Fear the Barfitron (4 page)

I looked over at my mother, who was yawning.

She hadn’t seen anything.

The blacktop turned into a dirt road. To our left, a huge mansion loomed over the top of a hill. It was at the end of a massive lawn that looked like it hadn’t been mowed since the place was built.

My mother pulled the car into the large circular driveway and stopped in front of the mansion.

“Have a nice time,” she said with another yawn. “Chrissy, I’m so proud that you’re doing this.”

I really wished my mother would stop calling me Chrissy.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, jumping out of the car.

As the sound of the car faded, I felt more alone than I ever had in my life. Raven Hill Retirement Home looked like it should be condemned. Many of the windows were covered so you couldn’t see in, pieces of the roof were missing, the paint was peeling, and most of the visible windows looked as if they had been smashed in. As I moved closer to the building, the air got cooler and had
a musty, old smell, like my grandfather’s leather shoes.

But that wasn’t the worst part. Circling above the home were five or six of the biggest ravens I’d ever seen.

“I guess that’s why they call this Raven Hill,” I said aloud to myself.

One raven broke off from the others and landed on the very tip of a spire that shot out from the top of the mansion. It stared down at me with its beady black eyes.

It was quiet up on top of the hill. Too quiet.

If this were a horror movie, everyone would scream “DON’T GO IN!” Good thing horror movies are fake, right?

I clutched my volunteer form nervously. An old dude from the Rotary gave it to me with very specific instructions on how to fill it out. The most important instruction: Don’t lose it! It’s the only official way to track hours for the award.

The old, musty smell got stronger as I walked up the rickety stairs to the front entrance. The creaking of the wood was outrageously loud. It sounded like the whole building was going to collapse. I was sure the place had been shut down…probably by the health department. The creaking became louder, but I could hear something else. I stopped suddenly—the air was filled with the sound of hissing.

I turned around and that’s when I saw it. The overgrown lawn…it was MOVING.

Something was moving through the grass.

Something big.

And it was making a loud, slurpy, hissing noise. Almost like a moan.

Before I could figure out what it was coming from, one of the ravens screamed a sharp CAW and swooped in where the grass was jiggling and shaking. Then there was a terrible scream. I couldn’t tell if it was from the raven or whatever the raven was attacking, but it sounded human.

The raven flapped around in the grass. It was straining, as if something was holding it down. Soon, it was able to gain enough speed to burst out of the ground covering. It was clutching a huge brown bug—almost the size of a cat—and the bug’s legs were flailing around. The screaming started again, this time not muffled by the grass. I still wasn’t sure if it was the raven, but it had to be. I’d never heard of a screaming bug before.

The raven soared higher and higher and let the bug go. The bug hit the ground with a squelchy squish and the screaming stopped. All of the ravens suddenly swooped in and disappeared into the grass where the bug had dropped.

Just as I was craning my neck to get a better look, I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I screamed.

I whipped my head back around. Standing in front of the open door was a huge man in a nurse’s uniform. His giant round and swollen head was topped with a white hat that looked two sizes too small. He spun me around with his massive hands and then gestured through the open door. He had a look of panic on his red face.

“Inside. Safer. Now.”

There was no way this nut job worked at the retirement home. The nurse’s uniform wasn’t going to fool anybody. I bet Raven Hill
had
closed and this escaped mental patient had moved in. My instinct was to run back down the side of the hill. Of course, massive bugs waited at the bottom of the steps, so perhaps inside was better.

“NOW!” he said again, and used a beefy arm to push me through the door. He slammed it closed behind us. Above us, a chandelier covered completely in spiderwebs swayed slightly as the Nurse locked what sounded like thirty-four locks and then muttered under his breath. I turned around to see that—for a split second—the back of the door glowed green. The same green as the letter I had stolen.

As the glow faded, the room became pitch-black. I was lost in the cold darkness with nothing but the sound of the Nurse’s deep, labored breathing.

Gradually my eyes started to adjust to the darkness. Maybe it was an illusion, but on the inside the home seemed much bigger than it had looked from the outside. But just as run-down.

“Wait here,” he mumbled, then turned and left.

As I waited alone in the mildewy, cavernous lobby, I could hear activity—faint voices and the occasional moan of an old person. At least I hoped it was an old person—that would mean that the crazy Nurse wasn’t going off to sharpen an ax. I looked around—there were a whole bunch of rooms down on the first floor and a decrepit stairway leading upstairs. I looked down at the rug, which was threadbare and holey. Dusty old paintings of sour-looking people lined the walls.

“This is like an old old-person’s home,” I whispered to myself.

“Indeed,” boomed a voice.

My chest tightened as a figure stepped out from the shadows. I turned to face a scrawny man with a pale, gaunt face. His jet-black hair was perfectly parted and his black eyes gleamed.

“Some of the clientele here are exceptionally old,” he added, as he adjusted his amazingly crisp black suit and bloodred tie. “We want to provide them with the appropriate—” he waved his hand around the front hallway and paused for effect “—atmosphere.”

As if on cue, an organ started playing from somewhere. It echoed through the house, creeping me out even more. He looked over his shoulder, toward the music, and said, “Ah, brunch will be ready soon.”

“Great,” I said, nervously. “I’m starvin’!”

