Black's Creek (2 page)

Later that evening at home, Dad both praised and cautioned me.

‘That was brave what you did, Tommy, trying to save Joey Maxwell; but also foolish. I noticed that Fleming kid there when I arrived. Did he put you up to it? I want the truth.'

‘It had nothing to do with Brent. I was the best swimmer there. Aren't you just glad I tried to save Joey?'

‘Of course I am, but it meant putting yourself in danger. We could've been dealing with two deaths this evening, instead of one. There's an old saying: fools rush in where angels fear to tread. Perhaps you can remember that in future. Clear?'

I nodded. ‘Yes …'

Mom hovered in the background like a vulture, waiting for Dad to finish so she could get pecking at me. Mom never praised. It just wasn't in her nature. But she was a specialist at warnings; that was her second skin.

‘What did I warn you about being with that Fleming boy? Did you have cotton stuffed in your ears when I warned you I didn't want you with him?'

‘Brent's okay, Mom. It wasn't his fault.'

‘You arguing with me,
Mister
?'

Mister?
Only Mom had the ability to send shivers up your spine with one word. Mom was smaller than Dad by a good foot-and-a-half, but she always seemed to look bigger when she was angry. The room seemed to get smaller, to close in around you. Dad always said not to be fooled by Mom's size; that dynamite comes in small packages.

‘No … I'm not arguing.'

‘If stupidity ever becomes a currency, you'll end up a millionaire. Don't
ever
let me find out you're hanging about with that Brent Fleming again. Understood, Mister?'

‘Yeah …'
I'll make sure you don't find out.

‘What?' Mom's mouth dropped open. She looked as if I had just sworn at her. ‘What did you just say?'

‘Yes. I meant yes.'

‘Don't let me
ever
hear you talking like that again. I didn't raise some corner boy with his “yeah” gutter language. Got that?'

I sighed. ‘Yes. Can I be excused now? I'm going over to Horseshoe's to watch
Planet of the Apes
.'

‘Planet of the Apes
? Ha! After all your monkeying about at the lake, the only planet you'll be seeing for the foreseeable future is the globe in your room. You're grounded until further notice.'

‘What? But …' I looked over at Lawyer Dad, hoping he would raise an objection. But he knew better than to argue
with Judge-Jury-Executioner Mom when it came to the law in her territory. So did I.

We both watched Mom leave the room, to go out onto the porch. I swore I saw smoke coming from her ears, even though she didn't smoke.

‘Why's Mom always like that to me, Dad?'

‘Like what?'

‘Mean.'

‘Mean?' Dad looked evenly at me for a moment or two. ‘Oh, I see. “Mean”, as in petrified about you almost losing your life today? Perhaps you meant “mean” as in the terror in her voice when I called to tell her what had happened, and why you ended up in the hospital?'

‘I didn't think she cared,' I replied in a near-whisper.

‘Let me tell you something, Tommy, and I hope you listen carefully to it. When you become an adult, and if you're blessed with a child, and God forbid that child does something so foolish he or she is almost killed, then all I hope is that you're as mean as your mother when it comes to showing what true love and protection really is.'

‘What's that suppose to mean?'

‘Figure it out for yourself.' He ruffled my hair, then smiled. ‘Now, if you don't mind, I've a beautiful girl I need to be seeing.'

He left the room, to join Mom on the porch. I watched through the window as he sat, his arm resting on her shoulder,
and she leaned into him. The sun was going down, and its dying rays etched the shape of my parents onto the glass, a silhouette surrounded by faded hues of gold and blue. A soft, warm breeze sneaked in through the partly open door, and rested on my face, and for the first time that day, it felt good to be alive, as the solid mass of my parents seemed to lift the cares from my shoulders.

Little did I know, but all that was about to change.

J
oey's horrific death was the main headline for days in the local newspapers. The reports suggested his suicide had been triggered by the attack in Black's Wood, last year, where he had been sexually molested. They also noted, ominously, that his attacker had never been apprehended. Police had a suspect, but they couldn't arrest him through lack of evidence.

