Charnel House (30 page)

Shoot.

Bobby stood slowly, wary, trying to keep an eye on both of them. Having to sit between them was even worse than having them standing over him. If one of them started to change, the instant he moved to escape he would feel a steel-trap grip on his arm or leg or neck and that would be the end of him. He’d be caught, completely at the mercy of Norman. What if he ran now, before anything could happen? He’d be free, but there was no
way
he’d be allowed to go to the carnival with Amy tomorrow if he did. As things stood right now there was still a chance, as long as he didn’t get in too much trouble over the outburst. Praying that he would survive the conversation—not only physically but mentally, because he thought that if Norman put in another appearance he might very well snap and have to be carted off to the Lurleen B. Wallace Center, where they kept the retards and other crazies—he crossed the room and sat on the couch between his parents.

Come if you’re going to, creep, but be ready for a fight.

His father looked at him expectantly.
Well?
that look said.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Bobby said, and shrugged. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep in church—I was trying to pay attention—but it just happened.”

“What did you dream?” Mom asked. She leaned toward him and he braced for (
Norman
) her to make a move, but she just fixed him with the same considering gaze she had at Penn’s the day before.

Bobby mustered up a weak grin. “It’s kind of stupid. I dreamed Brother Peavey turned into a monster and was coming to get me.”

Not too far from the truth, except for the dream part. Maybe enough to keep him in good graces with the man upstairs. For now.

His father’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all there was to it? You were
terrified
talking to Brother Peavey after services. Don’t deny it; I saw the way you flinched when he reached out.”

For a minute Bobby almost let go and told them everything. He could see the raw concern on both their faces. Maybe they really would be able to help him—if he could convince them. That was the trouble, though. Would they believe that Norman could possess people? Moreover, what would they say if he told them Norman had
already
possessed Mom once?

I’ll be coming for you, Bobby.

And if anything would bring Norman out right here and now, it would be Bobby trying to get help to stop him, wouldn’t it? He thought it would. The instant he told them what had happened under the Barlowe house, and in the kitchen, and at church, there would be no reason for Norman to hang back and wait for a more opportune time.

If it’s really Norman and not just all in your head.

Could he have imagined Norman?
No way.
He remembered the hobo’s touch, the feel of those scabby lips and slick tongue on his neck, the white worms and clots of pus on his pants. But Joey and Tanner hadn’t seen the worms and pus, or seen Norman himself when he came lumbering out of the privet. Dana and Dad hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary when Mom tasted him, and the entire congregation sat mute while Brother Peavey bounded toward him across the pews, transforming into Norman as he came.

“It was a pretty scary dream, Dad,” Bobby said. “He wasn’t Brother Peavey anymore, he was a
monster
.”

The thought that he had imagined it all was too much. That couldn’t be possible. If anyone in the family had an imagination that active, it would be Dana. She liked the far out books and movies, not him, except for a little spooky stuff.
Not like a crazy hobo under a haunted house
. No, not like that at all. His idea of spooky was more along the lines of
Scooby Doo
and
Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators
books. Fiction. What happened under the house had been
real
.

He remembered something he saw on TV in an episode of
MASH
, about a thing they had called
post-dramatic stress disorder
, where soldiers in battle kept imagining they were still fighting. Not crazy, not exactly, but... disturbed. Not a comforting thought, but maybe not as bad as being ready for the loony bin. Could something like that have happened to him? Norman was as scary as getting shot at, for sure. Scarier, even. If he was imagining Norman coming for him—just like he said he would—maybe the situation was so dramatic that it messed him up. Maybe if he just gave it some time, everything would go back to normal.

And he would still get to go to the carnival.

“Why did Brother Peavey want you to come over to his house today?” his father asked.

“You don’t really have a paper due Tuesday, do you?” Mom asked.

Uh oh. Tag team.

“No, I told a lie to get out of going. I know it was wrong.”

“But
why
did you lie?” His father glanced at his mother over Bobby’s head.

“I didn’t want to be alone with Brother Peavey.”

“Why? Has he ever touched you?” Dad’s voice seemed suddenly sharper. “Inappropriately?”

“What? No!”
But someone else sure did, Dad, and now I don’t know what’s in my head and what’s not.
“I asked him if I could come talk to him about something and he invited me over. Then I guess I was just scared from the dream.”

“Bobby,” his mother said, and laid a hand on his leg. He tried not to visibly tense. “You haven’t done anything wrong, and you can always talk to us. We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s bothering you. Were you going to talk to Brother Peavey about something that happened yesterday?”

