Читать книгу Spindle Lane - Mark Reefe - Страница 7

Chapter 1

June 2, 1978

It was a risky move, but the sun was almost touching the horizon, and I was less than thirty minutes away from being grounded for the rest of my sorry excuse for a life. I exhaled and with one bold gulp downed what remained of my Slurpee. Icy claws tickled my temples as a cherry flavored avalanche rushed down my throat. Raising a hand to my head, I grimaced in anticipation of the brain freeze sure to follow. A couple of seconds passed before I started counting off in my head. At ten elephant I stopped. Nothing. Nada. No ice pick through the eye or alien hatchling bursting out of my forehead. Guess I dodged a bullet on that one.

Tossing the empty cup in the trash can outside the 7-Eleven, I planted a foot on the pedal of my silver and blue Team Murray BMX—or the Blue Beast as I cleverly dubbed it—and pushed off. I weaved and whizzed between rows of parked cars and shopping carts, negotiating the Hilltop Plaza parking lot with the skill of an F-15 fighter pilot. School had only been out for a day, but the taste of newfound freedom was oh-so-sweet, and I had tons of stuff planned for the summer. Crashing at Paul’s house was numero uno on the list. We’d kick off the night’s festivities with an Atari marathon fueled by a steady diet of Devil Dogs and root beer, and then maybe, just maybe, I’d sneak in a little Dungeons and Dragons action—if I could convince my friend he wasn’t too cool to give it a try. Of course, none of that was going to happen if I got grounded for staying out too late. The rules of the Dwyer household were few, but they were enforced without mercy. Rule number one: home before the streetlights came on unless you were dead, dying, or over at a friend’s house. Unfortunately, I was none of those.

I slowed for a second to get my timing right before pushing it hard across 450. Once on the other side, I stopped at the entrance to the White Marsh Bike Trail and weighed my options. The path was beyond a doubt the quickest way home and most likely my only shot at avoiding Mom’s wrath given the time. The trees standing guard at its entrance stretched wiry branches out and away from the forest toward the open air and sun. Like giant, gnarled fingers they reached forward as if trying to lure me into their grasp so they could tear my body limb from limb. I’d have to be faster than greased lightning. No way in hell I was going to be stuck on the trail when darkness fell.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged beneath a blanket of oak and maple and steered my bike down the paved lane at speeds that pushed the limits of my reflexes. Drinking in the cool, musty air, I looked at the shaded world surrounding me and shivered. I began humming Shout It Out Loud to keep my imagination from getting the better of me, as it often did in the presence of twisting shadows and smothering gloom. Whenever I got a bit twitchy, Kiss always calmed the nerves and steadied my hands—plus the song had a bitchin’ beat. Down the winding, leaf-covered path I cruised, keeping a constant lookout for bikers, pedestrians, stray wolves, goblins, and hungry trolls.

A little more than halfway through my shortcut, movement caught the corner of my eye. To my left something large dove behind a cluster of ferns and poplars. Out of instinct, I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt. I listened. After a few seconds of eerie silence, the bushes stirred.

“Who’s there?”

Nothing.

I’d been skittish enough when I first entered the forest. Now I was one boo away from dropping a brownie in my shorts. “I know you’re out there! I can hear you, dude! If that’s you, Steve, it’s not funny!”

Still zip.

My eyes dropped to the layer of dead leaves and twigs littering the forest floor. In the rapidly fading twilight, I noticed a path cleared in the dirt. Starting near a shallow puddle at my feet, it ran a half dozen yards and ended where the noise had come from. I imagined some hapless hiker ambushed and dragged off into the darkness by a hidden thing, a furred and twisted horror with razor-sharp claws and bloody fangs. A sudden stillness descended, drowning out all the sounds of nature. In the deafening quiet of this sinister landscape, a low-pitched huffing emerged. Something was breathing—no, panting—in the soggy underbrush in front of me. With greedy eyes it stared at me. The hairs standing on the back of my neck told me so.

Time to split.

Making full use of the measly hundred and twenty pounds God gave me, I spurred the Blue Beast into action. A snapping of sticks and thrashing of leaves erupted from behind as something large crashed through the greenery. Hugging each curve and twist of the trail, I hauled my scrawny butt out of there like the Devil himself was chasing me. The bush monster’s thumping and grunting grew louder as my would-be assassin quickly narrowed the distance between us to just a few feet. Twice I almost wiped out while skidding around sharp bends. A stuttered screech came from close by, echoing off the hills and surrounding trees. It was invasive, burrowing under my skin like a tick and digging until it struck bone.

I opened my mouth to yell but stopped. I might have been on the verge of becoming dog chow, but I wasn’t planning on going out like some thumb-sucking middle schooler. Clenching my teeth, I concentrated on the narrow stretch of trail in front of me. Up ahead I heard the rush of traffic coming from Stonybrook Drive. Less than a hundred yards away was the exit and my freedom. I doubled down, furiously pumping my legs and pushing beyond my limits. A gust of wind tickled my ears as something large whooshed within inches of my head. Almost there. Another howl of anger bounced through the canyons of the trail as I raced to safety. Doing my best impersonation of Evel Knievel, I launched from the path and rocketed across both lanes, only stopping when I was safe on the other side of the street. Luckily no traffic had been coming, or I really would have been dog chow.

Wheezing in the humid air to douse the fire in my lungs, I looked back and for a few seconds swore I could see a pair of glowing embers hovering in the pitch black. Between breaths I whispered, “Suck it.”

The flicker of streetlights drew my attention as they switched on one-by-one.

“Crap!”

Having narrowly escaped both death and stained underwear, I almost forgot the purpose behind my risky move. I rolled down Stonybrook, letting gravity do most of the work. What the hell was that thing? A bear? Not likely. The suburbs of Bowie, Maryland weren’t exactly the great outdoors. Maybe a giant dog or just some jackasses with nothing better to do than try and scare the crap out of a kid. Still, the sound it made wasn’t something I thought a human voice could replicate.

The greater the distance I put between myself and the trail, the less I thought about my near-death encounter and the more I worried about being grounded. Banking a right onto Spindle Lane, I started the climb up to my house. In the distance Mom was calling out for dinner. I was going to make it.

The smell of oil mixed with paint thinner welcomed me as I glided past our station wagon and into the garage. It wasn’t until I opened the door to the house that I felt something wet and sticky on my hand.

Mom called from upstairs. “Chris, is that you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“We’re having pork chops tonight! Be sure to wash up!”

I looked at my hand. From pinky to wrist, a scarlet streak was smeared across my skin. Ketchup? Nope. The hot dog I wolfed down outside the 7-Eleven only had mustard on it. Plus, it didn’t smell like ketchup. I touched the liquid with my other hand and rubbed it between my fingers. It was greasy. For reasons I couldn’t explain, my stomach knotted up into a giant pretzel. Remembering my hand had brushed against the bike’s front tire as I hopped off, I rushed back into the garage and flicked on the light. I knelt down and touched the wheel. Pulling away, I saw a slimy red path cut across my fingers. The words, “What the fuuu…,” slipped from my mouth and died as I realized the puddle on the bike trail hadn’t been filled with water.

It was filled with blood.