Authors: Chris Pourteau
Shadows Burned In
Shadows
Burned In
by
Chris Pourteau
Text copyright
(c)
2000, 2013 by James C. Pourteau. All rights reserved.
First Kindle Edition: September 2013
ISBN 978-0-9899813-0-9
Thank you for purchasing this ebook. It is a work of
fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission
of the publisher.
Cover photograph copyright (c) 2013 by Valerie Yaklin-Brown.
All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Cover design copyright (c) 2013 by Kim D. Miller. All rights
reserved. Used by permission.
Stancliff’s Lament
Words and Music by James McMurtry
(c) 1997 SHORT TRIP MUSIC/Administered by BUG MUSIC, INC., A
BMG CHRYSALIS COMPANY
All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
.
Vague Directions
Words and Music by James McMurtry
(c) 1992 SHORT TRIP MUSIC/Administered by BUG MUSIC, INC., A
BMG CHRYSALIS COMPANY
All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
.
I’m Not From Here
Words and Music by James McMurtry
(c) 1989 SHORT TRIP MUSIC/Administered by BUG MUSIC, INC., A
BMG CHRYSALIS COMPANY
All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.
Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard Corporation
.
Table of Contents
For Alison
My soft, cool breeze on a hot, Texas day
My best friend
Shadows
Burned In
I’m not from here, I just live here,
Grew up somewhere far away.
Came here thinkin’ I’d never stay long,
I’d be goin’ back soon someday.
—James McMurtry
“I’m Not from Here”
“Do you think it’s haunted?”
The girl whispered the question, half hoping the boy beside
her hadn’t heard, half hoping he would answer yes. She stared open-mouthed at
the old place, wondering if it stared back at her. Or if it could reach out
this far, snatch her up, and carry her inside.
“Of course it’s haunted,” the boy answered. His tone said
her question had been stupid in the first place. “It’s Old Suzie’s house.
Everybody
knows
it’s haunted.”
The girl closed her mouth. The grass where she lay wasn’t so
cool anymore. The ditch they were in didn’t feel so deep. She felt exposed,
staring up through the Spanish moss hanging from the large oak trees
surrounding the old house, guarding it from the sun. Wind breathed through the
moss, making it sway.
“Haunted by what, do you think?”
The boy made a disgusted sound. “
Spirits
, dummy. What
else?”
The girl fixed her eyes on the second-floor windows,
ignoring his insult. Cracked by rocks thrown by brave children, they reminded
her of jack-o’-lanterns on Halloween, hastily cut and cruel. She remembered something
her mother told her more than once about how dangerous broken glass was, then
heard herself saying to the boy, “Well, I thought maybe monsters or something.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “Oh man, how old are you again?
Everybody knows there’s no such thing as
monsters
.”
She didn’t answer.
“Come on. Let’s get closer.”
Her heart skipped. His hand was on her elbow, urging her toward
the broken glass and past the bushy beards in the trees.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Mom says to be home before
sundown.”
She could almost hear the boy rolling his eyes this time.
“Mom says? Come on, you’re in the seventh grade now. You still do everything
your mom says?”
Embarrassed, she merely shook her head.
“Then come on. Don’t be such a baby. You said you wanted me
to show you around, didn’t you?”
She nodded, giving in, still staring at the broken windows.
The house seemed even more like a giant Halloween pumpkin now, its smile wrapped
crookedly around razor-sharp teeth.
The boy moved up, hunched over and running like a commando.
He reached the outermost oak tree and threw himself back first against it. The
girl ran up next to him. She crouched down but felt even more exposed now. The
tree wasn’t quite wide enough to hide them both.
Screwing up her courage, she peered around the tree. The
porch’s railings were warped, and the slight smell of mold reached her as the
wind blew through the old house. A limp screen hung, waving, and it seemed to
carry a moan from inside the place. The girl thought she heard it inviting her
in. But that was silly.
Just wind through the broken windows
, she told
herself.
“Come on,” the boy said and was off again, moving closer. She
followed because she was more scared not to. She wiped her palms on her jeans
as she caught up to him, and they hunkered down beside the porch.
“Damn, this place is old,” the boy said. He hoped his
cursing impressed her.
But the girl’s whole attention focused on the house. Brown
leaves and broken sticks littered the cracked wood of the porch, blown there by
last night’s storm. As she looked at the house, she thought she could see eaves
that once had been painted baby blue and white. Now, after years of rain and
wind and no upkeep, they’d faded to a pollen-pale green. Closer up, the empty
windows seemed less like teeth now and more like sockets with their eyes
plucked out. Somehow that made them scarier. A skull of a house, staring at her
with empty eyes.
