The Horribles Page 2

  And this was just to retrieve the mail. Imagine how it would be . . . outside.

  He waited for his pulse to wane and then looked down at what he had grabbed.

  The paper looked to be made of recycled material. Too thick and uneven. An assortment of browns, reds, and black speckled the paper. It was oily and slick to the touch. He assumed it was homemade, probably out of hemp or some other hippie product. It smelled organic, too, like pond water or swamp. There was something else just below the organic smell, an almost sweet scent, but he couldn’t make it out.

  “What is this?” he smelled the paper and rubbed it against his thumb and index finger. “What am I supposed to do with this, huh?”

  He opened it up slowly, still trembling after his excursion beyond the threshold, but at the same time cherishing a little sliver of something different in his life.

  Come one, come all

  As the twilights doth fall

  When the dusky sunset curtain parts

  Births the traveling motor parade

  Baubles and trinkets galore!

  All free for those who implore

  Please, join the traveling motor parade this Saturday for family fun on two wheels.

  “A parade?” He closed his hands around the pamphlet and squeezed as if it had a neck. “Oh, no! You won’t get me out of the house.” Sheldon balled the piece of paper up and tossed it across the room where it landed next to the sofa. “I should put razorblades on the bottom of my mailbox . . . that would keep them out.”

  His father shook his head, picked up the wadded paper and tossed it into a wastebasket. The dishes rattled in the kitchen, followed by the faint click of a tongue. Momma was also disappointed in his reaction.

  “What? Do you two really expect me to go?”

  Sheldon stood up off the floor, walked over to the living room picture window and peeked out from behind the drawn curtains. Even though his own life was in a permanent standstill, the neighborhood continued to thrive. Children rode their bikes along the sidewalk, racing each other, gambling on who could go the farthest with no hands. There was fear in their wide eyes as they buzzed past his house, but it was a different kind than Sheldon’s. He could see it was the good kind, the same fear you feel after watching a scary movie or just as a thunderstorm rolls in and lets out the first crackle of a lightning bolt.

  That kind of fear disappeared when the credits rolled or the clouds dissipated or you grabbed back onto the handlebars when the bike began to tip. Sheldon couldn’t grab the handlebars. His fear was here to stay. The reel never came to an end on this nightmare, and it never felt good.

  Parents watched from lawn chairs, proud smiles stretched across their faces. Cars drove by, lawnmowers revved, a basketball barked against the asphalt. A sand colored mutt darted past his view with a wiry tail tucked between its legs. Yep, his neighborhood kept on thriving regardless of his own strife, unaware or unconcerned. He could disappear tomorrow and the view from his window wouldn’t change the slightest. But he couldn’t hate. This was a good town. His parents’ town.

  The Delaneys were originally from Minneapolis. Sheldon was just a baby back then. His father had a good job as an electrician for Burlington Northern. They were offered a position up north—close enough to Canada where more than one Poe’s Creek resident spoke with a French accent—and the money was great. Sheldon’s parents were happy to be able to raise him in a small town: good schools and less crime.

  Sure, they stuck out a bit among all the Scandinavians, but Poe’s Creek had welcomed them with open arms. They quickly became a part of the community and never once missed the big city. Mr. and Mrs. Delaney had planned on retiring here.

  But plans change. Blood is spilled.

  Flash forward a few frames. Go right past the good years where mother, father, and child couldn’t be happier. Skip over the incident in the backyard and kitchen. Briefly watch the images of a mental hospital; the therapy, the drugs, disappointment, and failure. Observe a fortress being built around a fragile psyche. The reel slows. Same town, same house. A lonely man stands in a darkened, empty living room. His only company is the ghosts of his parents, whether imagined or real. He’s filled to the brim with self-loathing, hatred, and fear. He’s tired of thinking about the past, but too frightened to look toward the future.

  Fixed? Hardly.

  Sheldon closed the curtains. He walked back over to the recliner, stepping right through the smoke that was his father and plopped down. He straightened out the wrinkles in his favorite pajamas, picked up the remote control off the arm of the recliner, and clicked on the TV. He hit the mute button before even learning what was on. His mind was too preoccupied to pay attention. He ignored the shadows of his parents filling the rooms of their former home.

  The rest of the day would be spent plotting more ways to put up walls and close more doors.

  But when three loud, rapid knocks, followed by two drawn out ones, rapped on the door, he didn’t panic. Instead, Sheldon smiled.

  t w o

  It was their secret knock. Three short and two long. Normally, Sheldon would’ve seen Evan Hovland walking up the stairs way before the boy knocked on the door, but he still must’ve been a bit distracted by the letter.

  When Evan finished the secret knock, Sheldon got up and hurried to the door. Before answering, he still gave a cautious look out the fisheye and peeked through the curtained window next to the door to make absolutely sure it was Evan. The boy stood outside holding two paper bags full of groceries. Sheldon smiled. It was always a treat to see his young friend. As if the boy knew someone was watching him, he turned his head toward Sheldon and shrugged, then jabbed his head at the door. He mouthed the words, “Let me in.”

