Freeney Read online

  for Cerena,

  you can do whatever you want to do…….

  The Ordeal

  Pt 1 “Freeney”

  by Clay-Doh the World Destroyer

  Prologue

  Allenville is a close knit community nestled in the pine valleys of the lower Concordia Mountain range. Home to several species of indigenous trees including the Red Oak, Cottonwood and ever pervasive Lodgepole Pine, Allenville is renowned for it’s lush forest, thick vegetation and not least, it’s remarkable fog. As the moisture from the coastal regions saunters through the natural avenues and grooves produced by the low altitude mountains, humidity from the forest creates a blanketing mist which clings to the village like a garment of cloth.

  Eerie for some maybe, comforting for those who’ve spent their lives here in this rural American suburb. Using the resilient smog as an excuse to cuddle a little bit longer with their loved ones, the casual nature of the town allowing for workdays to begin as late as 9:30am on particularly obscured days.

  In America, Halloween has always invoked a diaspora of emotions. The onset of fall brings the years struggles to a foment as the inner alarm clocks from past generations remind us to make sure the crops are well tended to for the last minute harvest preparations.

  Children, industrious with heightened senses in anticipation of the impending candy free for all, are sliding into their respective costumes. This may be their biggest test of the year. The harder they work for the remainder of the evening, the more they can spoil their dinners the following months to come. The more judicious ones can even make their stashes last until Easter sometimes. There’s this palpable electricity in the air as mischief grins with excitement at the possibilities the night may bring.

  Though the moon had been visible for most of the afternoon as it’s golden hue takes shape, so too a pair of sinister eyes awaken and turn their attention to the unsuspecting commune. With reptilian pupils enclosed by amethyst irises focusing, squinting with spite, the consciousness of the beast reveals itself upon the unwitting inhabitants of Allenville, USA. No one notices it and a moment later, the apparition is no longer visible.

  Chapter 1

  “I hate Halloween. Last year, my gramma’s house got egged three times and the worst part is, I think it was those same little bastards she gave her peanut brittle to. But you know how kids are these days, if it don’t come in a Nestlé wrapper, they won’t eat it. But who knows? Maybe their folks made them throw it out anyway. You never can be too careful, ya know? With all these nut jobs puttin razor blades in candy apples every time you turn around. Whuddya gonna do? Sure, you’re mammy made you throw away your candy but you live with’em, see’em every day. You’re better off takin it out on the house that gave it to you.”

  Dr. Kovac didn’t lift his head from his paperwork.

  “Don’t you think it’s sad the way the corporations cannibalize our holidays? It’s always about the candy with the kids. I bet most of em’ out there don’t even know what a haunted hay ride is. I remember we used to have sumn called a fair. I won third place for my pig when I was 12. Looked forward to it all year. Used to feed mine cornmeal, the others got slop. Used to talk to it too. The whole community came together. Now it’s all about trick-or-treat, trick-or-treat. The kids get out of school and by the time they’re done, it’s 8 o’clock. Dark. Cold. Everyone’s tired. My sister said her kids brought home a grocery bag each. And for what? Just a bunch of diabetis’ waitin ta happen. For free, too. Typical American value system. You wake up one day and get you a bag and go home to home demanding candy for free and expect to be compensated. And why not? Everybody else is doin it. Why? Nobody asks. I swear, summa these kids don’t even say trick-or-treat. They just knock on the door and open up their bag. And don’t look for a thank you either. And there’s their parents standing on the sidewalk with their arms folded in case you have the audacity to refuse. It’s extortion! It’s entitlement! It’s redistribution of wealth! I’d be willin to bet Willy Wonka is a Goddamn liberal!”

  Kovac continued scribbling on his ledger. He had the posture of one taking a final exam, engrossed in the endless record keeping which came with the territory. Every so often, he would pause long enough to change out a piece of paper and seamlessly transition into copying it.