Over the next few days, journalists and TV reporters came by to interview me about Joey. I was portrayed as a hero, trying to save a pal – much to Brent's annoyance.

‘Shit, I called the ambulance,' Brent said, four nights later, as we sat around a makeshift campfire at the lake, drinking Coke. ‘They didn't even mention me.'

‘Me neither,' Horseshoe added, as he tossed a piece of wood
on the fire, causing devil sparks to dance in the darkness. ‘I pulled you out of the water, Tommy. I should've got my name in the paper as well. I was a hero too.'

I nodded in agreement. ‘I know. You both were heroes. I told them about the two of you, but they didn't put your names in the story.' I didn't mention the recurring nightmare I was suffering each night, watching ugly little green fish peel the skin off Joey's face with their tiny razor-like teeth. Then Joey would grab me, handcuffing both of us to the old wreck. His eyes are everywhere in my room, accusing me. Perhaps if we hadn't encouraged him to go deeper into the water, he would still be alive?

‘Everyone's saying it's because Joey was molested,' Horseshoe said, before slugging down a bottle of Coke in one long gulp, a feat that never failed to amaze me.

‘That pervert Not Normal's the scum bastard who did this, by molesting Joey,' Brent agreed, spitting into the fire. ‘Made poor Joey go and kill himself.'

‘
Shhhhhhhhh!
' I hissed, glancing nervously over my shoulder. ‘Only a few people know Not Normal's a suspect. If my dad ever finds out we know, he'll figure I've been listening to his private conversations in the hub. Then I'll be in for it.'

‘Don't worry, Tommy,' Horseshoe said. ‘Your dad'll not hear a thing from us. Right, Brent?'

‘Well, it doesn't change a fucking thing,' Brent said, ignoring Horseshoe's assurance. ‘
We
know it was Not Normal.'

Not Normal – Norman Armstrong – worked as a part-time janitor at the Strand movie theatre. Completely hairless, he suffered from alopecia universalis, the rapid-hair-loss ailment. The creepy loner acquired his unfortunate moniker due to his name being pronounced wrong by every kid in town.

Normal, can you tell us if there's a cartoon before the big movie today? Will there be ice cream for sale today, Normal? Will I be allowed to watch that horror movie, Normal, even though I won't be thirteen 'till next month? Normal, can you tell me if –

This went on for months, until one night, he had had enough.
I'm Norman!
he screamed, in utter frustration, before making himself a legend with the following classic statement:
You bunch of little rubber-mouth bastards! I'm not fucking Normal!

‘His ugly face is like a
piñata
: should be whacked hard and often,' Horseshoe now suggested.

‘Never mind hitting him. They should shoot the bastard,' Brent said.

His fixation on the subject had become so relentless it was starting to scare me.

‘Yeah,' Horseshoe said, making an imaginary gun with finger and thumb. ‘Shooting him would be much better.'

Brent nodded. ‘Right in the nuts. That would stop him, the perverted bastard.'

‘Yeah. Pervert. In the nuts.
Bang
!' Horseshoe nodded, before loudly belching out Coke gas. ‘He's nuttier than a squirrel's
turd. Gives me the creeps. Have you ever seen that evil smile he has, with those rotten teeth of his?'

‘We should make a pact, like they do in the movies,' Brent said. He loved nothing better than a good murder movie, full of mystery and intrigue.

‘Yeah, like in the movies.'

‘Are you game, Tommy?' Brent was looking hard into my eyes.

I watched the flames flickering over Brent's face, distorting his features. It made me think of Dr Jekyll morphing into Hyde. I shivered.

‘Game for what?' I finally said, knowing full well what he was hinting at.

‘Justice for Joey. Pay that pervert Not Normal back for what he did. We take an oath, right here, right fucking now.' He held out one hand, and with the other produced a penknife from his pocket. ‘A blood oath.'

