Dark Avenues Read online

  Jared pressed his face up against the glass, cupped his hands around his eyes like a pair of makeshift binoculars and squinted for a better look. I peered over the top of his head and found a crude symbol drawn across the wall beside of the doorway in what looked to be purple paint; it depicted a wide pathway leading toward a door sitting on the edge of a distant horizon.

  It wasn’t just the weird placement of the symbol that heightened my anxiety; it looked fresh as if it’d been drawn just a few seconds ago. Why had they kept it there if they knew it would jeopardize the market value?

  “Damn.” He hissed, spreading faint white clouds of steam across the glass. “These fucking beads are blocking my view.”

  I’d heard him curse like that plenty of times in the past but never in front of our parents. He eased away from the window, walked to the middle of the driveway and peered across the darkened porch. A second carpet of light burst across the back yard, sending strobes of light rippling across the grass.

  I took two steps away from the window and met up with him. I knew I should’ve taken the opportunity to get him away from here when it presented itself but I gave into peer pressure and my own stupid childish curiosity as well.

  “I’ll try the front door.” He whispered. “Cover me.”

  Just then, the goose-necked porch light gave a low hum and flickered to life. A large patch of sodium-purple light spread across the driveway and showered me like a spotlight on a police helicopter. I flinched, pressing my white-knuckled fists tightly against my thighs, and crunched a fallen twig under my right foot.

  “Calm down, Mollie.” Jared whispered.

  He stepped under the front porch awning, his pear-shaped body shrouded by a mixture of half-light and half-shadow, and approached the front door. Tiny flakes of red paint sprinkled the film of plastic-green felt covering the front stoop as he looked back at me and raised his hand toward the doorknob.

  “We need to get the hell away from here.” I whispered. “If our parents catch us, we’re in serious friggin trouble.”

  “Would you just chill out?” He said, then chuffed. “If the door is locked, th–”

  The front door creaked open on scarred brass hinges and cut him off in mid-sentence; thin pockets of white smoke floated across the threshold, spun in the cool summer breeze and drifted up toward his face. Jared cocked his head toward the open doorway, his face sullen and guilt-ridden, and sucked deep pockets of sheer fog into his lungs. His body grew tense, but he stood his ground, his eyes riveted onto what was behind the door.

  Fear rooted my feet to the ground and seized my lungs inside of its thick powerful grip, robbing me of the will to breathe. An icy chill snaked along the contours of my spine, prickling my skin and raising the hairs on the back of my neck. My cheeks grew hot as my heart pounded, blood throbbing against my ears.

  Sweat beads cascading down my face had secreted inside of my pits and glued the back and sides of my tee-shirt to my ribs. The breeze picked up, sending an odd smell drifting past my nose. It wasn’t the familiar scent of pine sap and wood smoke but instead it was the sickly-sweet smell of licorice.

  From where I was standing, I prayed for a carpet of light to flood across the front porch followed by a crabby old man spouting obscenities at us while we scampered away like roaches. If that was what got us away from here, then so be it. If my parents were informed of this little incident, I would take my punishment and be done with it.

  Everything I wanted to see was inside of that house, observed by the frozen hypnotic gleam flickering in Jared’s eyes. Whatever was going on in there, I wasn’t invited. The smell increased in both flavor and intensity, sparkling off my tongue like I’d downed a whole packet of Pop Rocks.

  Something slipped out from behind the open door but I couldn’t see what it was at first. I squinted into the velvet darkness flooding the driveway until I saw what lay beyond and felt my chest tighten with fear. My eyes swelling with fear, I suppressed a wave of nausea rising toward my throat and forced it back down into the pit of my stomach.

  A thick human arm hugged by a loose-fitting white shirt sleeve emerged from the swirling black folds of the doorway and extended across the front stoop. Its thick calloused fingers had a light-green tint and its neatly-trimmed nails were coated with slick pools of obsidian liquid. The wrist spun to the left, then to the right and slowly dragged its knuckles down both sides of Jared’s face, spreading large purple blemishes across his cheeks.

  The cool summer breeze carried the soft chorus of eerie whispers from inside of the house and filled my ears with incubus murmurs. As a wide pleasing grin spread evenly across Jared’s face, tugging at the corners of his mouth, an alarm rang in the back of my head. A hot lucid tear protruded from the corner of my right eye, slid down the contour of my cheek and dripped off of my chin.

  I shook the fear off my bones, brushed my tongue across my dry cracked lips and sprinted toward the front porch. My body switching to panic mode, I threw my hands up in front of me, slammed the front door shut with a loud hollow thud. I clutched a handful of Jared’s left sleeve in my right fist, dragged him away from the front of the house and back up the driveway, his feet teetering out from behind him.

  We hopped onto our bikes and sped away. We were halfway down the hill, my ears filled with the soft hum of bike tread on hot pavement when he glanced back at the house with a heavy morose look on his face. My body racing on fear and adrenaline, my hands shook so bad I gripped the handlebars of my bike until they hurt and the color bled from my knuckles.

  “What did you see?” I asked.

  When I repeated myself, he shook his head and grinned.

