The Girl Next Door (8 page)

Read The Girl Next Door Online

Authors: Jack Ketchum

Tags: #Horror, #Fiction

BOOK: The Girl Next Door
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“Our cousin, dope.
Meg.”
Donny just looked at him. Then he said, “Hey, what time’s it?”
Kenny had a watch. “Quarter to eleven.”
“Great!”
And suddenly he was crawling out of the tent, and then he was standing there. Peering in, grinning.
“Come on! I got an idea!”
From my house to his all you had to do was cross the yard and go through a line of hedges and you were right behind their garage.
There was a light on in the Chandler’s bathroom window and one in the kitchen and one in Meg and Susan’s bedroom. By now we knew what he had in mind. I wasn’t sure I liked it but I wasn’t sure I didn’t, either.
Obviously, it was exciting. We weren’t supposed to leave the tent. If we got caught that would be the end of sleeping out and plenty of other stuff as well.
On the other hand, if we didn’t get caught it was better than camping at the water tower. It was better than beer.
Once you got into the mood of the thing, it was actually kind of hard to restrain yourself from giggling.
“No ladder,” whispered Eddie. “How we gonna do this?”
Donny looked around. “The birch tree,” he said.
He was right. Off to the left of the yard, about fifteen feet from the house was a tall white birch bent badly by winter storms. It drooped halfway down to the scruffy grass over what was nearly the middle of the lawn.
“We can’t
all
climb it,” said Tony. “It’ll break.”
“So we’ll take turns. Two at a time. Ten minutes each and the best man wins.”
“Okay. Who’s first?”
“Hell, it’s our tree.” Donny grinned. “Me and Willie’re first.”
I felt a little pissed at him for that. We were supposed to be best friends. But then I figured what the hell, Willie was his brother.
He sprinted across the lawn and Willie followed.
The tree forked out into two strong branches. They could lie there side by side. They had a good straight view into the bedroom and a fair one into the bathroom.
Willie kept changing position though, trying to get comfortable. It was easy to see how out of shape he was. He was awkward just handling his own weight. Whereas, for all his bulk, Donny looked like he was born in trees.
We watched them watching. We watched the house, the kitchen window, looking for Ruth, hoping not to see her.
“Me and Tony next,” said Eddie. “What’s the time?”
Kenny squinted at his watch. “Five minutes more.”
“Shit,” said Eddie. He pulled out the pack of Kools and lit one.
“Hey!” whispered Kenny. “They might see!”
“You
might
be stupid,” said Eddie. “You cup it under your hand. Like this. Nobody sees.”
I was trying to make out Donny’s and Willie’s faces, wondering if anything was going on inside. It was hard to see but I didn’t think so. They just lay there like a pair of large dark tumorous growths.
I wondered if the tree would ever recover.
I hadn’t been aware of the frogs or crickets but now I was, a percussive drone in the silence. All you could hear was them and Eddie pulling hard on the cigarette and exhaling and the occasional creak of the birch tree. There were fireflies in the yard blinking on and off, drifting.
“Time,
” said Kenny
Eddie dropped the Kool and crushed it and then he and Tony ran over to the tree. A moment later they were up and Willie and Donny were down, back with us.
The tree rested higher now.
“See anything?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Willie said. It was surprising how angry he sounded. As though it were Meg’s fault for not showing. As though she’d cheated him. But then Willie always was an asshole.
I looked at Donny. The light wasn’t good back there but it seemed to me he had that same intent, studied look as when he’d been looking at Ruth talking about the hootchie-koo girls and what they wore and didn’t wear. It was as though he were trying to figure something out and was a little depressed because he couldn’t get the answer.
We stood together silently and then in a while Kenny tapped me on the shoulder.
“Time,” he said.
We ran over to the tree and I slapped Tony’s ankle. He slid down.
We stood there waiting for Eddie. I looked at Tony. He shrugged and shook his head, staring at the ground. Nothing. A few minutes later Eddie gave up too and slid down next to me.
“This is bullshit,” he said. “Screw it. Screw her.”
And they walked away.
I didn’t get it. Eddie was mad now too.
I didn’t let it worry me.
We went up. The climb was easy.
At the top I felt this great rush of excitement. I wanted to laugh out loud I felt so good. Something was going to happen. I knew it. Too bad for Eddie and Donny and Willie—it was going to be us. She’d be at the window any moment now and we’d see.
It didn’t bother me at all that I was probably betraying Meg by spying on her. I hardly even thought of her as Meg. It was as though it wasn’t really her that we were looking for. It was something more abstract than that. A real live girl and not some black-and-white photo in a magazine. A woman’s body
I was finally going to learn something.
What you had was a case of greater priority.
We settled in.
I glanced at Kenny. He was grinning.
It occurred to me to wonder why the other guys had acted so pissy.
This was fun! Even the fact that you were scared was fun. Scared that Ruth would appear suddenly on the porch, telling us to get our asses out of there. Scared that Meg would look out the bathroom window straight into your eyes.
I waited, confident.
The bathroom light went off but that didn’t matter. It was the bedroom I was focused on. That’s where I’d see her.
Straight-on. Naked. Flesh and blood, and someone I actually even knew a bit slightly.
I refused to even blink.
I could feel a tingling down below where I pressed against the tree.
A tune kept running around and around in my head—“Get out in that kitchen and rattle those pots and pans ... I believe to m’soul you’re the devil in nylon hose ...” And so on.
Wild, I thought. I’m lying here in this tree. She’s in there.
I waited.
The bedroom light went out.
Suddenly the house went dark.
 
