Читать книгу Spindle Lane - Mark Reefe - Страница 14

Chapter 8

On the day of the filming, I cornered Paul and Kevin before our group left. By that time I had already told Kevin about my near death experience on the bike trail. I knew Paul would back up my claims in the event he doubted the story, so it wasn’t too risky a move. But neither of them knew anything about the ominous messages the Goatman had been leaving me. I guess I figured it would be pushing it dumping so much on them and expecting them to believe it. Besides, if things went as I hoped they would, we’d find some kind of evidence on the trail that would help solve the mystery of the Goatman.

“Remember, when we get to the spot where I saw the blood, I’ll give you the signal. We’ll have to convince Steve it’s a good place to stop and shoot some scenes. That will give us time to snoop around.”

“Riiight, and what exactly are we looking for again?” Kevin asked.

“It’s like Chris said,” Paul exclaimed. “We’re looking for the spot the Goatman killed the dogs.”

From the moment Kevin and Paul met, it got a little weird. Paul was acting bossy with Kevin, and Kevin was being super sarcastic with Paul.

“I got that. But then what, Paul? What are we looking for other than the spot?”

I watched Paul’s face flush and decided it was an excellent time to pipe in. “Wish I knew, but I don’t. Guess we’re just looking for something that’s out of place, something that looks like it doesn’t belong there.”

“Oh, okay. Well, that’s all you had to say.”

“That is what I said,” Paul answered.

I was glad to hear my brother’s voice break in before it got ugly between the two of them. “Okay, get on your bikes, and let’s head up to the trail. We need to scout out a location for the scene. We’re looking for a good jungle setting, so keep your eyes peeled.”

Steve whizzed by and then Perry. They were followed closely by the Johnson brothers, Mark and Brian. Mark was the older of the two and also going to be a senior. Brian was a year behind him but just as tall. The brothers were thick as thieves and always seemed to be smiling for one reason or another. Both were things I was a little jealous of given my current fraternal challenges. It wasn’t until years later when my eyes were opened to the ignorance and stupidity of racism that I came to understand our friendship with the Johnsons may have been considered by some of narrow mind to be unusual or even inappropriate. The concept of judging someone by the color of their skin seemed as strange to any of us as judging them by the color of their eyes, hair, shirt, or shoes. Black, white—it was all the same on Spindle. Now if you were rapidly approaching sixteen and still wearing Toughskins, that was an entirely separate matter—you would be judged, and judged harshly.

One of Mark’s familiar grins blossomed on his face as he rolled by. “Better get pedaling, Chris. Don’t wanna be left behind!”

“That’s right!” Brian added with a near-identical smile. “Don’t want the director getting mad at you for slowing us down. You know how he can get.”

I slipped between Kevin and Paul as we cruised down Stonybrook. Despite the sunny weather and cheerful mood of my companions, a familiar chill crept up my spine the closer we got to the bike trail.

“You okay, Chris?”

It was Paul’s voice. I realized I was staring at the rapidly approaching trail entrance like a fruitcake. “Sure, just kind of weird being back here is all. I’ll be fine.”

“Good, ’cause I don’t need you freaking out on me.”

With Steve still in the lead, our group rolled onto the trail. We kept it painfully slow for some time as the older guys commented on what scenery would be the best fit for the movie. We were about a minute away from the target when our crew slowed to standstill.

I pulled up next to my brother. “What’s the deal?”

“Mark and I think this place has potential. We’re gonna check it out.”

“No!” I belted the word out so loud that Mark jerked his head back. I realized I needed to dial it down pronto if I wanted a chance of winning my brother over. After taking a deep breath, I continued. “I mean, there’s a spot just a little farther down the path that is way sweeter than this. We should check it out.”

Steve got off his bike. “Keep your shirt on. We’ll look at this one first and then yours.”

“Man, Chris,” Mark added, “just cool it like your brother said.”

I watched the rest of them dismount—all except Kevin and Paul. If they chose this site before seeing the other, my carefully laid plans would be down the toilet. I had to think up something fast. “Steve, the other place is much better than this. Why don’t you let me show it to Paul and Kevin, and they can vouch for me? You guys have to at least give it a shot.”

Steve looked at Perry and the Johnson brothers with a blank face. “What do you think?”