“Oh, but you misunderstand me,” said the man, with a sly grin. “You won’t be eating brunch—you’ll be helping to serve it. You are here to volunteer, are you not?”

“Yes!” I blurted out. I had almost forgotten why I was here, and was secretly glad that I wasn’t going to be the main course. I presented my volunteer form to the slim man. “I’m ready to help day and night—whatever you need.”

He took my time sheet and said, “Very well.” He snapped his fingers, and the Nurse reappeared with another, equally large male Nurse. In fact, they looked
so much alike that I could mistake them for each other. They were identical, down to the uniform.

“Escort this gentleman to the kitchen, and see to it that he lends a helping hand,” said the man. He then turned to me and said, “Please follow the orders you are given to a
T
, and most importantly, please do not stray into any part of this facility without an escort.”

With this, he pointed at the gentlemen who were looming over me.

He continued, “If you find you enjoy this kind of work once your time here is done today, please do join us again at six p.m. on Monday. We can set up a regular schedule at that time.”

“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure what else to say, so rather than stand there awkwardly, I put out my hand and introduced myself. “I’m Chris. Who are you?”

The man eyed me and paused. It looked like he was trying to figure out how he wanted to answer.

“I’m the Director,” he said. He then shook my hand, bowed slightly, and left, as if he had a million things to check in on.

I stood in the hallway taking in the tattered tapestries and listening to the slow, creepy organ music. I had a staring contest with a dusty old painting to the left of the hallway for a few seconds before both of my escorts, in unison, said, “This way.”

We walked past the stairs and into the main hallway,
passing several rooms along the way to the kitchen. In one of the rooms, a bunch of old ladies sat around a fire, cackling. A large black pot hung above the flames, and I wondered if they were preparing brunch.

We walked past another room filled with faded and cracked leather chairs, where two very old-looking gentlemen had nodded off to sleep. At their feet were two ragged dogs.

“Hey, poochie,” I said as we passed by. One of the dogs lifted his head and stared at me. His head was shaky, but he looked right at me. His eyes seemed eerily human. I felt the hair go up on the back of my neck, and was glad when we passed.

We turned left at the end of the hallway and entered a kitchen. Several more large men, identical to the Nurses but each in a chef’s uniform, ran around preparing what I could only guess was brunch. Although I couldn’t recognize anything, I took in a deep whiff and immediately coughed. The kitchen smelled terrible. It almost made me miss the school cafeteria. Almost.

The burly man with the largest hat approached and handed me a uniform.

“Put on,” he said, and motioned over to a counter, where a number of dishes had been laid out.

I struggled to put the uniform on. It was ten sizes too large, but I could still tell that I was meant to look
like a waiter. A man stood at the head of the counter. He motioned at me to come over.

Trying not to trip on my pants, I shuffled over to the massive chef.

“Special dietary needs,” he said and pointed to the table in front of him.

I looked down. On the table were three bowls of what only could be described as “red” soup. Maybe it was made out of beets…or prunes. That’s what old people eat, right? Next to the soup were three plates filled with what looked like gray mashed potatoes or grits. Its smell reminded me of the time I found a dead raccoon under the porch. And finally, two plates of finely chopped raw steak, which really just looked like a chunkier version of the soup.

“Hurry,” said the massive chef. “Angry when hungry!”

He shoved a tray with the three bowls of soup into my hand.

“Table three!” he added, and pushed me out into the dining area through two swinging doors.

It was the largest room I’d seen in the mansion so far—it could easily fit fifty or more people. Groups of old folks clustered around ten small round tables that each had a number posted on a simple card. Some shuffled between tables. There were a few chandeliers strung up here and there to make the place look classy, but like the
rest of the house, it was pretty tattered and torn. You could feel cold air blowing through the room.

I took a look around for table three. I saw the ladies that had been cackling in front of the fire at one of the tables in the front. I looked way in the back and saw table three near an organist, who was still tapping away at that spooky old music. He had a cape on, and was hunched over the keyboard. I wondered if he ever ate, or if they just made him play all day long.

I slowly made my way to table three, passing by tables two and four. I looked at table four and saw all three old folks staring off into space, just waiting for their food. Nobody was doing much talking.

I got to table three, and found three wrinkly and pale old men sitting there, talking to each other in some sort of foreign language. They eyed me as I sat the cold soup down. One of them licked his lips, but he wasn’t looking at the soup bowl. He was looking right at me. I stared back, as if hypnotized, and he flashed a toothy grin. His incisors were rather pointy.

“Enjoy,” I said meekly, and then turned around to head back to the kitchen. As I left, I heard a massive SLUUUUUUURP and looked back to see all three bowls empty and all three old gentlemen asleep with drops of red falling from the sides of their mouths. One of the old men snored very loudly.
I guess they eat fast here,
I thought.

Back in the kitchen, the chef handed me the platter of mashed potatoes or grits or whatever, and told me to deliver it to table five. I held my breath—the smell made me want to puke. That table was right near the door, so close that I hadn’t noticed it before. There, at the table, sat three people with eyes that stared into nothingness and skin that oozed with open sores.
Shouldn’t these people be in a hospital?
I wondered.
They need medicine, not this gray whatever-it-is.