Scratches came from inside.
Fingernails
.
Bones scraping on rotting wood
,
she thought.
Inching closer.
“Come on,” he whispered. He was on the porch now, and with a
crack, he fell over.
She started at the sound, almost screamed as she saw his leg
was missing below the shin.
“Damned old wood,” the boy said. With a grunt he pulled his
leg out of the hole, careful to avoid the splintering edges. He needn’t have
worried. The planks were more rotten than dangerous. More careful this time, he
approached the front room window.
The smell of old wood, wet blankets, and mildew flew up her
nose. The girl almost gagged.
This is probably what Mom thinks my room
smells like
, she thought.
“Well? Are you coming?”
She got onto the porch and looked at the hole his foot had
made. She felt a bit of vertigo, as if she were looking over the edge of a
cliff. The porch wood creaked under her steps, and she thought that whatever
had made
(was making)
the scratching sounds inside would hear her feet, reach
out with bony fingers through the window
(or up from the hole)
and drag her inside.
The girl stepped over the hole to the other side. Her heart
beat quickly, and only through a force of will was she able to look back at the
hole. She saw only the broken wood and empty gloom beneath.
“
Boo!
”
She screamed, then lost her breath in the muteness of
terror.
The boy laughed. “Come on, baby,” he said. “Let’s go in.”
But the girl didn’t like this game anymore. She could hear
the house talking to her, like in a fairy tale.
(come into my parlor, dear)
Talking inside her head.
“Hey!” he yell-whispered. “Didn’t you hear me?”
She stared at the shady doorway that held no door. She listened
to the murmuring blackness inside but could only make out sounds, not words.
(I spy something)
“The scratches,” she said, amazed her voice still existed at
all.
“It’s only rats,” the boy said.
(with my missing eyes)
The girl shook her head.
“Hey, don’t be a baby! C’mon! You said you wanted me to show
you around.”
(I spy something small)
He walked back across the porch, commando-hunched, snagging
her by the arm. “What’re you, scared?”
(I spy something new)
His grip on her arm brought her back. “Do you want to go in
or not?”
She twisted to get away from him, her eyes still on the
windows.
(nice to have a visitor, so lonely here)
“Hey!”
(won’t you come in for tea)
She felt the pinching of his hand, then nothing as she
wrenched her arm free.
(I have sweets)
“
Hey!
”
(and sweetmeats)
Before she knew it, the girl was running back across the
tall grass and vaulting over the ditch. She knew the boy would give her a hard
time, knew the other kids would too, as if being new here wasn’t bad enough
already. But right now she didn’t care. She only had to get away from that
house, from the old voice and its moldy breath, from the mossy beards and
shattered all-seeing eyes, from the smell of old women and their parlors.
“Where’s the fire?”
The girl walked quickly by, out of breath, not keen to stop
and answer. Her mother looked after her, right index finger poised to begin cooking
dinner.
“Elizabeth?”
She finally stopped but didn’t turn around.
“What’s so pressing that you can’t even say hello to your
mother?”
Forgetting for the moment her terror of Old Suzie’s house,
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. The habits of home kicked in quickly, and she made a
deal with herself that it was okay, she just had to say a few words to her
mother and then she could retreat to her room in peace. She turned around to
begin.
“
Nothing
, Mom. I just want to go watch some—”
“Have you finished your homework?”
It’s okay
, the girl thought.
We’re almost finished
with this for today
.
“It’s not posted yet, Mom,” she lied. She knew the
assignments would’ve been available for download since noon for her morning
classes and since four for the ones in the afternoon.
“Your monitor called today,” her mother said. “He said your
output is down. He said it happens often with new transfers, but still.”
Oh no. This will make us talk longer. I’m going to have
to talk to her
longer.
“Mom, I got the message from him already.
I’ll work faster, I promise.”
Susan Jackson briefly contemplated her next comment. If
pressed, her daughter would only shut down. “Elizabeth is at that awkward
stage,” she had told her sister on Skype the previous evening. “Somewhere
between having tea parties and hosting them. And with the move and losing her
friends, we’ve been pretty forgiving of her lately. It’s just a stage.”
Remembering that conversation, Susan pushed the button and
dinner began cooking. “All right, but you’ve been online with this webschool
for almost a month. You did so well on the other, and when we moved and changed
providers, I’d hoped—”
“O
kay
, Mom, I get it.” Elizabeth immediately
regretted her comeback. If her mother had had a bad day, the tone might set her
off.
