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Authors: Thacher Cleveland

Tags: #horror, #demon, #serial killer, #supernatural, #teenagers, #high school, #new jersey

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BOOK: Shadow of the Past
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Jack stepped over Steve and
leaned against the locker next to Mark. “I can’t believe you’ve got
to get some theater geek to fight your battles for you,” Jack said.
“Fucking sad, man.” Mark looked away from Jack’s gaze, his fists
clenching and unclenching. Jack leaned in close enough so only Mark
could hear. “But if you did, I’d fucking
destroy
you.” Moving before Mark
could register it Jack shoved him hard to the ground and then
pinned him there with a foot on his chest.

The spectators that appeared around
them let out gasps and murmurs and Jack’s face contorted into an
evil grin. He pressed his foot down harder, and Mark’s breath
hissed past his teeth. Jack leaned down. “Don’t bother to fight me,
Watson. I’ll bury you.”

With that, Jack lifted his foot up and
walked back to his locker to continue changing, not even looking in
their direction. Mark just lay there, listening to everyone change
and head upstairs to wait for the bell. His breath came back but
not his will to stand.

“Hey,” Steve said. Mark looked up and
saw him sitting on the bench next to him. He was dressed and just
stared down at Mark.

“What?”

“What?” Steve repeated. “We got our
asses kicked, that’s what. That and we’re late for
class.”

“Yeah,” Mark said, sitting
up and wincing. Mark avoided Steve’s gaze and got changed as
quickly as his aching muscles would allow.
If you’d stood up for yourself
,
his little voice sneered,
this never would have happened and your friend
wouldn’t have put himself in danger. But what do you care? You’re a
coward. A worthless coward.
He slammed his
locker drowning it out.

 

All in all, Christine
thought, it hadn’t been a bad day. Sure she’d started a couple of
weeks behind but it looked like catching up wasn’t going to be that
big of a problem. The only confusing thing was how spread out the
campus was, making it almost impossible to figure where you’re
going unless you literally run into someone who is more than happy
to show you around. She smiled thinking of Mark’s wide-eyed and
eager to please face that showed up once he lightened up a little.
He certainly wasn’t the type of guy she was usually interested in.
In fact, she wasn’t even really sure if she was
interested
in him or just found him
interesting. Either way there was just something about him that
made her want to know more.

She stopped just outside the school’s
main entrance, trying to remember which way her house was, when she
saw Mark over by the bike rack unchaining what looked to be a small
scooter. Spotted with rust and dirt, it suited his sloppy charm.
She headed over, hoping to catch him before he took off.

“Hey stranger,” she said, and he
whirled around so fast it made her jump. When he recognized her,
his eyes opened wide and he nearly dropped the helmet he was
holding. “Oh! Hi!” he squeaked.

“Remind me never to sneak up on you,”
she laughed.

“Sorry, it’s been a rough
day.”

“That’s alright. This is a really cool.
Is it a moped?”

He smiled a little. “No, it’s a
scooter. A Vespa 180 Super Sport, actually, from 1965. Total
classic. I finally got it fixed up this summer. Steve and I call it
the V.”


That’s totally kick-ass,”
she smiled. “Your parents don’t worry about you on a bike like
this? Mine would freak.”

Mark shifted, gaze drifting away. “Ah,
well, they don’t really worry about much. I take care of it myself
and I wear my helmet. I’ve only crashed once, but I was screwing
around and doing something stupid.”

“You? Stupid? I find that hard to
believe,” she grinned, making him blush and getting his attention
again.

“Well, it was Steve’s fault really,” he
said. “He’s always trying to get me to ramp stuff or race cars or
something moronic like that. That time I think he was chasing me
around my backyard. I swerved to avoid running him over and crashed
into the garage. So yeah, no playing tag with the V, that’s what we
learned.”

“Good to know,” she smiled. “Well, I’ve
got to go, I’ve got quite a walk.” she said.

Mark paused and then said, “Y’know, I
could give you a lift. I don’t have my spare helmet with me, but
I’ll go slow.”