  Sheldon gave him a sloppy salute and opened the door a few inches. He stood off to the side so he didn’t have to get a good look outside. Evan squeezed through the crack, taking extra care not to spill the bags.

  Sheldon quickly shut the door. He messed the top of Evan’s hair and then took the two bags from him. Evan exhaled dramatically and shook his hands out.

  Sheldon made sure he was facing Evan, and then said, “All right, wise-guy. That’s enough.”

  Evan pretended to run a finger along the brim of a make-believe fedora. Then he stumbled over to a recliner and collapsed into the worn cushion.

  Sheldon took the bags to the kitchen, shaking his head and smiling along the way.

  When he returned to the living room, Evan was busy writing in a notepad he brought with him.

  Evan finished and handed the pad over to Sheldon.

  “You want to know if I’m going to the parade?” Sheldon asked the boy, the only other person on Earth he let into his home and life.

  “What parade?” Sheldon said, pretending to be distracted by lint on his shirt. Evan frowned and snatched the notebook from him. The pencil moved quickly across the paper and he handed it back.

  “You know which one. We all got the same flyer.” Sheldon looked down sheepishly and shuffled his feet. “Oh, that parade. Well, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve reserved front row lawn chairs right at the curb of Columbine Street for the two of us.” The notebook changed ownership again. Evan wrote out a sentence half-heartedly and handed it over.

  “Of course you can stay here with me, but you need to go and be with kids your own age, not a crazy, dried up fart like myself. Go get too much sun and eat your weight in free candy.”

  Evan’s pencil scratchings sounded too hollow in Sheldon’s empty home.

  All the kids my age are assholes and the candy at those parades is always staler than you! Sheldon read this sentence to himself.

  “Damn, boy. Don’t think just because we’re buddy-buddy I’m going to let you talk like that.” Sheldon was surprised how much he sounded like his own father. “Tell you what. Go check it out. If it’s lame, come on back here and we’ll watch a marathon of Tales from the Crypt episodes.”

  Evan shrugged and nervously fiddled with the hearing
aid in his right ear. It was a habit of his, and Sheldon was sure the boy wasn’t even aware of doing it. He was a handsome kid, tall for his age, athletic. His head of thick, blonde hair gave protest to any attempt at combing. He was also charismatic, and if it weren’t for the hearing aids, would easily be popular. But instead, he spent all his free time with the eccentric neighbor. What was this kid doing here? Sheldon had thought, but already knew the answer. ‘Cause we both live in different worlds than everyone else.

  While Sheldon ultimately chose isolation, or was forced into choosing, Evan Hovland was born into it. His mother spiked a high fever early in the pregnancy that obliterated the fetus’s cochleae. The boy came out irrevocably cut off to the entire world. The hearing aids in both ears were more for show and his mother’s obdurate belief that maybe, just maybe, someday Evan would hear something. Anything. Mr. Hovland liked to say his son wouldn’t hear a nuclear bomb go off if it were right in his ear and hearing aids, no matter how big the batteries were, weren’t ever going to change that.

  He was dead on with that one—Evan would never be able to hear—but he was so wrong in many other ways. Somehow, to Sheldon’s disbelief and anger, Mr. Hovland looked at his son’s handicap as completely debilitating. Might as well have come out stillborn. Don’t pay any attention to the fact the boy was a straight A student. Never mind that, in Sheldon’s opinion, the boy was a diamond in the rough. Maybe this was a little skewed; Sheldon didn’t get out too much and his circle of friends was about the size of a pinhead. But still, it infuriated him to no end to see the way Mr. Hovland came just short of snarling his lip at Evan whenever they were together.

  His father wanted the perfect baby boy to carry on the name, but he failed to realize that he got so much more. Sheldon Delaney took a liking to the boy the first time he saw Evan knocking at the front door holding mail that had accidentally been delivered to their house. Evan didn’t stink like everyone else. Words can act like poison and rot someone right to the core; maybe being deaf he’d been immune to the infection. Sheldon had opened the door without hesitation and as far as Evan went, never shut it again.

  When a boy can’t hear, it seems easier for him to not be heard, or seen. Especially if the parents are trying hard not to notice their son. Some parents would have thought it strange their boy spent all his free time with a middle-age recluse but Evan’s parents were thankful for the “babysitter”. As if he needed looking after. The mom was loving enough, but she blamed herself for the handicap. Her avoidance stemmed from guilt. Whatever the reason for pushing him away, Evan found solace in visiting Sheldon every day. Maybe he was a sort of parent to him? Which was kinda funny, right? Sheldon growing up without any parents physically and Evan without any emotionally.

  Sheldon watched the boy continue to fiddle with the hearing aid. As far as his part of the deal, he couldn’t help but think Evan was good company. A lot more animated than his dead parents, at least. He smiled at the boy and waved his hand to get Evan’s attention.

  “Evan,” he spoke quicker than he should for lip reading. Evan had an uncanny ability to read lips, though. He could do it without even having to look straight at the person. Sometimes, it bordered on mind reading. From time to time, Sheldon would test him, mix up the words to make them sound like something else. From across the room, he’d whisper gibberish.

  “Hey, Evan, eye beat yo caint hare aye wawed aye’m sooing.”