‘Blood …?' Horseshoe said, his voice thinning.

I thought Horseshoe was going to faint. Everyone knew he loathed the sight of blood – especially his own.

‘Yes,
blood
,' Brent said, never taking his eyes off mine, ignoring Horseshoe. ‘If the oath is betrayed, the traitor will go straight to Hell and be fucked in the ass by the devil's flaming cock, forever and ever. Agreed?'

Even though I knew this whole blood-oath thing was just bluster and talk, the hairs on the back of my neck began nipping
my skin. Night sounds whispered secretly behind me. I felt darkness on my mouth. ‘Okay …' I finally said.

Brent smiled and held out his thumb, curving the knife inwards. His skin tore. An inkblot of blood appeared. Even in the dull light, I would never forget its colour: deep crimson, like the bloodshot eye of a trapped animal.

‘Here,' Brent said, handing me the knife and holding his bloody thumb outwards.

I held my breath, and then cut along my thumb, brave-facing the instant jolt of pain. A bubble of blood appeared.

‘Now you, Horseshoe,' Brent commanded, handing the bloodstained knife to Horseshoe.

Horseshoe swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down in the dim light. It looked like a robin's egg.

‘Can't I … just swear something, instead?' Horseshoe asked.

‘No, you can't! It's like the three musketeers. All for one, and one for all.' Brent's face was becoming harsh. ‘Stop being such a sissy. Just fucking cut.'

Reluctantly, Horseshoe took the knife, his hand shaking terribly. Breathing deeply, he pierced the skin on his thumb. He swooned slightly. ‘
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh
.'

‘Now, thumbs together,' Brent urged.

We complied.

‘Let the oath of blood-brothers and secrecy live with us forever,' Brent continued, forcing the three thumbs tightly against each other, allowing our blood to mingle like spilt ink
on a page. ‘Let any traitor burn in hell, forever and ever.'

For the longest ten seconds of my life, I waited to take my thumb away. It felt on fire.

‘See?' Brent said to Horseshoe, finally breaking the bloody link. ‘Wasn't so bad, was it?'

Horseshoe didn't answer. His pale face looked damp, glistening in the dancing firelight.

For the longest time, no one uttered a single word. The night seemed to grow denser, and the intense silence began closing in on me. It felt claustrophobic, like a funeral shroud.

‘Are we finished?' I finally asked, feeling bone weary. ‘I've got to head home. I'm still under night curfew.'

‘Finished, and just beginning, blood-brother.' Brent grinned. His face looked strange. ‘Call over to my house, tomorrow. I'll come up with a plan.'

I left my two friends there, with the dying embers for company, and the soft slapping sound of Jackson's Lake spilling over the embankment behind them. There would be no plan, of course. It was just Brent, living out his fantasy, playing the leading man in one of his mind-movies.

As I made my way home in the darkness, I felt eyes on my back. I hoped it was Brent or Horseshoe, but something made me think of Joey Maxwell's accusing gaze. I swore I heard his voice calling out.

Why didn't you save me, Tommy?

I ran as fast as I could, never stopping until I reached home.

E
arly the next day, I went around to the back of Horseshoe's house, and threw a couple of tiny stones up at his bedroom window.

The stones reached their target and the window opened in a flash, followed by Horseshoe's annoyed-looking face.

‘Tommy, what the hell's wrong with you? You almost smashed the glass. You gonna pay for it, if it gets broken?'

‘Stop moaning and get your butt out the window,' I said, grinning.

His head quickly popped back inside, and a couple of minutes later Horseshoe started climbing out the window,
legs first. Balancing himself carefully, he reached out for the extended tree branch, directly across from his window. Not for Horseshoe the conventional way of the front door. Everything had to be dramatic. Crawling precariously along the branch to his treehouse door, he disappeared inside.

‘C'mon, Horseshoe!' I shouted. ‘Hurry the hell up!'

