Black's Creek (6 page)

‘Scream all you want. Ain't no ears hearing.' Armstrong tightened his grip. ‘I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll not forget in a hurry.'

Just as I thought I was finished, I heard a voice in the darkness, shouting, ‘Leave him alone, you filthy pervert!'

It should have been big tough guy Brent doing all the shouting, but it wasn't. In a blur, I remember watching Horseshoe run towards Armstrong, a great piece of branch wood in his hands. He swung the branch in a wide arc, whacking
Armstrong across the front of the head. I'll never forget how Armstrong's head recoiled back, as if attached to an invisible elastic band.

Armstrong screamed, releasing his grip on me. He staggered back, like a drunk in the night.

‘Run!' Horseshoe shouted.

We ran and ran, not knowing if we were running in the right direction, not caring.

‘Run all you want, little girlies. I'm a-coming for you!' Armstrong's voice screamed, somewhere in the darkness.

Somehow, in all the confusing madness, Horseshoe and I eventually found our way home. Outside my house, we both hid in the shadows of overgrown bushes, avoiding the lights.

‘That took balls, Horseshoe, what you did back there, rescuing me from Armstrong,' I whispered.

‘What else could I do? You got me out of his trailer, and
that
took balls. Now we're balls even,' Horseshoe said, grinning with pride. ‘What happened to Brent? Where'd he vanish to?'

I thought of all the cheap bravado pouring from Brent's mouth; how he had almost gotten Horseshoe poisoned – or worse. I thought of the accusing piss stain on his jeans. That stain would never erase from memory, and he would never forgive me for seeing it.

‘I don't know and don't care what happened to him, Horseshoe. Just make sure you don't say a word about this to anyone, ever, otherwise we'll all be in the shit.'

Horseshoe looked nervous. ‘Do you … do you think Armstrong recognised us?'

‘Naw. Not a hope,' I said, believing the opposite. ‘It was too dark. Besides, it was all over in a minute. He hadn't time to recognise any of us.'

‘Then he won't be coming to kill us while we're in bed, in the darkness?'

‘Don't talk silly. Get home and get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.'

Horseshoe walked away, glancing nervily in all directions like a fox. I watched him for a few seconds, before taking a few deep breaths and going inside, praying to be undetected by Mom.

Sneaking upstairs, I practically fell into bed. I didn't sleep a wink all night, waiting for Armstrong to come and kill me in the darkness.

N
ext morning, my stomach churned as I heard Dad returning home from night duty. I prayed fervently that there had been no witnesses to the incident at Armstrong's trailer. I sat in the kitchen, pretending to read
The Brave and the Bold
, as Dad breezed through the kitchen door.

‘Not out enjoying the sun?' he asked, taking a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge.

‘I want to finish this comic first.'

‘Lemonade?' He held up the pitcher.

A naked Mrs Fleming entered my head. I quickly erased her, before nodding to Dad. He poured.

So far so good. No mention of Armstrong. But then, what could Armstrong realistically say without bringing unwanted
attention to his filthy habits? Still, my head was a jumble and my nerves were frayed, fear and exhaustion overpowering rational thinking. I had stayed awake all night, waiting for Armstrong to climb in through my bedroom window, knife between his rotten teeth.

Dad handed me a glass of lemonade, and placed the pitcher back in the fridge.

‘You still running about with that Fleming kid?'

My stomach did a little kick. Dad gave me one of his ten-second stares. He was very good at trapping people with that stare – just ask any of the criminals he had interrogated over the years, before imprisoning them.

‘I … well …'

‘I don't want you to lie, Tommy, so don't answer. Old man McGregor reported seeing a scuffle outside Norman Armstrong's trailer last night. He said three kids were involved. One of the descriptions fitted Brent Fleming. I went up to the trailer this morning, and questioned Armstrong about it.'

I could feel the blood drain from my face.

‘Armstrong said nothing happened, so I can't investigate further,' Dad said, pausing to read my mind some more. ‘Norman Armstrong is a dangerous individual, Tommy.
Extremely
dangerous. Some people would even call him evil. He is to be avoided, like the plague. Clear?'

‘Yes …'

‘Now, as far as the Fleming kid is concerned, I know you
like him. He's your pal, but for your sake, I hope you've stopped hanging about with him. Some people get their ends before their starts; sometimes that's just the way it is. That boy's going to be one of them. He's cut from the same cloth as his father. Now, finish your lemonade and get out into the sun. You look pale. I don't want you cooped up in here the rest of the summer.'

