+ Chapter 1: The Local Boys

- Chapter 1: The Local Boys

Chapter 1: The Local Boys

The local boys called it Little Africa. What troubled Christopher Bennett was the erroneous perception of some who referred to an unremarkable field at Webster and Garfield as Little Africa, having no concern for the importance of the real Little Africa. The confusion arose when Sterling Hunt made an off-hand comment one day at recess about meeting up at “Little Africa, next to G&N.” Somehow, for some reason that made no sense whatsoever to Christopher Bennett, the name stuck with a group of obviously unsophisticated and less cultured boys -- primarily those who lived west of Howard Street.

The insidious nature of the deception surrounding the imposter Little Africa was magnified by the nearby G&N convenience store that attracted children from as far away as Santa Rita. From the moment one opened the unassuming pewter-colored handle, dusty glass door, surrounded by sun faded cardboard signs that screamed promotions like, “Farm Fresh Eggs .78/dz” and “Whole Milk $2.24/g,” the overwhelming sense of gratification was palpable. The aroma of smoked sausage was met with the sight of a gleaming candy isle that rivaled any store in west Texas. The clap of flip-flops on the linoleum tile floor with a corner missing here and there, the almost startling cold of the air conditioner that seemed like overkill for such a small store, the sound of KGKL tunes wafting through the air…it was all too much. The desire always outweighed the budget of any kid north of Sherwood Way. Eyes would drift from Jordan Almonds to candied cigarettes to Astro Pops to peanut patties, and on and on. They would wander around listlessly, sometimes for a half hour or more, picking up one thing, returning it to get another (rarely put back where it belonged), counting change, grabbing one of those strange compressed powder lollipops, and finally negotiating with themselves about which item was more desirable. Those who were really down on their luck had options too as they could browse the bottom shelf where individually wrapped candies were available for only a nickel. Meanwhile, Mr. Ben would sit on a barstool behind the counter, sometimes reading the paper and sometimes staring at a black-and-white TV with rabbit ears, showing more static than content. And he would always ask the same question when they checked out, “You boys got everything ya want?” It was a rhetorical question of course, because the answer was always a resounding “No” in their minds, yet the word that left their lips was always “Yes.” They would check out and leave, oftentimes not realizing that they were more than a few cents short, but Mr. Ben didn’t say anything. The treasures left behind would wait for another day.

Even Christopher Bennett loved a run to G&N. That was part of the frustration of it all because G&N sat right next to the fake Little Africa, seeming to lend credibility to the name that it didn’t own. The name that Sterling so casually attributed to it one day at recess, having no concern for the travesty of what he had done. It was the ultimate disrespect to, what was in Christopher’s mind, hallowed ground. Did he not know that the real Little Africa was a magical place that stretched from the underbelly of the Junius Street Bridge almost to Edmund Blvd? Was he unaware or just ignoring that the enormous pit surrounded by terrifying, almost vertical dirt trails was the entrance to a whole network of underground tunnels built by a lost civilization? That was the word on the street anyway, and Chris believed it. A less “in the know” kid from Alta Loma Elementary once postulated that it was just a big hole that had been dug for the dirt and caliche, for sake of Houston Harte Freeway that was slated for construction in the coming years. Christopher Bennett knew this couldn’t be the case because he’d heard the stories, and he just had a sense that something fantastical was surrounding Little Africa. In his mind it had to be a portal to some other place, some other dimension, some other…something that would be a complete departure from the unremarkable nature of day-to-day life in San Angelo, Texas.

Even if the more unbelievable stories surrounding Little Africa were false, there was simply no comparison to the field at Webster and Garfield. Sure, that one had riding trails with some awesome moguls that could send an unprepared idiot flying into cactus if encountered unaware. But there was no enormous pit larger than a city block and at least forty feet deep with steep trails winding down the sides. There was no overpass as the gateway to the enchanted land beneath the city streets, and no nearby capillary of the Concho River. There was no darkness like the shadow that was cast over Little Africa by the overgrown Mesquite trees that surrounded it, not to mention the bridge that loomed overhead with a strange, echoing “kablop, kablop” of cars going from nowhere to nowhere all day. The surface-level field just didn’t have near the mystical energy that Chris sensed at the real Little Africa. Of course, it didn’t have G&N either, but that only added to the sense of mystery and uneasiness that one experienced after descending down the supporting slope of the Junius Street overpass.

G&N felt safe and familiar. On the front door, in the lower, left-hand corner, there was a fluorescent orange poster with a jet black hand. All San Angelo children understood that hand to mean “Safe Place.” At Little Africa there was no benevolent Mr. Ben, no comfort in the blend of smells, feelings, sights, and sounds. Rather, this place seemed completely foreign to San Angelo, as if it didn’t belong. The authentic Little Africa was a strange, dangerous place that only the kids knew about, or so they thought. It was the location where Christopher Bennett first faced his fear and rode his banana seat bicycle down the washed out slope that was once some sort of vehicle ramp. It was dark and smelled like damp soil and mildew. It mattered, probably more to Chris than to anybody else in all of San Angelo, or the whole world for that matter. It held weight in his mind to the point that the local boys referring to another location as Little Africa frustrated and enraged him. It drove him to preach with great fervency to every soul he encountered about the location of the real Little Africa, if the topic came up (and sometimes when it didn’t). He was passionate about it but couldn’t articulate all of the reasons.

The group of ten-to-twelve year old boys that Chris ran with mostly attended Austin Elementary School. Justin Kade was the only regular who was enrolled in the Catholic school downtown. His grandmother whom he lived with was the impetus behind that arrangement. He was in the fifth grade, as was Chris. Two of the boys were in the fourth grade: Emmett Jackson and Trent Mason. Kyle Marcum was in the sixth grade.

The gulf between the sixth grade and the lower ones seemed like a vast expanse, and Kyle stood out as the go-to leader when stacked against the others. He was held in high regard by the neighborhood boys. Kyle was almost a foot taller than Justin, and Justin was taller than the others. But it wasn’t about his physical appearance; it was more about his general demeanor. From their perspective he seemed to have the wisdom of a sage due to an intrinsic leadership quality that carried weight with just about every other kid in his circle, and even some who attended Lee Jr. High.

None of the boys realized that Kyle likely wouldn’t run with them if he didn’t live so close to Christopher Bennett. Kyle lived on North Street, two doors down and across the street from Chris. The two had become friends due more to proximity than common interests, and so Kyle became part of the group over the course of years. If not for that, he would have kept his distance. Kyle understood his place in the world, and he knew that just about everybody in all three sixth grade classes looked to him as the essence of cool. That was a status that he would not have risked by interacting with lower grade school boys out in the open if not for knowing Chris as his neighbor. Despite his reservations and all of the risks where his reputation and street cred were concerned, his outside relationship with Chris and the others eventually outweighed his pride to the point that everybody at Austin Elementary knew that they were a pack.

Kyle had made the rounds with just about every girl the sixth grade that fit a certain criteria. He easily won the hearts and minds of those girls who were classified as “out of my league” by most boys. In private, when Kyle was away from the campus and chatting with the group, he explained that he’d only hook up with girls that “have curves.” In short, Kyle had all the right stuff, or at least that perception in his own eyes and those who knew him. He also had a younger brother, an even younger sister, and most importantly a father and a mother who both lived at home. His family life was stable, and that was more than any of the other boys in the group would ever know.

Kyle was in his usual place at the head of the group as they rode along North Van Buren on a sunny, perfect September Saturday. None of the crew gave a second thought to the importance and value of the time that they were living in. Even Emmett with all of his wisdom and foresight never considered that 1979 would soon give way to 1980 and the world would start changing at such an exponential rate that they would all look back, after what seemed like only minutes, to wonder what had happened to their lives. No, they weren’t contemplating anything so philosophical or forward thinking on this day. Kyle was just determined to stay in front of the pack, knowing that Justin had a tendency to occasionally challenge his position. The others were following along, oblivious to the significance of this point in time or their place in the world. None of the boys realized that they’d never be as content and conflicted as they were in the fleeting span of time from late 1979 until the end of summer, 1980.

Justin often made moves to improve his social standing with passive-aggressive tactics that he didn’t mastermind because he didn’t even realize that he was doing it. This behavior likely arose from his earlier childhood with a drug addicted mother who never knew which one-night-stand was Justin’s father. Her unceremonious departure further contributed to Justin’s independence and simmering rage. There was no legal transfer of custody when his grandmother, Edna Murdock, assumed the role of caretaker to Justin. All he could remember was being dropped off to stay with Edna for one night, or so he was told. He had questions when Claire failed to return the following day and yet wasn’t terribly emotional about it because there was no closeness between Justin and his mother. He was more of a burden than anything, sleeping on the couch or on the floor as Claire hopped from man to man. Sometimes it was a manufactured home at the Twin Buttes RV Park and sometimes it was a chaotic house or apartment, almost always with little-to-no furniture. Once he lived for almost three weeks at the Roosevelt Motel where he slept on a palette in the bathroom with his head beneath a filthy toilet. That was four random men ago. Then Claire dropped him for a visit at Edna’s house and that was the last he ever saw or heard from her alive. After three days he overheard Edna arguing on the phone, which he knew to regard his apparently new normal.

The memory of Edna holding the yellow-gold handset that was attached to an avocado green wall-mount rotary phone never left Justin. She was in the kitchen working on dinner, nearly overcome by heat for which the dining room window unit could not compensate. The extra-long rubbery, wound cord that connected the handset to the base unit was stretched almost to capacity as she aggressively darted around the kitchen, all the while holding the phone to her ear by pressing it against her shoulder, keeping her hands free. Justin’s eyes landed on the tangles that formed when the cord compressed and he wondered why it never returned to a perfect state like a narrow rubber Slinky. The cord had become all knotted and twisted so that it could no longer assume the original shape, much like Justin’s life. Edna kept moving the handset from one ear to the other, all the while rattling off enraged rants. He heard phrases like, “Your choices are your responsibility!” and “I’m too damn old for this!” In the end she slammed the receiver onto the base unit and cried. Thirty minutes later they were having dinner -- Justin mostly picking at the spaghetti while Edna just sat and stared at the window. Neither touched their sweet tea that was mostly watered down with partially melted ice cubes. The only comfort was the coolness and the sound of the window unit, whirring incessantly and only really keeping the dining room cool. Finally, after about ten uncomfortable minutes, Justin looked at Edna and she looked at him, then she exhaled and partially smiled. He belonged to her from that moment on.

Whether it was Claire’s abandonment, or her utter lack of love and affection for the six years that he did know her, it was obvious that Justin had become very independent and always wanted the world to know that he didn’t really need anybody. He wasn’t looking to Kyle for leadership and he was just as content alone as with the group. At least, that was the impression that everybody had of him. From time to time he would get competitive and challenge the pecking order, causing Kyle to stand up and pedal harder to stay in the lead. Justin approached life this way, almost never obeying Sister Martinez the first time when she barked orders at him. The irony that Edna enrolled Justin at the Catholic school was not lost on the others. The discipline and regimen of that place was in stark opposition to Justin’s nature. There was a quiet obstinance brooding in Justin’s heart. It was under the surface, not quite rebellion, but not far from it. That side of him was visible as the boys rode against the curb on North Van Buren on that gorgeous September day in 1979.

Soon the boys arrived at the strange intersection of Forest Park and North Van Buren, which was an unusual crossroads for several reasons. It was there that Forest Park became Wilshire to the east, although there was another section of Forest Park just about thirty feet ahead that meandered on to Jefferson like a lost orphan. So two roads intersected but it was technically three for no discernable reason. Also, the rhythm of the neighborhood was broken at this intersection. Whereas everything to the south was cleanly organized as tract homes on a consistent grid, Forest Park wound along the contour of Brentwood Park, and Brentwood Park was built around the windy Brentwood creek. The consistent order of what lay behind was lost as the boys emerged into the park area. This was the place where four of the five boys would almost always cringe because Trent usually wanted to ride through the creek if the water was low -- a prospect that always led to muddy bikes and bodies if the group capitulated. It was fun the first few times but the group had grown weary of that adventure, except for Trent. He loved the challenge and the filth of, what was in his mind, a trek down the Amazon dodging alligators and venomous water moccasins.

The creek that ran through Brentwood Park had once been a tributary of the Concho River. It was usually just a dry ravine except when the rains came. The meager indentation existed with little change until the late 1800’s when San Angelo started to grow from a nascent frontier town to a well-known west Texas trading post called Saint Angela (also known for the night life). Eventually the park area was allocated by the city and the east-west boundaries were defined from Howard to Jefferson. Initially there were wooden bridges that spanned the ravine on either end but finally the land was shored up and the creek was hemmed in and cut off, both from the source and from the destination. The terrain to the west had served as the source until then, breathing life into Brentwood Creek whenever it rained, which was seldom but heavy on occasion. There was also an underground spring that fed the western end of the creek but it stopped flowing when the land was leveled with caliche and wagon loads of top soil that were shipped in from nearby Ben Ficklin and Christoval, and some from as far away as Robert Lee. A natural pond formed on the eastern area of the park as the meager flow pooled, some filtering down through the rocky earth and red clay, eventually finding its way to the underground feeders of the Concho River.

