Ghoul (17 page)

“Could be anything,” Timmy said. “A tree stand left behind by a hunter, or someone else's fort, or an old junked refrigerator or something.”

Or a crashed UFO, he thought, or maybe the hatch to a secret underground government base. Or what those birds are looking for ...

He glanced down at the forest floor, found a long, straight stick, and picked it up.

“Let's find out.”

Swinging the stick like a scythe, Timmy slashed at the clinging berry branches, cutting a path through the thicket. Doug followed along behind him, still picking raspberries and stuffing them into his mouth. They waded through the undergrowth and reached the object. Standing in front of it, the boys saw obvious signs that someone had gone through an awful lot of trouble to conceal it. Tree branches had been cut and laid over it, and dead leaves had been heaped on top of those, all in an effort to camouflage the mysterious object.

Doug's nose wrinkled. “Smells like something died around here all right. Those turkey buzzards must be right overhead.”

Timmy had noticed the stench as well. It wasn't like what he'd smelled coming from beneath the graveyard. This was sharper. Muskier. Fresher, the way a dead groundhog smelled after lying in the middle of the road for several days. This was the aroma of death and decay.

Ignoring the foul odor, Doug grabbed another handful of berries. He stepped to the left, spotted a patch of poison ivy, and quickly jumped behind Timmy again.

Timmy grasped a pine branch. Sap still leaked from the end of it, and the bark stuck to his hand. He pulled the limb away, revealing a glimpse of what lay beneath.

“Is that ... ?”

Doug nodded, his berries forgotten. “Yeah. I think it is.”

Without another word, both boys stepped forward and began clearing away the debris.

Beneath it lay Pat Kemp's black Chevy Nova. Enamored of Pat as they were, the boys would have recognized it anywhere. Chrome mag wheels; big tires, shiny and black; the Thrush high-powered muffler sticker on the back window; a chrome blower sticking up through the hood like some space-age coffee maker; an AC/DC bumper sticker, complete with a cannon and the slogan, for those about to rock; and the waxed, flawless body -- so dark that the viewer was left with the impression that it absorbed light. The paint was now dirty and sticky with sap, and some of the branches had left long scratches.

Timmy leaned forward and peered through the driver's side window. Cassette tapes lay scattered on the seat-- Ratt, Motorhead, Ozzy Osbourne, Dio, Dead Kennedy 's, Black Flag, Iron Maiden, Autograph, Suicidal Tendencies, and curiously out of place (in his opinion), Prince's Purple Rain.

A crumpled pack of Marlboro cigarettes and a pair of black sunglasses sat on the red vinyl dashboard. Empty beer cans littered the floor. Each one had been crushed.

Timmy breathed through his mouth. This close to the car, the stench grew stronger.

Doug pushed up beside him and peeked through as well.

“Why would Pat have a Prince tape?” he asked. “I thought he was a metal head.”

“You like Prince,” Timmy reminded him.

“Yeah, but I'm not cool like Pat. What do you think his car's doing here?”

“I don't know, but it ain't good. Whoever put it here went through a lot of trouble to hide it.”

“Do you think he's okay?”

Timmy shrugged, then straightened up and looked around. "I don't see any sign of him. Or Karen. But look over there." He pointed to another section of the forest where the undergrowth was sparse and the trees were spaced far apart.

“If you look carefully, you can see tire tracks going back up to Mr. Jones 's cornfield.”

“You remember the morning after Pat and Karen ran away, Barry was smoothing out tire tracks? They went off into the cornfield.”

“Yep. So somebody drove it from the cemetery to here.”

Both of them heard the sound of buzzing flies.

Doug peered back inside the car. "So maybe Pat and Karen were parking in the graveyard.

Somebody found them, did something to them, and then hid the car here."

“Could be,” Timmy said, “or maybe they hid the car so people wouldn't find it, and then walked out.”

“You don't really believe that, do you?”

“No,” Timmy admitted, remembering the circling carrion birds. "There's no way Pat would have ever left his car behind. He loved this thing. But a good detective considers all possibilities before coming to conclusions. That 's what the world's greatest detective would do."

Doug seemed puzzled. “Who's the world's greatest detective? Sherlock Holmes?”

“No, you idiot. It's Batman.”

Doug wiped the window with his sleeve. "Well, I don't think they ran away. Ronny, Jason, and Steve. That lady on the news this morning.

Now we find Pat and Karen's car? I think it all adds up."

