Farewell Summer (8 page)

Douglas stood with Tom and Charlie in the moist–smelling warm late–summer–green ravine. Mosquitoes danced their delicate dances upon the silence. A dancing idiot hum–tune.

‘Everyone's gone,' said Tom.

Douglas sat on a rock and took off his shoes.

‘Bang, you're dead,' said Tom, quietly.

‘I wish I was, oh, I wish I was dead,' said Doug.

Tom said, ‘Is the war over? Shall I take down the flag?'

‘What flag?'

‘Just the flag, that's all.'

‘Yeah. Take it down. But I'm not sure if the war is really over yet … but it sure has changed. I've just got to figure out how.'

Charlie said, ‘Yeah, well, you did give
cake
to the enemy. If that wasn't the strangest thing …'

‘Ta–ta–tahhhh,' hummed Tom. He made furling motions in the warm empty silent air. He stood solemnly
by the quiet creek in the summer evening with the sun fading. ‘Ta–ta–tahhhh. Ta–ta–tahhhh.' He hummed ‘Taps.' A tear fell off his cheek.

‘Oh, for gosh sakes!' cried Douglas. ‘Stop!'

Douglas and Tom and Charlie climbed out of the ravine, and walked through the boxed and packaged town, through the avenues and streets and alleys, among the thousand–celled houses, the bright prisons, down the definite sidewalks and the positive lanes, and the country seemed far away and it was as if a sea had moved away from the shore of their life in one day. Suddenly there was the town and their lives to be lived in that town in the next forty years, opening and shutting doors and raising and lowering shades, and the green meadow was distant and alien.

Douglas looked over at Tom getting taller every minute, it seemed. He felt the hunger in his stomach and he thought of the miraculous foods at home and he thought of Lisabell blowing out the candles and sitting there with fourteen years burnt behind her and not caring, very pretty and solemn and beautiful. He thought of the Lonely One, very lonely indeed, wanting love, and now gone.

Douglas stopped at Charlie's house, feeling the season change about them.

‘Here's where I leave you guys,' said Charlie. ‘See you later, at the haunted house with those dumb girls.'

‘Yeah, see you later, Charlie.'

‘So long, Charlie,' said Tom.

‘You know something,' said Charlie, turning back toward his friends, as if he'd suddenly remembered something important. ‘I been thinkin'. I got an uncle, twenty–five years old. Came by earlier today in a big Buick, with his wife. A really nice, pretty lady. I was thinkin' all morning: Maybe I'll
let
them make me twenty–five. Twenty–five strikes me as a nice medium age. If they'll let me ride in a Buick with a pretty lady like that, I'll go along with them. But that's
it
, mind! No kids. It stops at squalling kids. Just a nice car and a pretty lady with me, ridin' along out toward the lake. Boy! I'll take about thirty years of that. I'm puttin' in my order for thirty years of being twenty-five. Fill 'er up and I'm on my way.'

‘It's something to think about,' said Douglas.

‘I'm goin' in the house to think about it right now,' said Charlie.

‘So, when do we start the war again?' said Tom.

Charlie and Douglas looked at each other.

‘Heck, I dunno,' said Doug, a little uncomfortably.

‘Tomorrow, next week, next month?'

‘I
guess
.'

‘We
can't
give up the war!' said Tom.

‘Heck, we're not giving it up,' said Charlie. ‘Every
once
in a while we'll do it again, huh, Doug?'

‘Oh, sure, sure!'

‘Shift the strategy, identify new objectives, you know,'
said Charlie. ‘Oh, we'll have wars okay, Tom, don't you worry.'

‘Promise?' cried Tom, tears in his eyes.

‘Cross our hearts, mother's honor.'

‘Okay,' said Tom, lower lip trembling.

The wind whistled, was cool: it was an early autumn evening, no longer a late summer one.

‘Well,' said Charlie, standing there, smiling shyly, looking up from under his eyebrows at Doug. ‘It sure was a farewell summer, huh?'

‘Sure was.'

‘Sure kept us busy.'

‘Sure did.'

‘Only thing is,' said Tom, ‘it didn't come out in the papers: Who
won
?'

Charlie and Douglas stared at the younger boy.

‘Who won? Don't be silly!' Douglas lapsed into silence, staring up into the sky. Then he fixed them with a stare. ‘I don't know. Us, them.'

