The tale continues....

 

Orange, yellow, and red streamers were fall-colored paper snakes, weaving and twisting through the rafters of the Hope Junior High School's gymnasium. Tacky, but traditional, Halloween music was blasting from the speakers, which had been set up on a makeshift stage at one end of the room.

There seemed to be an invisible line drawn between the boys and the girls. No one was dancing. Most of the boys were spread out in small, talkative groups on the bleachers. The girls were gossiping clusters by the punch bowl.

Fourteen-year-old Clive Wallace elbowed his best friend Duane Peterson and said, "Wanna' see some girls shriek? Watch this."

Clive sauntered arrogantly over to the punch bowl and tossed a penny in it. The shiny copper piece scattered the orange slices floating atop the cool, red punch. He followed the penny-toss with two quarters, forcefully thrown.

Thirteen-year-old Stephanie Hebert squeaked and looked down at her light-blue outfit in dismay. The swan on the front of her blouse now looked like it had been mangled by a dog. Red splatters speckled the swan's neck and wings; it was bleeding to death!

"Clive!" Stephanie's best friend Eliza screeched. "You're ruining everything! Why did you have to do that?"

"What? The chubby girl can't defend herself?" Clive asked, feigning disbelief and jutting a thumb at Stephanie.

"Lucky for you, Stephanie is shy!" the super-thin Eliza countered with animosity. "But I'm not, and I have no problem speaking up when I see a troublemaker acting like a jerk!"

Their argument had drawn a gawking crowd. No one wanted to risk turning Clive's attention away from Eliza. Clive was the school bully. Clive's posse had come over to hover at his back. The four teenaged boys behind him were wearing smirks, and they had their arms crossed over their pubescent chests.

"How about you shut your mouth, Stick Girl, or I'll shut it for you," Clive threatened menacingly. He stepped toward Eliza, using his 5-inch advantage over the girl to appear as daunting as possible.

Eliza pushed the sleeves of her blouse toward her scrawny elbows, and then she posed with her fists on her hips. "So...the tough guy is going to hit a girl?" she sneered, not backing down. "What's the matter, Clive? Have all the boys in the school proved to be too much for you to handle? Now you need to pick fights with the girls?"

Duane stepped between the arguing pair to interrupt their squabble. "Let's just jet, Clive," he pleaded while eyeing the principal, who was making his way over to the ruckus with a stern expression.

Clive smirked at his buddy and told him, "Might as well. This dance is lame anyway. Nobody's even dancing!"

"Yeah," Ron Hale piped up, agreeing with the leader of his group. "Let's bounce before I slip into a coma!"

Clive glowered at Eliza one last time, and then he turned his back on her to push through the crowd of onlookers. His posse was right behind him. They shoved kids out of their way as they made a beeline for the gymnasium exit.

***

"What should we do now?" Ron asked, trying to keep up with the group as they hit the street. Ron ran a hand through his short, blond hair and suggested, "We could beat up trick-or-treaters and take their candy."

"We did that last year," Clive said, waving his hand and dismissing Ron's idea.

"And the year before that," Duane added with a nod of his head, strutting beside Clive.

"We could egg houses, then," Ron offered excitedly, jogging backwards in front of Clive and Duane.

"Make one more stupid suggestion and we'll play connect the dots with your plump, freckled face!" Clive shot back, turning to Duane to see if his threat had earned a laugh. It had.

Ron let Clive and Duane move ahead. He hid his disappointment behind a fake smile, falling into step with the other two boys - Casey Wilkins and Jean Lemoine.

Casey could tell that Ron was upset, despite Ron's grin. He shrugged as if to say What can we do? Clive is the boss. Then he dared to mention, "We could always spend the night in your tree fort, Clive."

Clive's thin five-foot-ten frame came to a stop, forcing the three boys behind him to freeze in their tracks or risk colliding into Clive's back. Clive turned around and shook his pointer finger at Casey. "That's the best idea, yet! I should have thought of that."

"Yeah," Duane agreed, punching Clive on the arm. "My brother has one of those Ouija boards. We can try to summon the dead from your tree house."

"It's a done deal," Clive decided aloud. "You guys double-time-it back to your houses and get what you need," he told Casey, Ron, and Jean. "Duane and I will get the witch board and meet you at my tree fort."