  An exception to the rule in this digitized 21st century, Dr. Kovac insists on keeping his own hand written records of all the patients that come into his care at Allenville State Hospital. Computers make mistakes, he would say, I don’t.

  The office was furnished with all of the standard issue psychiatry widgets. There was the obtrusive ticking of the cuckoo clock. Some wondered if it had been placed there in poor taste but the more observant were forced to conclude it to be a particularly aggressive accessory. Most likely an attempt to rouse outrage at the sheer inappropriateness of it’s presence, given the setting. A good psychologist gets you out of your comfort zone.

  There was the obligatory suspended metal orbs no one ever felt compelled to interact with and, to top it all off, there was the forever unquenchable drinking bird, requiring the minimalist of suggestions to resume it’s perpetual conquest of a petri dish of water.

  Hudgens had finally gotten tired of talking. Even though several moments had passed and no response came from Kovac’s desk, he didn’t register even the slightest bit of annoyance. He knew all of his remarks had been properly stored in their corresponding bins in Dr. Kovac’s head. It might take five minutes, sometimes ten but a perfectly reasonable response would inevitably surface. The ticks of the clock were intermittently dispersed by the occasional water droplet noise from the beak of the insatiable drinking bird.

  Mr. Hudgens never questioned in his inner conscience Kovac’s elongated response times. He was his employer and a doctor for Christ’s sake and he was grateful for an equally superior mind to converse with. One could be driven positively insane listening to the unintelligible gibberish regurgitated by the peons composing the nurse and security staff but as Staff Administrator, it was his unfortunate burden to tolerate this inanity on a daily basis including weekends and double shifts on holidays or when Dr. Kovac was away on business or vacation.

  “Are you familiar with the Bod Fly, Mr. Hudgen’s?” The question emerging from an unquantifiable nook in the far reaches of the space/time continuum.

  “I like to watch Animal Planet sometimes but not Discovery channel. Ever since the crocodile hunter died……”

  “A fascinating species.” Kovac cut him off. “The female inserts her larva into the brain of an unlucky worker ant. The ant survives the ordeal and lives on until the larva hatches out of it’s skull upon maturation.”

  A small, uncomfortable silence ensued.

  “Kinda like that movie ‘Alien’, huh?”

  “Correct, Mr. Hudgens. Kind of like the movie ‘Alien’. Likewise, this is the method by which American customs originate and take shape.” Dr. Kovac speaks in a punctuated, heavily accented, Eastern European cadence. He ended his phrase with a glance from a pair of icy blue eyes, half concealed by their lids with unamusement.

  Hudgens felt compelled to change the subject even though the doctor’s diagnosis brought about more questions than it had answered. It made sense but could only be concluded to be unsettling at best, especially given the proximity to dinnertime.

  “We only have one more ward left to visit today, doctor. Did you wanna go ahead and knock it out before supper?”

  CUCKOO

  CUCKOO

  The bird emerged from it’s nest behind the powder blue doors located just below the face of the clock every quarter of an hour.

  Dr. Kovac, who’d returned diligently to his loggings, purportedly responding more to the clock than his assistant’s queries, coolly placed his fountain pen on t
he desk, returned his head from it’s 45 degree position.

  “Yes, let us.”

  “Yes, my lord. It pleases me greatly that I might assist thee in the Great Work. But, I do not know the location where Pastor Coleman has hidden The Book.”

  SCREE

  SCREE

  “Yes, they are building a basketball gymnasium behind the annex, next to the new parking lot. I remember, I helped clear some of the brush over there.”

  SCREE

  SCREE

  “I know not, my liege. The chest had a white tree emblazoned. But there was nothing inside. He must of known I would come for it.”

  SCREE

  SCREE

  “Oh, yes, master. Thank you. Though your instruction hath given me so much comfort and warmth already, without you I would have no reason to push onward. I exist only to assist in The Struggle.”

  SCREE

  SCREE

  “I am not a greedy man. The Struggle is an end to a means. Material reward could only devalue my sacrifice. My recompense shall lie therein only when the blood of the Believers soaks the ground of this wretched coven of iniquity.”