The problem with Brentwood Creek was that it had a tendency to throw destructive tantrums when heavy rains came. Violent west Texas thunderstorms caused the stagnant creek to transform into a raging torrent from time to time, washing out the roadways and leaving behind a muddy swamp that swallowed wagon wheels to the axle and stayed wet for months at a time. This continued well after the advent of automobiles until finally the City of San Angelo launched a public works project in 1946 to clean up Brentwood Park for good. It was then that they excavated and widened the ravine to about twenty-five feet across and four feet down, shoring up the sides with mortared stone and the base with concrete. One socialite who was well connected to M.L. Leddy’s, and also had a husband on the City Council, had the idea that they should add boat ramps in hopes that locals might float along in canoes, twirling parasols like a Georges Seurat painting. The idea had legs but ultimately failed because the almost stagnant water bred hordes of mosquitoes, or was useless as a recreation outlet when empty or almost empty, as it usually was. Nevertheless, the three boat ramps remained.

What nobody considered was that Trent Mason would grace planet earth in the year 1969, and he would see adventure and thrills in a man-made creek having a layer of moss and mud atop a concrete floor, sometimes holding some residual water and sometimes just viscous mud. To Trent, trudging through Brentwood Creek on a bicycle, fighting to spin the crank once more or risk falling over into the sludge or against the jagged stone wall…that was the ultimate thrill. The boat ramps made for excellent entry points. One could ride west all the way to Howard where the creek floor elevated and emptied out right onto the street. But unfortunately for Trent, the other boys weren’t nearly as enthusiastic about “running the creek,” as he called it.

Brentwood Park interested Trent not just for the excitement of the ride but also because of rumors of what lied beneath. Stories had circulated for decades of how the creek excavation had unearthed human remains when the park was formalized in 1946. The estimate ranged between thirty to fifty partial skeletons that were uncovered while digging out the creek. Supposedly, this discovery was kept on the down-low by Concho Valley Excavation Corp, which was the company that was hired to engineer the new and improved Brentwood Creek. The project was their first of any consequence and uncovering an ancient graveyard of unknown origin would have derailed the whole effort. So, as the story went, it was quietly agreed by all involved, including some who were stalwarts of the upper stratification in San Angelo, that they would discretely relocate the bones in the truckloads of dirt that were hauled off. They were supposed to repurpose the soil to an arboretum along the river but the risk of exposure was too great. If any bones were overlooked and discovered at the new location then the whole plan would unravel. The cover story was that the soil exhumed from Brentwood Creek was more stone than usable topsoil. In an effort to stave off any questions, top soil was brought in from elsewhere and relocated to the arboretum at no additional charge. The dig sites were roped off and curious onlookers were redirected with warnings of voids that might cause the surrounding soil to collapse at any moment. Each day they made a careful sweep to ensure that no exposed remains were visible, just in case a local looky-loo crept in during the night. Eventually the two city blocks of creek were dug out, the walls of stone were built, and the concrete was laid. All workers were compensated, along with a kickback for their silence, and the story was buried. But word gets around in San Angelo, Texas and it didn’t stay a secret forever. This led to all sorts of speculation that there must be bodies buried all throughout Brentwood Park, most likely of Indian origin although there was no documented evidence that any clothing or artifacts were discovered to warrant the assumption. Questions swirled about the supposed destination for the relocated human remains. The general consensus was that they had been driven somewhere far away from San Angelo and dumped, but it was all just rumor. The final interesting tidbit regarding this local lore was that the alternate site where the replacement top soil was obtained, leaving an enormous hole in the ground, had later become known by the local boys as Little Africa. This rumor was contradicted by the state of Little Africa in 1979 because there had obviously been recent activity at the site but it remained the scuttlebutt with the local boys nonetheless.

The boys descended down a small hill and passed through the North Van Buren / Forest Lane / Wilshire intersection, scantly checking for cross traffic with no real ability to stop in time had they encountered a vehicle. None were present and so they sailed on through the section of North Van Buren that bisected Brentwood Park. The creek crossed beneath them, emptying out to the pond on their right. Trent started to yell out, “Let’s run the cr…” only to be immediately interrupted by a resounding and collective “No!” Trent stopped mid-sentence and gazed longingly at the creek to his left as they all passed by, standing on their pedals and enjoying the turbo boost that the hill and gravity had lent them. Then he started singing -- actually it was more like melodic yelling -- “Bye-bye Miss American Pie, Drove my Chevy through the levy but the levy was dry, the good ole boys are drinking whiskey and rye and singing, this will be the day that I die! This will be the day that I die!”

Trent had a habit of responding to events with song if he could conjure up any tune even remotely applicable. “American Pie” was a go-to for all things that entailed a goodbye. There was a whole litany of other songs that Trent could belt out with a nanosecond to assess and attach the song to the event. This idiosyncrasy was only one part of an intrinsic whit that emerged in Trent even as a toddler. His sudden and unexpected humor was firmly entrenched by the time he fell in with the group. Even as a fourth-grader, Trent could counter any moment with comedy, sarcasm, or a song. His title of “class clown” was well earned. Nobody could pin down the origin of Trent’s off-beat humor. He had lived an unremarkable life, moving to San Angelo from McCamey in 1974. He was too young to remember the volatile and abusive relationship that his mother endured before she fled to San Angelo and eventually took a job at the Ethicon plant. Recovery was a process but the two of them were well established with a small, two bedroom house on Coleman Street within a few short years. Trent’s life had settled into a fairly consistent rhythm by 1979, except for one little hiccup that was growing in mom’s belly. Neighbors didn’t really speak of it because the single mom with the loudmouth kid in the brown house didn’t move the needle of interest to the point that her pregnancy caused much gossip. She didn’t speak of it either, not even to Trent, except to warn him that a sibling was forthcoming by January, and to expect some changes. Trent took this in stride but there was concern that their limited resources would be spread thin, and he was especially bothered that he would likely have to share a room.

The downside of a trek north through Brentwood Park was the upside of the opposing hill. The entire park was part of a larger depression in the natural terrain, like a small valley. This was particularly problematic for Emmett because he was the smallest, and also due to his asthma and overall sickly disposition. Much of his short ten years had been an uphill battle for Emmett, having been born premature and not expected to live. However, much to the surprise of just about everybody who was following his progress, he pulled through. His father didn’t let on about his disappointment when the doctors advised that, “He just might make it after all.” It had seemed for a few days like their little problem was just going to go away. Nevertheless, Emmett held on -- much to dad’s chagrin. Then there was the accident on Knickerbocker at Johnson when he was seven. His mother, Madelyn Jackson, was driving home from a twelve hour shift at Angelo Community Hospital. She attempted to turn left, obstructing Frank Mendez who was running late to his job at Furr’s Grocery. Whether the sun was in her eyes or she wasn’t paying attention was unclear. Frank hit her so hard that the car almost did a three-sixty back into the lane she was turning from. Then another truck hit her dead on and that was the end of Madelyn Jackson. The incident left Emmett alone with his father, Will. The loss was difficult but it also solidified and strengthened his inherent tenacity. That tenacity had wrestled him from the grip of death as a newborn and it kept pushing him on through all of the obstacles and setbacks, finding him at the back of the pack and pedaling with all his might on that sunny September day in 1979.

All of Emmett’s history had also caused him to be somewhat introverted and contemplative by nature. Oftentimes he was just there, riding, sitting, drawing, reading, or whatever. Then when he did speak, it usually seemed very profound, causing the whole group to stop and listen. It wasn’t that every word uttered by Emmett was wise beyond his years but his input was so sparse in comparison to the other boys that his words carried disproportionate weight. He was just as much a part of the group as were Kyle, Justin, Trent, and Chris, although his personality could not have been more different than all of them. But that was really true of the entire group -- each boy had his place, his quirks, strengths, and glaring weaknesses. Kyle’s pride was matched by Justin’s rage while Trent’s naiveté was outdone only by Emmett’s overall physical and social weakness. Then there was the nucleus of the group: Christopher Bennett.

Chris didn’t have the strongest personality, the most overbearing leadership skills, or the quiet wisdom that was found in Emmett, and yet he was the adhesion that made all of the disparate personalities and life experiences mesh into a social order that would mark the rest of their lives. He got upset about the silliest things, least of which being the confusion about the true location of Little Africa. That soapbox was just one microcosm of a million causes that made Chris the most nervous and stressed out 11-year-old boy in west Texas. He was often anxious about something, often fighting some battle over the most insignificant minutia, and often raising his voice to a shrill pitch that made Justin want to punch him. Everything and everybody seemed to matter to Chris to the point that nobody even paid attention anymore, at least not consciously. None of the boys realized that they had gravitated to him and, in so doing, had gravitated to each other over the course of about two years.

North Street wasn’t always home to Chris. He had lived in several nearby small towns including Brady, Mason, and a short stint in Menard. Mac Bennett was his biological father but Chris had only vague recollection of him. His step-father was John Matson. John was a trucker who always seemed to come home angry and attempted to take the edge off with copious quantities of alcohol and cigarettes. This often gave way to horrendous fights between John and Chris’s mother, Laura. The fights turned violent on more than one occasion, eventually costing John a few days of his freedom as he waited for Laura to bail him out of the Tom Green County Jail. He would later brag that he spent three nights in the same cell as Henry Lee Lucas, although that claim was never substantiated. Chris never saw John again after that short stint in jail. He left for his usual run to San Saba and never returned. Following John’s abrupt departure Laura and Chris moved into in a house on North Street to live with her mother. Then she passed after a very short fight with a very aggressive cancer. He was five when his grandmother died. Laura and Chris had lived in that same white house with chipped red trim ever since.

Chris started Kindergarten at Austin Elementary the day after the funeral. Eventually the memory of his grandmother faded until she was just a mental footnote. He hardly thought of her at all by the time he entered the first grade, having no appreciation of the impact that his late grandmother had on his life. He was too focused on insignificant details to think about her. Matters such as his left shoelace that had lost the tiny plastic aglet and was frayed could consume his full concentration. Therefore, details like the parting of grandma were quickly pushed out of his consciousness until the issue perceived as most pressing was addressed, after which he would mentally move on without a concern for the loss. His grandmother was largely responsible for the ensuing years of semi-stability that Chris enjoyed while growing up in the house on North Street but he was too distracted and inwardly focused to realize that until much later in life.

Laura worked as the receptionist at All Smiles Dental and occasionally supplemented their income as a waitress at Fiddlestrings on Friday and Saturday evenings, leaving Chris home alone until she arrived in the very early morning. Fiddlestrings was a honky-tonk near the intersection of Knickerbocker and Loop 306. It was a side gig that suited her social desires more so than her financial needs. The “extra” money was great but she was in it more for the “relationships.” She took care of Chris’s basic needs, keeping him alive, but his emotional and spiritual needs were largely on himself to tend to. The months and years moved relentlessly forward as Chris looked more and more to the outside for friendship, security, and a sense of belonging. This was why the tribe of local boys that had organically formed around him was so important, although he didn’t realize at the time that he could hardly have lived one day without them. Just knowing that the group existed was something that Chris could hold onto even when he was alone.

One side effect of Chris constantly overthinking everything and everybody was that he had also developed empathy not often seen by others in his peer group. So it was Chris who looked back when he got to the half-way point of the north side hill. As had been the case so many times before, he saw Emmett several car lengths behind, giving it his all but quickly losing the battle against gravity. Trent ground past Chris and kept pressing on…left crank…right crank…inhale…left crank…try unsuccessfully to sing… He went onwards and upwards, craning to catch up with Kyle and Justin. Chris hopped off of his bicycle that was already moving at a snail’s pace and watched Emmett until he could go no further. Emmett also stopped riding, struggling instead to walk his bike up the hill and still getting winded by the hike and the weight of the bicycle. Eventually he caught up to Chris who was waiting patiently. He stopped and took a break, hardly able to answer the question, “You OK? Do you need your inhaler?” Emmett shook his head and said that he was OK, gasping for air and slowly returning to rhythmic respiration. Then the two of them walked their bikes up to the top of the small hill and took another break before climbing back on and continuing north. The rest of the group was nowhere in sight by then.

Eventually Chris and Emmett reached Junius Street and then the North Concho River overpass after a short jog to the east, past Jefferson. They went off road just before arriving at the overpass and walked their bicycles down a trail that descended parallel to the street above. Soon they came to the topmost intersection of the steep concrete ramp where it met the underbelly of the overpass. From there they awkwardly maneuvered underneath the bridge, wrestling with their bicycles until they made it across the dark, graffiti covered concrete embankment, moving diagonally down until they encountered earth again. They connected up with a thin trail that led along a ridge, flanked on either side with mesquite trees and tall chaotic bushes and weeds. The river, which was really more of a creek at this point, trickled about fifteen feet below. The trail descended somewhat, leveled off, then climbed until they finally emerged to a clearing, largely devoid of trees or undergrowth. After another twenty feet, give or take, they came to the edge of a forty-plus foot cliff comprised mostly of soft, black soil. This was a good vantage point where they could see the entirety of the enormous hole that constituted the fabled Little Africa.

+ Chapter 2: Little Africa

- Chapter 2: Little Africa

Chapter 2: Little Africa

Kyle and Justin were down in the pit by the time Chris and Emmett arrived. They were jumping earthen moguls and weaving up and down the sloped sides of the massive hole in the ground known as Little Africa. Trent was straddling his bike on a ridge with a curved ramp on one side and an almost sheer drop-off on the other. The boys were never clear as to whether that ramp to nowhere was intentional or if part of the path had washed out before they discovered the place. Both Kyle and Justin would boldly ride straight off the edge and down the steep, almost vertical incline until it sloped horizontal at the bottom of the pit. Chris was able to navigate the drop once, albeit with much nervousness and barely in control of his bicycle. He didn’t try again after that. Neither Emmett nor Trent had been able to muster the courage to try, especially after what happened to a Trevon Moore, a kid from Fannin Elementary. Trevon had attempted to slowly roll over the summit only to go over his own handlebars and face-plant in the soft black soil after falling about ten feet. Then he rolled backwards with a “scorpion” fall in slow motion and clamored all the way to the bottom. Everybody who witnessed the calamity laughed hysterically until it came to light that Trevon was really hurt. A group of boys helped him walk home where he tried to sleep it off but the pain was too much. Subsequent analysis at Community Hospital revealed that he had actually fractured a vertebra in the upper cervical area of his spine. Trevon was still in a neck brace and had been strictly forbidden to ride at Little Africa again. Fortunately for Chris and his group, word of Trevon’s brush with paralysis never made it south of Brentwood Park and so their parents were unaware of the death trap that beckoned to the group on a daily basis.