Dad left the kitchen, and I downed the lemonade in one grateful gulp. I decided to take his advice and get out of the house.

Before leaving, I made a sandwich and stuck it in my backpack, alongside a tawdry-covered pulp fiction paperback, the kind I hoped one day would have my name sprawled across the top and be sold in bookstores all across the country.

I took my usual short cut through Black's Wood, regretting it the moment the sun disappeared behind the trees' crowns of leaves. Creatures called out warning sounds – whether to each other, or to me, was difficult to determine. I walked faster. Creepy Armstrong was still fresh in my mind. He was out there somewhere, lurking.

‘Why the hell did you have to come this way?' I admonished myself loudly, gaining a slight comfort from the sound of my voice. ‘You could've gone over to Horseshoe's house and –'

A muted squeal-like sound abruptly put an end to my soliloquy. I glanced to my left. Between the spines of trees,
a shadowy figure seemed to be observing me. Tight, against scruffy jeans, the figure held an evil-looking knife, its serrated teeth grinning wickedly. Blood was reflecting on it, wet and terrifying. Something was very far from being right, and I was right smack in the middle of that something.

I wanted to run, but my feet had become clay. Then something landed heavily beside me. My head jerked down to look at the ground. Hares. Four or five, bundled together. Dead. Paws tied with old cord. Blood stained their furry necks like little crimson ribbons.

‘Shit!' This time I did run. I ran so fast I dropped the backpack. ‘
Helppppppppppppppppppppp
!' I was screaming loudly, like a big girl, and didn't give a flying fart about any macho pride. I just hoped someone would hear my screams, and come to save me.

I ran and ran, until I reached the lake. The sun was baking down on the water, reflecting off it like a giant mirror. Sure that I had escaped the forest stalker, I doubled over, trying desperately to catch my breath and ease the stitch in my side. It took almost five minutes before I was able to breathe comfortably again.

I debated with myself about getting the hell out of there, heading home the long way across Goodman's Bridge, but the water looked seriously inviting. After my near-death experience, I needed to cool down.

Despite repeated warnings from Dad after what happened
to Joey, I couldn't resist swimming in the lake. It still had that dark, magnetic pull on me, and was an oasis in a town of nothingness. More than that, to overcome the guilt I felt over Joey's death, and to stop the recurring nightmares of Joey's accusing face and pointing finger, I knew I would eventually have to conquer the water. It was the only way.

Stripping quickly, I piled my clothes against some rocks. Then I spotted someone, staring at me from the trees' shadows, deep beyond the lake's fringe.

‘Brent …? That you?'

Nothing.

‘Who's there? Horseshoe? Stop messing about.'

I thought of Joey Maxwell's ghost. Then Armstrong, hiding, watching me. Worse, the killer of skinny hares had come to skin the hairs on my skinny ass.

‘To hell with you!' I shouted bravely, running quickly into the water, then diving into its murky underworld. It was instantly exhilarating, and I went deeper, testing lungs, resolve and nerve. If Joey's ghost was here, then let it take me, I decided. I wouldn't be held prisoner any more, not by something dead.

Joey? If you're listening, I'm sorry for mocking you. I should have stopped you going into the lake, when I had the chance. I was a coward. I'm sorry, but I can't turn back time. If you want to, you can kill me now, but please stop torturing me. Please …

I seemed to have been swimming for hours when my
head finally broke through the water's ceiling. I let a yell of joy escape from my mouth. ‘I'm alive! I'm alive!' I felt new, reborn. Joey had forgiven me for not saving him.

But the euphoria quickly dissipated when I heard someone or something enter the water directly behind me.

Despite hair being cut like a boy's, to my astonishment it was a girl. Like me, she was totally naked. Unlike me, she was beautiful. She reminded me of Samantha from ‘Bewitched'. I had never seen such a beautiful girl in all my life. Even Mrs Fleming and Little Annie Fanny paled in comparison. Tiny, faded freckles congregated under her eyes, giving them an unreal, dreamy look. Her upper lip slanted strangely, in a seductively sensual snarl. But it was the sight of her nipples, poking out above the waterline, that totally mesmerised me. It was terrifyingly thrilling.

‘See enough?' she said.

My mouth became wood. I couldn't speak.

‘Cat got your tongue, boy?' she mocked. ‘Like what you see?'

‘I … I was just looking …' My face was burning with embarrassment. ‘No! What I really meant to say was, I wasn't really looking …'

‘Well, I sure
was
looking.' A small smile appeared on her face. ‘What's your name?'