But I
can’t
talk to you about it, Mom, because you’re part of what I wanted to talk to him about.

Despite this knowledge, his stomach ached with the need to tell them everything. He didn’t like keeping secrets from them. But all the same, his stomach didn’t ache quite as much as his heart ached at the thought of missing out on a date—a
real
date—with Amy Carmichael.

Or at the thought of his mother suddenly becoming someone else, pawing at his pants and telling him she wanted to suck his dick, if he’d only give her a dollar.

“Did Tanner do something to scare you?” she prodded, shaking him out of his reverie.

“No,” Bobby said, and took a deep breath. “Not Tanner.”

“Did
someone
do something?”

Bobby nodded. “Tanner was in a bad mood because he’d gotten in trouble for nig—for ringing doorbells and running away. I thought maybe getting a candy bar would help, and we went to Crossen’s store. On the way he asked his friend Joey to come with us. He’s big and goony and not very nice.”

In his head, he heard Joey’s voice, tight with fury.
You go under there and bring me back a souvenir, or I’m going to stomp the shit out of you.
His hands, in his lap, tightened into fists.

“What happened,” his father said. It wasn’t a question.

“We got into a fight, sort of. He hit me a couple of times and pushed me down and I twisted my ankle.” Nothing that was
technically
a lie, as long as you counted chest pokes as hits.

“What did you fight about?”

“He said Starsky and Hutch were fags, and that I was one because I liked them.”

Again, technically true. Lying wasn’t as hard as he thought.

“And then he
hit
you?” Mom asked, aghast.

Bobby nodded. His eyes burned, not because he was misleading his parents but because it was so easy. No wonder Brother Peavey always preached about how the tongue was so evil.

“What’s his last name?” Dad asked. “I want to call his parents and talk to them.”

“
No!
” Bobby nearly screamed. “That would just make it worse for me the next time I go over there.”

“He needs to learn he can’t just hit people he disagrees with.”

Dad, I think if you got a look at his father you’d understand where he gets it.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he said, “Please don’t. It’s all over and I never have to see him again. I’m not hurt, just embarrassed because I started crying and they laughed at me. Can’t we just forget it happened? Please?”

“Is that what kept you from sleeping last night?” Mom said.

She knows there’s something else.

“Well,” he said, hanging his head and grinning again, guiltily. “There’s one more thing. Tanner told us a scary story about a haunted house, and that’s what made it hard to sleep.”

“Oh, Bobby, don’t fill your head with that kind of nonsense. You know there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“That’s a lot easier to believe in the daylight than in the middle of the night,” his father said. “Especially when you’re twelve.”

“Almost thirteen,” Bobby said.

His father draped his arm around Bobby’s neck and pulled him into a half-hug. This time, Bobby didn’t flinch or tense up. Maybe the passage of time was making things less dramatic for him. “Still twelve, kiddo. Don’t make me feel any older than I already do.”

Bobby giggled. “Yessir.”

“Maybe I should teach you how to fight back. Put bullies in their place.”

“That’d be
great
.” He was starting to think Grandma Rose didn’t know what she was talking about. Dad was cool, not a hippie-dippy. A hippie-dippy would have advised him to run away like a baby, he was sure of it. Popping Joey Garraty a good one in the chops would be almost as fine a thing as he could think of. Bobby raised his fists into a fighting position. “He needs to be put in his place.”

“Slow down, Ali,” his father said, laughing. “It’ll take a few lessons.”

“Who’s Ali?”

“You’re killing me here, kid.”

Bobby looked from his father to his mother and back again. “Does this mean I’m not in trouble?”

“In trouble?” his mom asked, genuinely puzzled. “For what?”

“For freaking out at church.”

“We weren’t mad at you, sweetie, we were worried.”

“Sorry,” Bobby said.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” She squeezed his leg and started to get up. “Though in the future it might be best if you didn’t lie to Brother Peavey.”

“Yes’m.”
It’s now or never.
“There
is
something I need to talk about.”

She let herself sink back onto the couch. “What?”

“There’s a carnival going on at the Gateway Shopping Center. Amy Carmichael told me about it after church, and invited me if I could meet her there. Can I go?”

Bobby thought his cheeks couldn’t be any hotter if he were standing in the fires of hell itself.

“On a date?” his father asked, beaming.

“Yessir.” Now the heat was creeping around the back of his neck. “I think so.”