Chris and Emmett rode along the upper ridge until they came to the one entrance that snaked down the eastern side of the pit. They did a sharp U-turn and coasted down on a narrow trail that ended at the bottom of Little Africa. Both boys started pedaling hard as they reached the bottom so as to retain some momentum. Then they joined in, riding the lower trails and jumping about one third the height of Kyle and Justin, only barely climbing the sloped walls before having to turn into the descent and sail back to the bottom. Both Kyle and Justin were good riders and could do tricks that the other boys only dreamt of. Trent was always trying to up his game but he could never compete. As for Chris and Emmett, they almost gave it their all but trepidation held them back just enough to be uncompetitive. They were both jealous of Kyle and Justin’s capabilities but not enough to risk the humiliation and pain of a major wipe out.

Eventually they ended up in the center at the bottom of the pit with Trent still up on “Dead Man’s Drop,” as it was dubbed by Jenny McMillon one particularly busy day when kids from several surrounding neighborhoods had all converged at Little Africa. Jenny was an Alta Loma girl, which seemed really mysterious to the Austin boys for some reason. She was also a good bike rider who could outdo most of the boys, except for Kyle and Justin of course. All of them had watched in wondrous awe as Jenny rode down the drop, exclaiming loudly “I just survived Dead Man’s Drop!” after she came to a stop. The name stuck with everybody from that point forward, almost as if it had been broadcast to the whole town on the KLST 10 O'clock News. Chris thought about that moment many times afterwards, recalling Jenny’s confidence and excitement the moment she overcame a fear that had gripped most other kids to the point that they dared not even try. She seemed like the most athletic, graceful, daring, beautiful girl that he’d ever seen in his life. Just the thought of her would cause him to be overcome with the sense of having his whole chest cut out and replaced by an enormous vacuum sucking out his very soul. Chris’s thoughts of Jenny were the first time that he experienced uncontrollable, overwhelming passion for another person. Unfortunately for him, there was no reciprocation on her side.

“Are you just gonna stand there all day?!” It was Justin, goading Trent to go for it while secretly fearing that, if he did, it might be the end of Trent. Kyle just sighed and stared with arms crossed on the handlebars as if to communicate his utter disappointment that, after all these attempts, Trent still hadn’t navigated Dead Man’s Drop. Trent looked down at the boys and then at the drop off. It was so steep that he couldn’t see the first fifteen feet without craning to look over the edge, and that gave him the “tingly feeling.” He had already been standing there so long, with fear growing by the second, that it was virtually impossible to follow through. Then Chris called out to him, “Just come down the other way!” Like Justin, Chris was afraid of the spectacle that might unfold before them if Trent were to attempt Dead Man’s Drop.

Trent bent down to gauge the tension on the bike chain. It was a stalling tactic but seemed believable because it had slipped from the gear earlier in the week. Suddenly he jolted and let out a yell while feeling the back of his ear with both hands. Chris called out again, “Did you get stung by a yellow jacket?” Trent responded with a perplexed tone, “I don’t know -- something hit me! It hurts!” They were all waiting for him to determine exactly what had happened when there was a whizzing sound and a puff of dirt next to Kyle’s foot. He looked down, confused, and then quickly turned his head towards the ridge behind them. There he observed three boys, likely of late Junior High age, looking down on them with what looked to be rifles pointed in their direction. Kyle yelled an expletive and everybody followed his eyes to see three west Texas terrorists looming overhead and preparing to take another shot. What they couldn’t tell from their vantage point was that the enemy had trained pellet guns on them. They looked like sniper rifles as best the boys could perceive, not processing that the shots were almost silent and surely couldn’t be actual bullets.

The four boys who were at the lowest point of the pit immediately started the ascent back to surface level, standing on the bicycle pedals and pushing with all their strength. But they were fish in a barrel, having a very hard time accelerating up the steep trail that led upwards. They finally gave up and pushed their bikes on foot. Emmett took a pellet to the back of his head and Justin caught one in the small of his back. Trent had turned around and was coming back down the trail that led to Dead Man’s Drop, intending to meet up with the rest of the group. The pellets kept coming as fast as they could cock and shoot, one hitting Kyle in his calf and sinking into the skin, drawing blood. Kyle screamed so loudly that the others were sure he’d just suffered a mortal wound.

They came to a part of the trail covered in gravel and rocks of various sizes just as they neared the crest of Little Africa. There had been a break in the shooting and Chris looked back to see why. That was when he saw the attackers running along the ridge, racing towards the group and intending to ambush them when they emerged. Chris yelled and the four boys stopped and huddled up, throwing their bikes aside. Trent was still working his way towards them. Justin looked down at his feet and then at the group with a silent revelation as to what their next move should be. Each boy reached down, picked up a rock, and hurled it at the unknown assailants. They were closing in but far enough away to easily dodge each projectile. Trent arrived as the others were scanning the ground for another optimal stone. Throwing his bicycle aside, he scooped up a rock and started running along the ridge, charging towards the enemy with his arm behind him and loaded with a flat stone that would be perfect for skipping across the river.

What the pellet gun toting bullies didn’t know was that Trent, this insignificant little fourth-grader with the odd sense of humor, was also a baseball player, and a good one. He knew how to throw a hardball and was equally good with a stone. He stopped at the point that he felt close enough to take a shot and let it fly. The projectile left his hand like a stone from David’s sling, whizzing through the air and catching one of the teens square in his right eye. The victim of Trent’s precision and force didn’t even see it coming as he was busy trying to knock a pellet into the chamber. It hit him so hard and unexpectedly that he fell flat on his back, accidentally throwing his pellet gun over the ridge where it fell down onto the trail that served as the entrance to Little Africa. Then he started rolling around in the dirt while holding his eye and screaming in pain. The other two stopped and stared, shocked at what the little preteen imp had just accomplished. Suddenly a second assailant experienced Trent’s wrath as another stone landed hard on his ear. It hit with such velocity that everybody heard a dull thud. He too went down, wailing in pain with blood oozing from his ear.

The last man standing was in a state of surprise and confusion when he turned back towards Trent. As for Trent, he was out of ammunition and looking around frantically for a stone, but to no avail. The teen pressed the weapon to his shoulder and took aim, preparing to unload everything he had. What he failed to notice in the melee was that Kyle had run back down the entrance ramp and retrieved the pellet gun that had fallen over the edge. The angle was steep from the trail to the ridge where he could just barely see the assassin’s upper torso above. Kyle took careful aim, intending to shoot the gunman in his chest. He pulled the trigger and instead hit him right in the mouth. It went through his lips and struck his clenched teeth with a loud “click,” chipping a tooth and causing him to reel back and shoot his own gun into the air. He stepped back and tripped on an exposed root, striking his head on a rock that was partially buried. The anonymous bully then lay motionless for several seconds, conscious but dazed.

All three teens were down now, and this emboldened the group. They continued pelting the wounded attackers with stones until all three struggled to their feet and ran. Kyle still had the pellet gun that had fallen into Little Africa. He was running up the entrance ramp towards the ridge when the enemy took flight. They were able to retrieve one of the guns as they exited south towards the Junius Street overpass. One of the attackers, a tall, red headed punk with acne, tried to retrieve the other gun when one of Trent’s stone bullets caught him in the wrist. That was followed by a veritable meteor shower from the other boys. He took off running without his weapon, screaming in pain and holding his left wrist with his right hand. He tripped once and failed to catch himself because of the position that his arms were in. The sound of his chunky fourteen-year-old body hitting the hard, worn path caused Chris to lurch back with a look of surprise. The ginger struggled to his feet, barely able to breath, and limped on until he was out of sight.

The group stood in a defensive posture and watched them run, breathing heavily, and red faced with rage. Kyle joined them shortly and they all exchanged looks of shock and relief, each assessing the other for injuries. Trent’s ear was red and Kyle had blood trickling down his calf and pooling on his flip-flop. The pellet that was embedded in his flesh had fallen out during the assault but he had suffered some additional cuts in the chaos. Everybody had some scratches and bruises but nothing major. Justin was so overwhelmed with anger and emotion that he was fighting back tears as he tried to suck in enough oxygen to stop the burning in his chest. Chris slowly walked up to the pellet gun that was lying in the dirt and picked it up. Then he turned back to the group and said with quiet determination, “We have to be ready from now on.” Everybody nodded.

Emmett was doubled over with his hands on his knees, trying to breathe and speak at the same time. “Who was that?” They all glanced at each other hoping that somebody knew who they were, but there were no looks of recognition to be had. Chris responded after a few seconds with nobody offering any information, “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before.” He paused before continuing, “Why did they shoot at us?” Again, no takers. He looked back towards the trail and answered his own question, almost in a whisper and more to himself than to anybody else, “Just mean I guess.”

The whole event continued to sink in as each boy considered what had just transpired. Justin secretly wished he’d been the one to charge them while Trent was rubbing the elbow that he’d over extended by throwing stone after stone with all of his might. Emmett finally got his breathing under control and asked, “Did anybody see those…um…things behind the trees?” Another long pause before Chris responded, “Were they kids? I couldn’t really tell. They were just kind of like…”

“…Shadows. They looked like shadows behind the trees. Like maybe ten or fifteen of them? I don’t know.” It was Justin who made this observation. Trent said that he didn’t see anything but he also noted that he was laser focused on the targets and never really looked to the left beyond the mesquite tree line. Kyle hadn’t seen anything either, but he was also down in the pit when the others noticed the mysterious figures. Justin continued, “They were wearing masks or something. At first I thought they were with those guys. That really scared me. We would’ve been out numbered. I don’t know…it was weird. They were all black and squatty, mostly just standing there and kind of blending together. I mean, I only caught glimpses and I couldn’t focus because of what was happening. But there was definitely somebody there…”

Chris interrupted. “Or something. I don’t think they were kids. I don’t know what they were, but they weren’t kids. Some kind of animal maybe?” He knew it was a ludicrous assessment. Whatever the three of them had seen, they weren’t kids or animals. The whole group stared back at the tree line, peering into the shade but seeing nothing extraordinary.

Trent broke the silence, “I think we should go home.” They all agreed. The whole episode had caused a pall of darkness to fall over their beloved Little Africa. Being randomly attacked and then seeing something mysterious peering out from behind the mesquite trees and tall underbrush further added to the sense of unease that they already felt whenever they descended beneath the Junius Street overpass. How anything so sinister could happen on such a bright, crisp September afternoon was unsettling. It all seemed to contrast with the general atmosphere of the perfect Autumn day, albeit too warm for fall. So warm, in fact, that the boys were dripping sweat by the time they’d arrived at Little Africa. Now, after having survived a sneak attack by three guerillas, they were also streaked with dirt and blood. Play time had ended…in more ways than any of them knew.

The five boys started back along the path towards Junius. Kyle led the way with a pellet gun and Justin took up the rear with the other one. At first they moved slowly, careful to observe all sides, just in case the boys were hiding and waiting to ambush. There was also some concern that they might come back with a larger group and so they accelerated the pace after the half-way mark. The question of the dark figures nagged at each one as they neared the exit point. They became more and more anxious to get out of Little Africa as fast as possible, eventually making it back across the concrete slope beneath the bridge girders and out into the raw sunlight on the south side of Junius Street. Then they had a discussion about what to do about the pellet guns. Kyle thought they should just keep them and ride home but Chris was worried that somebody might call the police if they were spotted. Justin wanted to keep them too for fear that they’d have need of some weaponry in the future. Trent was of the opinion that they should hide them, and that was the option that gained the most traction. After some searching they found a Mesquite tree that was largely hollowed out on the side that faced away from Junius, shrouded in other trees and overgrowth. The two pellet guns were propped on the inside lip of the tree trunk and further obscured with loose branches. Then they returned to the cleared area next to Junius where their bicycles were waiting.

The group emerged to street level and rode towards home, each looking over their shoulders as they passed Brentwood Park, worried that the enemy might be crouched in the mostly empty creek. They stopped at North Street, uneasy about having to split up. Each boy lived close enough to another one that they could ride most of the way without being completely alone. Three went one way and two went the other until they eventually parted ways and each boy arrived home safely.

+ Chapter 3: Old Baldy

- Chapter 3: Old Baldy

Chapter 3: Old Baldy

The unprovoked attack at Little Africa left all of the boys shaken. Weeks passed without a visit to their beloved haunt. Eventually they started talking of the inevitable return but each discussion transitioned into more of a strategy session than plans for a fun outing. Justin and Emmett both owned pellet guns, although they knew that the adults would never condone taking them off to war. They would have to sneak it. Chris owned a sling-shot and was a pretty good aim. Kyle and Trent could use the guns hidden in the tree, or Trent could simply rely on his throwing arm. They had just about arrived at a plan to return to Little Africa when Kyle’s father extended an invitation for Chris to join their family for a weekend camping trip at Garner State Park, about a three hour drive from San Angelo. Justin, Emmett, and Trent all harbored some unspoken jealousy that Chris was always the one who got invited to outings like this. However, it was Chris who lived on North Street and had a relationship with the family, so he was always the chosen one. Laura was quick to grant permission. She never had the money to treat Chris to weekend road trips and it also suited her purposes to have him out of the house for the weekend.