Timmy didn't reply. Secretly, he was thinking about Katie Moore, wondering how she'd react to this news regarding her sister's disappearance. He walked around the car, studying it, looking for clues. The smell got stronger as he neared the abandoned Nova's rear. The buzzing flies grew louder.

“You think I'm wrong? You think Pat and Karen are alive, and that they really did run away together?”

Timmy staggered backward, his hand over his mouth.

“Timmy? What's wrong? What is it?”

Unable to speak, Timmy raised his hand and pointed. Doug hurried around to the back of the car, and gagged. They'd discovered the source of the stench. A thick, viscous liquid leaked from the trunk and pooled onto the forest floor, sticking to the leaves and pine needles. Maggots and other small insects wallowed in the slop. It was dark in color, and there were tiny bits of pink matter floating in it. The smell was incredibly strong, almost overpowering. Bloated, black flies swarmed over the trunk, crawling into the car through the same small crevice the slime was dripping out of. Whatever was inside had rotted to soup and was now spilling out of the trunk.

“No,” Timmy said. “I don't think you're wrong. I think that's them. I think they're inside the trunk.”

Then he leaned over and threw up.

They fled from the woods, not bothering to mark their location so they could find the car again. The buzzards, still swooping around above the trees, would do that for them. Not wanting to risk encountering Mr. Smeltzer, they cut through the woods and followed Anson Road, avoiding the cemetery. Then they walked along the side of the road the whole way back to Timmy's house. Timmy had puke on his shirt and jeans, and Doug's face was stark white.

They burst through the door, and at first, Elizabeth assumed that one of them had been injured. She flew out of the kitchen, where she'd been balancing the checkbook, her pulse racing. The boys weren 't hurt, not physically at least. But they appeared absolutely terrified. At first, Timmy was too shocked to speak, and all Doug would say was, “It was spilling out.”

He kept repeating it over and over, and each time he said it, Timmy looked like he was about to vomit.

When they finally calmed down and told her of their discovery, she immediately called Reverend Moore and informed him. Then she called the police. She was so upset and concerned for the boys that she didn't even question what they were doing in the woods after having been forbidden to go that far just hours before.

The township police arrived at the Golgotha Lutheran Church, and the boys were there to meet them, along with Timmy's mother, Reverend Moore, Sylvia Moore, and Katie. Mr. Smeltzer, spying the adults with the boys and assuming they were there for what had happened earlier, made Barry go inside. Warily, he walked over to them as the police got out of their vehicles.

"I done told them boys several times not to be playing here. Even posted these signs.

It ain't my fault what happened."

“What in heaven's name are you talking about, Clark?” Reverend Moore frowned. “The boys discovered something in the woods, on Luke Jones's property.”

“Oh.” He shut up after that. Timmy thought he would have been relieved, but instead, he seemed even more nervous than before. The township police walked over to the group.

Clark excused himself, saying he had to go wash up for lunch.

Reverend Moore watched him go, and muttered, “That's odd.”

Soon after, the state police and a team of paramedics arrived on the scene. Then Timmy and Doug led the township officers, the state police, and the paramedics to the car. The boys were nervous, but their excitement at being involved in a police investigation --at being the ones to discover the car-- overrode all other emotions. Timmy was thrilled, and he found himself comparing the events to Tom Sawyer again. This was just like when Tom solved the mystery as to the whereabouts of escaped murderer Injun Joe.

First, they stopped in the cemetery, and the boys showed them where the tracks had originated. The investigators found remnants of tire tracks in Luke Jones's cornfield, as well. Finally, the boys led them to the woods. The birds were still circling. Once they'd arrived, the police sealed it off as a crime scene. They dusted the Nova for fingerprints, meticulously took photos of both the car and the surrounding area, and combed through the leaves and detritus on the forest floor for clues. Timmy and Doug watched with rapt attention, and basked in the reciprocal attention showered on them by the police.

Despite the morning's bad start, they were surprised to find themselves having fun.

Then a bulky state trooper opened the trunk and the fun stopped.

Pat Kemp's half-liquefied remains splashed out onto the ground, splattering across the trooper's boots. The man's face turned white. Everyone else scrambled backward. The stench was revolting.

Doug screamed, and almost fainted. Timmy bit his thumb to keep from vomiting again.

This was their hero. The cool older kid who was always willing to stop and talk to them, who treated them like little brothers, gave them advice on girls and bullies and turned them on to good music. The guy they'd all wanted to be when they reached high school. The cool kid who smoked and drank and had the fastest car in town and was dating a fox like Karen Moore --that cool kid was now a waxy, congealing, rancid stew of tissue and bone and squirming maggots.