  By the time we reached my house, neither one of us spoke a word. Pinprick stars riddled the night sky; a sickly-white moon sat high in the east, glowing behind a roiling cloud cover. We arrived back at my house and found Aunt Ruth standing beside of the road, her mouth hanging open as if she were about to call our names but then decided not to when she saw us coming.

  After we put our bikes away, I gave him a hug and a kiss on the forehead. It was unusual not because he was cousin but because he was always shy about that sort of thing; we’d always make a little hide and seek game out of it. This time, however, he hadn’t protested at all.

  When Ruth and Bruce made the short trek from the front of the house to the driveway in front of the garage, she noticed it, too. She crouched in front of him, her knees pressing into the cold cobblestone porch and grazed her left hand across his cheek. My spine tingled with fear as my mind reverted back to the same phantom hand that grazed Jared’s cheek in the same soft, tender fashion.

  I hid my reaction so my parents wouldn’t notice and put on my best fake smile. Mom slipped an arm across the small of my back, waved at Bruce as he caught up with Jared and Ruth, and leaned against my left shoulder.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I think I ate too much.” He mumbled in a sulking voice.

  Bruce added. “You’re still going to school next week.”

  Ruth raked her left hand through Jared’s hair, planted a soft kiss on the crown of his forehead and corralled him into the back seat. As they drove past the front of the house, Jared clipped on his seatbelt and peered at me with a brooding look on his face.

  We waved at them as they started their long trek back to Columbus. Before their headlights were swallowed by the newly-risen darkness, I noticed the blemishes on Jared’s right cheek had disappeared.

  2

  WHEN I woke up the next morning, Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast and giggling about something I wasn’t supposed to hear.

  The living room and the kitchen were adjoined, separated by an L-shaped couch; an antique wooden coffee table sat between the couch and a stone-hearth fireplace and a flat-screen television sat in the far right corner. The kitchen consisted of a sleek wooden table with matching chairs, stainless steel appliances, wooden cupboards with matching knobs and a single rectangular window above the s
ink draped in a thin pink curtain. Sunlight poured through the windows, laying bright patches of light across the floors while grasping at the furniture and walls with bright golden fingers.

  Around the bottom of the stairs and to the left, a set of sliding wooden doors led into Dad’s Man Cave where he liked to watch all of his college football games; he worked at a father and son lumber company that most people compared to one of the big wigs although he wasn’t The Father or The Son. When they saw me coming, they shushed each other and grinned like a couple of teenagers. In one of Dad’s tee-shirts and soft pink cotton shorts, Mom stepped up next to the stove and dropped a pat of butter into a cast-iron skillet; Dad took a sip from his mug, his plaid pajamas and a blue tee-shirt pulled tight over his tall masculine frame.

  “Did you have fun with your cousin last night?”

  I nodded, feigning a smile. I glanced down at the folded newspaper sitting on the table beside of his right arm and swallowed until my throat clicked.

  A sense of anxiety washed over me. If they’d asked me again, I’d have caved in. They didn’t so I didn’t have to worry about it.

  Between sips of orange juice, I told them everything that happened last night. I replaced the haunted house part with a lie about how we accidentally drove across the edge of Mister McCombs’ lawn and almost knocked one of his prized lawn ornaments into the street. Dad reminded me that I wasn’t allowed to bother Mr. McCombs because he was a stubborn old asshole and I giggled because he cursed; Mom peered at him from over her left shoulder and sighed in awe.

  “Don’t listen to your father, Mollie.” Mom slapped him playfully across the arm.

  Dad chuckled, raked a hand through his thick dark hair and then took another sip from his mug. Mom placed a stack of pancakes, two eggs and three strips of bacon on my plate and set it down in front of me. I ate my breakfast while they scanned the comics section in the morning paper and ignored their playful whispers.

  When I used the last drop of OJ to wash down the last bite of food, they continued to stare at me.

  “Do I have something on my forehead?”

  I set my glass on top of my plate.

  “Not really.” Dad snickered. “But you’ve got this weird thing in the middle of your face I might want to cut off. It’s right there between your mouth and your eyes.”

  Mom and I sighed, mouths agape.

  “You look beautiful, Hun.”

  “Damn right she does.” Mom walked over and kissed me on the forehead. “She gets that from her mother.”

  Dad peered up from the top of his newspaper. “We’re serious, honey.” He asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m good. Why do you ask?”

  “We heard you talking in your sleep last night.”

  “You did?”

  I stiffened a little and felt my body grow tense. Mom slid her chair over to my side of the table, her spindly little shadow blotting out the light coming in through the kitchen window. The quiet confused stare on my face increased their unwavering curiosity and intensified their gaze.

  “You were saying ‘Get away, Jared. Get away now’.” Mom said. “We were so worried about you we stood outside of your bedroom door until you went back to sleep.”

  After he took another sip, Dad said, “If there’s something bothering you, don’t ever be afraid to tell us.

  “What am I supposed to tell you?”

  “We’re not accusing you or anybody.” Dad explained. “If he did something to you last night, we’re not going to be ang–”

  “Oh that.” I snickered. “I had a dream about the new story I’m writing.”