Perry shrugged his shoulders.

Brian said, “Why don’t you let the three stooges check it out?”

“Fine, but no goofing around. I want to get this shoot going, and you’re already starting to get –”

I began pedaling before Spielberg had a chance to finish. “Thanks, be back soon!”

A couple of minutes later, we rolled up on the underbrush the creature had been lurking. Skidding to a stop, I dropped my bike in the dirt. I heard the rubber from Kevin and Paul’s tires as they slid out behind me.

“Is this it? Is this the place?” Kevin asked.

“Yep.”

“You think we’re okay?” Paul asked. “I mean, it’s just the three of us instead of seven.”

“I think so. It’s the middle of the day, and the other guys are within earshot. I’m sure we’re fine.” I had absolutely no idea whether we were in any actual danger. I was too stoked at the prospect of discovering something about the Goatman to care.

In a hushed tone Paul said, “I don’t see any blood.”

“Of course you don’t,” Kevin scoffed. “It’s rained a couple of times since Chris said he was here.”

“Whatever, numb nuts.” Paul mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Ssshh,” I said while pointing to the brush. “That’s where it was hiding.”

The three of us froze and stared at the grouping of stunted trees and bushes as if they were a pack of rabid wolves ready to attack at any moment.

I knew it was kind of a goofy thing to do, but I knelt down and picked up a good-sized branch from the ground. I was sure my friends were going to make fun of me. Instead, Paul grabbed his own stick, and Kevin scooped up a couple of broken chunks of asphalt that had crumbled away from the path.

I raised the branch in both hands and approached as my friends spread out in flanking positions. At least if I was attacked, they would have a chance to strike. Not that sticks and stones would be of much use against an ax-swinging, half-man, half-goat freak show.

The light of the mid-morning sun weakened the forest shadows. About ten feet away from our target, I saw we were in no immediate danger. “Looks like we’re clear; nothing’s back there. Now let’s spread out. I’m not sure how much time we have before Steve comes looking for us.”

We sifted the leaves and dirt and crawled through the surrounding bushes and brambles looking for something unusual or out of place. Kevin went so far as to start flipping over several large rocks—what he hoped to find I didn’t dare ask. We had all but given up when Paul blurted out, “What the heck is that?”

Kevin and I followed Paul’s gaze to a soaring white oak. Carved six feet up into the bark was a symbol:

“Freaky,” Kevin said. “Looks like someone must have chiseled that sucker in.”

I put an index finger on the design and traced the crescent shape and then the circle below. The cuts were smooth and a good inch deep. Something razor sharp with serious power had to have made those sweeping gouges. “I don’t think a knife could cut like that. Look how perfect it is. There are no hack marks or signs of whittling.”

Paul was next to touch it. “Maybe some kind of hook did it.”

“Or a claw,” Kevin added.

I was glad Kevin said it. This time I couldn’t be the one blamed for diving off the deep end. For one of the very few times in my life, I chose the path of caution. “What kind of an animal could carve something like this? Look, it’s almost a perfect circle and quarter moon.”

“If it was a person, they’re tall,” Paul said. “If they reached out straight in front to make these markings, they’d have to be at least six feet at the shoulder.”

“What do you think it means?” Kevin asked.

“Don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it,” I said.

Paul kept his eyes locked on the symbol as he stepped back from the tree. “Sometimes when people are in the woods, they mark things, so they know where they’ve been. You know, so they don’t get lost.”

Kevin shook his head. “Lost…on the bike trail? C’mon, dude, it’s not like this is the Amazon.”

“A warning,” I whispered.

“What was that?” Paul asked.

I turned to my friends. “It could be a warning—kind of like a no trespassing sign.”

Kevin’s eyes narrowed. “What good is a no trespassing sign if no one can read it?”

“Maybe they’re initials or something like that,” Paul theorized. “Like when you write your name in your school books so people know they’re yours.”

“Someone wanted us to know the tree is theirs?” Kevin teased.

Paul’s cheeks turned pink. “No. They wanted us to know the forest is theirs. I wonder if we would find more of these if we looked around.”

Footsteps came from behind. Somebody was approaching from the bike trail.

“What are you knuckleheads up to? Steve’s starting to get pissed!”

