After Death (12 page)

He exited his car and made his way towards the house through the growth, trying to place his feet where there had once been a stone path leading to the front steps. Navigating the front porch proved to be more difficult, he moved slowly and carefully only narrowly missing choosing the wrong rotted boards on three occasions and almost falling through before he found safe footing to the left of the aged front door. When he finally reached across from the side and knocked — the sound rang loud and hollow through the house and he was afraid to knock harder for fear the front door might collapse.

After several moments, heavy lumbering footsteps approached from inside and Frank adjusted his position on the porch since many of the boards jumped and creaked with the movement.

The man from the funeral yanked open the door and stood scowling in a stained bulging undershirt.

“Yeah?” he asked brusquely.

“Yes, we met at Eli Simms funeral a few days back… I was wondering if I —“

The man shut the door in Frank’s face, mid-sentence.

“— could ask you a few questions?” Frank finished weakly.

Frank looked at the closed door and felt he had no choice but to yell through it.

“Look, I drove quite a ways to talk to you…” He referred to the piece of paper in his hand, knowing that names often helped in matters of persuasion. “…Burt…”

There was no response but Frank noted that there were no sounds of receding footsteps either. Burt was obviously just behind the door, waiting…

“I’d be willing to pay you for your time” he ventured.

There was still no response.
What did this guy want?
Looking at the house, it had to be money.
Frank took a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet and slipped it under the door. Less than three seconds later, Burt responded.

“Another twenty’ll buy ya ten.” He called back through the thin door.

Frank added another twenty and Burt swung the door once again. He stared at Frank, face impassive and grave.

“Ten minutes.” He said and turned aside for Frank to enter.

***

Burt led the way into his house, weaving through leaning ceiling-high stacks of old newspapers, half-dissected appliances, broken pieces of furniture…He spoke over his shoulder in a gravelly baritone…

“The forked tree don’t fall far from the apple, do it?”

He giggled at his own joke, indicated one of the towering stacks of newspapers.

“I git the news, ya know!”

He glanced back at Frank with a raised wild-haired eyebrow, turned sideways and forced his way through a gap between a dismantled refrigerator and a tall pile of broken toys.

“Everyone should pay fer my time — my time is valuble!” He chortled.

He paused as if the thought of money might have been a mirage and pulled the two crumpled twenties out of his pocket. He held them close to his face and examined them minutely then deeply inhaled the scent from the bills.

“Right as rain!” He blurted out and chortled again with glee.

He stuffed the bills deep in his pocket and reached back and pulled Frank through more debris, whistling merrily as he did. It was the same odd tune that Frank often whistled himself but he had no time to question the coincidence — he was hurriedly pushed into a niche surrounded by more stacks of old newspapers and wedged in by Burt, who sidled in so close Frank winced at the thick smell of bourbon on his breath.

“Well? Burt said. “Time’s a wastin’.”

Frank was uncomfortable — almost panicked. This wild odd guy was right in his face, there was no way to get past him if something went wrong, and he hadn’t told his wife or anyone else where he was going. And from the indecipherable things Burt had been saying and his loopy manner, Frank couldn’t tell if he was drunk or crazy as a loon or both.
Was it really worth his safety to ask questions about an old dead guy that apparently had trouble telling the truth? He should really just get the hell outta there — it’d be the smart thing to do.

“I’m trying to find out details on Eli’s past.” He said instead. “His background…?”

Burt stared at him with his head cocked to one side on its short, bulgy neck. He seemed to be measuring him, checking his expression for signs that he might be joking. He finally broke into a toothy smile, most of his front teeth at odd angles or missing.

“Fine by me. You wanna look backwards from outside — fine by me. Which stories you want; skin crawlers or hair raisers?”

He put out a pudgy hairy hand, palm upwards, and tapped it.

“Long as you grease the way, I’m willin’ to play along. Another twenty right there.”

Frank winced again at Burt’s breath, turned away to dodge the noxious cloud.
Definitely drunk and who knows what else
, he thought. He shook his head.

“Let’s see what forty’s bought me first.”

Burt seemed to like the challenge and puffed up with pride.

“Saw a lotta things growin’ up. Specially as Eli was my step-daddy — but I ‘spect you know that.” He gave Frank a wink and continued. “What say I tell ya a liddle grisly tale jest to whet yer appetite.”

He paused and licked his lips. He truly seemed to love, even
crave
, this rare attention.

“’Fore I begin, I got a rule. You needs to close yer eyeballs an’ piture what I say in yer head. I tell a good story — it’ll be like a movie rollin’ across yer brain. Only thing missin’ is popcorn.”

He chuckled and stared hard at Frank.

“Go ahead — close ‘em. The movie’s about to start!”

Frank reluctantly closed his eyes and Burt began:

“It was in grade school, I musta been ten, eleven years old…Around 1954, 1955, somethin ‘round there. Pitcher them typa clothes and lots of green fields near our school in Santa Monica. That’s right — Santa Monica. It were awfully different back then. What’s the word...? Rurral — that’s the word. Anyways, Eli would come there every so often after the last class and let some of the kids pet his dog, Blackie. They loved doin’ that. Most of ‘em liked Eli too. He was tall and han’some with his crew-cut an’ open face and people jest took to ‘im natural-like. He had the ‘bility to relate at the same level to whoever he were talkin’ to and people liked that a whole lot…”

Burt’s voice had an odd cadence, similar to Eli’s, and the sound was disarming and calming…Frank felt himself relaxing quickly, his back sliding down the stack of newspaper behind him until he sat on the floor, eyes now heavy, limbs beginning to lose feeling…

Before long he was able to drift into the story, just as Burt had said he would. Maybe it was that he had practiced this often as an author or maybe Burt really did have a gift? — whichever the case, Frank was soon transported…

Frank looked around and found himself in new surroundings — only this time they weren’t of his own making.

