The Fear (2)
The danger time is what he and his sister called the period after his dad had drunk more than ten cans of beers. That’s when they had to be careful. Although sometimes it didn’t even matter what they did. With the passing years, the danger time had only started after twelve cans, then thirteen. Frank liked that. The longer the better. He looked down at the ashtray. Maybe, he told himself, maybe it had been his fault. Even though he was only ten at the time, he could have, no- should have- figured out for himself that he was using a metal saw. "Dammit son," his dad shouted, grabbed him, and shook him back and forth like a rag doll "God gave you a brain, why don’t you use it, huh?" A tear ran down his face. He walked through to the kitchen, leaving the memories behind. Frank wanted to leave early. He like being the first at the tree house. Gave him time to work on things that needed fixing. Before leaving he checked the post. His heart jumped with excitement when he saw that his mom had written back. He placed the precious letter– (I’ll read it later. Gotta get out of here) – under his pillow. "Right, I’m off to the tree house, pops" Joey Anderson said to his dad. "You off champ?" his dad asked. He lay on the sofa; kept watching TV, "have fun!" Joey walked into the lounge, stopped next to the piano, glanced at the various photos, smiled, and sat on the sofa next to his dad. "Pop?" the scrawny thirteen-year-old asked. "Yeah?" "I don’t suppose…well, I was just wandering if you had looked for a job today?" His dad, with shoulder length black hair, unshaven face, and without a shirt, smiled. "You know what I say champ: no business around this small town will appreciate my talents" "Yeah I know, but mom would appreciate the help in paying the bills" His father laughed, shuffled his weight around on the tattered sofa, tucked his right arm underneath his head, and settled down. "Ahh champ, as usual, your mouth is as sharp as an eagles talon. It’s gonna make us rich oneday." He used his left arm to ruffle up Joey’s brown hair. "Dad," Joey said, pulling his head away, "don’t go changing the subject" "I’m not. I’m serious, you’re gonna be famous…and make lots of money. Money that your pop can spend to his hearts content!" "That’s if I don’t die of starvation before then" He lent forward, kissed his dad on the forehead, and left. Joey walked out the front door, and stopped. He spotted the neighbor’s cat, Sticky, in their large, barren front yard. Joey clenched on his teeth. He knew why Sticky was in their yard: pigeons. Sticky, a reddish-brown streaked alley cat, had his back to Joey. Joey heard something crunch, and started to run towards the cat. Sticky ran away and "meowed" softly, disgusted at having lost its kill. Joey knelt beside the remains of the pigeon. "Sorry fella" he stroked the dead bird. Joey picked it up, and buried it in the soft ground, then left for the tree house, disappointed that his Friday afternoon had been spoilt. Timmy Bellefonte opened the backdoor of their farmhouse, and paused, letting the fresh air blow through his spiky brown hair. His thick glasses slid down his nose, and- using his left index finger- he pushed them back up. Always the left finger. When he first had to wear the spectacles, at the age of six, he had cried at how many times they slid down. "Well," his dad had said, "if I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it?" "Yes daddy" he had answered. "Okay then. Did you know, that if you push the glasses back up with your left index finger," He lent forward, "and only the left index finger, it’ll make you clever!" Timmy believed him, and used every opportunity to push them back. And now, at the age of ten, although he knew it was a lie, he was set in his ways. At first he thought that was the reason for his above-average IQ. That maybe he had overdone it. But his dad had assured him that he was special, and had been born that way. The sun stung his shoulders as he walked towards his dog’s house. Timmy had bought it with the money his dad had given him for getting straight A’s the year before. The dainty, yellow wooden house had the words "SPOCK’S HOUSE" painted in red across the front. Although in this heat Spock was never inside it. Now it was used as a storage for all the toys Timmy had bought for him. Ever since getting Spock, for his eighth birthday, Timmy had requested money for his birthday and Christmas, and then used the money to buy Spock toys and useless gadgets. Timmy’s parents, Brian and Kate, had decided Timmy could do with a friend after the school suggested Timmy be moved two years ahead. "HERE BOY…" he called out, "COME BOY!" The golden brown Labrador came rushing around the corner, tongue splashing drool to all corners of the earth, almost sliding in his haste to get to his master. "Whez my boy?" Timmy said, jumping up and down once. Spock stopped. He knew this game well by now. Timmy shimmied to the left. Spock dug his front paws into the ground, lowering his head. He let out a playful growl. "Aaaah…" Timmy turned his head away, "… whez my boy?" his head shot back. Spock shimmied to the right, and charged Timmy. He crashed into the boy’s legs, and the two went tumbling to the ground. Before Timmy even touched down he was covered in drool. "Aah, sick" he laughed, pulling the Labrador down, and wrestling with him. He carried on playing with the dog for the next ten minutes. Before leaving, he filled Spocks water bowl, something which he did twice, regardless of whether it needed water or not. Timmy knew he would be late, as usual. He