Perry.

I looked at Paul and Kevin and shook my head, hoping they would get the point. This needed to be our secret for now. It was too early to share, and with no concrete proof that something supernatural or at the very least fiendish was going on, there was no point in sharing our discovery. All they would do was rag on us.

“What’s so great about this place?” Perry huffed. “Doesn’t look like anything special to me.”

There was nothing more for us here. We found what we were looking for—at least I thought we did. There was no doubt in my mind that the symbol and the Goatman were connected. Maybe the creature was marking its territory like Paul suggested, but whether that proved to be the case or not, we didn’t need Perry or Steve poking around yet. “Eh, maybe you’re right; guess I remembered it a little differently.”

“Yeah, well, you guys better get back. You’re holding everything up, and you know how Steve gets.”

For the next couple hours, the three of us screeched, hollered, and howled as we relentlessly pursued our prey through the dirt paths and alongside the muddy creek beds of White Marsh. It was funny in a warped sort of way. Just over a week ago, I was the one being hunted here—except then it was real. Now it was just Paul, Kevin, and me sporting a bunch of greasepaint and fake fur glued to our hands and faces as we chased Brian—otherwise known as Professor Benedict Haywood—at the command of the nefarious Doctor Gerard Dubois—aka Perry. Mark was always more comfortable behind the camera and content to serve as Steve’s special effects and lighting coordinator. To sum up, the Professor triumphed in the end, defeating the doctor and his furry minions.

Steve had started off filming in a pissy mood, barking orders at me and my friends like we were nothing more than a pack of wild dogs, which we vaguely resembled in hindsight. But by the time we were finished, his mood lightened, and he seemed genuinely pleased with how the shoot went.

Steve pushed his glasses up, smiled, and announced, “Okay, that’s a wrap! Let’s head back. We have Italian ices and freeze pops at our house. Good job, guys!”

Getting praise from my brother lifted all of our spirits, and the ride back was a loud one filled with jokes and laughter as we took turns mocking each other’s acting skills. Turning off Stonybrook and up Spindle, we passed Mr. Hutchinson watering his rosebushes. He waved at us and shouted as we rode by, “Christopher! Do you have a minute?”

Christopher, ugh. I hated it when adults used my full first name; it always made me feel like I was in trouble. I noticed Paul slow down and turn a frowning face to me as if to say, Ignore the old man and keep pedaling. I waved him off and circled back around.

Mr. Hutchinson released the hose nozzle and smiled as I approached. “Nice riding, young man. Looks like you guys are having fun today.”

I was taught to always respect my elders and Mr. Hutchinson seemed a little cooler than most, but his timing really stank. For the first time in a very long time, I was actually having fun with my brother, and here the old man comes and wants to strike up a conversation smack dab in the middle of it. I swallowed my frustration and put on the best fake smile I could muster. “We were all just making a movie. It was kind of fun, I guess.”

Mr. Hutchinson pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and patted it on his forehead. “That’s nice. Sorry to barge in on your merriment, son. I was just wondering if you would like to make a little extra cash this summer.”

The annoying conversation suddenly got interesting. “Sure. What do you need me to do?”

“Do you know how to mow a lawn?”

I knew Mr. Hutchinson had seen me mowing our lawn, so the question seemed a little weird. “Sure. Me and my brother take turns doing it.”

“Excellent! See, I’m afraid I’m getting a little too old for that type of thing. My knees and back aren’t what they used to be. What would you say to coming over every Sunday starting tomorrow and mowing the front and back for let’s say…fifteen dollars?”

I had never noticed Mr. Hutchinson having any difficulty with his yard, but I wasn’t about to let that get in the way of making some serious moolah, especially since the going rate for a lawn the size of his was ten bucks. “You bet! I mean, I’d have to check with my dad, but I don’t think it will be a problem.”

“Good man! That’s what I like to hear. Please, run it by your father. If he says yes, let’s say you drop by tomorrow around ten o’clock. I’ll give you a walk-through and then turn you loose.”

“Sounds good, sir. I’ll ask him tonight.”

I’m pretty sure Mr. Hutchinson was still talking when I sped off. I wasn’t trying to be rude. I was just pumped at the prospect of a paying job. Also, I was dying for an orange freeze pop.