“Thanks, that’d be great. And don’t
worry about me, I don’t mind going fast.”

 

Mark pulled up in front of Christine’s
house and was more convinced than ever that he was way out of his
depth. As Christine yelled and pointed directions from the back of
the V he realized that they were moving further up the Hill,
towards Cedar Ridge’s big homes with huge yards and fantastic views
of Manhattan. Sure enough, she directed him into one of the
secluded little cul-de-sacs near the top. She motioned him to one
of the houses at the end. It had a wide front lawn and a driveway
that curved around the back.

“Thanks a lot for the ride,” she said,
standing up and pulling her hair back.

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, still
transfixed. “That’s a pretty nice house.”

“Oh,” she said, glancing at it over her
shoulder. “Yeah, it’s alright. My dad wanted another one on the
other side of town that was bigger but the deal fell through so we
got this one instead. He says this’ll do for now.”

“Gee, I hope so,” Mark said before he
could stop himself. He felt his face get red, but Christine just
smiled. “I know what you mean,” she said. “I told him I was sick of
moving and this place was more than enough, but he says he only
wants ‘The Best.’ He’s a little crazy like that.”

Mark smiled, mostly from
relief. “Hey, I was, ah, wondering,” he started, and then clamped
his jaw shut.
What are you doing? Are you
insane?

“What?” Christine said, smiling, and
suddenly all hesitation was lost.

“I was wondering if you’d like to come
to a little party at a friend of mine’s this weekend,” he said,
getting it out before it was too late.

“I’d love to.”

“Oh, wow, okay,” Mark said. “I’ve just
gotta check and make sure it’s okay. I mean, it was gonna just be
me and Steve but I don’t think it’ll be problem. It should be
great, though. Really, really great.”

“Sounds like fun then,” Christine said.
“What kind of party is it?”

“Well, it’s actually my birthday next
Tuesday, so it’s like a pre-birthday thing. Nothing fancy. Like I
said just me, Steve and Clara, hanging out, watching movies that
kind of stuff.”

“Oh,” Christine said. “Who’s
Clara?”

“She’s just a friend of mine. An older
lady who owns a store downtown. She’s pretty cool.”

“Great,” she said, smiling. “Let me
give you my number so you can call me later with the
details.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, each one
reaching into their bags for pen and paper. As Mark took hers,
their fingers touched, he could swear that she let her fingers
linger for a second before drawing away.

“Well,” Mark said, now even more
flustered than before, “I’ll call Clara and make sure we’ve got
room for another person and then I’ll give you a call. Is later
tonight okay?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Okay, yeah. Great.” Mark
fumbled to get his helmet on. He rode off, watching Christine in
his little rear view mirror until he turned the corner and she
vanished from view. Oh wow,
he thought. I
think she really likes me. Hot damn.

 

Chapter Four

 

Not even coming home could dampen his
spirits.

Ever since he was seven home was the
same dirty beige duplex located in scenic Wrong Side of the Tracks
Cedar Ridge. He’d moved in with his mom’s older sister Martha and
her husband Joe when his parents died in a car accident. The
childless couple, faced with familial obligation, did their best to
turn the house into a home. Martha did the tucking in, the
comforting and the “there, there, it’ll be alright,” while Joe
specialized in “Don’t touch that” and “Keep it down, I’m trying to
watch the game.” Mark had begun to adjust when the world got
re-scripted again shortly after he turned eleven.

That day Aunt Martha wasn’t there to
meet him when he came home after school. At first he just chalked
it up to some errand that she had to run and he went on with
business as normal. Hours passed and Mark realized that not only
was Martha late but Joe should’ve been back from work. Food, TV and
even homework couldn’t keep things from blowing past “weird” and
heading deep into “scary.”

The car pulled in well after dark. Mark
waited in the hallway, watching the backdoor but not wanting to get
his hopes up. After what could have been a dozen trips from the
garage to the back porch the door opened and Joe walked in. He
shuffled straight ahead, right up to the refrigerator and opened
the freezer. He took out a bottle and took a long drink from it. He
closed the door, bottle still in hand, and slumped forward, leaning
his head against the door.