‘Okay, okay! Give me a second.'

The rope ladder came flying out of the treehouse, followed by Horseshoe.

Horseshoe was the only kid in the neighborhood with a treehouse. I would've given anything to have one, just to get away from Mom and Dad every now and again. Even the scrawny tree at the back of our yard would have sufficed, giving me somewhere to sneak out to at night. But Mom was wise to all of that. She made sure my room was at the front, where she could ‘keep a good eye on me' at all times.

‘What do you think of these?' Horseshoe asked, as soon as his feet touched the ground.

He was wearing a pair of plastic X-ray glasses, ones I had seen advertised in the back of a comic. Horseshoe was gullible that way, always buying crap. His family had plenty of money, compared to Brent's and mine, so I guess his parents didn't mind. It never bothered me, the money he had. He was generous with it, and always bought the Cokes we drank.

‘If you want me to be honest, they look silly, Horseshoe. Really silly. Almost as silly as when you painted your face
green for Saint Paddy's day.' Horseshoe had painted his face green the year before last, for the annual Saint Patrick's Day festivities. He looked ridiculous. Both Brent and I teased him mercilessly, saying he must have been trying to look like the Hulk, but had ended up looking like puke.

‘I don't care if they look silly. They work. That's all that counts.'

‘They're garbage, like all the crap you buy, Horseshoe. Remember the Sea Monkeys you bought?
So eager to please they can even be trained?
Turned out to be just a bunch of dead, shriveled-up shrimps.'

‘Come on, we all make mistakes every now and –'

‘Or the Polaris Nuclear Sub, that was supposed to fire real rockets and torpedoes? You wasted seven bucks on that, only to discover it was cardboard, and a fart would've sunk it. You could've made a better one from an empty cereal box.'

‘But these are different, Tommy. I'm telling you. Here, take a look,' he said, taking off the glasses and handing them to me. ‘Put your hand up in front of them. What do you see?'

I reluctantly put the glasses on, checking first that no one would see me, and then held my hand up directly against one of the lenses.

‘Wow!' I was amazed. I
could
see my hand. Chillingly, it was all bones, no flesh, like something out of
The War of the Worlds
. ‘Shit, I can't believe it, Horseshoe. They actually
do
work. You've finally bought a winner.'

‘Best buck-and-a-quarter I ever spent. Think of the things we can get up to with them.'

‘Things? What kind of things?'

‘All sorts of things. Like looking through Ann Cartwright's clothing, for starters. We'll be able to see her panties.'

Ann Cartwright was a gorgeous, big-breasted girl at our school. Everyone was in love with her. Especially Horseshoe. Even though he knew realistically he hadn't a hope in hell with her, he never gave up the dream.

‘If Big Boobs Cartwright catches you gawking through her dress, you'll be in big trouble with her three brothers,' I said, handing back the glasses. ‘They'll beat the shit out of you, just for the fun of it.'

‘It'll be worth taking a beating just to see her panties. Bet they're pink and lacey. I can't wait until school reopens.'

I didn't know if it was just the glasses, but Horseshoe's eyes looked kind of strange when he spoke about Ann's panties.

We quickly headed over to Brent's house, in deep discussion all the way about the pros and cons of X-ray glasses. I had to admit, Horseshoe had me convinced. In fact, I had decided secretly that I'd send for my own pair, when I got back home from Brent's.

I always enjoyed going to Brent's house, because his parents were much more relaxed than mine could ever be. Mom called them ‘liberal', which I took to mean something approaching Satanism.

Once, when Mrs Gleason – Mom's old school friend and card partner – was over visiting, I overheard her use the word ‘swingers', in reference to the Flemings. My teenage mind summoned up a picture of Mrs Fleming swinging on their tree-swing, being pushed by Mr Fleming. Could that really have been what Mrs Gleason meant?