The camping trip to Garner State Park meant that the next visit to Little Africa would have to be postponed. Kyle’s father was fairly confident that the weather would turn cold in the coming weeks and so he chose the last weekend of September to use some vacation from his job at GTE. Kyle and Chris didn’t complain because it meant that they would be allowed to skip school on Friday and Monday. The plan was to leave early Friday morning and return on the following Monday evening. It was intended as a quick getaway before winter closed its grip on west Texas. They loaded up the truck with camping and fishing gear on Friday morning, and the Station Wagon with bodies, and caravanned south towards the crystal clear waters of the Frio River.

Kyle’s siblings seemed to need a bathroom break every thirty minutes despite having only a glass of orange juice before departing. Brenda was Kyle’s six-year-old sister and James was his nine-year-old brother. His father, Robert, led in the truck. He pulled over each time they disappeared from view in the mirror, waiting with increasing frustration for their return after each break. They finally arrived at Garner State Park just after 1:00 PM, which was a full three hours later than Robert had intended. There were several families and a Boy Scout troop registering ahead of them, which consumed almost two more hours. Robert was livid by the time they actually pulled out of the park ranger station and drove on to the semi-primitive shelter in the Pecan Grove camping area at the base of Old Baldy.

The brown semi-primitive shelter at Garner State Park consisted of a rectangular building in two sections. The front area, which was large enough for a picnic table, was screened in. The back section was a combination of fixed wooden slats angled out from the building, also screened in from the inside. It was all one room but the back area was not visible from the outside, except at night when the light was on. One light bulb and electrical outlet were available for the not-so-rugged campers. The floor was made of concrete and the roof was shingled, so the building was more-or-less waterproof except in hard driving horizontal rain that permeated the walls of screen mesh. One water faucet stood about three feet from the front door for cooking and cleaning.

Old Baldy is the signature mountain of Garner State Park. The side that towers above the campground area is a distinctive stone edifice rising almost 1,900 feet. The name is derived from the massive arch that gives the impression of a bald man’s head. At the base of Old Baldy are several hundred feet of huge boulders that tumbled down decades ago, locked in time where they lay by millions of pounds of packed soil, gravel, and enormous Bald Cypress trees that hold it all in place with roots that power into the dirt and wrap around the buried stones. Kyle and Chris both stared at it in wonder upon arrival but soon were inducted to help unload the camping gear. It was almost 5:00 PM by the time setup was complete and Robert could walk down to the river with the kids. Jan stayed behind to start dinner.

The Frio River runs through a lush, enchanted area in south central Texas. The water is clear to the point that pebbles can be perfectly viewed, even where the water depth reaches twenty feet or more. Most sections of the river are in motion where it flows through Garner State Park. Some rapids are only ankle deep and easily withstood. However, it is virtually impossible to stand in areas where the flowing water is knee deep or higher. The campground where Kyle’s family was staying ran alongside part of the river that is fairly placid, although the current does continue to move downstream at a steady pace like an unstoppable juggernaut. It is the one area with a fairly consistent depth of only about four feet and a wide berth of about 130 feet from bank to bank. This part of the river is roughly one quarter-mile long and is capped by a man-made concrete dam approximately five feet tall. The river clears the dam by about two inches, resulting in a deceptively gentle waterfall. The portion that is held back by the dam is labeled as “The Swimming Hole” on the park map. The lower side of the dam is much shallower. The rapids wander down river about fifty feet and continue on past a sign on the far bank that reads, “Private Property. Keep Out.” That is the western border of Garner State Park.

Jan stayed back and started preparing dinner while Robert walked the kids down to the Swimming Hole. James and Brenda were excited to see paddle boats for rent and they easily persuaded Robert to get one, only to discover that Brenda couldn’t even reach the pedals and James couldn’t turn them, so Robert had to provide the propulsion while James and Brenda took turns driving. Kyle and Chris walked along the ridge of the dam after seeing some other boys make it all the way across without falling. It was only about two feet wide and slick with moss, not to mention the water swiftly careening over the top. Both of them made it across successfully, although Chris did have a close call at about the half-way mark.

Kyle and Chris started hiking up a trail after traversing the dam. It meandered off to the east then climbed to a cliff approximately twenty feet above the water line. There they found a group of about fifteen kids taking turns on a rope swing. Kyle immediately wanted to get in line but Chris was apprehensive. However, after watching several kids successfully swing out into the river, including a girl who looked to be only about seven years old, Chris gained some confidence and finally got in line. His chief concern was hitting bottom but he deduced that it was probably safe when an obese teen rose to the top unscathed.

Kyle jumped without hesitation when his turn came, as expected. He swam back about ten feet after surfacing and started treading water as he awaited Chris’s jump. Also as expected, Chris hesitated while standing on the ridge, rope in hand, with a line of adrenaline junkies waiting impatiently behind. Kyle anticipated this, which was why he stayed out in the water. After several seconds one particularly impetuous eight-year-old blurted out, “You gonna go or chicken out?! C’mon; we’re waiting!” That was when Kyle called out to him, “You can do it Chris! Dead Man’s Drop was worse and you did that. Just go for it!” Kyle was smart to reference a past fear that Chris had already overcome, also with Kyle’s coaching. He lived through that and there was a strong likelihood that he would live through this too, he surmised. He tightened his grip on the rope and bent his knees, causing his feet to lift up from the soft earth. Then he was suddenly in motion, swinging out over the transparent abyss. He could see the bottom of the crystal clear river, giving the illusion that it was only about two feet deep. Suddenly a rush of intense fear came over him just as the rope reached the maximum arc and he started to slow. Kyle to the rescue again: “Let go! Let go now!” Chris finally did, almost half way back to the landing. Within an instant he was painfully and gleefully aware of why they call it the “Cold River.” He thought surely his feet would touch the bottom and possibly break his ankles but his ninety-six pound body came nowhere close. The pure water of the Rio Frio engulfed him until he swam back up to the surface and proclaimed, “That was awesome!” Kyle was relieved that he didn’t hold on all the way back to the cliff side. They both swam back to the shore and got back in line, going again and again until the shadows grew long and most other kids had returned to their camps. Eventually they walked back to the waterfall and across to the camping area. Everybody else was almost done eating dinner by the time they arrived back at camp, famished and exhausted but as content and happy as either had ever been in their entire lives.

Later that night, after roasting marshmallows and sitting out around the campfire for hours, everybody except for Kyle and Chris retired to the semi-primitive shelter and fell asleep almost immediately. The two boys slept outside in a tent and talked until after midnight, covering topics from Star Wars to girls to the possibility of the impending war at Little Africa. Chris was still discussing strategy when he heard Kyle’s breathing become deep and rhythmic. He realized that he’d probably been talking to himself for several minutes and so he wrapped himself tight in the sleeping bag and was asleep within minutes.

Robert had to wake them the next morning as both boys slept well into breakfast. They had so utterly exhausted themselves on the previous day that they didn’t hear Jan cooking, or the argument that James and Brenda got into because he had her seat and didn’t want to move. Robert explained the day’s agenda over breakfast, starting with a game of Putt-Putt golf near the camp gift shop. Why a Putt-Putt golf course existed at Garner State Park was a mystery to everybody, but James and Brenda were both adamant that they wanted to play. Robert decided to do that first and get it out of the way so that they could get back to the river. He said that they would do some hiking after lunch and possibly go up the back side of Old Baldy. Both Kyle and Chris were filled with anticipation at the thought of that. After breakfast they all set out to conquer Robert’s plan, starting with the one activity that didn’t really seem to fit in: Putt-Putt golf.

Everybody enjoyed the game. Everybody except for Kyle, that is. James immediately started sinking putts and Kyle’s countenance worsened with each drop. Being intensely competitive caused no small amount of frustration for Kyle whenever he was outdone by his nine-year-old little brother. This scenario was seldom a problem but James was somewhat of a savant when it came to golf. Kyle really gave it his best but he still came in third behind James and his father. He made a few derogatory comments along the way, attempting to boost his own ego at James’s expense, but Jan corrected him every time. That caused him to become even more frustrated. He was in an outright bad mood after the golf game, to the point that Robert asked if they needed to go back to the campsite and “have a talk.” He placed his hand on his belt buckle when asking that question and Kyle quickly retorted that wouldn’t be necessary, and was substantially embarrassed for Chris to witness this whole episode.

The entire group had worn swimsuits to the game so that they could go straight to the river afterwards. Jan hadn’t experienced the Swimming Hole during the previous day because she was too busy making camp and preparing dinner (and also because a glass of red wine before everybody returned was a better option). It was a short walk to the river from the mini-golf course. Brenda kept running ahead because she was anxious for Jan to see the waterfall and show her where they rode the paddle boats.

Kyle and Chris walked out onto the dam and sat down at the half-way mark. There were others playing on and near the dam but nobody was crossing it at the moment, so they were able to sit and take in all of the grandeur of Old Baldy. Their excitement built as they considered the adventure that would follow lunchtime. The others waded out into the shallows at the base of the waterfall, navigating in waters that were ankle to knee deep and flowing fast. Robert and James were exploring on their own while Jan held Brenda’s hand and the two attempted to make it all the way across to a calm area that was about knee deep. Two children were wandering around in the shimmering, almost still pool, picking up rocks from the bottom. For some reason it seemed like the place to be. Brenda lost her footing several times but Jan held onto her until they came upon a deeper area between two underwater stone formations. The span seemed easily passable until Jan stepped off a ledge that was obscured by the bubbling rapids, causing her to lose her footing and fall into the gap, also taking Brenda down with her. She managed to hold onto Brenda’s hand but something was obviously wrong judging by the scream that Brenda let out. At first the boys thought that she had just been startled, or possibly hit her knee when they fell. But then Chris noticed in horror that the rocks downstream were turning a red hue. He realized that Brenda was bleeding, and bleeding a lot. Jan screamed and Robert ran over to lift Brenda out of the chasm that they had fallen into. That was when it came to light that her foot was badly cut, although nobody was able to determine exactly how. Their best guess was that a sharp, water-eroded rock must have been the culprit. Robert clamped down hard with his hand and she howled in pain again. One man wrapped her foot with his own t-shirt; it was blood soaked by the time they reached the shore.

The boys quickly made their way to the side of the river where a small group was huddled. Fortunately, one of the other campers was a nurse who had a professional first aid kit in her car. She cleaned the gash that ran the full length of Brenda’s right foot from pinkie-toe to heel. Then she wrapped it tight, all the while Brenda wailing so loudly that the Park Ranger heard her from the gift shop. Jan thanked everybody for assisting. She was also bruised from smashing into the opposing ledge beneath the waterline but refused any attention from the nurse who advised that Brenda would need to be stitched up at the hospital in Uvalde, about thirty minutes away. The Park Ranger showed up shortly after the crowd dispersed but he had missed all the action.

Robert carried Brenda back to camp where they gathered some clothing and prepared to load up for the trip to Uvalde. Kyle realized that this would likely be an all-day affair and he was also having a very hard time with all the blood and Brenda’s incessant screaming and crying. He asked his father if they could stay at the campsite instead of going into town with them. Robert was initially opposed to the idea but Jan, after careful consideration, thought it might be best to not have three anxious boys stuck in the Emergency Room while Brenda was cared for. She recommended that they stay behind, including James. This caused Kyle to have mixed emotions as he had no desire to be responsible for James. Robert finally agreed but with conditions: (1) “watch your brother,” and (2) “stay at the campsite and go nowhere else. No hiking, climbing, or swimming until we return.” Kyle protested because staring at the fire for hours seemed almost as boring as sitting in a waiting room. However, Chris encouraged him to accept the terms. He had brought a book called Where the Red Fern Grows that he was perfectly content to read until they returned. He also encouraged Kyle that they could think of something, mostly because the stress on Jan’s face was obvious. His real motive was to relieve Robert and Jan of three needy boys so that Brenda could have their full attention. He was also very uncomfortable because Jan looked as if she may lose all control of her emotions at any moment, so he just wanted them to leave. Kyle finally agreed. Brenda and her parents were off to Uvalde within minutes.

Planet earth seemed to be unaware of the whole calamity. All of the weather patterns and ecological systems had continued on with no compassion for what the Marcum family had just experienced, or the pain that Brenda still had to face when they finally reached Uvalde Memorial Hospital. A mild cold front had been moving steadily south throughout the day, reaching Junction just as they were starting their golf game. It was slowly enveloping Garner State Park by the time Robert, Jan, and Brenda pulled away from the park entrance. The boys felt the chill back at camp as the day transformed from sunny and warm to dreary and foreboding. Blue-grey clouds swirled around the summit of Old Baldy, settling further down as the day wore on. The three of them moved all of the food into the shelter where they had lunch, almost in silence. The drizzle and cool wind had driven everybody away from the nearby Swimming Hole. Although it was only about 3:00 PM, a quiet had fallen over the whole park as each family retreated to their shelters, tents, and campers. The droplets falling from the sky were not enough to extinguish a campfire if it were properly tended to. However, most people didn’t wish to stand out in the uncomfortable, damp weather to keep stoking and fueling and so the fires started to die out one by one. To Chris, the fire brought some sense of comfort even though they couldn’t stand out in the weather to absorb the warmth. Therefore, he kept darting out of the shelter every few minutes to stoke it and add wood when necessary.