Susan exhaled slowly. “Patience,” her sister had said. “When
she begins to fit in socially there, she’ll be back to normal.” She began to
smell dinner as its molecules danced. “All right, then. Go on to your room.”
Elizabeth nearly leapt from the kitchen.
Susan called after her, “But I want to review your work
tonight before you submit it!”
“Yes, Mom,” Elizabeth said behind her. A few more steps and
she’d be home free, just get past the living room . . .
“E
liz
abeth.”
A familiar mixture of dread, frustration, and subdued love
seeped into her stomach. “Hi, Dad.” She tried to sound upbeat.
If you’re in
a good mood, maybe he will be too
,
she thought.
“How were classes today?” he asked. David Jackson glanced
backward over the arm of the isometric recliner he called “my chair.” His back
didn’t seem to be bothering him today, she noticed. That was always a good
sign.
“Fine.”
He half smiled. “Did you have any trouble getting online?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Hmmm?”
“No, sir.”
“Mmmm. Your mother says your monitor called today.” He
sounded impatient, like he was making more conversation than he wanted to take
the time for.
“I know. Mom told me.”
“Mmmm. Did she also tell you that your output is slipping?”
God let me out of here before he
—
“We’ve been here a month, Elizabeth. You should be adjusted
by now.”
She felt her hands beginning to sweat. The mixture in her
stomach became thicker, colder.
“Come around here where I can see you,” he said.
Elizabeth walked around the recliner, her knees feeling a
little weak.
“You should be adjusted by now,” he repeated.
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Mmmm,” he said, nodding. “You’ve been hanging around with
the Miller boy lately, haven’t you? Michael?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He patted his hand on the chair. Now he seemed anxious to
get on with the conversation.
Never a good sign
, thought Elizabeth.
“Ken says Michael’s pretty good in math and earth science.
Maybe he could help you with the independent exercises.”
She brightened at that. Despite the boy’s chiding, she liked
Michael, even after he’d scared her at Old Suzie’s house. He was the only real
almost-friend she’d made in this little town of 3,000 people. It was hard
enough making friends at school without being new too.
“He’s in my classes,” she said. “I’ll ask him if we can work
the indies together if you want.”
Her father nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”
“Okay,” she said cheerily and turned to go.
He exhaled loudly. A disgusted sound, as if he were
mustering all the goodwill and courage within himself to give her one more
chance to earn a place in Heaven.
The feeling in her gut turned over like slow taffy, sweet
and disgusting. But Elizabeth knew her father well enough to know the end of
the conversation was coming soon. He wasn’t in a bad mood tonight. She just had
to wait it out.
One more minute and you’ll be in your room
, she promised
herself.
“You know, Elizabeth, if you don’t apply yourself, you’ll
never—”
amount to anything
, she supplied in her head
“and you’ll end up—”
serving drinks somewhere
“in some cyberbar.” He sounded concerned, contemptuous, and
put out all at once.
“Even
he’s
getting bored with saying this over and
over again,”
she said, smirking to herself. The voice in her head—her “3V
voice,” as she called it, because it always urged her to play 3V games and
hated when the real world intruded—always had something smarmy to say.
Shhhh
.
“Are you listening to me, girl?” His tone wasn’t nonchalant
anymore.
She shut up her 3V voice and focused on his face. “Yes,
sir,” she breathed.
“You’d better be. Because if you’re not careful, that’s just
exactly what will happen.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mmmm.” He seemed to relax as the conversation reached a
familiar end. “Now I want you to go to your room and work on your homework. I’m
going to call your monitor next week and see how you’re progressing. If I don’t
hear from him you’re improving, we’re going to do more than talk about it.”
Yes!
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand, Elizabeth?”
“
Yes
, sir.”
“Okay then.” He turned away from her and focused on the 3V
screen in front of him. She took that as her cue to leave and barely managed to
walk without running to her room.
Shutting the door behind her, Elizabeth closed her eyes and
opened her hands once, letting the air hit the sweat and chill it first, then
dry it off. She let out one long breath, and the 3V voice in her head said,
“He’ll
probably forget to call
.
”
But Elizabeth ignored it, saying, “Web on.”
She crawled onto her bed and turned over on her back,
spreading out and letting herself sink into the soft blankets, palms down. She
lay there with her eyes closed, glad both her parents had been in a good mood
tonight. She listened to the familiar and comforting hum of the system as it
booted. In a few seconds it said, “Ready.”