  “Oh ok.” Mom said, pursing her lips and shrugging her shoulders. “We were just concerned, honey. We just want you to know that we’ll always be here for you if you ever need to talk.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  I patted Mom’s hand in return and took my plate to the sink, hoping they shrugged it off. After Mom gave me another kiss on my forehead and raked her hand through my hair, I went back upstairs. When I shut the door behind me, I snuck a glance through the window behind my bed and saw the house sitting there in all of its dark and dilapidated glory.

  The place could’ve used a new roof and the windows were still as dark and empty as they’d been last night. Personally, I’d rather see it sitting in a pile of shit and twigs rather than looking all cocky and smug.

  I closed my bedroom curtains, dug my journal out from into my secret hiding place (underneath the mattress inside the little hole inside of my box spring) and thought about what to write. As much as I wanted to talk about what happened last night because it would make it easier for me to shrug off the guilt, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was halfway through today’s entry when my bladder decided to kick me like an unborn child and send me rushing out of my bedroom.

  I was halfway to the bathroom when I heard a chorus of whispers coming from my parents’ bedroom. I caught a few snippets of their conversation but what I’d heard told me that they refused to shake off the conversation we had this morning.

  “–afraid of what she–”

  “–doesn’t need to be–”

  “–when she’s ready.”

  Did they think he sexually abused me? The cold harsh reality of their lie made me feel so uncomfortable that the very thought of it sickened me to the core. I knew that if I told them the truth I would risk crucifying myself and–if they had their way–every summer for the rest of my life.

  I snuck into the bathroom, did my business and got back into my room before they realized that I’d overheard them. Dad stopped by to tell me that he was going to work and that he’d see me later. I gave him a soft kiss on the cheek; he told me he loved me and lugged his big metal lunch box down stairs and out the front door.

  When I shut my bedroom door, the curtains behind my bed were open again. If the window had been opened, which it wasn’t, then the breeze would’ve parted the curtains; they were left open as if someone had done it from the inside of my bedroom.

  Mom, Dad and I had made an agreement years ago that we wouldn’t go into each other’s bedroom unless it was an emergency or if we’d given the other permission. We weren’t sticklers in that sense but we respected each other’s privacy.

  I was buttoning my shorts when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. Mom opened the door, wearing a short-sleeved pink tee, dark green capris and white deck shoes; her long red hair was fashioned into a small bun along the back of her head.

  “We’re going into town, honey.” She said in a cheery voice. “Go ahead and finished getting dressed.”

  “Okay.” I nodded.

  She waited for me to slip on my sandals and then followed me down stairs. We locked up the house and jumped into her yellow Mazda and headed into town. It was summer and our little picturesque town showed no signs of slowing down; dogs barked from fenced-in yards or trotted along sidewalks with their owners in tow, children played and giggled with a sense of reckless abandon.

  We parked on the right side of The Mall On Winifred Avenue and picked up a few things from Bath and Body. We browsed a few more shops and Mom bought us some new tops, and one more for me for school until she could come back and get my actual school clothes for the year. After we that, we grabbed some Mexican at Las Jose’s and then did a little grocery shopping.

  On the way home, we were too busy singing along to one of our favorite songs on the radio when I caught that sinister eyesore from the corner of my eye. I caught the same licorice scent I smelled last night drifting under my nose again and held my breath so I wouldn’t have to. This time, there was something different about it, something that I couldn’t put my finger on until Mom spoke up.

  “They must be fixing that place up finally.” She said, then nodded toward the house.

  As much as I didn’t want to look, I had no choice. If I didn’t, she’d have known something was up. I peered through the window and gripped the door handle in my pale clammy hand.

  The driv
eway looked a little smoother and darker than it looked last night as if someone had covered it with a fresh coat of tar. I thought I saw something moving across the front window but it was just a piece of my hair falling onto the top of my shoulder.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  The concerned look on Mom’s face was accentuated by the shafts of sunlight coating the front windshield. I peered down at my feet, licked my lips and then back up at her.

  “I’m fine.” I said. “That house gives me the creeps.”

  “Why does it give you the creeps?”

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  “Yeah.” She said, then nodded. “I don’t have the time to tell you about it, really. That house has been here long before I met your father.”

  “There has to be a reason why you and Dad don’t want me to go near it.” I said, then raised my right shoulder in a half shrug. “I just wanted to know why you wouldn’t want me to go near it in the first place.”

  She brushed a strand of my hair away from my sweaty forehead and tucked it behind my left ear. I considered telling the truth, but I couldn’t take the risk.

  “Did you go near it?” She exclaimed.

  “I see it outside of my bedroom window every day I wake up and every night before I go to bed. There’s just something about it that scares the beejezus out of me.”

  She parked the car, killed the engine and turned around in her seat to face me.

  “Don’t ever worry about that house, honey. I’m sure it won’t be up for long and it seems like the new neighbors are going to make it look perfect and then if not–”

  She unfastened her seat belt and climbed out.

  “Then what?”

  “They’ll just mow it down and put up a department store.”

  When we reached the back of the car, she opened the trunk. When I reached down to gather a few bags, she snatched my left hand by the wrist and held it.