Strange Awakening by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 8
We sat at the kitchen table, drinking, eating and telling shit stories. I should correct that and say, for the most part, one of us was telling shit stories and the other didn’t remember any that he had not already said. Butch talked mostly about the area where we lived. Its known history began before Revolutionary times. Originally the stone house on the corner was an inn, where various pre-revolutionary meetings took place.
Its mere “documentation” qualified the area to be a state historical district. I’m not making very light of that, as I think the area should be considered an “historical” area. It’s certainly old enough. The most significant event Butch knew of, that happened there, was some meeting held containing local dignitaries, wherein it was decided to oppose the Stamp Act.
When the rider delivered the message to authorities in Philadelphia, it was learned that the Revolutionary government had already decided to oppose the Stamp Act two weeks prior.
Other stories were of even less historical significance, but I got a strong overview that the area had always been somewhat prosperous and a very nice place to be and was home to a number of interesting characters, most no longer here. I couldn’t help but juxtapose this with the weird, isolated and treacherous feeling that I’d been having here the last few days.
When he momentarily ran out of stories to tell, Butch looked up at the clock and said; “I’d better get home while I can still walk well.” He got up from his chair and immediately demonstrated that he probably waited a trifle too long. “Whoo,”
he said, putting his hands on the chair back. “I hate the crooked floors in these old houses.”
I stood up, was a little shaky, but thought I was in better shape than Butch. I offered to drive him home, out of apparent necessity as well as a curiosity to see exactly where he lived.
He refused the offer, seeming somewhat indignant that I may have implied that he was not capable of taking care of himself.
In an effort to assuage him, I said; “Well, what are we going to do about the kiddie porn going on next door?”
“Same thing we’ve done about it for the last year, I suppose.”
“No, really. That stuff makes me sick and it also is dangerous to me, now that they think I’m watching.”
“The cops don’t want to know anything about it. They don’t want to mess with Mason and neither should you.”
“Well, the way I see it, Mason and his representatives started messing with me first.”
Butch laughed; “Tell me what you think we should be doing about it.”
“Maybe we can get some kind of evidence, like photos.”
“Photos of what, the lady in black?”
“I don’t know, maybe. How about photos of the naked girls?”
“That’s what they do.”
“Come on. Be serious for five minutes. My property is L-shaped and goes behind Mason’s house. Maybe we could hide out there and get something on camera.”
“Sounds like a long shot and a possible pain in the ass to me.”
“It probably is, but what the hell; we can bring some food, beer and wine and sit out there all day. It’s better than being cooped up in here.”
“Not if we’re seen.”
“You told me you know these woods. You must know spots where we won’t be seen.”
“Okay, I can handle that, but I don’t own a camera good enough to shoot that distance. Do you?”
“I don’t know. I’ll look around here some. If I can’t find one, I’ll drive to town again and get one there.”
“Okay, I’ll be back here at 10 AM tomorrow. I really don’t know why I’m doing this.”
“Two reasons. You don’t have anything else to do, what’s going on is evil and I’m liable to wind up dead somewhere. I could tell that you were one of the good guys.”
He just looked back at me for a few seconds, then repeated;
“10 AM tomorrow.” He let himself out and drove his car back home, up the part of the road I had not yet seen. I cleaned up the kitchen a bit and then went looking around for a camera.
If I had one, where would I keep it? Probably a closet I concluded. I investigated the two kitchen closets to no avail, seeing some other items I might like to see, but the camera is priority now. There were no closets in two of the downstairs rooms, so I checked the other one which seemed to be a catch all for things that don’t fit elsewhere. Not finding anything, now I had to make the climb upstairs to glance at the closets in the three upstairs ersatz bedrooms. I’d have preferred to use the time to play through the different scenarios Butch and I might encounter tomorrow. I really didn’t want to drive into town to buy a camera and stand through some sales pitch when I really didn’t know exactly what I wanted. I first checked the small green doored closet in the bedroom/library. The only thing in there was more books of varying genres. I guessed that this was the last refuge of the ones that I couldn’t classify or didn’t like. I hit pay dirt in the large, sliding doored closet in the subsidiary bedroom. I found some kind of Nikon with a zoom lens and some film. Now, all I had to do was figure out how to use it. I hoped for an instruction booklet, which for some reason I
knew was the type of thing Diane periodically purged from the house.
My mission of the day taken care of I went back to the kitchen to eat some hamburgers and drink a little more wine. I started feeling really good, for the first time in a while, so I decided to face my biggest fear, walking by the yellow house. I also would not have minded continuing my relationship with my big female acquaintance, which will conquer fear every time. In the quiet I could also plan for tomorrow. I was competent to maintain my glow until I saw three cars parked on the yellow house’s driveway, including a red Toyota hatchback. The eerie feeling started when I noticed that a few of the trees were beginning to brown out at the edges. Pure evil emanating in all directions. Maybe. Some smaller branches were entirely dead.
To make matters worse the lady in black and my portly old friend came out a side door, apparently having some heated conversation, which the sight of me interrupted. She looked my way and then turned her back, watching her compatriot go back inside to quickly reappear with a rifle in tow.
I figured he was either going to shoot me or he wasn’t. I didn’t seem to have any control over that matter, so I acted nonchalant and yelled out; “How’s hunting today?”
He replied; “Didn’t start yet, asshole.”
I appreciated the humor of his commentary and perhaps due to the wine, was unafraid of his posture. I concluded that he was a talker and said, “What are you waiting for, asshole, it’ll be dark in half an hour and the deer will be hiding by then.” I had no idea regarding the accuracy of that statement, but I figured that since I lived in the country people would think that I knew something about it.
He started walking in my direction, replaying our last consultation. “You know, you really shouldn’t make light of what I’ve told you.”
“What was that? I have memory problems.”
The man with the rifle lifted it across his chest, ostensibly in the hope that I’ll have a better shot at noticing it now. He matter-of-factly said; “Your existence is getting to be a menace to the rural tranquility.”
“My apologies to the rural tranquility.”
He picked up speed, walked right over to me and grabbed me by my shirt collar. “No more playful conversation, funnyman.
You are never going to get George Carlin’s job.” I considered telling him that I certainly have not applied for George Carlin’s job and didn’t want it, but under the circumstances decided to remain silent. “I’m going to tell you one last time that you are close to being the victim of a hunting accident.”
“I thought you said you weren’t hunting.”
He looked at me with a mixture of disgust and disbelief and said; “You know what I’m saying. If you feel like taking your chances, come back here again.” He released my collar and turned back to the house. I was proud of myself. If you have to have an enemy, it never hurts to have that enemy think you’re a little crazy.
When he got back near the lady in black he said, inaudibly to me; “I never thought that I’d be getting involved in murder, but that pest has got to be out of the picture one way or another.” She flatly replied, “Don’t tell me you are having moral considerations.” He could have answered that in a number of ways, but decided to hold his tongue. He had already engaged in sufficient pointless badinage for one day and was getting bored.
Despite having been successful at appearing amused in the face of danger, my shortly lost feeling of isolation and fragility returned. Rather than attempting to continue my journey, I walked right back home intending to shut myself in for the night and was looking forward to my partner’s reappearance tomorrow morning.