paint that once graced its ship lapped exterior.  Some of the
      sturdy siding was sprung open at the corners, giving the structure an
      even less well defined form.  Dark clouds passed across the moon, and
      eerie shadows marched through the twisted garden and across the face of
      the forbidding mansion.  Few windows retained their glazing.  They
      formed dark, snaggle toothed grins against the grey walls.
         The boys heard a door slam and waited for their crawling flesh to
      calm down, before venturing forward.  With the sighing wind pushing
      them faster than they wanted, they bolstered their courage and picked
      their way along the driveway.
         Eddie stopped suddenly, his feet ensnared in a dead vine, and Bill
      crashed into him.  Eddie pulled free and glanced up at the darkened
      wall of the house.  He saw a light in the attic and gestured with his
      arm to the single attic window.  Clouds obscured the moon again and, in
      the darkness, they watched a yellow-orange glow waft past the
      translucent glass.  The familiar light from their friend's lantern
      restored a sense of normalcy to the scene and restored Bill's voice as
      well.
         "Jimmy must'a waited inside," he observed, glad to be able to speak.
         "Yea, but what's he doin' up there?"
         "Splorin'?"
         "Ha..." Eddie snorted.  "Let's go get him and get to the show."
         "Yea, before we miss the whole thing."
         Bill slid his hands into his pockets, displaying his nonchalance at
      walking into what they both considered a haunted house.  He blushed and
      nearly laughed with relief, as he realized the wet spot in his pants
      was from the forgotten Brussel sprout, rather than from his loss of
      control.  He tossed the flattened vegetable into the tangle of a rose
      bush and flinched when his wet pocket attached itself to his thigh.  He
      looked up and discovered Eddie was no longer close.  He rushed after
      his friend, not wanting to be left behind.
         Eddie was picking his way through the overgrown yard, moving toward
      the side porch with it's yawning door.
         Bill caught up, and they entered the same room which earlier
      sheltered their absent friend.  Eddie's flashlight and the boys' eyes
      followed the telltale signs of Jimmy's stay.  The light fell sharply
      across the dusty, porcelained table, still marked with the recent touch
      of the lantern's base.
         "Jimmy-y-y!" Eddie roared into the darkness.  His voice echoed back,
      without any reply.  Only the wind passing over the shards of glass in
      the window frames, could be heard.  The vibrating daggers of shattered
      glass created a low moan that wound between the dusty walls.  The boys
      looked at each other in the semigloom.  Questions of their courage to
      venture deeper into the hollowness of the interior went unasked and
      unanswered.
         "Jimmy-y-y!"  They shouted, together.
         Only echoes returned, mixed with the undulating whisper of the wind.
         Eddie examined the floor again and traced the footprints going into
      what appeared to be an open closet.  They both swallowed hard and moved
      cautiously toward the opened door.  Eddie leaned into the dark recess
      and peered into the blackness beyond, following the beam of his probing
      light.
         "We saw his light up there.  This must be how he got up.  It's a
      real narrow stairway," Eddie announced, his voice shaky.  He could not
      see far up the twisted stairs, but there were tattle tale boot prints
      in the dust.  Bill accepted Eddie's appraisal and nodded his reluctant
      agreement to follow.  Eddie usually led the three boys, sometimes into
      trouble, and Bill was glad his friend was going first this time.  Eddie
      started up the narrow passage, the murmur of the wind dying in the
      tight passage.  The sudden silence moved the walls even closer,
      threatening to crush Eddie between their dusty sides.  Eddie shivered
      and fought the claustrophobic walls back to their normal closeness.
      The cobwebs were already torn down, another indication they were still
      on the right trail.  Puffs of dust from Eddie's footsteps tickled
      Bill's nose and caused an explosive sneeze to burst into the tiny
      passage.  Eddie's feeble grip on his bravery slipped and he nearly
      turned and stampeded over Bill and out of the building.  Instead he
      swallowed his pounding heart, halted his clattering knees, and resumed
      climbing.  Bill allowed him to advance four stairs before he followed
      again.