  SCREE

  SCREE

  “Master, if I but had wings like you, I could help you vigorously survey the land. We could follow Coleman. We could uncover The Book.”

  SCREE

  SCREE

  “Oh! Oh! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! My king! If it is thy will, I hath great joy partaking in this sacred cause. This is such an exciting time to be alive! This is such a momentous time! It is so exhilarating! It is so wonderful! I once thought I knew what happiness was but I was wrong. Like a savage living amid civilization, not ever knowing what he was missing. I was foolish. I was misguided. But I was ignorant. My lord, you saved me from servitude. You released me from the bondage of my creator. I owe you my life and I give it freely. Money, parties, expensive drugs, women, even the birth of my own children were but mere droplets compared to a raging river now that I have come into the care of your ever watchful eye!”

  SCREE

  SCREE

  Chapter 2

  “Can Maddy come out and play?”

  Bob frowned. How long did you spend practicing that in front of the mirror?

  “Uh, yeah. Hold on a minute.” They were just at the age where he couldn’t justify referencing his Remington but old enough to where he wanted to.

  When the Henley’s front door reopened, there was an adolescent girl standing in his place. Even with the dissipating October sun shining from behind the boys, the grease from their cheeks and forehead bristled.

  “Ready yet? I’m not gonna stand by and wait around for these 5th graders to get all the good stuff.”

  “Yeah, if I get stuck with a bag full of those big orange peanuts, you’ll have to pay me back.” Patrick always guarded his possessions closely, having come from money. Funny how well to do kids could have so much, yet still own nothing themselves and be aware of that when with their friends.

  “Hold on. We have to take Jimmy or I can’t go.”

  The boys looked at each other. Bummer, dude. Nothing could put the kibosh on a teenager’s hopes for exploration of the fairer sex than the younger brother tag along, an ancient tactic employed by mindful guardians.

  The door closed once again.

  “Relax, Rory. You weren’t going to get any, anyway.”

  “You don’t know that!” Rory gushed.

  “Even if you did, you’d probably cut your willie to ribbons on her braces.”

  Rory grimaced at the imagery but couldn’t deny the amusement.

  “Only one way to find out!”

  They were a mismatched pair of 8th graders. Neither had made the cut for their naturally preselected social groupings they should’ve been healthily ingrained in by now. Rory, from the wrong side of the tracks, hadn’t been considered tough enough to roll with the neighborhood hoodlums. Patrick, certainly well off but never fully recovered from an odd first impression made when his family relocated from Cleveland four years previous.

  “A guy like you just doesn’t get a girl like her. She’s off limits. You’re better off hanging around in the friend zone and roaching on the crumbs that fall off her ugly friends’ table. Ha ha ha ha!” Even Patrick had to be pleased with the delivery of that blow to reality.

  Rory didn’t register the pain. “Takes one to know one. Heh, heh.”

  “What are you guys laughing about?”

  Madison’s head was peeking out from the abyss within the household. Wearing a mischievous grin, she couldn’t remotely conceal her eavesdropping, their silence a damning indication of guilt.

  She finally emerged from the doorway in her signature pink, plastic rimmed glasses. None of them were wearing costumes. They’d hedged their bets and sided with a more pragmatic approach this year. Having recently begun their growth spurts, they might look a little bit desperate in costume. Some people wouldn’t notice. Probably. But others might feel inclined to save their candy payouts for the ‘real’ trick-or-treaters. The one’s where you say, ‘And what are you supposed to be?’ And they don’t usually listen to the response, if they wait for it at all. Timid little voices drowned out by the overpowering symphony of candy wrappers dropping from high altitude into the mandatory, plastic Jack-o-lantern in likeness, little pails. ‘Trick or….’ SPLASH! Couple handfuls of candy. SLAM! ‘Get off my lawn’. At least they were appealing to the integrity of the homeowners they were patronizing. Not trying to get over on anybody here. Just want some candy. Thanks. You know, we’re still basically kids. But big. And we could actually damage some property if we felt like it. Good. Cool.