  But it never worked. He’d just shake his head and scribble LOUD AND CLEAR in his notebook.

  Sheldon had the TV as a constant source of background noise, but Evan filled him in on the real juices of Poe’s Creek. The kind of stuff a guy would catch up on if he were to frequent Harper’s barbershop.

  Even if Sheldon spent his whole life inside, he was still small town at heart. And nothing screams small town more than drinking a tall glass of gossip.

  Deep down, Sheldon really wanted Evan to go to that parade. He needed Evan to take inventory of all the city’s dirty laundry and report back.

  “Are your folks going to the parade?” Sheldon said when Evan looked up at him. Then he stood up, and started to walk toward the door, where he would hurriedly see Evan out and then slam it closed. Evan followed him and nodded his head.

  “Tell them both ‘hi’ and I appreciated your mother’s casserole.” He really did, too. One thing Sheldon didn’t inherit from Momma was a knack for cooking. Anything made in his kitchen, went right from the freezer into the microwave for five minutes on HIGH.

  Evan wrote one more question in his notebook and lifted it up.

  “Yes, I’m positive I want you to go.” Sheldon messed the top of Evan’s hair again just before opening the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when it’s done,” and then he laughed. “God knows I’m not going anywhere.”

  Evan almost got the back of his foot caught in the door, it shut so fast.

  It was the middle of the afternoon and Sheldon had nothing to do. Might as well turn in for the night, he thought. Wake up in the morning and try to squeeze another day out of an already dried up pulp.

  t h r e e

  Evan almost tripped coming down Sheldon’s porch. His friend had not rudely, but forcefully all the same, sent him on his way with a nudge. But he was used to the quick exits. It was just the way Sheldon was. One of his quirks, as his old friend was fond of saying. Just like having to check the locks all the time, or making Evan look out in the garage for burglars every night before he went home.

  None of those things really bothered him, though. Sheldon was a lot cooler than any other adult he knew. He never talked about how hard of a day he had at work, or how many points the stock market lost that day. Sheldon talked about scary movies, the latest X-Men comic and whether Evan had rode a wheelie on his bike yet. So yeah, Sheldon was his best friend. Whatever that was worth. He didn’t exactly have an overflowing pool of friends he could call upon.

  The whole deaf thing seemed to get in the way.

  His hands were stuffed in his pockets as he stumbled along the weather worn and cracked sidewalk, digging around in a trove of boyhood treasures. If Evan counted correctly, there was a dollar twenty-five, all quarters, in his left pocket. It always felt good to have some money in his pocket. In case he had the urge to run down to the C-Store later for a cream soda. Maybe a Charleston Chew. But his prize possession was in his right pocket. While his fingers closed around the smooth surface of it, he gave Sheldon’s house one last quick glance over his shoulder. Sheldon was looking out a crack in the curtains. Evan waved. Sheldon nodded and the curtains snapped shut.

  He took out what he’d been holding onto. It was a pocket knife. Nothing special about it, cheap plastic with some realtor’s advertisement on the side, but holding it always made him feel good. It had been a gift from Sheldon. He said every boy needed a knife. You never knew when you were going to need it. Soon after receiving the gift Evan had borrowed his father’s honing stone and worked the cheap blade until it would slice a piece of journal paper in half with little effort.

  It was sharp enough to leave grooves and peel back thin layers of his thumbnail. That’s what he was doing outside of Sheldon’s house when the skin on his nape began to tingle. He jerked the blade away from his thumb just as something crashed into his shoulder. The impact knocked the meaty palm of his hand into the opened blade. The cut was only superficial, but it began to bleed like a sieve. Good thing he moved his hand away.

  Sean Keating, a neighbor boy, ran past him holding a basketball tucked under his arm. Sean turned around, jogged backwards and mouthed the words “Move it, retard,” before turning around and hustling away.

  Evan wiped the blade on his jeans and stuck his palm in his mouth. His mom would be on him like stink on dookie for staining his pants. He looked down at the ground and kicked at a loose pebble.

  Retard? He thought. He’s the fool that can’t even pass summer school math.

  Sometimes Evan wished he could get back at kids like Sean. He had even a
sked Sheldon to beat him up once. Said he’d pay a month’s worth of allowance.

  Sheldon had laughed and said, “Ain’t no use in fightin’, son. Win or lose, you’re doing exactly what they want. You’re admitting that they’re getting to you. Besides, not ever going to happen, not unless you get that boy in this house with me. You know that’s for sure.”

  Might be exactly what Sean wanted, but it sure would be fun to watch.

  Evan breathed in the late summer air. It was going to be a nice afternoon. Not too hot. Not too cold. Maybe his dad would start a fire out back and they could make s’mores. If there were any left over he’d bring Sheldon some.

  Nothing to do and all the time to do it, he thought. He walked the short distance to his own house and sat down on a porch that could’ve been a twin to Sheldon’s.

  That was the best part of being a kid. No plans. No real responsibilities. Shoot, if he thought about it, not that hard even, he didn’t have anything to do for a real long time, other than get Sheldon his mail. That and the parade tomorrow. If his parents even took him.