         Eddie waited at the top of the stairs.  Bill's presence was
      reassuring.  The flashlight's beam slashed the darkness of the sewing
      room, and the boys surveyed the outdated patterns adorning the walls.
      The women who hung the patterns were long dead, buried, and turned to
      dust by now.  Dust, Eddie thought, like the dust coating everything in
      the old house.  He shivered, as waves of chills played scales on his
      ribs.  Neither boy was able to speak.  Eddie scanned the floor with his
      light, awaiting the return of some small portion of his courage.  The
      track of Jimmy's footprints led across the floor to a closed door.
      Light leaked under the door's bottom edge. Eddie covered his light with
      his free hand.  The glow at the door's lower edge was not a reflection
      and seemed brighter in the darkness.  While they watched, the light
      faded.  Within seconds, it intensified again.  Abruptly, it moved to
      their right and faded once again.
         Eddie released the light trapped behind his hand and shouted.
      "Jimmy, damn it...  Come out here.  We're gonna miss the whole damn
      movie!"
         The light stopped moving.  There was no reply.
         The room filled with the sound of two hearts beating frantically.
      The two boys did not dare open that door, but they knew they would.
      Fear held them back, and courage let them advance to the dark portal.
      They were confused and petrified.  Bill reached tentatively for the
      grimy knob and slowly twisted.  He suddenly shoved the heavy wooden
      panel into the room.  They were both prepared for their friend to
      spring out at them.  Eddie clenched his buttocks.  This is no time to
      lose control, he thought.  The door slammed against the wall, making a
      hollow reverberation that echoed through the building.  Mouths agape,
      they stood and watched dust sprinkle down from the door frame.  The
      sound of their ragged, open-mouthed breathing was the only sound in the
      attic.
         "Please, God..."  Eddie heard Bill's whisper.
         The thick dust on the floor was undisturbed, except for the fan the
      door drew as it opened.  Jimmy's kerosene lantern rested, burning
      brightly, in the center of the floor.  There was no sign of anyone
      having walked around.  There wasn't any sign of how the lantern got to
      the middle of the dust covered floor.  There was no sign of Jimmy.
      There was only a swelling silence.
         Slowly, their jumbled thoughts and impressions jelled into horrible
      reality, expanding their fear into overwhelming terror.  Neither boy
      could force his rooted feet to move.  Their numbed limbs quivered, but
      refused to budge.
         With an extreme force of will, Bill managed to turn and bolt for the
      narrow stairway.  "God...God, please let me run."  His words faded as
      he plunged into the dark opening.  He took the steep descent two stairs
      at a time, ignoring the darkness and scarcely maintaining his
      precarious balance.  Near the bottom he abandoned sanity and
      accelerated his pace, fearing the footfalls behind him were not
      Eddie's.  His shoulder slammed into the dusty wall, and he tumbled
      through the doorway onto the cluttered first floor.  Crab like, he
      scuffled and clawed over the littered floor, finally lunging out the
      door and across the still wet porch.  His short legs pumped furiously,
      and his heart seemed ready to burst, as he rammed his feet against the
      gravel driveway, straining for the only safety he could imagine: the
      police station seven blocks away.
         Still hypnotized by the fluttering light and frozen in place by the
      fear welding his joints together, Eddie watched the light glowing in
      the big, empty room.  He was beginning to break the trance, slowly.  He
      knew if he turned his back on the room, he was lost.  With an agony of
      effort and concentration, he managed to slide his left foot away from
      the beckoning flame.  The desire to move into the room and surrender to
      the dust and the warm flame was intense.  Jimmy was in there somewhere.