She took a breath. So many choices. What was tonight?
“Wednesday. Good interactive programs on Wednesdays,”
her
3V voice supplied.
Elizabeth shut her eyes tight, balling the blankets into her
fists. What if her father didn’t forget? What if he called and she was still
doing badly in school? Then her 3V voice spoke again.
“Michael will help. Let’s forget about it for now
.
”
Better not
.
“Select School,” she said.
A few breaths, during which her other self tried again.
“You won’t do any better, you know. Not without Michael’s
help. So why not—”
“Please identify yourself,” the computer said.
Something clucked in her head, probably her 3V voice showing
its disgust. Elizabeth sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed and
faced the screen. She recited her name and student number.
“Hello, Elizabeth. Are you ready to begin your homework for
today?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You currently have three subjects in which homework is due
before tomorrow: English, geometry, and geography. What class would you like to
begin with?”
“English,” she said. At least she liked that.
“I hate it.”
Shut up!
She got to work. Thirty minutes into her reading and
comprehension exercise, her mother brought her dinner. Elizabeth downed it
without thinking, even ate the stewed carrots without much complaint, trying to
stay focused on the work at hand.
Susan waited for an hour after dinner. She’d let the food
cool, put the dishes in the washer, and waited till she knew Elizabeth would be
deep into her studies. Then she walked into the living room.
“David?”
“Mmmm?” He didn’t look away from the screen in front of him.
She moved half a step to her left, edging into his
peripheral vision. “David, I want to talk to you for a minute.”
He wrinkled his forehead and mashed his lips together,
disturbed and distracted. “I’m watching
Web Report
. President’s talking
tough to the Germans again. I may need to transfer our MerChrysler stocks out
of the ECM and put them in U.S. accounts.”
Susan nodded, feigning interest. “How
do
our finances
look?” The topic was, at least, related to what she’d wanted to talk to him
about.
He shrugged, barely listening, still staring at the screen.
“If the Russo-German Consortium holds up, we’ll be okay. But the Japanese are
back as a buying power, and they’ve never been friends of the Russians.”
“David—”
“What?” he said, disturbed again. “I’m watching
Web
Report
.”
She wanted to scream out loud, “Fuck the goddamned
Web
Report
!”
but she didn’t. Instead she sat down in her chair next to
his. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I want to talk to you about Elizabeth.”
He watched the numbers go by. German investors and Russian
labor bosses were at it again. If this kept up, the Chinese, with American and
Japanese investors behind them, might edge out their Russo-German competitors
in the Eurasian markets, and
then
where would he be?
Down the tubes
with MerChrysler, that’s for damned sure. Whoever would’ve thought the Japanese
and the Chinese would get together? Jesus
.
“David, are you listening to me?”
He looked down, away from the screen, his hands hanging off
his knees. “All right, Susan, what
is
it? I’ve already talked to her
about her schoolwork.”
She smiled, grateful that the conversation hadn’t started
out more stressfully than it had. “Yes, I know. I did too.”
“She’ll whip into shape. I’ll make sure of that.”
Susan nodded, a little concerned by his choice of words. “I
know. I think she’ll shape up on her own.” A little cheerleading from the Mom
Section couldn’t hurt. “But that’s not really what I want to talk about.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
Give in. Get it over with.
Get back to
Web Report. “Volume, mute,” he said to the screen. “What,
then?”
“It’s our moving here, David.” Now that she’d reached the
real purpose for the conversation, she was gaining determination. “Since we
moved here, Elizabeth has been distant, reclusive. I’m worried about more than
her grades.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be a drama queen. She’s in a new place.
Kids adjust.”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s been over a month now, and it seems
to be getting worse, not better. She’s not making friends like she had in
Houston.”
“This isn’t Houston.”
“That’s my point.”
He smirked, wincing one eye closed. “That makes a
lot
of
sense.”
Susan inhaled slowly. “Why did we move back here, David?”
He smiled, a cat that’s spied a mouse peering out of the
hole. “Ah, there it is.” He looked at his watch. “Nine o’clock. We’re early
tonight.”
The hair on the back of her neck bristled. “Don’t be an
asshole.”
“Stage Two: Name calling.”
“You had a successful practice,” she said. Her frustration
was welling up in her throat like bile, burning and bitter. “We were doing
well. I was thinking of going back to school—”
“To do what? What would you do?”
“I don’t know!” What she did know was that she wanted to be
more than she was, something she knew he would never understand. “It doesn’t
matter. The point is, we moved back here because you wanted to live here
again.”