Charlie scratched inside his left ear. ‘Everybody. The first war in history where everybody won. I can't figure it. So long.' He went on up the sidewalk, crossed the front yard, opened the door of his house, waved, and was gone.

‘There goes Charlie,' said Douglas.

‘Boy, am I sad!' said Tom.

‘About what?'

‘I don't know. I keep playin' “Taps” inside my head. It's a sad song, that's all.'

‘Don't start bawlin' now!'

‘No, I'm just gonna be quiet. You know why? I guess I got it figured.'

‘Why?'

‘Ice cream cones don't last.'

‘That's a silly thing to say.'

‘Ice cream cones are always gettin' done with. Seems I'm no sooner bitin' the top than I'm eatin' the tail. Seems I'm no sooner jumpin' in the lake at the start of vacation than I'm creepin' out the far side, on the way back to school. Boy, no wonder I feel bad.'

‘It's all how you look at it,' said Doug. ‘My gosh, think of all the things you haven't even
started
yet. There's a million ice cream cones up ahead and ten billion apple pies and hundreds of summer vacations. Billions of things waitin' to be bit or swallowed or jumped in.'

‘Just once, though,' said Tom, ‘I'd like one thing. An ice cream cone so big you could just keep eatin' and there isn't any end and you just go on bein' happy with it forever. Wow!'

‘There's no such ice cream cone.'

‘Just
one
thing like that is all I ask,' said Tom. ‘One vacation that never has a last day. Or one matinee with Buck Jones, boy, just ridin' along forever, bangin', and Indians fallin' like pop bottles. Gimme just one thing with no tail-end and I'd go
crazy
. Sometimes I just sit in the movie theater and cry when it says “The End” for Jack Hoxie or Ken Maynard. And there's nothin'
so sad as the last piece of popcorn at the bottom of the box.'

‘You better watch out,' said Doug. ‘You'll be workin' yourself into another fit any minute. Just remember, darn it, there're ten thousand matinees waitin' right on up ahead.'

‘Well, here we are, home. Did we do anything today we might get licked for?'

‘Nope.'

‘Then let's go in.'

They did, slamming the door as they went.

The house stood on the edge of the ravine. It looked haunted, just like everyone said it was.

Tom and Charlie and Bo followed Doug up the side of the ravine and stood in front of the strange house at nine o'clock at night. In the distance, the courthouse clock bonged off the hour.

‘There it is,' said Doug. He turned his head right and left, as if he was looking for something.

‘What are we gonna do?' asked Tom.

‘Well,' said Bo, ‘is it haunted, like they said?'

‘From what I've heard, at eight o'clock, no,' said Doug. ‘And not at nine. But starting around ten, strange sounds start to come from the house. I think we should hang around and find out. Besides, Lisabell said that she and her friends were going to be here. Let's wait and see.'

They stood by some bushes by the front porch steps and they waited and at last the moon came up.

There was a sound of footsteps along the path
somewhere and from inside the house, the sounds of someone going up some stairs.

Doug stood alert, craned his neck, but he couldn't quite see what was going on.

‘Heck,' said Charlie at last. ‘What are we doing here? I'm gosh–awful bored. I got homework. I think I better head home.'

‘Hold on,' said Doug. ‘Let's wait just a few more minutes.'

They waited as the moon got higher. And then, a little after ten, as the last peals of the courthouse clock faded away on the night air, they heard the noises. From inside the house, faint at first, almost imperceptible, there came a sound of rustling and scraping, as if someone was shifting trunks from one room to another.

A few minutes later, they heard a sharp cry, and then another cry, and then a sort of whispering and rustling and, finally, a dull thump.

‘
Those
,' said Doug, ‘were definitely ghost sounds. Like someone getting killed and the bodies being dragged around the rooms. Doesn't it sound like that?'

‘Heck,' said Tom, ‘I don't know.'

‘Don't ask me,' said Bo.

‘Well,' said Charlie, ‘it's sure a god-awful racket. If there's another scream, I'm getting out of here.'

They stood alert and waited, almost not breathing. Silence. And then, suddenly, more groans and cries and then something that sounded like a weak cry, ‘Help.'

Then it faded away.

‘That's it,' said Charlie. ‘I've had enough.'

‘Me too,' said Bo.

The two boys turned tail and ran.

There was a great whispering and the hair stood up on the back of Doug's neck.

‘I don't know about you,' said Tom, ‘but I'm gettin' out of here. If you want to stay to listen to some darned ghosts, you can, but not me. I'll see you at home, Doug.'