I could have smashed something.
I could have torn that house to bits.
 
And now I knew exactly how the others had felt and exactly why they’d looked so mad at her, mad at Meg—because it felt like it
was
her fault, as though she was the one who’d got us up here in the first place and promised so much and then delivered nothing. And while I knew this was irrational and dumb of me that was exactly how I felt all the same.
Bitch, I thought.
And then I did feel guilty. Because that was personal.
That was about Meg.
And then I felt depressed.
It was as though part of me knew—didn’t want to believe it or even think about it but knew all along.
I was never going to get that ducky.
It had been bullshit from the beginning.
Just like Eddie said.
And somehow the reason for that was all wrapped up with Meg and with girls and women in general, even with Ruth and my mother somehow.
It was too big for me to grasp entirely so I suppose my mind just let it slide.
What remained was depression and a dull ache.
“Come on,” I said to Kenny. He was staring at the house, still not believing it, like he was expecting the lights to come right back on again. But he knew too. He looked at me and I could tell he knew.
All of us did.
We trooped back silently to the tent.
Inside it was Willie Jr., finally, who put the canteen down and spoke.
He said, “Maybe we could get her into The Game.”
 
We thought about that.
And the night wound down from there.
Chapter Nine
I was in my yard trying to get the big red power mower going and sweating straight through my T-shirt already because the damn thing was worse than a motorboat to start, when I heard Ruth shout in a kind of voice I don’t think I’d ever heard her use before—really furious.
Jesus Christ! -
I dropped the cord and looked up.
It was the kind of voice my mother had been known to use when she got unhinged, which wasn’t often, despite the open warfare with my father. It meant you ran for cover. But when Ruth got mad it was usually at Woofer and all she had to do then was look at him, her lips pressed tight together, her eyes narrowed down to small glittery stones, in order to shut him up or make him stop whatever he was doing. The look was completely intimidating.
We used to imitate it and laugh, Donny and Willie and I—but when Ruth was the one wearing it it was no laughing matter.
I was glad for an excuse to stop struggling with the mower so I walked around the side of our garage where you could see over into their backyard.
Ruth’s wash was blowing on the clothesline. She was standing on the porch, her hands on her hips, and even if you hadn’t heard the voice or what she said you could tell she was really mad.
“You stupid shit!” was what she said.
And I can tell you, that shocked me.
Sure, Ruth cursed like a sailor. That was one of the reasons we liked her. Her husband, Willie Sr., “that lovely Irish bastard” or “that idiot mick sonovabitch” and John Lentz, the town’s mayor—and, we suspect, Ruth’s onetime suitor—got blasted regularly.
Everybody got some now and then.
But the thing is it was always casual swearing, pretty much without real anger. It was meant to get a laugh at some poor guy’s expense, and usually did.
It was just Ruth’s way of describing people.
It was pretty much like our own. Our friends were all retards, scumbags, lardasses or shit-for-brains. Their mothers all ate the flies off dead camels.
This was wholly different. Shit was what she said, and shit was what she meant.
I wondered what Meg had done.
I looked up to my own porch where the back screen door was open, hoping my mother wasn’t in the kitchen, that she hadn’t heard her. My mother didn’t approve of Ruth and I got enough grief already for spending as much time over there as I did.
I was in luck. She wasn’t around.
I looked at Ruth. She hadn’t said anything else and she didn’t need to. Her expression said it all.
I felt kind of funny, like I was spying again, twice in two days. But of course that was exactly what I
bad
to do. I wasn’t about to allow her to see me watching her, exposed the way she was. It was too embarrassing. I pressed up close to the garage and peered around at her, hoping she wouldn’t look over my way for any reason. And she didn’t.

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