The Flemings also smoked
marijuana
, according to Mrs Gleason. Lots of it. That was before Mr Fleming went to prison, after being caught with ‘a ton of it' down in Florida. I knew what
marijuana
was, of course. Brent smoked it occasionally. I had even tried it once, but threw up and never touched it again. Ever. Dad said if he even suspected I had touched anything like that, he'd personally lock me up, and throw away the key. I was almost certain he wasn't joking. Mom said she would kill me. She
definitely
wasn't joking.

Brent was resting beside a tree at the bottom of his garden, drinking homemade lemonade, when we approached. In his hands he had a copy of
True Crime
magazine, borrowed from me, which of course meant borrowed/stolen from Dad's collection. Brent and I had something of a lending library in miniature going on. In return for a regular supply of my dad's crime magazines, Brent would let me look at
his
father's massive collection of
Playboy
magazines. I was in love with Little Annie Fanny, despite the fact that she was just a cartoon.

Brent was totally fascinated by the crime magazines, and their grisly black-and-white photos. Their monochrome
depictions of blood did more for the imagination than any Technicolor rendering ever could.

‘Okay, blood-brothers?' was the first thing he said, spotting us walking towards him.

I nodded, but didn't say a word.

Horseshoe was more enthusiastic. ‘Feeling great, blood-brother. Strange, I always wanted a brother, and now I've got two.'

‘What the fuck've you got on your face, Horseshoe? Looks like some sort of bug,' Brent said, spotting the glasses.

‘X-ray glasses. Want to try them?'

Brent looked at me, and then back to Horseshoe. ‘Are you fucking nuts? There's no such thing as X-ray glasses. When the hell are you gonna grow up and stop acting like a kid?'

‘Try them on and see for yourself,' Horseshoe said, offering the glasses to Brent.

‘Bullshit. No such thing.' Brent refused to touch them. ‘Put them away – now.'

‘Try them first, and then tell me they're not real,' Horseshoe said, defiantly.

Brent looked at me. I just shrugged my shoulders.

‘Okay,' he said, snapping the glasses from Horseshoe's hand. ‘But if I catch you laughing …'

Brent put the glasses on. He looked so ridiculous that I almost laughed, in spite of the warning.

‘Put your hand up to them,' Horseshoe instructed.

Reluctantly, Brent's hand went to his face.

‘What do you see, Brent?'

‘Shit …' Brent's mouth opened like a trapdoor. ‘You're right, Horseshoe. They work!'

‘Told you.' Horseshoe grinned with pride. Finally, after a very long list of disappointments, he had actually managed to buy something that did what it said on the can. This was major. Respect would have to be given to him, after this.

‘Hold on a sec …' Brent said. ‘I put my other hand up, and it looks the same.'

‘Of course it looks the same. It's a hand, ain't it?'

‘I know it's a hand, smart ass, but why isn't it moving when I make a fist?'

‘Huh?'

‘A fist,' Brent said, making one, and holding it up to the glasses. ‘It's still showing a hand, not a fist!'

‘Let me see,' said Horseshoe, nervously taking the glasses from Brent and placing them back on his own face. He made a fist. Then a hand. Then a fist. ‘I … I don't understand.'

‘Don't you?' Brent said, smirking. ‘You've been suckered again.'

‘What?'

Like lightning, Brent grabbed the glasses off Horseshoe's defeated face, and began crushing them in his hands.

‘Hey!' Horseshoe shouted, making a grab for them. ‘Don't do that!'

But it was too late. The damage had been done. Brent tore the glasses apart, and then held something in his hand.

‘Feathers,' he said, grinning. ‘These were stuck in between the lenses, to make it look like you were seeing an X-ray. Either that, or the feathers came from your sorry ass, Horseshoe.'

Mortified, Horseshoe could only look at his latest investment blunder withering in front of his eyes, and witnessed by the entire world. Two feathers, cardboard frames painted black and, just to add insult to injury, cheap plastic lenses. The entire kit and caboodle was the equivalent of one cent worth of crappy leftovers, sold for a buck-and-a-quarter to the biggest sucker in town.