Tom turned and ran.

Alone, Doug stood for a long while staring at the old house. Then he heard someone coming up the path behind him. He turned, his fists clenched, ready to defend himself against the midnight assailant.

‘Lisabell,' he said. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘I
told
you I'd be here. But what are
you
doing here? I thought you were a scaredy-cat. Is it true what they say? Did you find out anything? I mean, it's all darn foolishness, isn't it? There's no such thing as ghosts, is there? That place can't be haunted.'

‘We thought,' said Doug, ‘we'd come here and wait and see. But the others got scared and left and now it's only me. So I'm just standing here, waiting, listening.'

They listened. A low cry wafted out of the house into the night air.

Lisabell said, ‘Is that a ghost?'

Doug strained to listen. ‘Yes, that's one.'

A moment later they heard another great whisper and cry.

‘Is that another?'

Doug looked at her face and said, ‘You look like you're enjoying this.'

‘I don't know,' said Lisabell. ‘It's kind of strange, but the more I hear, I —' And here she smiled a strange smile. The whispers and the cries and murmurs from the house grew louder and Doug felt his whole body turn hot and then cold and then warm again.

Finally he reached down and found a large stone by the front of the house, reared his hand back, and flung it through the glass panes of the front door.

The glass exploded with a loud crash and the door creaked open, slowly. Suddenly, all the ghosts wailed at the same moment.

‘Doug!' cried Lisabell. ‘Why did you do that?'

‘Because …' said Doug.

And then it happened.

There was a rush of feet, a torrent of whispers, and a swirling mob of white shapes burst out of the house and down the stairs and along the path and away into the ravine.

‘Doug,' said Lisabell. ‘Why'd you do that?'

‘Because,' said Doug, ‘I couldn't stand it anymore. Someone had to scare
them
out. Someone had to act like they knew what they were doing. I bet they won't come back.'

‘That's terrible,' said Lisabell. ‘Why would you want ghosts not to be here?'

‘Why would you think,' said Doug, ‘that they had a right to be here? We don't even know who they were.'

‘Well,' said Lisabell, angrily. ‘Just for that I'm going to teach you a lesson.'

‘What?' said Douglas.

And Lisabell stepped up to him, grabbed him by the ears, and planted an immense kiss on Douglas's mouth. It lasted only an instant, but it was a blow like a bolt of lightning that had come out of the air and struck his face and anguished his body.

He shook from head to toe, his fingers extended, and somehow he imagined sparks firing out of his fingertips. His eyelids jittered and a fantastic flow of sweat broke out on his brow. He gasped and could not breathe.

Lisabell stood back, surveying her creation: Douglas Spaulding, hit by lightning.

Douglas fell back, afraid that she might touch him again. She laughed, her face merry.

‘So there!' she cried. ‘That'll fix you.'

She turned and ran away and left him in the invisible rain, a terrible storm, shaken, his whole body now hot, now cold, his jaw dropped, his lips trembling.

The explosion of the lightning bolt hit him again in memory, even stronger than when it had first struck.

Slowly, Doug felt himself sink to his knees, his head
shaking, his mind wondering at what had happened and where Lisabell had gone.

He looked up at the now truly empty house. He wondered if he should go up the stairs and find out if maybe he hadn't just come out of the house himself.

‘Tom,' he whispered. ‘Take me home.' And then he remembered: Tom wasn't there.

He turned, stumbled, almost fell down into the ravine, and tried to find his way home.

Quartermain woke laughing.

He lay wondering what in god–awful hell had
made
him happy. What was the dream, gone now, but so wondrous that it cracked his face and uncorked something resembling a chuckle beneath his ribs!? Holy Jesus.
What?

In the dark he dialed Bleak.

‘Do you know what time it is?' Bleak cried. ‘There's only one thing you ever wait half the night to churn my guts with – your stupid war. I thought you said the damned thing was over!'

‘It is, it is.'

‘It is
what
?' shouted Bleak.

‘Over,' said Quartermain. ‘There are just a few more things I want to make sure of. It's what you would call the joyful aftermath. Bleak, remember the collection of oddities and medical freaks we put together one summer for a town fair, all those years ago? Do you think we could find those jars? Are they up in an attic or down in a basement somewhere?'

‘I suppose so. But why?'

‘Find them. Unlock them. We're bringing them out in the open again. Gather our army of gray. We have work to do. It's time.'

Click. Hummm.