Clive and his posse set off down the street, whooping and hopping with excitement now that they had a plan. At the next corner, they split up to carry out their assignments.

***

Clive's tree house was positioned securely in the middle of a sturdy maple. Its stretching branches still wore the colors of fall, but it wouldn't be long before the vibrant leaves littered the ground so the maple could muscle the first snowfall. The maple stood jealously amidst a cluster of evergreens, which flaunted their foliage proudly. Soon the maple would be bare; its nudity would alienate it from its rivals.

Clive and Duane strode through Clive's backyard with their duffels. Duane had his older brother's Ouija board tucked under an arm, and Clive led the way with a flashlight. The tree fort was nearly half a mile away from Clive's house, through the woods.

It was a precarious climb up the rope ladder with all their gear but they made it without incident. They threw their stuff aside and immediately set to unrolling the five sleeping bags that Clive kept in the built-in storage chest, located on one of the fort's four walls. There was just enough space to spread the bags, leaving only a small square of the fort's floor bare in its center.

Next, Clive withdrew the lantern which was also stored in the chest. He lit it easily, and the inside of the fort flourished with an eerie glow. Clive placed the lantern on top of the chest, and the two boys hunkered on the floor - Indian-style.

"Boo-ha-ha-ha!" Casey shouted in a deep voice, announcing his arrival. He pulled himself into the tree house and claimed one of the sleeping bags.

Jean poked his head into the tree fort and asked, "Someone want to take this for me?" He was trying to balance his bag of gear without falling off the rope ladder.

Casey grabbed the bag from him and commented, "Jeez! Did you bring your whole room?"

Jean climbed into the fort and answered, "I brought my dad's cast iron fire bowl so we can make S'mores." He grinned at the others and added, "And before you ask, yes, I brought the ingredients."

"I knew there was a good reason we invited you," Clive said with a chuckle.

Ron was the last one to arrive. His freckled face popped up through the opening in the floor, and then he hoisted his bag into the fort with a grunt. "Did I miss anything?" he asked, lifting his weight through the square portal.

"You missed me kissing your mother," Duane quipped, slapping his knee. "Didn't you pass her in the woods? She just left."

"You're hysterical," Ron retorted, red-in-the-face. He parked himself on the last sleeping bag and unzipped his duffel.

"Okay, pantywaists, let's get the show on the road," Clive commanded, motioning for everyone to settle down. "Duane, you break out the board. Jean, set up your fire bowl and start making the grub."

Jean placed his dad's fire bowl in front of him, and then he stood to collect the bag of kindling kept in the far corner. He filled the bowl halfway with twigs and lit them, sparking a flame. Then he poked holes in a sheet of tinfoil and draped it over the flame. Casey was already building the S'mores, with Ron's help.

"We're ready to go," Duane announced, sitting at the head of the Ouija board. "Gather round, girls."

The boys formed a circle around the board. Clive had snagged the position directly across from Duane. Casey and Ron were to his left, and Jean was to his right - so he could keep a watchful eye over the melting S'mores.

They each placed a pointer digit on the plastic indicator, which was triangular and had a small circular window in its middle. The letters of the alphabet formed an arc across the board, and the words yes and no were written in bold letters near its top.

"You ask the questions, Duane," Clive commanded, fully expecting to be obeyed without argument.

"Here we go, then," Duane responded dutifully. His face was set with determination. He began, "Spirits of the dead, speak to us."

After a minute of silence, Ron stated, "Nothing's happening."

"Shut up and wait!" Clive ordered, glaring at Ron. "Give it a dang minute!"

"Are there any spirits who want to communicate with us?" Duane continued, concentrating on the board. "If you can hear me...answer my question."

Ron sucked in a breath as the indicator slid across the board to the word yes. "You're moving it!" he accused angrily, pointing at Duane with his free hand.

"I am not, you bonehead!" Duane argued, sending Ron a smoldering scowl.

"Enough!" Clive hissed. "Ask another question!"

"What is your name?" Duane asked with his chin squared, as if he'd been proclaimed winner of the argument.

The indicator moved again. It descended straight to the letter T. Then it dove over to the letter I. From there, it dipped to the letter M.