      Eddie could almost hear his voice.  The second step backward was
      another agony.  His legs seemed mired in an invisible paste.  He
      dropped his gaze from the inviting light to his feet to see if they
      were indeed free to move.  He sensed, in that instant, that he might
      escape, unless Jimmy suddenly appeared.  He could hear the familiar
      voice, but the words were unclear.  Eddie's greatest fear was that
      Jimmy would show up.  He knew he would have to go to his friend and
      also knew he would be lost.  Eddie rejected the pleading voice and
      continued to slide his feet across the sewing room floor.  He bumped
      into the wall, comforted by it's solidity.  With his back pressed
      tightly to the wall, to prevent anything from getting behind him, he
      risked one last look.  He searched the rooms for his friend.  The
      friend he now feared he might see.  No one was there.  Eddie was not
      reassured.
         He turned, his shoulder still pressed to the wall, and dived into
      the stairwell.  His thundering descent exposed his back to the evil in
      the attic and he felt ghost like fingers clutching at his coat and
      neck.  He abandoned any concern for stepping on the stair treads and
      ricocheted down the spiraling stairs.  His ankles withstood the abuse
      and even though he lost his light, hearing the clatter behind him, he
      managed the final six steps.  He relinquished the light to whatever was
      pursuing him and crashed into the door to the first floor.  He felt the
      door splinter with the force of his assault.  He ignored the injured
      wood and raced across the cluttered floor to freedom.  His feet touched
      none of the stairs leading from the porch as he hurled himself out of
      the mansion's grip.  He dug his toes into the rain softened earth and
      pushed his aching body toward the gate posts.  His lungs burned and he
      expected his heart to explode in the next instant, as he achieved the
      relative security of the sidewalk along College Avenue.  He raced
      across the familiar street, seeking to widen the distance between
      himself and the enticing terror of the attic.  He saw Bill's running
      figure ahead and followed.
         He caught up with his fleeing friend as they both threw their
      exhausted bodies through the doors of the police station.  Neither boy
      could look back and neither one felt secure until he did.  Eddie risked
      a look over his shoulder.  "We made it, Bill," he managed to croak, his
      useless legs folding under his still moving body.  He crumpled into a
      pile beside the startled officer on duty.

         Nearly two hours passed before the police managed to restore the
      boys to a coherent state and check their story with their parents.
      Many children liked to torment the police, especially just before
      Halloween.  Eddie and Bill repeated their tale of terror many times in
      those two hours.  Jimmy's mother confirmed that her son had indeed gone
      to town.  He was supposed to meet the other boys, and they were going
      to a movie.  She agreed to come into town immediately.  Eddie's father
      and mother joined the growing throng, and Bill's parents arrived
      shortly afterward.

         Eddie and Bill waited with the worried parents outside the mansion,
      refusing to accompany the two burly officers who entered the building.
      Everyone in the small cluster of anxious people watched the moving
      lights the officers carried into the darkness.  As the pair searched,
      the attic window still glowed softly, the lantern still burned.
         Disappointment flowed into despair when the officers emerged
      carrying the lantern.  Jimmy was not with them, and they seemed
      relieved to be out of the dark building.  "Sorry, there's nobody in
      there," the taller officer announced, brushing his dust covered
      uniform.  "He must have left this in there and walked home."  Jimmy's
      father accepted the lantern and twisted the wick into darkness.
         "But did you see any footprints leading to the lantern?"  Eddie's
      strident voice intruded into the adult discussion.
         The two officers looked at each other and then up toward the now
      dark attic window.  "No, son.  Just ours.  Did you kids put that out
      there with a stick or something?"  The officer was grasping for
      something that made sense in the confused night.
         "We told you...  That's how we found the room.  We opened the door,
      and there was the lantern.  It moved around that room, not thirty
      seconds before Bill opened the door.  But no one was there.  Where did
      he go?  Where in the hell is he?"  Eddie's voice rose to a shrill
      scream and gooseflesh flourished throughout the gathering.
         "We don't know son.  We'll get some help and find out," the smaller
      officer offered, without much enthusiasm.  "O.K.?"
         "Yea, but no one's there." Eddie turned and, rejecting the help from
      the adults, led the tiny parade away from the tall, dusty building.
      His last words hung in the night: "... no one's there."