Thunderland (6 page)

“Those assholes,” he said. Balling his hands into fists, he marched to the fence. He kicked the fence as hard as he could once, twice, three times, knowing he looked like an idiot but not caring. He was so sick of Blake and his stupid friends; he wished they never existed. Why couldn’t they leave him alone?

The chain-link fence vibrated from the force of his kicks. He started to kick it one more time, then dropped his foot to the ground. What was the point? With the way his day had been going, he’d mess around and break his toe. He walked back to his bicycle.

He considered leaving it there to be either thrown away or picked up by a scavenger, but he had to take it with him, try to repair it. It was the only transportation he had.

With a sigh of resignation, he grasped the handgrips, which seemed to be untouched, and pulled up the bike. He rolled it to the nearby McDonald’s. Inside the restaurant, he got a cup of water and a handful of napkins. He cleaned up the bicycle.

When he finished, it was almost noon. He was supposed to meet his friends. He wasn’t in the mood to go to the water park, but maybe hanging out with the fellas for a while would draw him out of his funk. He started pushing his bike toward his friend’s place.

As he drew closer to the house, he saw Darren Taylor and Mike Johnson—or “Brains” and “Shorty” as they were known among friends—on the veranda, rocking on the bench swing. Jason had become acquainted with Shorty only three months ago, and soon after they met, Shorty introduced him to his cousin, Brains. They were the first real friends he had ever had. Before he had met them, he’d spent all of his time by himself, reading, listening to music, playing video games, and daydreaming. Daydreaming more than anything else. For as long as he could remember, he had been able to get completely immersed in his imaginative adventures, to such an extent that his fantasies sometimes seemed more concrete than the real world. His vivid imagination was perhaps the one thing that had made living at home bearable, because it provided an escape from the hell around him. But now that he hung out with Brains and Shorty, he no longer needed to seek refuge in a fun imaginary life. He finally had the real thing.

As he approached the porch steps, Shorty jumped off the swing.

“Hey, why’re you pushing your bike?” Shorty said. “Chain fall off or something?”

Shorty was fourteen years old, and he was dressed, as usual, as if he were the mascot for a Chicago sports team. That day, he was working for the Chicago Bulls. He wore a red Bulls jersey, matching red shorts, and a Bulls cap. On other days, he represented the White Sox, the Cubs, or the Bears. Jason sometimes wondered if he had any regular clothes.

“I ran into a little trouble,” Jason said.

Shorty laughed and came closer. “Man, if you ask me, it looks like you ran
over
a little trouble.” He poked his finger inside a gash in one of the bike’s mangled tires. “What the hell did you do, try to ride across a bed of nails?”

“It’s a long story,” Jason said.

Standing on the porch, Brains cleared his throat. He wore wire-rim glasses, pressed jeans, a blue polo shirt, and low-cut athletic shoes. Although Brains was only fourteen, the same age as the rest of them, Jason always thought of him as older, about eighteen or twenty. It wasn’t only his conservative clothing that gave Jason that impression: the way he carried himself made him seem much more mature than his age.

Brains pushed his glasses up his nose, viewing Jason’s bike with the intensity of a radiologist studying an X-ray. “Let me guess what happened, Jason: You had an encounter with Blake Grant.”

“How did you know?” Jason said. “You must be psychic.”

“No way, not me,” Brains said. Sunlight reflected off his lenses as he spoke. “I remember when you told me that he threatened you at school, and how you said he never forgets anyone he wants to fight. I figured it was only a matter of time before he caught up with you. Spring Harbor’s a small city, and from what I hear, all Blake does is ride around town with his pals, cruising for trouble. He probably saw your bike parked somewhere, knew it belonged to you, and decided to make good on his promise to destroy you. Is that close?”

“Close, but not exactly,” Jason said. He walked past Brains, sat on the bench, and told them what had happened.

“Man, it’s too bad you didn’t face that punk alone,” Shorty said. “You’d have kicked his ass.”

“Maybe,” Jason said. “Maybe not. I’ve never fought anyone.”

“Neither has Mike,” Brains said. He never referred to Shorty by his nickname. He smiled. “At least, Mike’s never
won
a fight.”

“Hey!” Shorty said. “I’ve whipped up dozens of fools, man. What the hell are you talking about?”

Jason rolled his eyes. Brains chuckled.

“At any rate,” Brains said, “I’d be careful if I were you, Jason. Mike has told me about Blake, and he sounds dangerous. Watch yourself. You might not slip away next time.”

“I’ll be careful,” Jason said. “But to be honest, Blake isn’t the main thing I’m worried about.”

“Why?” Shorty said. “What else is up?”

Jason looked from Brains to Shorty. Originally, he had not planned to tell them about the incident in the bathroom that morning, fearful that they would think he was crazy and make fun of him, but he realized that he trusted them as much as he would have trusted blood brothers. He thought there was a good chance they would believe him-after all, they didn’t hang out with him because they thought he was a nut. They respected him. They had grown really tight in the few months they had been hanging out, too. Hiding such a bizarre incident from them would almost be an insult to the bond they had developed.

“Well?” Shorty said. “Give it up, man.”

“Okay, I saw something this morning,” Jason said. “Something scary and weird that’s making me wonder if I’m going crazy....”