The boys sat and stared at the flames through the screened-in façade. Kyle’s impatience and frustration rose to a crescendo within only about fifteen minutes and then he blurted out, “This sucks. I’m bored. Let’s go do something.” James reminded him of the ultimatum that Robert had laid out before leaving. Kyle was quick to snap at him, “And this is why I didn’t want you to stay. I’m going out, and if you tell dad…” James cut him off, “I won’t…I’ll go too.” He didn’t really want to but the pressure to be a contributor and not a detractor was too much and so he feigned willingness although his conscience and good sense screamed otherwise. He also wasn’t keen to the idea of sitting in the shelter alone with such gloom enveloping it. As for Chris, he was also reluctant to disobey Robert’s orders but Kyle convinced him that they wouldn’t really disobey -- just bend the rules a little. He had noticed that some of the nearby boulders, stacked together approximately one hundred feet up the base of Old Baldy, had formed a sort of cave. He wanted to go just to that point and check it out. “Dad meant we can’t go far, or climb up the mountain. This is practically next to our camp. He wouldn’t care if we just have a peek.” Chris and James agreed, but with much hesitation.

A sheen of cold drizzle had already covered the entire valley floor by the time the boys exited the small, brown shelter. The fall foliage was blanketing the ground enough to cause any hiker to slide around even on a sunny, dry day. The addition of water to the already slippery slope caused the boys to struggle as they worked their way upwards. Kyle led the group with Chris behind him and James further back. The boys clamored for tree branches, roots, and boulders to elevate themselves step by step. At one point James grabbed a stone that was jutting out of the leaves and mud only to have it come loose in his hand. That caused him to slide down about ten feet before he got a foothold. Chris paused and waited for him to catch up but Kyle pressed on, oblivious to anything happening behind him.

The supposed cave turned out to be an illusion. The way that the boulders were positioned and leaning caused it to appear that a cave existed but actually they were staggered and not even touching. This was disappointing and failed to satiate Kyle’s need for adventure. He surveyed further up the hill for anything interesting to investigate. James looked back in astonishment and commented on how high they were already. Even at this low elevation they could already see all of the Pecan Grove camping area, albeit somewhat obscured by the thick Bald Cypress trees. James commented on how their shelter looked like a small rectangle from this high up. Kyle wasn’t listening though; he was already looking further up the hill and making plans to go just a little further. His desire to explore was outweighing his concern for safety or his father’s silly rules. He could see a tree line about fifty feet higher followed by some sort of ridge that they should be able to reach easily. He convinced them to go just a little bit higher. Chris was concerned that his parents might return soon but Kyle was sure they had hours, and he was right about that.

Kyle’s perception of a ridge just overhead was partially correct. It was more of a narrow trail, possibly man-made, but it was hard to tell. Behind the trail was a wall of stone and soil. The trail itself was rocky and good for traction, all things considered. Although the mud, leaves, and rocks were slick from the steadily falling mist, it wasn’t so bad that they couldn’t get one foothold after another. And so they started walking up the winding ridge that led off to the northwest as it meandered up the base of Old Baldy. All three boys were in swimsuits and t-shirts, and wearing tennis shoes that were caked in mud. The wind got colder and harder as they climbed higher and higher, causing them to shiver. However, the effort required to climb and claw their way up the narrow ridge kept them warm enough to keep going despite the elements trying to push them back.

Within about ten minutes they reached a landing where the trees fanned out and they were able to observe the entire Frio River valley. Parts of it were shrouded in clouds that obscured the valley floor, some white and some dark grey, contrasting against each other in stark opposition. An expanse of steep earth stretched beneath their feet at an angle of about thirty degrees. It seemed almost flat because of the orange and yellow leaves that obscured the earth beneath and confused the observer’s perception. A few boulders and Bald Cypress trees jutted up from this part of the mountainside but most of it was a barren, sloped plane. Approximately seventy-five feet down the steep incline was a near-vertical drop off. The boys could not know from their vantage point that the cliff beyond their line of sight rose straight up from the canyon floor with a massive pile of boulders and craggy trees at the base.

This was the satisfaction that Kyle was looking for. Although they had only conquered the lower area of the base of Old Baldy, Kyle felt a great sense of accomplishment to have achieved this height and this view. The three of them stood in wonder, breathing hard and trying to recover from the climb. The swirling mist was so slight that they hardly noticed it, and could not hear it landing on the leaves and rocks. There was a daunting wind that came in gusts. The wind and the sound of the leaves was all that could be heard until Chris spoke up, “It’s already starting to get dark. We’d better go back. If your dad finds us up here he’ll kill us.” He was right -- although it was only about 4:30 PM, the density of the darkening clouds caused the day to wane early. The boys were so focused on conquest that they didn’t even realize how fast they were burning daylight. They had no flashlights and hadn’t intended to climb this high. If they were to get caught in the dark then they might be lost all night, and the wind was getting colder by the minute.

Kyle was almost in a trance-like state, gawking at the majesty of the view. However, Chris’s observation caused him to snap back to reality. “You’re right, we’d better get going.” James had been last as they ascended and so he was at the front of the line to descend. The ridge was barely wide enough for one person and so the three formed a single-file line as they turned to go back down. Chris and Kyle started to move while James stood still. Kyle called out to him, “James! Go! We have to hurry!” James didn’t budge. Kyle moaned before continuing, “He’s afraid of heights...James! Just look at the trail and start walking! It’s not that steep!” Still no movement from James; he was completely frozen, but not for the reason that Kyle had assumed. Kyle’s frustration was growing exponentially. They simply had no time for this. Their parents may have returned already for all they knew, and each passing second increased the likelihood that they would get caught. Kyle straddled Chris while keeping his left foot stationary such that his back was facing the valley, causing the two of them to be abreast on a ledge that was really only wide enough for one. While carefully contorting himself to the point that he could reach James, he muttered his frustration to the air, “God I wish they’d taken you with them.” With that, he smacked James on the right shoulder blade with the ball of his hand and yelled out, “Go!”

The jarring hit startled James. He had heard nothing since Kyle started yelling at him. He was lost in thought, perplexed and staring at something back down the trail that had his complete focus. To be struck from behind and yelled at caused him to whirl around and stumble backwards. Chris and Kyle watched in horror as he stepped off the edge of the ridge and fell forward while sliding feet-first and face-down on the steep, wet and muddy incline. Kyle reached out to him as he fell, and he reached to Kyle, but they were too far apart, and Kyle was still precariously balanced on the ledge next to Chris such that he couldn’t lunge forward without also losing his balance. James stopped slipping for a moment and froze, looking up at Chris and Kyle in a state of complete terror. He then attempted to pull himself back up to the ridge but lost ground with every push of his feet and every claw of his hands. It was almost as if the steeply angled mountainside had turned into quicksand. This caused him to panic to the point that he started thrashing at the thick bed of leaves and mud, which only exacerbated his descent. There were also a couple of lurches downward that were unexplainable, as if something had pulled him by the ankles. Soon he was careening towards the edge, flailing as he slid on the leaves, grabbing frantically at the ground and screeching in fear. He then rolled over and tried to catch himself by bending his knees and trying to dig into the layers of leaves and soft soil. This did little to decrease the velocity but it did give him a sobering view of the cliff edge that was racing towards him, now only about 30 feet away. At that moment he noticed a low-hanging tree branch, almost horizontal and only about three feet above the ground. He was speeding towards it at lightning speed and almost thought that he heard an audible voice say “This is your one chance. Don’t miss it.” James sat up and tried to stand, intending to surf to his salvation. However, his feet slid out from under him, causing him to fall back into a sitting position. He tried again just as he closed in on the branch by about five feet, and was about half way between vertical and horizontal when he was on it. It was just about two feet above his head when he reached up and grabbed hold. His entire body swung out and the branch made a cracking sound but held firm. For a moment he seemed to levitate with his feet almost even with his shoulders and nothing but air beneath him and the mountain. Then his feet fell as he hung at a complete stop, gasping and trembling uncontrollably while adrenaline coursed through every cell of his body.

Chris and Kyle stood in stunned horror and unable to speak after realizing that James had been saved by a malformed tree branch. They both heard the crack and, for a split second, were veritably positive that James would plummet to his death while holding a broken Bald Cypress tree limb. They couldn’t do anything except breath heavily, trying to assess the situation and coming to terms with how close James had come to certain death. It was Chris who first emerged from the fog of fear and started assessing the state of things and making a plan. His immediate concern was ensuring that James was secure, precarious though that security may be. All that stood between James and eternity was a three-inch circumference tree branch that made a cracking sound when he latched onto it. Chris called out to him, “Pull yourself over!” James didn’t move. “Pull yourself to the trunk! It might break! James! Get over to the tree, NOW!” His voice cracked as he screamed at James, who finally heard and processed the command. James slowly righted himself on the unstable and slick ground at his feet. Then he stepped right while holding onto the branch. It only took two steps and he was clutching the base of the tree. Then he called back to Chris in a shrill panic, “Help me!”

Chris surveyed the slanted plane before them. James was towards the east-most edge. While the incline was almost devoid of trees, there was a decent tree line with mostly interconnected limbs along the outer edge. However, it was a good ten feet or more from the nearest tree to James. Chris looked at Kyle, who was ashen white and trembling, unable to speak. “We have to get down there. C’mon…” He walked to the topmost tree and grabbed on before stepping off the edge of the ridge. Kyle didn’t move. “Kyle! Come on! We have to get down there!” Kyle jolted and mumbled, “Yeah, I’m…I’m coming.” The two worked their way down to James, tree by tree. Each step was tenuous and laborious as they both worked to ensure that they had a firm grip onto something stable. At one point they had to sit and slide while holding onto a root until encountering the next tree. Finally they reached James where he was clinging to the tree trunk just above the edge of the cliff.

Chris directed this effort as Kyle was in no state to lead, to the point that Chris wondered if he’d made a mistake by asking Kyle to help. He feared that he may end up having to rescue both of them. From the outer edge he was able to make it across to the tree nearest to James. However, they were still much too far apart to connect. “Kyle, you’re going to have to hold me. I can’t reach him on my own. We have to make a chain.” He extended his right hand, crossed left at his chest. Kyle stood motionless, petrified and bewildered. “Kyle! You have to hold me! I can’t get to him on my own! We have to make a chain!” Kyle responded in a shaky voice, “I can’t. I…I can’t.”

Chris lashed out with a voice so stern that it caused Kyle to flinch, “You have to! Listen to me…if you don’t help me then your brother is going to die. You have to do this.” Chris raised his voice, “Do you want your brother to die?!” Kyle slowly shook his head. “Then take my hand!” Chris’s hand lunged forward and Kyle reluctantly latched on. Chris moved towards James and unwound himself along some interconnected branches until his back was against the next tree trunk with the edge of the cliff further behind. He clung to a low hanging limb and inched towards James until it turned vertical. Then he told James to come back out onto the cracked limb that had originally stopped his descent. James complied, working his way closer and closer to Chris who finally told him to stop for fear that his weight being so far away from the trunk would cause it to give way. They each stretched to within about two feet from fingertip to fingertip. Then Chris spoke to Kyle again, “I have to step out. You have to hold me. If you let go then we’re both dead.” Quivering, Kyle nodded.

Chris moved his grip to Kyle’s forearm so that the two could interlock their grip, then he dug in his left foot beneath the ground cover and pulled himself away from the tree that his back was resting against. Almost immediately he started to slide downwards. Kyle moved slowly to the same tree, wrapping his left arm around it for stability. Kyle was facing forward towards the edge of the cliff while Chris was facing the ridge above. The two were locked in a death grip but barely able to hold on due to the wet hands, fear, and exhaustion.

Kyle noticed something floating just beyond the edge of the cliff. At first he thought it was a low hanging cloud but it was so dense that even the darkest grey rain clouds behind it were in contrast. He tried to focus as it began to creep over the edge, undulating in an unnatural pattern. In a very low tone he asked nobody in particular, “What is that?” Chris craned his neck to see down the slope, and then he saw it too. Kyle called out, “Chris…”

“I know. I see it. We have to hurry.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know; there’s no time. Hold onto me.”

Chris stretched his arm as far as he could. James extended his too, reaching out with all his might until his small hand latched on. Chris pulled James to himself with a sudden, manic jerk. Both of them immediately started sliding. Chris was able to propel James across his chest, sort of pushing and sort of pulling, until he grabbed onto Kyle’s shirt and pulled himself up. His chest was pressed to Kyle’s back, leaning forward on the tree. Then Kyle and Chris both pulled until Chris was also able to climb and sandwich James between the two of them. For a moment all three of them stared at the creeping dark mass that was working its way towards them, now only about twenty feet away. Chris reached across to the adjoining tree limb and pulled himself across. He pulled James over and Kyle followed. All three boys were back at the tree line within a matter of seconds. They started scrambling up the incline with Chris and Kyle both favoring James to make sure that he made it to the top safely. The strange darkness that was creeping up the mountainside had vanished -- or dissipated, or something -- by the time they reached the ridge.

Light was really becoming scarce by the time the boys made it back to the trail. They practically ran back down the mountain, reaching the bottom just as the night air turned outright cold and it was almost impossible to see anything except shapes and shadows. They were surprised and relieved to find that the camp was still empty. Chris was disappointed that the fire was out completely. They washed the mud from their shoes and socks in the faucet and changed into dry clothes. Then they retired to the tent, shivering with cold, exhaustion, and adrenaline still elevated. Kyle and James shared a sleeping bag while Chris had his own. Chris read his book with a flashlight as Kyle lay awake while holding onto James almost as tight as he had clung to the tree that anchored the human chain. Kyle had no concern that Chris knew full well that he was clinging to his brother. As for James, he drifted off to sleep after only a few minutes.

