Helens-of-Troy (5 page)

“Yeah, I guess so,” Tom said. Sometimes
it was easier just to agree with Ryan than try to explain things to
him.

“Fuck. I wish I had worn a coat
tonight,” Ryan admitted. He pulled down the sleeves of the jersey
he wore beneath his black number twelve football jersey, but it
didn’t help. He shivered. The nylon pants he wore hanging down
below his crotch gangsta-style, didn’t offer much protection from
the wind.

“Fashion alert,” Tom taunted. “You can
wear hoodies after September. Even jocks like you.”

“Why don’t you tell me stuff like that
before I leave the house? Shit,” he complained.

Ryan stood six feet tall and weighed in
at a bone-crunching two hundred and ten pounds. “What? What are you
gawking at?” he asked Tom rhetorically. He knew damn well what Tom
was staring at. He had shaved his head earlier in the afternoon in
preparation for the upcoming football game.

“The ‘do’ dude,” Tom replied, shaking
his head. “I can’t get used to it. It’s a little Smallville.” He
didn’t know if the evil-son/bad-guy look was quite what Ryan was
aiming for. “They killed him off, you know.”

“Reborn, my friend, reborn. Anyway, I
was aiming for a scary wrestling dude,” Ryan corrected him. “A
lean, mean, fighting machine. I mean, would you want to run into me
on the field? Like, fuck no. I thought about this a lot before I
did it. It’s all part of my master plan for total territorial
dominance. Besides, I’ll save on haircuts.”

He wished he had thought about how his
hairless head would handle a Troy winter. He pulled a ski-band out
of his pant pocket and placed it over his ears. They were starting
to numb in the cold.

“What's the matter, Stan?” he asked,
moving closer to hover over his brother. “Scared?”

“No,” Stan answered. “I’m not scared.
But I’m not stupid either.”

Stan watched as Kevin, who had recently
turned nine and was full of bravado, made his way up the walkway
towards the front porch. “How come,” Stan asked his brother,
“there’s lightning all around this house when it’s not raining?
Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”

Ryan looked at Stan in disbelief as the
special effects worked their magic. “You’re a little weird. You
might want to re-think that stupid remark.”

“Stan, come on,” Kevin begged. “It's
awesome. I can see a dead body on the swing. The hand is sticking
up like it's stuck or something.” Kevin kept going up the stairs
until he reached the dead guy. Daring to touch the arm, he was
amused by its stiffness. “Look, when I push it down, it doesn’t
move. Awesome!”

Feeling the chill of the night air
himself, Tom Williams did up the zipper on his brown leather
jacket. He put his hands deep in his pockets and striked a pose of
indifference. Tom was the total opposite of Ryan. His tight jeans
clung to his slightly shorter, lean body in a manner only a sixteen
year-old could pull off. He casually ran his hand through his
blond, spiked hair, pausing to look at his reflection in the
side-mirror of a car parked on the street. Liking what he saw, he
nodded, and turned his gaze to the house. “Didn’t your mom teach
you to respect the dead, Kevin?” he asked, taking note of the
Halloween prop. “Leave it alone.”

“Whatever!” Kevin said, holding his
arms out zombie style, his fingers rigid, towards Stan. “I am a
creature of the night,” Kevin claimed. “I come to suck your
blood.”

“You’re seriously mixing up your
monsters there,” Tom corrected him.

“Like they’ve got rules?” Kevin
laughed.

Stan’s eyes went wide as his whole body
froze in fear. “That’s not funny, Kevin. This house is really
haunted, no lies. You shouldn’t make fun of them like
that.”

Ryan tapped Stan lightly on the
shoulder from behind, causing Stan to jump about a foot.
“Boo.”

“Cut it out, Ryan. I'm telling
Mom.”

Ryan could see tears forming in Stan’s
eyes. “It's just the LaRose house, you big suck. The same house you
raked the leaves at yesterday. What the hell is wrong with you
tonight?”

“Tonight?” Tom jeered. Ryan’s little
snot-nosed brother was being a royal snot-nosed jerk.

“It’s freaking Halloween, Ryan. Don’t
you know anything?” Stan stammered.