‘Tom … Tommy,' I finally managed to mumble, trying desperately to look away from her breasts, but failing absolutely.

‘I've seen you a couple of times, Tom Tommy, swimming here with your friends.'

‘You watched us, swimming butt-naked?'

‘Out of sheer boredom, so don't get the wrong idea.' The smile widened, making her even more beautiful. The light in her eyes did something funny to my heart, flipping it over and slowing it right down. ‘You're the one who jumped into the water, and tried to save that crazy kid? I saw your picture in the paper.'

‘Joey … his name was Joey. Joey Maxwell. He wasn't crazy. He was just … tired of … things …'

‘Tired of living, you mean. Tied himself to a car, according to the news. Deliberately went and killed himself. He must've been stone crazy.'

‘You shouldn't believe everything your hear. It was on the news yesterday that some old lady down south saw Jesus depositing money in her local bank. You believe that?'

‘Could be true – everyone knows Jesus saves! Hallelujah!' She grinned. ‘They say you got a medal or something for trying to save that crazy boy.'

‘More lies. I didn't get a medal. Really, I didn't want anything. Didn't deserve anything …'

‘I wish someone would do that for me, save me if I was in danger.'

‘
I
would. I'd save you if you were in danger.' The words came out automatically, but they were sincerely meant.

‘You would?' She looked surprised.

‘Yes, I would. In a heart-beat.'

She laughed loudly, but I detected sadness in the sound. She kept looking at me strangely, as if I was some weird and wonderful creature she had captured in a net.

In a blink of an eye, she disappeared under the water, only to reappear beside me. Before I knew what was happening, she was kissing me full on the mouth. I could taste her breath, feel the eagerness of her tongue, the pressure of her breasts spreading against my chest. It was the first time I had ever been truly kissed, and I could have died with happiness, right there in the filthy lake.

‘I've always wanted to kiss a hero,' she whispered between kissing.

I gasped, feeling her hands fondling my balls under the water, as if weighing them. I couldn't breathe. Her fingers moved across the shaft of my cock. I jerked back, as if I had been prodded by electricity.

‘What's wrong?' she said, looking puzzled.

‘Noth … nothing …

‘Haven't you been with a girl before?' She smiled again. This time, though, there was a slight wickedness to it.

‘Of course,' I lied, feeling my face peel with embarrassment. ‘I've … I've been with lots of girls.'

‘I bet you have.' She laughed, and then turned her back to me. ‘I've got to go.'

‘But … now?'

‘Now.'

‘But …'

She swam away, towards where our clothes lay in a heap. She reached the bank and I watched her easing up out of the water, small buttocks see-sawing mischievously. A tease.

‘Aren't you coming,
Tommmmmeeeee
?'

I couldn't. Too terrified she would see my cock, all stiff and angry despite the cold water. Physically, I hadn't much to boast about to the world.

‘I … no, I'm going to swim for a while.'

‘Never mind swimming. Come on out. I've got something for you.' She stood there, naked, hands on hips, legs wide apart, like a fleshy pair of scissors.

‘What? What is it?' Could it be what I hoped it was?

‘C'mere and see,
Tommmmmeeeee
.'

Reluctantly, I stepped from the water, covering what little I had worth covering. When I reached her, she was holding something in her hands.

‘Your backpack.'

‘My backpack …?'

‘The one you dropped when you ran away from me in the forest.'

‘That was you …?'
Shit!
I had run screaming like a big girl from a big girl. I would never live this down, if Brent or Horseshoe ever found out.

‘Don't worry. I won't tell your friends how you screamed and ran away,' she said, smiling.

‘I wasn't screaming,' I said defensively, watching her putting on her clothes, preparing to leave. ‘What were you doing with a great big knife in the forest, and those dead … things?'

She bent down, and pulled the bundled-up hares from behind a rock.

‘These? My ma makes pies with them.
Hmmm
.' She pretended to lick her lips. ‘I'll get Ma to make you one. As for the knife? I use it to cut their throats.'

I felt my balls shrink even smaller.

‘
You
cut their throats?'

‘No, of course not. They do it themselves,' she said, walking briskly away.

‘Your name? What's your name?'

‘Devlin!' she shouted, without looking back.

‘Will you be here, tomorrow, Devlin?'

She was gone without a reply.

That night in bed, I enjoyed my first good sleep since Joey's death. Instead of nightmares of him, I dreamed of a mysterious and beautiful girl called Devlin, wondering when –
if
– I would see her again. I couldn't wait until morning.