  “Rory wanted me to ask you if you’d give him a kiss.”

  “Did not!”

  She giggled. “Oh, I’ll give you a kiss alright. A Hershey one.”

  Rory transitioned to a pigmentation resembling that of a radish. Patrick, regarding his friend’s boyish reaction with slight disbelief from the corner of his eye, resumed.

  “You two love birds want to get moving? I wanna get this garbage bag full before eight. The Douglas house has a haunted backyard tonight.”

  Old man Douglas had taken some orange and purple paints to some standard issue white Christmas lights. There were cobwebs and mist machines and rumors this year of a reanimated corpse, most likely Mr. Douglas himself, that would spring to life from some mist coalesced cranny and jump out on unsuspecting victims.

  “Patrick, you bean! How on Earth are you going to carry an entire garbage bag full of candy?”

  “I don’t know, seems like a good problem to have. But how am I supposed to find out with you guys playing tongue hockey every thirty seconds?” He quipped with a smirk.

  Rory looked as if he wanted to reach down Patrick’s throat and tear his tonsils right out.

  Luckily, Madison’s little brother Jimmy extinguished the exchange by squeezing through the front door in a red power ranger outfit. Presumably, already lost was the mask or perhaps it was too uncomfortable, the tiny breathing slot would get sweaty and coagulated as he most likely had been wearing it around the house since school let out. He had his plastic jack-o-lantern candy pail in one hand and his faithful teddy bear in the other. He was seven then.

  “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.” Patrick snickered.

  “Guys, do you realize how much extra loot we’re going to get with this little guy? We’re gonna drain this town dry. Then we can ditch the dweeb at the church. They’re having a lock-in over there tonight.” Maddy informed.

  Rory chimed in, “Old ladies are suckers for little boys in tights!”

  “Wouldn’t you know? Aah yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck.”

  Jimmy just stared blankly at the entourage. He didn’t speak much. He wasn’t slow nor had he seen many hardships early on. Then again, perhaps the budding revelation of what life entails is more than enough for some to consider hardship. He typically wore the expression of a youngling processing a disproportionately high amount of informati
on. Surely there would be some adults to consider him ‘challenged’. A keen observer might recognize the brilliance of a young mind that absorbs but doesn’t feel obligated to vocalize it’s analysis. Some say a sign of early intelligence is the ability to lie. Is this not precisely what some portray by sheer omittance? Every opportunity taken to avoid divulgence of one’s thoughts and feelings with mama and papa and teacher deliberately is like a little lie in itself. This is where private, untouchable identities are formed. Identities that can only be uncovered by God Himself or maybe some sort of reverse transgression hypnosis.

  “Ready to get the big score with us, lil brother?” Maddy coaxed.

  He nodded, the corner of a smile forming. This was his chance to run with the big kids. He sauntered down the three step porch and proceeded to stumble forward awkwardly.

  “Jeez! What the hell was that?” Patrick shouted. He was already moving toward Jimmy. If anyone was capable of catching him before he fell, it was him. “Did you see that? Just–“

  Jimmy’s candy pail was popping with activity. When he fell, it had rolled in a semicircle but it was still jostling and bouncing long after the momentum from the spill should have subsided. Something was……fluttering. Inside it.

  “Is that a bird?”

  Jimmy had picked himself up by now and was shrinking away back towards familiarity.

  Rory reacted decisively. Corralling, flipped the pail over and held it in place.

  SCREE-SCREE

  SCREE-SCREE

  “Dude, it’s….a bat.”

  “Have you ever seen a bat behave like that before? That is weird.” A curious discussion was simmering.

  “Well, I know they can get rabies.” Rory offered.

  “Yeah but they’re not blind. And they’re not stupid. They don’t fly somewhere they don’t want to.”

  “This is a good sign, Jimmy. See? The spirit of Halloween comes to you. I knew he was gonna be good luck.”