Ryan could see the strain on his
brother’s face. For an eight-year-old, Stan was already starting to
look old. The deep furrow in his brow was going to be with him for
life. He slapped his brother across the head. “Don’t swear. Don’t
even pretend to swear. You’ll fuck it up, and I’ll get in shit. So,
no swearing, you got it?”

Stan nodded.

“What do you mean, anyway?” Ryan asked.
“What don’t I know? Just stop blubbering and tell me.”

“Everybody knows Halloween is the one
night a year they can make their move because everyone else looks
just like them,” Stan whispered, his voice cracking with
fright.

“Who’s them?” Ryan asked, throwing his
hands into the air. “Booger people? Who?”

“You are so dumb, Ryan! T.H.E.M!
The-Human-Eating-Monsters!”

“Stan...”

“Okay,” Stan began slowly, trying to
get his point across to his brother. “Explain to me how come five
seconds after I bagged all the leaves in the backyard yesterday,
they were all over the ground again? I’m telling you, cross my
heart, all the leaves moved. It’s like someone else was there,
tossing them all around. Only I couldn’t see him.”

“I don’t know, Stan,” Ryan sighed.
“Maybe there are some kick-ass Man from Glad ghosts in the
neighborhood hiding behind the trees just waiting to jump out and
make you shit your pants. That’s the only other explanation I have.
Yesterday was not Halloween, so there goes your theory.” There was
a look of exasperation on Ryan’s face as he looked to Tom for
help.

“No, he’s right, Ryan.” Tom admitted
reluctantly. “I’ve heard about it before. There’s this force that
can move all around you, even touch you, without you seeing it. But
usually you can feel it. It makes your body cold.”

“See,” Stan said. “Tom knows what I am
talking about.”

Tom laughed, putting his hands on
Stan’s shoulders and shaking them. “I’m talking about the wind,
Stan. Chill buddy.”

Ryan grabbed his brother by his
six-shooter belt, pulling him closer to his own body. He put his
massive hand over Stan’s cowboy hat and shook his brother’s head up
and down a couple of times, forcing him to nod in agreement. “Okay,
Stan. It’s time to wrap this up. Make this the last house. Tom and
I want to get home and Mom doesn't want you out on the street
alone.” He looked slyly at Tom. It was time to toughen Stan up, one
way or another. “Not after that kid went missing last year,” he
added. “You remember me telling you about that, right? I heard that
Mrs. LaRose has got the body buried behind the house. Did you
notice any patches in the backyard when you were over there?
Something that looks like a grave? You did, didn’t you?”

Stan nodded his head slowly. “Uh
huh.”

“You probably even raked over some of
his hair poking out from the ground. News flash. That wasn’t a new
rake she got you to use last week, Stan. It’s a corpse-o-matic 500
styling comb.” He ran his hand across his bald head, shaking
imaginary hairs from his fingers in front of Stan’s eyes. “Psyche,”
he said, looking back at Tom and nodding with
satisfaction.

“See, Kev,” Stan yelled. “I told you.”
He turned to Ryan. “Maybe we should go home now. I don’t need any
more candy. I think I’m going to barf.”

“Stan. We’re only messing with your
head. There’s no missing kid. There’s no body. There’s no grave,
there’s nothing. I swear. You’ve got to loosen-up bro. I’m not
always going to fucking be here to hold your hand.”

“You wait until Kevin goes missing and
winds up on the news. Then we'll see.”

“Stan’s already got a bag full of
candy, Ryan. Let's just go,” Tom said impatiently. “Maybe Jacey
knows where there’s a party going on. We can call her from your
place. Maple Street isn’t exactly a prowl party.”

“Hang on,” Ryan said, reaching into
Stan’s bag and pulling out a couple of chocolate bars. He handed
one to Tom. “This is the last house, I promise. I want to see what
Mrs. LaRose is wearing tonight. Maybe she'll be dressed in a long,
black, silky thing. Or a short, black, silky thing.” He grinned
lasciviously. “Whatever.”

“You worry me, buddy,” Tom said,
shaking his head. “Mrs. LaRose, she's like a grandmother. Why don't
you ever go after someone our age?”