Kyle could not withstand the emotions that came over him after James was asleep. Tears welled up and rolled down his face. He tried to hold back but it was no use. Chris just kept reading and pretended that he didn’t notice at first. Eventually he looked over the top of his book and said, without looking at Kyle, “He’s OK.”

Kyle was silent for several seconds before responding with broken voice, “He…could’ve died. It would’ve been my fault.”

“It would have been all our faults,” Chris retorted. “We shouldn’t have been up there at all. Your dad said not to.” Chris’s willingness to share in the responsibility brought some comfort to Kyle, even though he didn’t really buy it. He exhaled a very deliberate sigh before collecting himself and asking rhetorically, “What was that thing coming up the mountain? It looked just like…”

“Little Africa. It looked just like what we saw at Little Africa.”

“Yeah, I thought so. I mean, I didn’t see it at Little Africa, but that was how you described it. But why would it be here too?”

Chris was still looking over the top of his book, staring off into nothing, when he answered, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s following us.”

Neither said anything more after that. Kyle finally fell asleep, as did Chris after reading about how Billy Colman found a KC Baking Powder can to use as a piggy bank. One more question occurred to him just as he was drifting off: were the Shadows responsible for Brenda’s injury too? He had no time to fully contemplate that before his consciousness surrendered and he faded away.

It was just after 10:00 PM by the time the Marcums pulled up. The boys slept through their arrival. Jan thought it strange to find James asleep next to Kyle in the same sleeping bag. It was completely out of character for Kyle to allow that as he always preferred to keep some space between himself and James. It had been a long day, especially for little Brenda. Her entire foot was bandaged to the ankle and she had crutches to use while it healed. They had given her some pain medication that caused her to sleep deep, so she was out until morning.

The boys slept until almost 10:00 AM of the following morning. Jan had breakfast ready and they were famished. However, Robert had packed up everything else. He explained that they would have to cut the trip short due to Brenda’s injury. None of the boys seemed upset about it and that perplexed Robert. He assumed their lack of disappointment rooted in the cold, wet weather and didn’t ask questions. Jan was really frustrated with how wet and muddy the boys’ shoes and clothing were -- they hadn’t cleaned them as well as they thought. Kyle told her that they played in the rain because they were bored, and she bought it.

Kyle, Chris, and James were quiet as they pulled away from the campsite, staring out the back window of the Station Wagon at the face of Old Baldy. They each thought that they saw something dark swirling out and back into the stone face just before the mountain was out of view.

The group arrived back at San Angelo at about 2:30 PM on Sunday afternoon. Everybody was weary from the journey and the whole experience.

+ Chapter 4: October

- Chapter 4: October

Chapter 4: October

The weather in San Angelo had turned cold and rainy hours before the front reached Garner State Park. It stayed like that for over a week. Afternoons were spent making the rounds to each home, except for Justin’s because there just wasn’t much to do there. Emmett had an Odyssey game system and Trent owned just about every Hot Wheel ever manufactured. Time spent at Christopher’s house was usually Star Wars action figures or Legos, although Kyle and Justin seldom participated. Kyle usually wanted to watch sports when they were at his house, which only interested him and Justin, so the group did split up from time to time.

The weather oscillated throughout October. There were some nice days during the week but the weekends were consistently cold and wet until late October. It all lifted by the last Thursday before Halloween and so the boys started getting serious about returning to Little Africa. After much discussion about weaponry, tactics, and stealth, it was initially decided that Saturday would be the right time to retake their territory, if necessary. Nobody really knew whether the surprise attack was a one-time event or if the assailants would be back and ready to fight, possibly with reinforcements. While there was great anxiety about what might await them at Little Africa, it was also exciting to contemplate all of the possible scenarios and prepare for war.

The group attempted to coordinate a sleepover on Friday night but they were unable to work it into the various schedules. The goal was to spend the evening rehearsing the plan and discussing contingencies. However, Trent had a birthday to attend at Shakey’s Pizza while Emmett was scheduled to be at the Nazarene Church “Hallelujah Night.” He was conflicted about spending the evening at church because it was also Christian Skate Night at 8-Wheels Skating Rink. There was a girl from McGill Elementary named Heather that Emmett really liked, and she was almost always at Christian Skate Night. As for Justin, he was booked for a school sponsored “Student Mingle Night” at Sherwood Lanes bowling alley. Kyle and James were going with Robert to see Odessa Permian play Central. After much discussion it was decided that they should postpone one more week so that they’d have time to really prepare for any situation, or so they thought. Chris was the one dissenting vote since he was anxious to storm the castle and retake “his” territory but he finally capitulated and agreed that they shouldn’t approach the enemy half-cocked.

Each member of the group went to their respective events on Friday night, which left only Christopher with no plans. He was facing a long night alone because Laura was geared up for a busy shift working the floor at Fiddlestrings. She left the house at 6:44 PM without saying goodbye.

Staying home by himself until the late evening, and sometimes until the early morning of the following day, was common for Chris. It happened on both weeknights and weekends but Laura’s absence on Fridays was always much longer. Sometimes she did not return home until sunrise on Saturday morning. It made Chris uneasy to be left alone, especially after their experiences at Little Africa and Garner State Park. He had made no mention of the mysterious, creeping dark mass to Laura. She wouldn’t believe him and wouldn’t care to investigate the claims, and he knew that. He had devised a few coping mechanisms to get through the long nights when Laura was away. One part of the plan was to leave the front door open so that only the screen separated the interior from the outside. The screen door was white and made partially of wooden slats, not unlike those on the semi-primitive shelters at Garner State Park, but much narrower. The upper half was wire screen mesh. Chris was of the misguided impression that he would be safe behind the screen as long as it was locked from the inside, not considering that any intruder with mal intent would just punch through it and unlock the small metal clasp. But Chris hardly gave a second thought to the possibility of a malevolent human attempting to break in. His fears were more other worldly, even before they had encountered the creeping darkness. It gave him some comfort to hear the activity outside. There was a rhythmic “whoosh” of cars in motion because their house was near the intersection of Howard and North Street. The sound and movement somehow caused Chris to feel connected to the community. Having only the thin screen between himself and live human beings gave him some sense of security. In his mind, if something unusual occurred, he could easily run out and flag down a passerby. Of course, this was only an option when the weather wasn’t too cold. On really cold nights he had to close the front door, which caused him to feel isolated and trapped inside the small, two-bedroom house. The blinds on the large window in the living room were always kept open, whether the door was closed or not, and that helped a little when it got too cold outside.

Another part of his strategy was to setup basecamp on the living room couch that was on the far-left wall if one were standing at the large living room window and looking out. The wall ran the full depth of the living room from the front of the house to a door that led to the utility room. Another door across the utility room led out to the small garage. This meant that Chris could lock the door to the garage and close the utility room door, providing a continuous plane with no dark voids. From that vantage point he was protected from behind and could see the entire living room. The entrance to both the dining room and the hallway were also both visible. A short hallway diagonally opposite from his fortress ran parallel to the couch and led to three rooms: Laura’s bedroom on the right, the bathroom in the middle, and Chris’s room to the left at the end of the hall. Using the restroom meant that he would enter through the hallway door and turn left, then immediately right. Chris’s bedroom was at the front of the house while Laura’s was at the back. Therefore, if both bedroom doors were open, he could stand in his room and see all the way to the back wall of the house while looking through the short hallway and into Laura’s bedroom.

Chris would setup on the couch with some toys and snacks on the coffee table, buried under a thick quilt, and staring at the console television that was on the back wall of the living room. From there he had a sense that nothing could surprise him; if anything were to emerge from the hallway or the dining room then he would have time to bolt for the front door. It seemed like the safest place with the best vantage point and close enough to the window to see headlights as cars went to and fro on North Street, at least until the late evening when most of the town was asleep.

Chris would watch TV until he could not keep his eyes open, usually around 11:00 PM. Then he would retreat into the quilt, covered head to toe with the TV left on. By morning Laura would be in her bedroom and he would have survived another night. It never bothered Laura that he was sleeping with the front door wide open. She knew that it exposed him to any opportunistic criminal who took notice in the middle of the night yet she never took issue with the arrangement. She postulated that anybody who wanted in would get in one way or another, so there was no good reason to challenge Christopher’s habit if it made him feel more secure. It was more of a rationalization so that she didn’t have to change anything regarding her routine.

The three off-air network channels that Chris could watch were very much part of the ritual. He knew the schedule of every show on each of them. On Fridays he would first watch Dukes of Hazzard, then Knight Rider, and finally Fantasy Island, although that one scared him sometimes. That would get him to the KLST 10:00 O’clock News. There was a new weatherman who was obviously learning on the job with his first assignment at an actual news station. Chris both laughed and cringed from the first night that he arrived until he began to hone his craft and became more comfortable in his role as the evening news weatherman. He had first shown up back in August and could hardly get through a forecast without many pregnant pauses, staring wide-eyed at the camera and completely overcome with stage fright. He would stammer all over himself and sometimes they would have to cut back to the news desk while he recovered. By October he was fairly comfortable and Chris was relieved because it reduced the level of embarrassment that he felt for the man. There were still moments of frazzled discombobulation on occasion but the mistakes were decreasing and his recovery time was improving. Chris eventually started to feel almost like they knew each other, and it gave him comfort to have time with the not-so-new weatherman each night.

It was Johnny Carson and Late Night with David Letterman after the KLST local news concluded. His goal was to be asleep by the time they played the National Anthem and the local network went off air. If he made it that far and was not asleep then the last resort was to read. Sometimes he would also play Neil Diamond records just so that the creaks and groans of the small, old house would be masked.

On this night the weather wasn’t too cold and so he was able to leave the front door open. He sat in his safe place and ate Ravioli as the news ran. It was cold because he had heated it much earlier while the sun was still up so that he wouldn’t have to walk back to the kitchen by himself after dark. He was especially riveted this night because the reporter was on location at an enormous hole in the ground, standing at the intersection of Howard and, what would eventually become, the Houston Harte Freeway. The city had exercised eminent domain on a swath of homes just about one mile south of North Street and then bulldozed two full city blocks for almost four miles all the way from Bryant Boulevard to Glenna. The intention was to build a new freeway that would connect up with the existing one on the southwest side of town. The ten-year plan was to create a loop that would greatly reduce traffic on Sherwood Way and improve mobility in San Angelo overall. The problem was that the houses had been bulldozed two years prior and some excavation had been done, but all progress had come to a halt. There had been no heavy machinery at work for about four months and nobody really knew why. What led to the news report was an enormous hole about one-half acre square right next to Howard. They had dug the pit for some unknown reason and then just left it there. Chris knew it well because he and the others had discovered that the slanted sides were at a pitch that would really accelerate a bicycle. They did a lot of riding in that hole, using the decline to gain momentum enough to ride across the flat bottom and almost make it up the other side. Justin once said that he liked it even more than Little Africa and that made Chris really angry. Chris and Emmett had never quite made it completely up the opposing side but Kyle, Justin, and Trent had successfully powered all the way to the top multiple times. For Chris and Emmett it was always the walk of shame, but they kept trying. It was also fun to ride partially up the side in a half circle, speeding back down and weaving back onto the slant, going around the square and using gravity to increase velocity, similar to Little Africa but much more uniform.

The concern that the reporter was investigating was the lack of appreciable progress for several months. The whole project was already supposed to be much further along. Residents who fought the land grab were furious to be forcibly relocated only to see it stall out, especially so early on. Those who lived alongside the forthcoming new freeway were concerned because the hole had filled with several feet of water from the recent rains. They were worried that it would stagnate and breed mosquitoes, or worse that a child would fall into the unprotected hole and drown. Chris thought that was a dumb concern because it was only about knee deep, if that. He wondered if they’d seen him and the others riding on it when it was dry.

The problem was that that information regarding the work stoppage was not forthcoming. Concho Valley Excavation Corp. was not returning calls and all attempts to find a manager at the company headquarters near Twin Buttes Reservoir were unsuccessful. Nobody seemed to know what had been paid, what the overall status was, or who was even responsible for the project in general.

It was during this story on KLST that Chris heard Laura call out to him. The voice came from her bedroom, cattycorner from where he sat on the couch. If he had looked then he could see into the darkness of the bedroom from where he sat, but he didn’t look. Instead, because he was so enthralled in the KLST news story, he reflexively yelled out, “Yeah mom?” Then he kept watching the story. It concluded within only about a minute, leaving more questions than answers. Janine Maxwell, the investigative reporter on location, assured the viewers that she was going to follow up and would provide more information as it became available. Then they cut to a commercial advertising steak fingers at the Charcoal House.

Chris was salivating over the steaming steak fingers that looked excessively better than his cold Ravioli when it dawned on him that Laura calling out didn’t make sense. She wasn’t supposed to be there. At least, he didn’t think she was home. He glanced over at her bedroom door inquisitively, perplexed that it was open. Chris always closed all of the doors except for the bathroom when he was home alone. But if Laura was home then it would make sense. He sat and stared at the pitch dark doorway for several seconds before lifting the quilt and standing up next to the couch. He was pensive but not yet afraid, questioning himself while walking across the living room. Was it his imagination? Did he actually hear somebody outside who sounded like Laura? He was so fixated on the news broadcast that he was only barely conscious of that moment. But one thing was certain: the door was open although he had closed it. Either Laura really was home or else something was very wrong.