“Tell me, fellas,” Jason said, completing his tale of what he had seen in the bathroom. “Am I going crazy, or what?”

“You’re not going crazy,” Brains and Shorty said in unison. Shorty and Brains glanced at each other, smiled a little. Jason smiled at both of them. He was so glad they believed him.

Shorty paced the veranda.

“All right, we’ve heard the story, now we’ve gotta think hard about this shit,” Shorty said. He twisted his Bulls hat backward, as if adjusting his thinking cap. “Who do you think wrote that word on the mirror?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said. “It couldn’t have been Mom or Dad, and we haven’t had any visitors lately. I can’t think of anyone who might’ve done it. It was a stranger, I guess.”

“Why would a stranger write
remember
on your bathroom mirror?” Brains said.

“I guess he’s telling me to remember something,” Jason said. “But I don’t know what he’s telling me to remember, or why he wants me to. I really don’t have any answers. It’s all crazy.”

“Not only crazy, but spooky,” Shorty said. He walked back and forth across the porch, knotting his hands. “To know this guy was in your crib, walking around writing shit on mirrors—man, that scares me. Only real psychos do stuff like that. If I were you, I’d be scared to go to sleep at night.”

“I am scared,” Jason said. “But I have to do something, you know? I need a plan to deal with this. I can’t sit around and wait for something else to happen. Can either of you think of anything I can do?”

Neither Shorty nor Brains spoke. Both of them appeared to be pondering possibilities, strategies, answers. Jason had thought of a plan already, but before he presented it, he wanted to see what his friends could come up with. He had doubts about his own idea—and fears.

Brains removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. My mind is blank, Jason.”

Shorty settled beside Jason on the swing. He shrugged. “Sorry, man. Nada.”

 “Then I have a plan,” Jason said. “Does your sister still have the Ouija board, Brains?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I want to use it. To get some answers.”

Shorty looked horrified. But Brains only nodded.

“Good idea,” Brains said. “I didn’t think about that. When do you want to use it?”

“Today. Right now.”

“Okay.” Brains stood and stretched his tall, burly frame as
though they were leaving to play an ordinary game of basketball, not to use a mysterious device that had spawned a dozen horror flicks. “This would be a good time to do it. My folks will be out until this evening, and Tasha’s at work all day. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”

“Cool.” Jason wished he were as calm as Brains. Although it was his idea to use the Ouija, butterflies were tearing his stomach apart. He had probably watched too many horror movies himself.

But those horror films he’d seen had given him the idea to use the Ouija board. In movies, people used the Ouija to find answers about strange stuff that couldn’t be easily explained. He didn’t know if he really believed the Ouija board could tell him the truth behind the message in the bathroom. But the message was weird, and it seemed sensible to seek answers from the Ouija, an equally weird thing. Kind of like asking a biology question of a science teacher—you wouldn’t pose such a question to your English instructor. Weird things in life were probably all connected somehow. The idea made an odd kind of sense to him, and it must have made sense to Brains, too.

Anyway, how else could they begin to explore the mystery? He didn’t have any other ideas. He doubted that any adults would believe him. Grown-ups always assumed kids were dumb and making up stories to get attention. The Ouija board was a good place to start their search.

“If you’re ready, I’m ready, Jason,” Brains said. “Let’s go.”

“Demons,” Shorty said. Standing in the center of Brains’s bedroom, he crossed his arms over his thin chest. “The Ouija board calls up demons, man. You guys are nuts to mess with that thing.”

Brains placed the long cardboard box that contained the Ouija on the bed. He removed the cover and tossed it at Shorty.

“Boo!”

Shorty dodged the flying lid. “That ain’t funny. The Ouija is some serious shit. You shouldn’t be using it.”

“Come on, Shorty,” Jason said. “They sell these at Toys R Us. How dangerous can they really be?”

“So what?” Shorty said. “Haven’t you heard that they—”

“Listen, Mike,” Brains said, “no one is forcing you to participate, so will you please be quiet? Something bizarre happened to Jason—something none of us can explain—and we need to search for answers. The Ouija seems like a good place to start. Unless you have a better idea?”

Shorty said nothing. Sulking, he kicked the board’s lid across the floor.

‘That’s what I figured,” Brains said. “Now, are you going to stay in here while we do this, or are you going to leave?”

Shorty sighed. “I’ll stay, Brains. Someone with common sense has to watch over you fools.”

Jason and Brains had brought two folding chairs into the room and positioned them at the foot of the double bed. On opposite-facing stands beside the chairs, Brains had placed two silver candlesticks from which jutted long white candles. They needed light. The ceiling light was off and the drapes were drawn, enclosing the room in sepulchral shadows.

Brains ignited the wicks with a cigarette lighter. The flames sputtered, created dancing phantoms on the walls, then steadied. Inhaling the pungent odor of hot wax and glancing at the Ouija on the bed, Jason found himself recalling those horror flicks in which evil spirits summoned by the Ouija invaded the world and wreaked terror on people’s lives. He told himself to cut it out. He was thinking like Shorty.

But who would they be communicating with via the Ouija? A ghost? Something else?

We only need answers, he thought. It doesn’t matter who—or what-gives them to us. We only need the truth.