A state police detective led the boys out of the woods, back to the edge of the cornfield, right next to the cemetery, where Timmy's mother and the Moores had been interviewed by another officer while they were waiting.

The farmer, Luke Jones, had also arrived after being contacted by the officers when it was determined that the car was on his property. There was no sign of Barry or his father.

Timmy noticed the sad, fearful look in Katie's eyes, and wanted to talk to her, wanted to tell her that it was only her sister's boyfriend's body that had been found, and maybe Karen was still alive, but before he could, the detective asked Elizabeth's permission to question the boys, then took them aside and did so, one at a time.

When they were finished, the detective took them back over to the other adults and told them they were free to go. He asked Timmy's mother if she'd be willing to let them contact her son later if they had any more questions, and she agreed.

While they were talking, Timmy glanced over at the Moores again. Both Reverend Moore and his wife, Sylvia, were crying. She clung to her husband, his shirt balled up in her fists, her black mascara staining the material. Great, uncontrollable sobs racked her body. Reverend Moore's tears were more controlled, but no less heartbreaking. He looked like he 'd aged ten years in the last three weeks. Katie stood beside them, alone, frightened, and seemingly forgotten.

“I don't feel so good,” Doug said, clutching his stomach. “When they opened the trunk ...”

Elizabeth put her arm around the shaken youth. “I'll take you home, sweetheart. Can you make it back to our house?”

Doug nodded. "Yes, Mrs.

Graco I think so. But maybe I could stay at your house for a little bit longer? Maybe spend the night again."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Doug. We'd love to have you stay, but I'm sure your mother is already worried about you. And we need to tell her about what happened. She'll need to contact the detective. He gave me a business card to give to her."

“Please, Mrs. Graco? Pretty please? Just one more night?”

Timmy noticed the desperate pleading in his voice, but his mother did not.

“I'm sorry, Doug, but I just don't think you'd better tonight.”

He can't go home, Timmy felt like shouting. Don't you understand, Mom? What's waiting for him at home is ten times worse than what we found in the woods.

But she was already offering her condolences and prayers to the distraught Moores.

The adults exchanged hugs, and once again, Timmy's eyes were drawn to Katie. Summoning up his courage, he smiled at her. She smiled back. Sadly.

A tow truck from Old Forge service station arrived, and Mr. Jones got into an argument with the driver about the man tearing up his cornfield, until one of the officers intervened.

Elizabeth returned to the boys. “You guys ready to go home?”

“Mom,” Timmy lowered his voice to a whisper. “Maybe I should stay here and talk to Katie for a little bit. You know, cheer her up?”

Elizabeth glanced over at the girl, then back at her son. She smiled knowingly.

“I think that's a very nice gesture, Timmy. As long as Doug doesn't mind?”

“No.” Doug spoke with the air of a condemned man who knows he can't escape his fate and is resigned to it. “I guess not.”

Elizabeth turned to leave. Timmy quickly pulled Doug aside.

“If you need me--if anything starts to happen--call our house. I'll come up right away.”

“You can't. Your dad said you weren't supposed to go that far by yourself. Your curfew--”

“Screw my curfew. This is more important. If I have to, I'll sneak out.”

“Doug,” Elizabeth called, “you ready to go, hon?”

“Coming, Mrs. Graco.”

Timmy grabbed his arm. “Remember. If you need me, I'll be there.”

“I will.” He tried to smile, but it came off as a grimace. His eyes were tired and haunted. “Gotta go. Your mom's waiting.”

“See you later, man.”

“Not if I see you first.”

They both chuckled, and then Doug ran to catch up with Elizabeth. Timmy turned back to Katie. He willed himself to walk over to her. Slowly, his feet obeyed.

“Hey.” He tried to say more, but his tongue suddenly felt like cement.

“Hey.”

“I'm, uh ... I'm sorry about... well, you know.”

“They said there's no sign of my sister. She might have been abducted. Like in the movies. She might be ...”

Katie trailed off, fighting back tears.

Timmy nodded, unsure of how to respond.

A white news van arrived, and rolled across the field. Luke Jones shook his fist at them and ran toward the vehicle. His cornfield was beginning to resemble a parking lot.

Katie moved closer to Timmy. “Thank you for what you did today.”

He felt his cheeks begin to burn. “Oh, well... I didn't do anything, really. All we did was tell our parents.”

"You found Pat's car. That might help the police find Karen. And it's not just that.