was always the last to arrive at the tree house. But what he didn’t know- what none of them knew- was that this meeting would be their last… CHAPTER THREE Fear: a mixed feeling of anxiety and agitation, caused by the nearness or presence of danger, evil or pain. (Compton’s Encyclopedia) "This’ll do, Gord" Buster said to his brother. Gordon slowed the black Ford Cortina down. Buster surveyed the empty streets. His slick black hair dangled over his brow, and he used both his hands to brush it back. A lonesome fox terrier wandered around. The dog stopped beside the car, and sniffed the air. Buster lifted his short, stocky frame out of the car. "Here boy…come on," he whispered in an angelic tone of voice. The aroma of the tit-bit he held on his outstretched hand teased Chaptin, the fox terrier. "Come on, here boy," he repeated again. Chaptin edged closer, sniffing as he went along. Buster bent down, picked the dog up, and climbed into the car. He turned to Gordon, Chaptin in his muscular arms, smiled, then looked back at the dog. Chaptin was shivering. Buster looked into his eyes "If you go down to the woods today, you’re in for a big surprise…" The two seventeen-year-olds laughed, and headed towards the woods. Russell’s body quivered with the usual Friday excitement. He was going to meet Joey, then Darryl, and then head over to the tree house. Frank was always the first there, fixing odd things, and Timmy lived nearby. The blistering heat rising out the long, straight road made the images ahead appear distorted. The dolphin blue Toyota of the Smiths was the only car to line the peaceful street. Sunrays bouncing off its rooftop made it look like a searing hotplate on a stove. After a few minutes Russell’s shirt clung to his shoulders, laced with fine droplets of sweat. The temperature had silenced the houses; the area was void of all the usual insect and animal noises. It felt to him like he was riding through a hushed tunnel. Lightning, his silver BMX, was feeling the heat as well. The wheels made an unusual grinding noise as he lumbered along. His hands started to sweat, and slipped ever so slightly off the handlebars. He should have heard them. Checking for them was something he did instinctively. The sound of their paws pounding on the tar caught his attention…he saw the two large bullmastiffs just in time. They had the same bloodthirsty look in their eyes, hell-bent on sinking their rotting teeth into his tender flesh. Centimeters away, and gaining. They made no sound. Russell had learnt through experience that the ones that don’t bark; bite. Adrenalin shot through his aching legs. His speed doubled in milliseconds. Lightning swayed as he forced his weight into each pedal. A sharp, burning sensation cut through his knees. One of them nearly succeeded. Russell felt its warm, repulsive breath against his leg. He heard its jaws snap continuously; barely inches away. No words were uttered. He thought of saying, "Shoo", but his mouth hung open, frozen by fear. Maybe he should have kicked out at them. But what if one of them caught hold of his leg and dragged him down? They gave up the chase, but he carried on speeding for the next hundred meters. When he stopped, his hands shook as he applied the brakes. It felt as though his pounding heart lay in wait at the top of his throat, ready to pop out. The heat of earlier was gone, replaced with a cold sweat. Why is it, he though to himself, the larger the dog- the bigger the gate…the wider open the owner leaves it? "I hate them!" his voice trembled. "Go easy on your parents!" a voice behind him said. Joey applied the brakes to his brick red BMX, and stopped next to him, his brown hair scruffy as usual. "I see Mrs. West’s fox terrier has been terrorizing you again." He laughed with his dimpled smile. "Fuck you asshole." Russell said, his face a pale white. "Don’t worry. I’ll have a chat to her," Joey said, leaning on his handlebars, " I mean, if that beast caught you," he started to giggle, " think of the damage it could do to your…ankles!" he burst out in his contagious laugh. Russell felt a faint smile develop on his face. He wagged his finger at Joey "One of these days a dog’s gonna chase you, and I’ll be there waiting at the end." "You? Waiting?" he mocked. " More likely you’ll be in the next country by that time. We both know the sight of any dog charging is enough to give you an instant out of body experience!" "Yeah? Well hopefully one day we can see what your reaction would be" "Cool as ice bro, that much I know" He said and patted him on the shoulder with a sparkle in his blue eyes. "Fucking poet and you don’t know it" They set off towards Darryl’s house. The dominant male had been having lots of bad feelings. He didn’t want to be in the pack anymore. His instincts told him that the fever that shivered through his body was caused by the constant chattering of the pack. They were the root of his thirst. The thirst that he knew water would only worsen… The rest of the pack felt anxious; danger was imminent and unavoidable. They had killed as normal, but now food wasn’t important. The thirst was. Or rather how to rid themselves of it. Water, their instincts told them, was not the answer. None of them had groomed the dominant female for days. The ritual was part of the strong bond that kept them together. It had been five weeks since the dogs escaped from Umvunto Game Reserve. Four weeks and six days since they had eaten Bessie. Johan and his family had returned to find her missing. They searched, but never went the six miles out where her remains lay in