He stood on a dirt road on a warm summer day outside a school that was bordered on three sides by rich, lush greenery. He walked towards the schoolyard, strangely aware of the feeling of his shoes hitting the ground and the earth scraping underneath them as he moved. Distantly, Frank could hear Burt continuing his description of the time period, the clothing, the other children exiting the school after the end of their classes — each item described became real around him.

As Burt’s voice began describing nearby birds chirping, the sound of their twittering overcame Burt’s voice until it was completely drowned out and Frank was alone in his new world. Frank seemed to be there and yet not be there — it was very different than in his own stories in this regard, where he had interacted on every level with the denizens of his imagination. Here, he somehow knew that he was merely an invisible spectator.

A young man with a short crew-cut and pleasant smile waited outside the schoolyard, leaning against a swing post. It was unmistakably Eli in his mid-thirties — handsome, dressed in a neat light blue V-neck sweater and with those same twinkling eyes that never seemed to stop moving and that always seemed to be laughing at something unsaid. At his feet was his large, black, wolf-hybrid that Frank instantly knew as Blackie.
Burt was doing a remarkable job — Remarkable!

Several children, upon seeing Blackie, squealed in delight and raced over to see him. It was like a petting zoo and Blackie was the prize attraction. To each child, Eli said “Hello”, followed by their first and last name. Sometimes he would throw in a “Mr.” or “Mrs.” to get a laugh. Either he had been here many times before or his memory was uncanny. The children were almost as enamored of him as they were of his dog and thanked him sincerely for letting them pet the dog and frequently asked an unimportant question or two about him or Blackie before leaving, obvious in their intent to prolong the interaction. When they were done, they rushed off to meet their parents on the other side of the school (the side where there was a paved road for cars and the school bus).

The last boy to exit the classroom was a tiny six-year old named Ricky. He rushed to Eli and Blackie with a huge smile.

“Hiya Eli! Hi Blackie!” he said as he ran his fingers happily through Blackie’s fur. The dog remained perfectly still, eyes full on Eli as though awaiting his next command while enduring this display. Eli responded to Ricky with an ingratiating smile.

“Hello Mr. Ricky Eastman. Waiting for your mom again?” Eli asked in his characteristically Mr. Rogers lilt.

Ricky nodded. “Yup.”

Eli smiled wider and patted Ricky’s shoulder.

“She won’t be comin’ today. Asked me to walk you home.”

Ricky was fully engrossed in Blackie and spoke absently as he watched his fingers slide through the stiff mane.

“I didn’t know you knew my mom?

“Yup.” Eli replied in a firm tone that was unequivocal.

“Okay.” Ricky replied.

Frank stood a few paces away, transfixed by this exchange. His attention was heightened further when Eli turned to one side and called over to a pudgy eleven-year old hiding behind the slide in the sand lot.

“You comin’, Burt?” Eli asked casually.

Young Burt frowned and shook his head adamantly “No”.

“Suit yerself.” Eli responded with a shrug and returned his attention to Ricky.

“Let’s go.”

He put an arm around the small boys shoulders.

“I’ll even show you a shortcut.”

Ricky smiled with excitement.

Frank looked at Eli and even took a step closer to peer at his expression. He seemed absolutely sincere — Frank had seen this same expression in the old Eli he had met himself. Even when Eli was in a position where Ricky couldn’t see his face — Frank could. And Frank saw that his expression didn’t change — he remained totally credible in his behavior.
So what was Burt leading up to? The bright sun was out, the birds were chirping, there was no sense of foreboding here…

The only odd thing about the scene was young Burt.

Frank moved the other direction and got closer to the slide where he could see him better. Burt was pale and seemed to be trembling. He was obviously miserable… and scared…
But why?

Frank didn’t have a chance to ponder further — Burt quickly moved from behind the slide and slipped behind a tree ten yards away. It took Frank a moment to realize that Eli and Ricky were on the move and Burt was following them at a safe distance — doing his best to remain unheard and unseen…

***

They walked for a long time, Eli, Ricky, and Blackie leading the way along a dirt trail and Frank following Burt a distance behind as he flitted from tree to tree.

The surroundings became crowded with dense greenery; the trees were thick and tall and in between them there were more and more shrubs, wild flowers, hidden boulders, and logs. It had become difficult for Burt to navigate safely through all these obstacles and stay hidden and still keep the others in sight. Eventually, he had to move closer to the trail that was fast becoming the only clear area.

Eli, Ricky, and Blackie continued up ahead and Eli never looked back or showed any sign that he knew Burt was following… Even Blackie failed to pause and glance backwards… But Frank knew for certain that Eli was aware of Burt and was sure that the older Burt’s now inaudible narration had told him as much.

Ricky was dripping sweat in the hot sun and was tired. He dragged his feet and looked up at Eli.

“You sure this is a shortcut? Seems longer to me…”

Eli paused and looked around. He seemed genuinely confused.

“You know, I think you’re right, Mr. Ricky. Must’ve taken a wrong turn somewheres.”

He glanced down at Ricky apologetically and scanned their surroundings as he absently petted Blackie at his feet. A slow recognition came to him and he smiled and then abruptly snapped his fingers.

“Now I know where we are! I used to have a secret fort here when I was a kid. I wonder if it’s still there…”

Ricky’s interest was piqued.

“We can take a look if you want.”

Eli clapped him on the back.

“That’d be great!” He exclaimed.