You were nice to me at your grandfather's funeral. Even though you were sad, you still made time for me."

Timmy's voice betrayed him. He opened his mouth to thank her, and “Would you like to go for a walk?” came tumbling out instead.

Katie smiled, and this time, it was genuine. Some of her sadness seemed to lift.

“I'd love to go for a walk. That would be fun.”

“Cool.”

They heard voices, raised in anger. Luke Jones shoved the cameraman. The cameraman pushed back. Both men were cursing. A township officer ran to break it up, shouting at them to knock it off or he'd arrest them both.

Katie tugged on her mother's sleeve and asked for permission to go for a walk. Sylvia Moore turned to her husband, seeking his approval as well.

“Sure,” Reverend Moore told them. He looked over at the arguing men and frowned at their language in disapproval. “Go ahead. That might be for the best. They 're getting ready to tow the car out. I'll come get you when we're ready to go, so don't stray too far.”

Katie and Timmy strolled off together, walking between the tombstones. He glanced around for Clark Smeltzer, worried that he might spot them, and then decided it didn 't matter. Let him try to keep them out of the cemetery with their parents and all the cops around. Timmy noticed that many more of the graves had now sunk the way his grandfather's grave had done. It was almost as if a giant groundhog had burrowed beneath the graveyard, tunneling off in every direction. He wondered just how big the cavern beneath the cemetery actually was. He felt a pang of regret. With everything that had happened, he'd probably never get a chance to explore it now. He started thinking about Tom Sawyer again, and how Becky and Tom had gotten lost in the cave. He glanced over at Katie.

She smiled. Her teeth were white and perfect.

He smiled back.

And when she reached out and touched his hand, he thought he might die. His feet stumbled, his heart pounded, and he began to sweat. He was speechless-- and the feeling got worse when her fingers wrapped around his and squeezed. She did not let go, and his discomfort grew.

It was the most wonderful thing he'd ever felt in his life.

And then Katie started to cry. She was still holding his hand, clutching it now, squeezing his fingers tight. Timmy wasn't sure what to do, so he squeezed back.

“It'll be okay,” he said.

“I miss her.” Katie sniffed. "At first, I told myself she just ran away. That she was tired of living with our dad's rules. He never liked Pat. But three weeks later, we hadn 't heard from her. She would have called. Karen wasn't mean. She wouldn't let us keep worrying. She would have called."

Timmy nodded.

“Something bad has happened,” Katie continued. “I know it. She's not coming back.”

“She could still be okay,” Timmy said, trying to sound hopeful. “Maybe she got away from whoever did that to Pat. Maybe she's lost or has amnesia or something.”

Katie sniffed again, and then wiped her eyes with her free hand. She gave him another squeeze.

“Thank you, Timmy. I don't believe it, but thank you for trying. Nobody else has paid much attention to me during this whole thing.”

He was surprised. He'd always thought the Moores doted on their youngest daughter.

“Not your parents?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Too worried about Karen, I guess. It's like I'm invisible.”

Timmy was speechless, and Katie misinterpreted his silence as disapproval.

“I'm sorry. That probably sounds horrible, doesn't it? I don't mean it to be.”

“I don't think it sounds horrible at all.”

"I'm just hurt, you know? It's like I don't exist. They miss Karen, and want her to come home, but they forget that I'm feeling those things, too. Your parents are supposed to make you feel better. They 're supposed to tell you everything's going to be all right. The only person that's told me it would be okay is you."

“Yeah, parents are weird sometimes. I'm learning that more and more.”

They walked on, still holding hands and a little closer together. Katie smelled good, like strawberries and shampoo, and Timmy shivered a little. He wondered what he could do to cheer her up.

“Karen used to play Easy-Bake Oven with me,” Katie said. "We'd make cupcakes and little pizzas and stuff. I keep making things now, hoping she'll come back. Isn't that stupid?"

“I don't think so,” Timmy said.

They started down the cemetery's rear pathway. Farmer Jones's cows stood grazing in the field. As they passed by, the cows raised their heads and stared at them blankly. Timmy noticed that none of the animals would come near the fence line, which was unusual. Most days, they 'd stick their head under or through the fence, trying to feed on the cemetery 's greener grass. Now, it was as if they were afraid to draw near.

Timmy spotted the Dugout's stovepipe sticking up out of the ground, and suddenly, he had an idea of how to cheer Katie up.

“Want to see something cool?”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“Okay. But it's a secret, so you've gotta promise not to tell anybody. And you have to close your eyes, too.”