"Tim?" Duane said, adding up the letters. "Is that your name?"

The indicator ascended to the word yes.

"I have to check the S'mores," Jean pointed out, taking his finger off the plastic piece. He filled a paper plate with the finished treats and set the plate by the others. "I have to feed the fire and make some more. Play without me."

"It's not a game, you idiot," Clive responded curtly. "This is serious stuff; spiritual stuff."

"Whatever," Jean said, giving Clive the finger. "I gave up board games when I was twelve."

"Your loss," Clive said with a shrug. "Don't blame me if you miss out on the excitement. Of course, you always have seeing your sister naked in the shower to look forward to," Clive sneered with a grin.

Jean ignored Clive's remark and began to build more S'mores.

"Tim," Duane continued, addressing the spirit. "What is your last name?"

The triangular dial moved beneath their fingers. It raced to the first letter - A. From there, it moved quickly - N...D...E...R...S...O...N.

"Tim Anderson?" Duane called out to the supposed spirit, looking at Clive with disbelief. "Isn't that the name of the freak that killed himself last month? The one we used to pick on?" he asked Clive with an expression of fear.

Clive didn't have the opportunity to answer. The indicator slid upward on the board. They could see the word yes clearly through the dial's little window.

"Who's moving it?" Clive asked, reddening in the face.

Ron stuffed a S'more in his mouth and mumbled around it, "Not me."

Everyone else claimed to be innocent, too.

"Fine," Clive said through gritted teeth. "Ask the little geek what he wants," he told Duane.

"Tim Anderson...what do you want?" Duane asked obediently. Though he'd done as told, his eyes were darting around the interior of the tree fort apprehensively.

J...U...S...T...I...C...E.

"Justice...for what?" Duane asked in a shaky tone. Chill bumps were forming on his arms, despite the three layers he wore above the waist.

H...U...M...I...L...I...A...T...I...O...N.

"This is stupid," Casey said, glancing about them anxiously. "We should stop."

"Must be hard being a chicken," Clive remarked hotly. "Had I known you were a coward, I would have set up a crib for you instead of a sleeping bag!"

"I'm not the one who used to pick on him!" Casey argued, shaking his fist at Clive. "You're the one who should be shaking in your boots!"

"He's dead, you spineless twerp! He can't hurt us!" Clive shot back. Then he ordered Duane to ask another question.

Duane complied, although the finger he had on the game's dial was now shaking slightly. "How do you think you're going to get justice when you're dead?" he asked the alleged spirit of Tim Anderson.

D...R...E...A...D.

"You can't scare us!" Clive hollered. He had his face tilted up, as if Tim's ghost was floating just under the fort's roof.

The indicator moved again, this time without encouragement. W...A...T...C...H. It paused for a heartbeat, and then it jumped to the M. Then to the E.

"Aahh...guys..." Jean stammered, backing away from the fire bowl.

The flame in the bowl danced upward, growing so hot it melted the tinfoil and ate their S'mores. The stench of burnt marshmallows, chocolate, and crackers filled the tree house.

The boys stood and grouped together, watching incredulously as the bag of marshmallows opened. Two marshmallows shot into the air, followed by a dozen cinnamon crackers and a piece of chocolate! Then a face formed out of the pieces; marshmallows made the eyes, chocolate posed as the nose, and crackers shaped a gaping mouth.

Suddenly, a fierce wind blew up through the portal in the floor! Fall-colored leaves swirled on the current, finally settling in an arc over the S'more face that hovered in the air. Now the face had leaves for hair!

The flame in the bowl jumped again and ignited one of the sleeping bags on fire. The boys were now huddled fearfully, inching for the opening in the floor as if they were one.

"Move it!" Clive commanded, pushing the others toward the portal. "The fort is on fire!"

The face laughed; an eerie sound that shook the tree house, causing the group to stumble. Before they could make their escape, a violent gust of breeze twisted through the portal, forcing them back. It swished downward, dousing the spreading fire. Then it was a giant screw, funneling its way over to the lantern! The light went out with a hiss.

"I can't see a thing!" Duane complained with a trembling tone. "What's happening?"

They were immersed in black; it was a cold shroud, settling over them.

To be continued....

Copyright 2007 - Sheila Roy