“Oh, Bobby,” his mom said, her eyes twinkling. “Amy’s
pretty
. And such a sweet girl. Of course you can.”

Bobby sagged against the back of the couch, his happy smile transforming into one a little more dopey. The nervous flutters filled his chest again, and once again he found them not so bad. Kind of nice, actually. He didn’t bother correcting his mom, but Amy wasn’t just pretty. She was beautiful. “Awesome.”

“Hooray, Bobby’s got a girlfriend!” Dana cried from somewhere in the hallway. Definitely not as far as her bedroom, that was for sure. Hearing the word from someone else’s mouth, even if it was just from her dorkness, made his heart give a little jump.

His father rolled his eyes and shook his head good-naturedly. “Dana, come in here, please.”

A few seconds later she came around the corner of the hall doorway, a sheepish expression on her face and a Raggedy Ann doll tucked loosely under one arm.

“Were you eavesdropping on our conversation?” Dad asked.

“That was Ann. I was having tea with Luke, Leia, and the droids, and she kept interrupting us with gossip.” Dana sniffed. “I think it’s very rude of her.”

Their mother sighed, but Bobby sensed no anger in it, just amused irritation.

“I guess we’re done here, kiddo,” Dad said, and gave him another quick hug. After Bobby slid off the couch his father patted the cushion where he’d been and said, “Have a seat, Dana.”

The evening church service was like any other, about an hour long and mostly boring. Neither Norman nor Amy Carmichael put in an appearance. Sometimes you had to take the bad with the good, Bobby figured. There was lots of singing and witnessing, and Brother Peavey’s short sermon was about the grace of God, something Bobby thought he could use a little bit of after his earlier truth-stretching.

Afterwards, Mom suggested they stop by Dairy Queen for ice cream, and they sat at one of the outside tables to eat. The night was pleasant, still warm for the time of year but no one was complaining. Winter would be along soon enough, with its dreary gray days and cold nights. Humming sodium lights painted the parking lot a sickly orange, and the moths that still swarmed them cast great swooping shadows on the cars and customers beneath. The restaurant was inundated with people, perhaps wanting something cold after sermons filled with fire and brimstone, Bobby thought. When the Franks were finished, they dropped their trash in the red receptacle and loaded into the car.

“Who’s up for a drive?” Dad asked.

“Me!” Dana cried.

“Sure,” Bobby said.

Dad pulled out onto the Beltline and cruised into the darkness. Bobby liked seeing the city at night, all the stores with their colorful signs and lights—not many of them were actually open on a Sunday, but the exteriors were still lit—and the expanses of star-filled sky in between. At Sixth Avenue, the main street through the city, he went left, and Bobby started to have an idea of where they were headed. Sure enough, soon he could see the lazily spinning arcs of a double Ferris Wheel over the buildings in the distance, its spokes a bright neon green.

“I thought you might want to see it at night, since it won’t look like this in the daytime,” Dad said, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Carnivals always look better in the dark.”

“Awesome,” Bobby murmured. They were closer now, and more of the extravagantly lit rides vied for his attention. There were whirling things aglow in hot pink and purple, spinning cups patriotically pulsing with red, white, and blue light, and a gigantic orange ring track with a car that ran around its interior, dangling people upside down at the top.
Ring of Fire
blazed across the sign in front of the ride in flashing white bulbs, and just the sight of it made Bobby feel like he had a bowling ball in his belly.
That one doesn’t look like much fun.

Dad turned into the parking lot and made a slow circuit around the outer edge. Even with the windows up Bobby thought he could smell popcorn and cotton candy. Down deep, he knew the carnival was small and kind of lame, nowhere near as good as the county fair, which had been back at the beginning of September out on the much larger fairgrounds, but he didn’t care. He hadn
’
t had a date with Amy Carmichael to the fair. With her at his side, even a place like Opryland or Six Flags would pale in comparison. He grinned out the window in anticipation. Maybe if he manned up and rode the
Ring of Fire
, she’d be scared and want to hold his hand. That would be worth the terror of hanging helplessly at the top of the ride.

Probably.

“Bobby and Amy, sitting in a tree,” Dana sang, giggling. “K-I-S-S—”

“Knock it off, goober,” he said, but he was thankful it was dark so no one could see his face, which felt red enough to give some of the neon tubes out there a run for their money. The car turned back out onto Sixth Avenue, but Bobby felt like part of him stayed back at the carnival, waiting for his date.