“Grandmother or not, Mrs. LaRose is
hot. You find me someone our age that looks like her and I'll make
my move. Until then, I don’t mind hanging around here for a few
more minutes.” He turned towards Kevin. “Kev. Don’t just stand
there. Ring the bell.”

Kevin was too busy digging through the
candy in the cauldron to pay any attention to Ryan.

“Guess I’m gonna have to do it myself,”
he said. “Come on, Stan. Get on my back. I’ll take you up
there.”

He began to lower his massive frame so
his brother could piggyback on him. But his plans were interrupted
as his attention turned to the sound of a loud van coming down the
road. “What a piece of shit,” he said, as it pulled to the curb in
front of the LaRose house.

Tom noticed the corporate logo on the
side. “It’s the city death squad.”

“There’s chics inside it,” Ryan
noticed, standing back up without his brother on his back. “Why
would chics be riding around in a roach mobile? It’s got to be part
of Mrs. LaRose’s Halloween thing. The show’s getting better every
year.” He nodded for Tom to join him back in the shadows of the
tree. They silently watched the passengers get out of the
vehicle.

Ellie took a good look at the LaRose
home. “I didn't know Nan decorated her house up every year,” she
said to her mother. “It’s pretty cool. It looks like the Adams
Family house. I'll fit right in.”

Helen came and stood on the sidewalk
beside Ellie. “Hmm...” she pondered, looking at the decorations. “I
just hope she takes it down before Christmas.”

“You know, you sounded just like Marge
Simpson when you said that,” Ellie commented. “Not to mention your
hair’s looking a little bouffant.”

Helen patted her windblown bangs down.
“I would have kept the window up but I was getting a little car
sick,” she admitted. “I am definitely bringing the van back as soon
as I can.”

“Check it out,” Ryan whispered to Tom.
“They could be Mrs. LaRose's sisters, they look so much like
her.”

“I guess they kind of look like her,”
Tom shrugged. “I don't spend as much time looking at grandmothers
as some people around here do.”

“Dude, they're babes.”

“Ryan, the one on the right is like
forty.”

“Really? My dick can’t tell them
apart.” His eyes became as intimate with the female forms as their
bulky autumn clothing would allow.

Tom took a long look at Ellie. “Are you
on crack? Goth-Chic is our age. She's got a math book under her
arm. Look familiar? I guess not to you.”

“Not Goth-Chic. I meant the preppie
babe. Her and Mrs. LaRose. I'd do 'em. You can have
Goth-Chic.”

“Isn’t there some polygamy law against
that?” Tom asked. “You haven’t joined some fundamentalist religious
sect on me, have you?”

“It’s only illegal if you marry them,”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t make the laws, dude. And like you said, I
don’t have to worry about the age thing.”

“I find it disturbing that you’ve
thought about it,” Tom admitted.

Kevin, bound and determined to find
money at the bottom of the cauldron whether there was any or not,
was starting to get impatient. “Stan, are you coming or what?” he
asked, his arm buried deep in the candy. “Should I just throw you
something?”

“Stan,” Ryan yelled, giving his brother
a push. “Get the FUCK up the stairs. I want to go home.”

Helen turned, noticing the boys for the
first time. She did a ten-second sum up. Two of them looked to be
Ellie’s age. The bald-headed kid with the foul mouth was trouble,
no doubt about it. He had a look only a mother could love. Maybe.
The other boy wasn’t much better in her eyes. He was too good
looking for his own good. He’d also be trouble. Two minutes in Troy
and there were already two reasons to leave.

“Lovely language they speak here,”
Helen commented to Ellie. “Don’t be in a rush to learn the local
dialect.”

A flash of the strobe caught Ellie,
illuminating her in slow motion. The unflattering light outlined
her mascara-laden eyes and made her complexion eerily
pale.

She looked at the boys. Trash-mouth,
well she could teach him a few choice words of her own if only her
mother weren’t around. The other one—the cute one—left her
momentarily speechless.

Tom looked at Ryan. “Oh yeah.
Goth-Chic's a hottie,” he said sarcastically. “Thanks for giving
her to me.”

“My name is not Goth-Chic,” Ellie
snarled back at them.

“Fuck, she’s got bat hearing or
something,” Ryan whispered to Tom.