He walked to the hallway entrance and called out, “Mom? Are you there?” No response. His adrenaline levels elevated as fear crept over him like a black veil. With all of the courage he could gather, Chris stepped to the bedroom door and reached in for the light, but he could not find the switch. He frantically felt all along the wall beyond the doorjamb until finally encountering the light switch and turning on the light. Nobody was in the room. The bed was unmade but that was common. Chris leaned in to see the closet door that was on the wall to his left, wondering if perhaps Laura was in the closet. The door was closed. It was a small closet that had no light and so he knew she wasn’t in there.

Chris stepped back out of the room and assessed his own recollection, searching the recesses of his subconscious to determine if he’d truly heard what he thought he heard. Then it occurred to him that, if Laura was home, then her car would be in the driveway. He turned to look diagonally across the living room and out the large window to the driveway. There was no car. Chris stood in that position for about ten seconds, contemplating the whole matter when the door suddenly slammed behind him! He whirled back around to see it closed only inches from his nose. Then he backed out of the hallway into the living room, completely and totally terrified. At that point the familiar weather man on KLST could be heard starting the Concho Valley five-day forecast. It turned to static before he finished telling about Wednesday: unseasonably warm and sunny with easterly winds at fifteen to...

Chris flinched at the grating sound of static, seemingly amplified louder than the actual volume of the television. Suddenly the front door slammed too! This time he screamed, realizing that he was confined inside the house, disconnected from the community, with something very unusual happening. His body was flush with goose bumps, every hair standing on end as he stood frozen in fear. Suddenly there was a loud banging emanating from the inside of the door to Laura’s bedroom, as if something was trying to get out. He screamed again and ran to the front door, turning the doorknob and opening it about one foot when it slammed shut again, as if somebody were pushing it from behind. The panic was total. Chris was crying and screaming and trembling so violently that it seemed he might just collapse. He could sense that something was behind him but didn’t turn around to look. Instead, he tried the door again and was able to get it open this time. However, his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t undo the latch that locked the screen closed. He was frantic, doing everything possible to lift the latch when there came a rush of cold air from behind and a hand gripped his left shoulder. At that moment the latch popped and Chris burst out of the screen door onto the front porch.

To call the entrance to their blue-collar house a porch would be a stretch. It was really just a ten-by-ten concrete square that was elevated about three feet from the ground with concrete steps and a handrail. Chris ran out and jumped the stairs, landing on the sidewalk below with such forward momentum that he tripped and rolled onto the cracked concrete sidewalk, skinning his elbow where it was already scabbed from a previous fall in the M-System parking lot. He stood up, holding the injured elbow with the opposing hand, and whirled around to look at the front door. Only the light of the living room was visible through the top half of the screen door. Chris stood there, trying to inhale but on the verge of hyperventilating. He had no idea what to do next. Calling the police would require re-entering the house and that was absolutely out of the question. Besides, he had a sense that this was not really a police matter. Running to Kyle’s house seemed like a better option. This thought was culminating in his mind when the rectangle of light emanating from behind the screen darkened and the front door slammed shut. Chris took off running as fast as he possibly could.

Kyle lived only three houses down on the other side of North Street. Chris ran to the front door and rang the doorbell several times in a panic. He started banging on the door when there was no immediate response, screaming in a high, raspy voice: “Help! Somebody, I need help!” The porch light turned on after what seemed like hours. There stood Robert, still dressed in his orange and black Central High School team colors. He and Jan were awake and had been watching TV in the living room. Jan came to the door just after Robert opened it to see Chris having a complete meltdown on her front porch. She pushed Robert aside and opened the glass door while asking, “What’s wrong Chris? Are you OK?” She noticed a stream of blood running down his right forearm. Jan zeroed in on the injury and asked with an alarmed voice, “Are you hurt? What happened to you?!”

Chris could hardly catch his breath or regain his composure. Jan knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down; you’re OK. Tell me what happened.” Chris finally pushed down the lump that was preventing him from speaking and blurted out, “Something is in my house!” Robert asked if somebody had broken in. Chris tried to explain that he didn’t think it was a person but didn’t know what it was. He told them that something was there and had called out to him, and it sounded just like Laura. He recounted how the doors slammed and told of the hand on his shoulder. Robert stared at him perplexed and bewildered. “Do you think maybe you were dreaming? Did you watch something scary on TV?” Chris was frustrated by the question. “No! This wasn’t a dream; it was real! I was just watching the news and…and she called me…and the bedroom door was open…and…”

Chris couldn’t continue. He broke down completely. Jan hugged him and looked up at Robert with rage on her face. “It’s not right that she just leaves him there while she goes to work or…whatever she does. No boy should be left alone at home night after night!” Then she took Chris’s face in both of her hands and lifted his head until they made eye contact. “From now on, you stay with us on nights that Laura has to work, OK? You’re not staying by yourself at night anymore, understand?” Chris nodded through his tears.

Jan walked him into the house where Kyle was standing half asleep. The doorbell and the banging had awoken him. He became completely alert after seeing Chris walk in with Jan’s hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?” Chris shook his head and a silent understanding enveloped the two of them. Without knowing anything about what had just happened Kyle asked, “Was it the Shadows?” This was the first time that anybody had ever given the dark mass a proper name. Chris said that he didn’t know but that something really weird was going on at his house. Robert asked what they meant by “The Shadows.” Kyle started to explain but then hesitated and looked down, telling him “Never mind.”

“Listen, Chris, I’m going to go check out your house. I’ll leave a note for Laura so she knows where you are.” Chris nodded. Robert ran upstairs as Jan led Chris towards the bathroom to tend to his elbow. She was applying a bandage when they heard the front door open as Robert left to investigate. He returned only seconds later to retrieve pen and paper and then he was off.

Robert returned about ten minutes later. Chris was surprised to see that he was holding a handgun. He was unaware that the Marcums owned a gun. Robert said that he couldn’t find anybody in the house. He had left the note in a conspicuous place so that Laura would know where Chris had gone. Chris asked if the door to Laura’s bedroom was open or closed. Robert responded that all of the doors were open, including the front door. He also added that almost all of the cabinets in the bathroom and the kitchen were open, which he thought was odd. He said that he had closed everything up and locked the front and back doors. Nothing seemed to be missing.

Chris slept in a sleeping bag on Kyle’s bedroom floor that night. He would’ve slept on Kyle’s lower bunk but James was there even though he had his own bedroom. He had a difficult time shutting down the electricity that was whizzing from synapse to synapse as he processed everything that had happened. However, it was a drastic decline when sleep crept in. He was sore from being so tense throughout the ordeal, and more exhausted than he had ever been in his life, Old Baldy notwithstanding. He was in a deep sleep by midnight.

It was about 11:00 AM on Saturday morning when Chris returned home. He found the front door unlocked and Laura still asleep. She awoke shortly after noon. Chris was watching television and building with Legos when she emerged from the bedroom. He waited for her to ask why he ended up at Kyle’s house on the previous night but she didn’t say anything. Jan’s words were echoing in his mind as she stumbled towards the kitchen: “No boy should be left alone at home night after night.” This was the first time that he really came to understand that his relationship with Laura was not a good one. The interaction with his mother changed from that day forward. What started as general disappointment would eventually grow into a monster inside Christopher’s heart. Later he would project his disdain for Laura onto the entire town, wanting to get far away from west Texas as soon as possible.



Halloween fell on the following Wednesday. None of the boys were real enthusiastic about it except for Trent. He absolutely loved everything about the ghosts and ghouls. He biked to the Skaggs-Albertsons grocery store often during the month of October. An enterprising manager at Skaggs also had an affinity for Halloween and made sure that they went all out for the holiday. The costume aisle was covered in black cloth having torn strips adorning both ends. Inside the shrouded aisle were orange and red colored lights with eerie music and sound effects playing on a cassette player that automatically oscillated between side A and side B. The aisle was stocked with costumes, make-up, props, and supplies. Trent would visit this wonderland as often as possible, sometimes just sitting on the floor and absorbing the environment. This year he discovered “fake skin” in the make-up area and decided to create his own costume instead of purchasing an existing one. He did love the odd smell of the glazed cardboard that was used for the pre-made masks, even to the point that he would pretend to try them on just to breathe it in. That smell would take him back to the memories of Halloween as a child for the rest of his life.

Everybody had agreed to go Trick-or-Treating together on Halloween night. Kyle explained that James was going to join them and they were all fine with that. They met at Kyle’s house in the early evening. Everybody was dressed up as something but nobody put the effort into their costume that Trent did. Kyle was a pirate and James was a mummy -- a choice he came to regret as the night was unusually warm for October. Their costumes had been purchased from Furr’s Grocery in the Southwest Plaza. James supplemented his with some gauze and two ankle wraps on his arms. Justin was wearing a suit with a mask of President Carter. Edna, who always planned ahead, came across the mask at a Fiesta Del Concho booth during the previous summer. She had held onto it specifically for Halloween. Chris was an Ewok that he found at K-Mart. Emmett was a robot. Most of his costume was bought from Skaggs but he did embellish it with some dryer hoses on his arms, which caused him to lumber around like the robot from Lost in Space, unable to lay his arms down flat.

Then there was Trent. He showed up with fake skin protruding from his cheeks, chin, nose, and forehead. Needles were poking through the synthetic blemishes in all directions. None of the needles were perpendicular to his face because his mother forbade it, just in case he fell or was hit by something. Dripping from each pin prick was vampire blood that had been applied liberally and ran down onto his shredded white T-shirt. He also wore jean shorts that were shredded and had been doused in red dye. His intention was that the shorts would look bloody but the dye turned so dark on the denim that it was almost black. That was supplemented with red tempera paint that he used to draw streaks of blood from his knees to his ankles. He used the same paint to completely cover his feet and wore flip-flops to ensure that they would be visible. However, he left the house while the paint was still wet and had collected a substantial amount of dust and grime during the journey to Kyle’s house. Consequently, the bloody feet looked more like the mud from the Red Arroyo creek that traversed College Hills Boulevard. The red tinge of the paint stayed on his skin for weeks after. Around his neck he wore several chain necklaces. His blonde hair was sprayed with black and red colored hair spray. The whole costume was assembled using supplies purchased from Skaggs along with some needles from his mother’s sewing kit, dye from beneath the kitchen sink, paint from their garage, and some worn out clothing.

Trent was the last to arrive at Kyle’s house. He wanted to be fashionably late for his grand unveiling. The whole group stood in the front yard awaiting his arrival. They gawked when he showed up on his bike. Emmett initially thought that he had pushed the needles through his own skin due to the realism of the costume. There was laughter and high-fives as all admitted that Trent had outdone himself, and all of them. The only problem was that nobody could determine what he was supposed to be. It was just a random collection of gore that didn’t seem to correspond to any known character. He told them that he was Frankenstein’s son. Justin challenged this by making the point that Frankenstein was the name of the mad scientist and not the monster that he created. Trent rebutted that everybody calls the monster Frankenstein too. Justin wasn’t sure if that was true but he didn’t have a good comeback, so the matter was dropped.

The first order of business was to ride to Austin Elementary for the Halloween carnival. Door-to-door trick-or-treating would follow. Jan was reluctant to let James go with them but Robert felt confident of the safety in numbers. Trent was only a little older and even in the same grade, “…so what’s the problem?” His motive was mixed -- if James didn’t go with the group then Robert would have to escort him while Jan stayed back to take care of Brenda and answer the door. James never considered this and thought that Robert was just the cool dad that wanted him to have a good time.

Dusk was upon them and the air was brisk and clean, smelling of Autumn as they rode down North Harrison St. towards Austin Elementary. Emmett shed the dryer hoses almost immediately upon arrival due to the limited mobility. They were tossed in the dumpster behind the cafeteria. The carnival was in full swing and the bike rack was almost full by the time they arrived.

Everybody had brought some money but the accounts were nowhere close to even. Chris had only three dollars while Kyle and James had twenty between the two of them. Justin, Emmett, and Trent each had about four dollars and some change. They decided to pool the cash and buy as many tickets as possible at $0.50 each, then split them evenly and stick together. They walked away from the ticket booth with about seventy tickets and felt like millionaires.

The group traveled from booth to booth and won loads of prizes and candy. There was some infighting when they disagreed on which game to visit next but they were always able to come to a consensus. Trent refused to bob for apples because of his extravagant costume that was attracting copious attention from both kids and adults. Classmates joined into the group along the way but they always departed soon after because nobody had the same rapport as those in the pack. The tickets soon whittled down to about twenty. Emmett suggested that they spend those on the haunted house that was setup in one of the sixth-grade classrooms. The price of admission was four tickets per person, which would consume the remainder of their stash.

The so-called haunted house was actually a maze made up of refrigerator boxes laid end to end and taped together. The inside was black with fluorescent paint depicting skulls, apparitions, and other ghostly entities. Black lights were shining down through circular holes. One was hanging too close to the maze ceiling when the night began and had caused the cardboard to start smoking until Coach Simmons raised it. That caused the room to have a strange burned cardboard smell. The two doors to the sixth-grade classroom were used as the entrance and exit. Both were shrouded in black crepe paper that covered the entrance and exit doors. The participant would pay the ticket taker and then hunch down or get on all-fours and enter the maze, eventually exiting out the other door on the north side of the room. Along the way were various jump scares such as a bang on the outside of the cardboard or a glowing eyeball suspended on a flap that would fall down in front of the unsuspecting victim. The boys entered with Kyle in the lead, followed by James, then Chris, Trent, Emmett, and Justin taking up the rear. They stayed together as a group down the initial run that went straight all the way from the entrance to the back of the room. After rounding the corner Kyle was confronted with a fork, one side going straight and the other angled off to the left. He assumed that the left option would probably lessen the duration of the experience since it seemed to point in the general direction of the exit. Therefore, he went straight.