‘There ought to be a law against these sort of things,' said Horseshoe, staring glumly at the wreckage of plastic.

‘Do something useful, Horseshoe. Go get you and Tommy a glass of lemonade from the fridge,' Brent said, indicating towards the house. ‘Grab some more ice for me, while you're at it.'

‘Why's it always me has to go?' Horseshoe said.

‘Because I say so, that's why, Mister fucking X-ray Eyes.'

‘Maybe I'm not thirsty.'

‘Maybe you don't want to be a blood-brother?' Brent made a movement to stand, as if to confront Horseshoe.

‘That's not fair. It's always me who has to –'

‘Stop arguing like two girls!' I said, walking towards the house. ‘I'll get the damn lemonade.'

A few seconds later, I was rapping politely on the door, even though Mrs Fleming always encouraged me to ‘walk right on in, don't bother with that knocking crap'.

‘Hello? Mrs Fleming?' My voice carried itself into the house.

No response.

‘Mrs Fleming?' I called again from the doorway, before entering.

Walking fast, I headed straight through to the kitchen, and there – to my shock but juvenile delight – was Mrs Fleming, in a pair of
very
tiny white panties, and nothing else. She stood at the open fridge, cooling her very cool body, a bottle of beer in one hand and a reefer in the other. Flaming red hair fanned onto the balcony of her shoulders. Her eyes were green and luminous as moonlight on the lake. Silver earrings were tooled tightly into the lobes of her ears. A sickly sweet aroma drifted across the room from the reefer.

I couldn't help but look directly at her crotch, where tiny sunbursts of hair pushed out from her panties.

‘Oh, hey, Tommy. What's up?' she asked casually, as if being practically naked was the norm.

‘I … I'm looking for …' My eyes went straight from her crotch to her gorgeous face, then to her beautiful bare boobs. Embarrassment bled up my neck and into my face, like a rising tide of hot oil. I tried blinking away her nakedness, but the blinking only made it worse. The more I blinked, the more naked she became, shaping into Little Annie Fanny. ‘I … lem … lemons …'

‘Lemons?' she said, smiling sweetly. ‘You want
lemons
?'

My cock began pulsing.
Oh no!
I pushed my hand down, hoping to block the bulge from Mrs Fleming's view, terrified it looked like a miniature dowsing rod.

‘Lemon … ade … I mean …' My brain told me to get out of there quickly, but my crafty cock-a-doodle-doo cock paralysed my legs.

‘Oh, lemonade …' She smiled, before sucking seductively on the reefer. She placed her beer down on top of the fridge. ‘I'll get you some.'

Bending elegantly into the fridge, her long legs tightened. I could clearly see one of her butt cheeks as her tiny panties rode up, tight into the crack in her beautiful ass. My heart did a little double movement. I swallowed hard. Couldn't breathe. Fainting was becoming a strong possibility.

‘Here you go.' From the fridge, she handed me an ice-cold pitcher, filled to the brim with golden lemonade.

Her cool fingers touched mine. I almost dropped the pitcher.

‘Thank … thank you, Mrs Fleming.'

‘Grab a glass from the cupboard,' she said, indicating with her head.

‘Okay …' I reached and quickly grabbed two. My hands were shaking so much, the glasses began rattling horribly.

‘That was a very brave thing you did, Tommy, trying to save that poor boy, Joey Maxwell.'

‘I … it wasn't just me. Horseshoe and Brent helped, too.'

‘But it was
you
who jumped into the water to save Joey. Not Horseshoe, and definitely not Brent. That's what distinguishes a hero. Doing what others fear to do, even if you're terrified when it's happening.'

‘I … I don't think I'm a hero, Mrs Fleming.' My face was turning an even deeper shade of crimson.

‘And modest with it.' She smiled. ‘Bet your father's so proud of you.'