a decomposing heap. The blazing sun and maggots had reduced her to bones covered in bits of hide. The dogs had carried on roaming, and made it undetected to Marble Hall. The virus had spread to their brain. They were all in the prodomal stage of rabies. Darryl, Joey and Russell lived in a triangle, spread out across the town. Each week two of them would take turns and meet halfway, then proceed together to the last person’s house. One of their useless rituals. The bearings in red BMX’s wheels eeked along the way, the grinding noise becoming louder as they struggled up a steep road. On both sides of the street, impressive houses lined up like soldiers in an inspection; each one’s gardens meticulously clean; the walls a sparkling white; the huge wooden doors a rich, dark brown; the grass a luscious green. "Man, I hate these roads," Joey moaned, his face contorted. Fine beads of sweat assembled on his brow. Russell felt his hands begin to tremble. "Hey bud," "Yeah?" Joey asked "We’re gonna have to stop off at the shop." "Man," he said, his shoulders dropped, and he threw his head back "You got the shakes again?" "Yeah man, gotta get something to eat and drink" Russell Carsten suffered from the "Shakes" each time after being frightened. It had never threatened him, and he didn’t see it as a handicap either. But Russell was exhibiting early signs of psychogenic shock, caused by excessive amounts of fear, anger, grief or joy. The shock, at its worst, would manifest itself in the next week… Gradually the road evened out, and peddling became easier. By then their legs felt like rubber. Russell looked at Joey, "Hey man, your face is red!" "Yeah," he wheezed, "it’s a rash. I think I’m allergic to exercise" They slowed their bikes down, cruising along the flat streets. "Hey," Joey said, "try and avoid asking his mom for food…you know how she feels about us…" An uncomfortable feeling swept through their tired bodies, as it always did when the subject was discussed. Russell remembered hearing Darryl’s mom talk about them, unaware that he was nearby. He changed the subject "Sure thing," he said, " man, no matter how many times I come past here, the houses still blow me away". The two looked around at the modern, double-storey mansions that bulged out of the earth. All of them different colours, different designs, but all with the same message: I made it big. Most of the houses belonged to businessmen from larger cities, who used Marble Hall as a weekend getaway. The prices were cheap, the crime non-existent. "Does doesn’t it," Joey said with a far off look, "one day…I’m gonna live in one of them." "You wish" "I know!" "Dream on" "Just wait, you’ll see, I’ll make it." "Doing what?" "Dunno, maybe a comedian, perhaps an actor. That’s not important. But dad says I’ll be famous." "Dad says, dad says," Russell laughed, "your dad isn’t always right you know. Besides, last year you wanted to be a docter, then, help me out here, lawyer was it?" But Russell could tell he was serious. One of the few times Joey, or the hustler as they called him, meant what he said. Believed what he said. The most noticeable difference- apart from the houses- between Darryl’s area and the others, was the dust. Thick, red sand that was the result of their barren gardens terrorized them all. Russell’s front had a garden, but the back was dust interspersed with small patches of struggling grass. Each time his mom hung up the washing, it would come back inside with a red tinge to it. Not Darryl’s house though. The whole area- corner to corner- was covered in a lush, satin-smooth green grass. Like the kind on those television ads where the man rushes to meet the girl, and they fall- hand in hand- into the flowing, gentle grass. But the lawn was the last thing they looked at on the few occasions they visited him. The sight of their impressive double story house, complete with swimming pool, usually gave them a slight tingle of envy. They parked their bikes in the driveway, (Darryl’s mom had told them after the first time not to ride on the grass), and walked towards the towering wooden doors. Joey did the honors, and knocked. The sound reverberated through the huge, empty rooms. They stood gazing at the carvings on the dark wood, then heard the unmistakable plodding of her heals on the marble floor. Systematically edging closer towards them. They looked at each other, "Damn" Joey whispered, " she always gets here first" Then the normal pause and silence, as she checked her hair in one of the hundreds of strategically placed mirrors. The knob turned, and the wooden door creaked open; the sound similar to that of bones snapping. Hell, Russell thought to himself, even the noise the door makes is impressive. They stood grinning from ear to ear, trying to appear innocent. She had the fake smile on her face, which dissolved the minute she laid eyes on them. The "welcome" face turned sour with such speed Joey was sure he could feel the wind her mouth generated when it slumped. Then the glare; her beady, brown eyes appearing to jump out of their bony sockets, and blast through them. She never greeted them first. "Hi there Mrs. Henderson!" they sang in unison. The glare. "Joey…Russell…" the glare "Darryl will be down soon." "Thank you maam, we’ll just wait here then." Joey said. They knew she would never invite them in. Too afraid one of her friends would see them inside. After what felt like an eternity, but was more minutes, they heard the muffled sound of Darryl’s footsteps coming down the stairs. "Howzit!" he greeted them
Copyright © 2001 David Rama |