“Uncle Joe,” Mark said, as soft as he
possibly could as he stepped into the kitchen. Startled by the
noise, Joe’s head jerked up and the bottle of Vodka slipped from
his fingers and shattered on the tile. Mark jumped but Joe didn’t
even flinch. He turned towards Mark and his eyes were red and
blurry, and the face that had once been merely gruff had collapsed
into one etched with age and wear.

“Damn you.”

“What did I do?” Mark
whispered.

“You wore her out.” His voice was a
harsh, ragged croak. “She did everything for you, and you just took
all she had and didn’t give a damn thing back. You just took and
took.”

“Uncle Joe--”

“Don’t you dare!” Joe yelled, dropping
down on one knee, barely missing bits of glass. He grabbed Mark by
the shoulders and shook him. “Don’t you cry, dammit! She was my
wife, you don’t get to cry!” Mark sniffed in deeply only to get a
nose full of Vodka fumes. “Stop it!” Joe snarled, shaking him even
harder, and then pushing him back into the hallway with a disgusted
shove. Mark flopped back, not even trying to break his fall.
Against orders, Mark began to sob as he watched the still kneeling
Joe lean against the doorjamb, head down and body
shaking.

When the shaking stopped Joe mumbled
something Mark could barely hear.

“Wh . . . what?” Mark said, catching
his breath from his own sobs.

“Get out!” Joe snapped, glaring up at
him wet, hate filled eyes.

Mark just sat there, stunned. Was he
throwing him out on the street? Joe slammed his palm down on the
floor with a thunderous crack. “I said get out of my sight,
goddamnit!”

Mark scrambled backwards,
arms and legs working frantically until he got himself rolled over
and heading up the steps, taking them three at a time. His foot
caught on the top step and he stumbled forward, crashing into the
door to the attic. Breathless and terrified, Mark made it into his
room, pausing only to lock the door behind him. Mark pushed his bed
across the room and wedged it against the door. He snatched the
blankets off and threw them into the closet, arranging them into a
makeshift nest.
If he wants me out he’ll
have to come and drag me out.

Mark slept in the closet for two weeks
after Martha’s fatal stroke, wedging the door closed with his bed
every night. When he was thirteen Joe let him move into the attic
space that had been Martha’s sewing room. It was small and cramped,
the ceiling slanting down so much that he could only fully stand up
in half of it. It was sweltering in the summer and freezing in the
winter, but it had a lock on the door and Joe never went near it.
For Mark, it was a safe haven in the dark, narrow,
not-quite-a-house.

They didn’t ever talk about what had
happened the night Martha died. They lived almost as they had when
she was alive; the two barely acknowledging each other. When they
did it was usually some fight about money, chores, or schoolwork.
Their last ten rounds had been about the last of the money that was
left from his parents. It wasn’t much, but it was just enough to
buy and fix up the V. “Fine,” Joe snarled in defeat. “But that’s
the last of it. If you want anything else, you’re going to have to
actually earn it.”

Like most days, the house was empty
when Mark walked in. Joe worked at the post office and after work
he usually headed to a bar to hang out with his friends. Mark
suspected Joe didn’t like spending time in the house any more than
he did. The house had become a rusty bear-trap of grief and loss,
barely cleaned and unchanged since that night.

Once upstairs, Mark dropped his stuff
as fast as he could, flipped on the TV and grabbed the phone to
call Clara. Martha had been acquainted with Clara through their
church and Mark had been to Clara’s store a couple of times before
Martha died. Mark found himself in her store a couple of months and
Clara asked him how he was holding up. Without warning everything
poured out of Mark in a spasm of tears. She closed up and they went
up to her apartment upstairs where she eventually got everything
out of him. After that she made a concerted effort to be a part of
his life and be as good a friend to him as middle-aged black woman
could to a teen-aged white kid.

BOOK: Shadow of the Past
2.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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