All boys followed Kyle except for Justin. He was last in line behind Emmett and, when he encountered the same fork in the maze, he decided to go down the angled run in hopes that it would connect back up. His plan was to listen for them rustling around through the cardboard so as to anticipate the moment that Kyle would emerge. Then he could jump out of the darkness and scare Kyle much more than any of the cheesy antics that were being employed by the faculty and staff that were operating the attraction.

Justin quietly slipped into the left arm of the fork and accelerated his crawling with the intention to beat Kyle to the merge and ambush him. He started to question the decision after going only about five feet and discovering that there were no black lights or glowing caricatures on the walls or ceiling. It was just a pitch black tunnel. He was more than a little unsettled by the extreme darkness, and the experience was further heightened by being alone and the silence that engulfed him. No longer could he hear teachers banging on cardboard at the entrance as new participants entered the maze. The sound effects, music, and voices were gone. Justin felt along the walls for about ten feet then decided to turn back and try to catch up with Emmett. However, when he turned to go back the other way, he saw no nearby black light or glowing decorations. In fact, he saw nothing. It was just as black and foreboding behind as ahead. He assumed that it must have wound around in such a way that any light from behind was blocked, so he started crawling back at a faster pace. Fear started to really set in after retracing at least as many steps as had led him to the turnaround point. He was certain that he should have reached the entrance to the fork but was still in complete darkness and could hear nothing. He continued crawling faster and faster, eventually calling out for help but getting no response. Fear heightened with each passing second until he transitioned into a full panic and started kicking and punching the walls of the maze. Try as he might, he could not break through the thick cardboard. It seemed almost as if the boxes had been triple-layered. No matter hard he kicked or punched, the walls and ceiling would give but remained intact.

Justin started moving again, clamoring for any sign of light. After a few more feet his hand encountered something odd. He stopped and fell back, horrified at what he may have just touched. Slowly he reached out his hand and touched it again. It was unmistakably the top of somebody’s head. He fell back into a sitting position and heard the crack of a prize that he had won at one of the carnival booths. It was a new product at Skaggs-Albertsons that all the kids wanted: a glow stick. The group had left their spoils on the table in the hallway when they entered the maze but Justin forgot that he had placed the glow stick in his back pocket. A faint light started to emanate from the plastic vile as he pulled it from his back pocket. Then, with great trepidation, he leaned forward and raised the light over the obstacle. He was at first relieved to see that it was Trent, laying face up with blood everywhere. Justin thought that the pool of blood was part of Trent’s outlandish costume but he was horrified when he leaned further to see that Justin’s eyes were open, one more than the other, and they were both glazed over. The coagulated blood had flown out of a large gash on Trent’s forehead, emitting a nauseating smell. Justin knew instinctively what it was although had never smelled that before. Trent Mason was lying in front of him on the cardboard floor, reeking of death.

Justin let out a broken, high-pitched scream and turned to flee in the opposite direction. He was even more horrified to see his mother, Claire, sitting in front of him, slumped over with hands in front, palms facing up. Again, blood was everywhere, emanating from somewhere on her head and also both of her wrists. Her face was mutilated and looked more like raw hamburger than his mother. A steady stream was flowing off her lower lip, or what was left of it.

Justin completely lost control and started thrashing in a blind fear. He kicked and punched and screamed, trying to break through the cardboard in such a panic that initially he didn’t see the ray of light that shone through as the boxes separated at a seam. The face of Coach Simmons looked down as he pulled the boxes apart to reveal a screaming, horrified child, flailing at nothing. He knelt down and grabbed Justin by the shoulders, shaking him while exclaiming, “It’s OK! You’re OK! Hey! Calm down son!” Justin froze and stopped screaming. He looked at the coach, wide-eyed and trembling, unable to speak. He pointed left without looking, expecting that Coach Simmons would see Trent in a pool of blood. The coach looked but saw only the inside of the maze, painted with fluorescent goblins and illuminated by the black light. His eyes met with Justin’s and the two seemed to communicate without speaking. Then Justin looked to where he had just pointed to see exactly what the coach saw. There was no body and the passage was perfectly illuminated. His head swung right to see the same: nothing but black light and the hastily painted mural. White light from the classroom was also streaming in around the edges of the black lights. The teachers had turned them on when they heard Justin’s screams and saw the boxes moving as he attempted to create his own exit.

Justin was beside himself exclaiming, “There were bodies! Trent and…and my mom…they were…they were dead!” The coach didn’t speak. It was obvious to Justin that he either didn’t understand or didn’t believe him. He placed his hands beneath Justin’s armpits and lifted him up, forcing him to stand, wobbly and shaking. Justin scanned the room to see several adults staring in stunned silence. He heard one of them say, “I told you this was too much. I knew some kid was going to freak out.” Justin tried to speak but he still could not regain his composure. It bothered him that a teacher would think their cheesy haunted maze could be the source of his fear, but he didn’t counter. Two faces were peering through the crepe paper at the exit; it was Kyle and Chris. Both had very concerned expressions as if they knew something that none of the adults in the room were aware of. Kyle noticed that Justin was trying to communicate with the coach but could not assemble a coherent sentence and so he yelled out, “He’s our friend!” The coach looked at the two boys and then at Justin, waffling between simply offloading this very perplexing little problem or calling for some professional help. He had no idea as to whom he should call for a boy having a psychotic break on Halloween night and so he opted for the easy way out and led Justin to the exit. There was just enough clearance between the edge of the exit box and the doorjamb for Justin to squeeze through. Then he was back out in the hallway surrounded by his friends and almost catatonic from the trauma that he had just endured. The dichotomy could not have been more stark. Clutched in his left hand was the green glow stick, which only emphasized how badly he was shaking.

Chris placed his hand behind Justin’s elbow and said, “Come on.” He pulled with the expectation that Justin would follow but he didn’t move. Chris made eye contact with Justin and said “Justin, come with us.” Justin nodded slowly and muttered “Yeah…OK.” The six of them walked outside to the causeway between the main campus and the cafeteria. They sat down on a row of concrete benches and Kyle asked him to explain exactly what had just happened. Justin was still in shock and could hardly speak. Kyle continued working to pry information out of Justin until he finally said, “You won’t believe me.”

James was the next to speak. It was out of character for him to engage as he always felt intimidated by the strong personalities in the group, but he had purpose in his voice when he asked, “Was it the Shadows?” Justin looked at him and answered a question with a question: “How do you know about that?”

Kyle realized that Justin didn’t know about what happened on Old Baldy. He had only seen the Shadows at Little Africa, and James wasn’t with them. “Never mind” he said, “we’ll tell you later. Now, explain exactly what you saw in there.”

Justin went on to describe the whole chronology from the moment he entered the left fork of the maze until Coach Simmons pulled the boxes apart. Trent piped up with a joke when he told about the first body, saying “Why am I always the dead guy?! You gotta problem with me punk?” His effort to bring levity to the situation was fruitless. Emmett didn’t move his eyes from Justin when he said, “Shut up Trent.”

Chris was the first to speak after Justin finished explaining what had happened. “I think it was the Shadows. I think you were inside a Shadow, and it caused you to see things – and feel things, and smell things. Things that weren’t real.” Justin explained how real it all seemed but Kyle interjected that it had all happened in the span of only about one minute, or two at the most, because that was roughly how long it took for them to exit the maze, and they all heard Justin screaming well before they reached the end. Emmett asked, “How long did it seem to you?” Justin responded that he had been wandering around in that black abyss for at least ten to fifteen minutes. This affirmed Chris’s conclusion that it was something like a vision -- something that didn’t really happen but seemed completely real. Something that compressed or expanded time. For a moment he wondered if the incident at his house on Friday had also been an illusion, but then he remembered that Robert said all the doors were open. Of course, that could have been an actual person that broke in after he left. Maybe…just maybe.

Justin didn’t feel confident returning home and sleeping alone in his bedroom. Therefore, the whole group escorted him home and Kyle asked if Justin could sleep over. Edna called it “highly irregular” but she agreed after some coaxing. Justin committed to be home by 7:30 AM the following morning so that Edna could drive him to the Catholic school downtown. He gathered some clothing and a toothbrush before departing with Kyle and James. The others all went to their respective homes. Chris, Emmett, and Trent were leery as they rode their bicycles home alone in the dark, but there were still some kids going house to house, so they didn’t feel entirely alone. As for the six boys, there would be no more trick-or-treating on this night.

Everybody except for James was still awake at midnight as October of 1979 came to an end. They were all thinking about what had happened to Justin. Justin himself was in the top bunk with Kyle; he couldn’t bear to be on the floor alone even in the same room. He thought Kyle was asleep and Kyle thought he was, but they were both still contemplating what it all meant. They finally fell asleep one by one sometime in the early morning of November 1. First Emmett, then Trent, Chris, Kyle, and finally Justin.



Sister Martinez noticed that Justin was particularly distracted during class on Thursday. She almost missed their banter as she was used to a disrespectful or demeaning comment whenever work was assigned or he was called upon. She caught him in the carpool line at the end of the day just as he was about to get into Edna’s Plymouth, asking “Is everything alright Justin?” He responded in an uncharacteristically muted tone and almost immediately tried to compensate with a false enthusiasm through a broken smile, “Of course! Why do you ask?” She saw through the façade and reminded him that they had a school counselor if he ever needed to talk. He gave it another go with, “You kiddin’? She’d need counseling after she talked to me!” Sister Martinez did not feign a smile. She reached into her habit and pulled out a small wooden cross and a rosary while saying, “I’d like for you to have this Justin.” He attempted to compose a caddy response but only got as far as “I already have…” His words trailed off as he choked up. He was overtaken by a very unexpected and unwelcome rush of emotion.

Justin had been so disturbed by the experience on Halloween night that he was basically numb. For some reason that fully bewildered his bellicose disposition, this act of kindness from Sister Martinez tripped emotions that were wholly beyond his ability to comprehend or control. He had no way of knowing that Claire’s abandonment had caused unspeakable trauma to settle and fester deep within his cellular memory. Then to have been accosted by something so evil -- so unholy and horrifying; he was truly an emotional wreck although the outward appearance seemed to convey a boy in control of both himself and his environment…until now. He had not accumulated enough life experience for retrospective analysis, nor did he have any education to help understand the chain reaction that was underway in his members due to Claire’s abandonment and the assault on his sanity at Austin Elementary. He was completely unprepared for the emotional outburst that was thrust upon him by his own physiology. It was even larger than that -- he had been broken at a deeply spiritual level but had no capability to understand or cope with it. A well of emotion sprung up from that bottomless pit and erupted with such explosive force that Justin was unable to contain it.

Justin nodded slowly and attempted to regain his composure. For some reason none of the other children noticed this exchange between the usually militant nun and the recalcitrant jerk that she had to cope with day after day. It was as if they were shielded for a moment from all of the ridicule and pain that inevitably comes with humanity’s disjointed and fragmented existence. She stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the back seat of Edna’s car. Edna rolled down the passenger side window with an incredulous demeanor. She was about to ask what he had done today when Sister Martinez leaned into the window and said, “Everything is fine. Justin did really great today.” These words were the polar opposite of what Edna had expected, but she was relieved. She thanked Sister Martinez and pulled out of the carpool line, feeling pressured for having taken too long with several cars waiting impatiently behind her.

Edna drove towards home, moving at a good clip on West Beauregard and going just a little bit faster than the speed limit, as was her custom. The passenger side window was still down and that bothered her more and more with each passing second. She was approaching the Holsum bakery when the noise and the wind became unbearable. She pulled into the parking lot, intending to roll up the window. However, both Edna and Justin were suddenly smitten with the aroma of hot donuts fresh from the oven. She did roll up the window but then looked in the rear view mirror at Justin, who was staring out the window and still had the “sup-sups” from the conversation with Sister Martinez.

“I think we need some donuts, don’t you?” Justin turned to look at her, his body flooded with endorphins, enkephalins, and dopamine from the torrent of emotion. The wafting, sweet smell of the fresh donuts, combined with Edna’s general disposition, and the very unexpected and timely kindness just shown by Sister Martinez, further pulled him up from the emotional chasm. His countenance was transitioning from despondency to peace and Edna’s proposal furthered the emergence. He cracked a half smile and responded, “Yes, I do. I think we both need some hot, steamy, gooey donuts right now.” They both exited the car and entered the wonderland that was the Holsum Bakery.

Justin noticed the Strike it Rich department store as they exited with a white box containing a dozen blazing hot glazed donuts. It was formerly called BW Merchandise but one day the sign inexplicably changed to Strike it Rich. This was another of Christopher Bennett’s many complaints, quite similar to the mission of identifying the “real” Little Africa over the imposter next to G&N. Justin thought of Chris when he saw the sign that was splotched with colorful ink blots to make it stand out from the noise on West Beauregard. He giggled as he opened the car door, pondering the irrelevancy of the store name against the raw passion of Chris exclaiming, “What a stupid name! Why did they even change it?! BW’s was better!” This was almost always followed by an emphatic and determined, “They need to change it back.” The cause was made even more humorous by the fact that it wasn’t even called BW’s; that was just Chris’s shorthand that he’d used for so long that he came to think it was the actual name. Justin thought on all of this as a black cloud dispersed from inside his heart with each chuckle.

His spirit was light and his attitude completely different at school the next day. Sister Martinez noticed it but she didn’t say anything. Justin knew that the upcoming weekend might be a major event because they were slated to return to Little Africa. He spent much of the day contemplating that and wondering what awaited them. He was only two days removed from the horror of the Shadows and to some extent the healing had already begun, thanks to the discernment and compassion of Sister Martinez.