Date: Tue, 26 Oct 2021 04:28:54 -0700
From: Tucker <metredose@gmail.com>
Subject: The Haunting of Bellsy Home, chapter 1

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or
events is coincidental. No part of this story may be reprinted without
permission. Copyright by Metredose, 2021, and all rights reserved. Comments
and criticism welcome. Metredose@gmail.com

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Chapter 1

Two days before Halloween, and a plan was hatched. It started simple
enough. Best friends Tuck and Duke, high school seniors, visited Value
Village and saw something they didn't much like. They were shopping for
costumes for the big school dance on Halloween when they spotted another
boy they knew, and that boy wasn't alone. That boy was with one of Tuck's
old girlfriends, his favorite old girlfriend, in fact. It didn't matter
that Tuck already had a date for the dance, and it didn't matter that Tuck
had dated many girls since he was with the girl in question. None of it
mattered because it just wasn't right.

The boy, Leroy, was a bonehead, none too bright. Maybe that's why he
thought he could step in on what Tuck considered his territory. Leroy was a
boy Tuck didn't much care for anyway, not at the best of times, for he and
Leroy had some history. It happened in the fourth grade that Leroy saw Tuck
and another friend Tuck had back then sharing a cigarette, hidden from all
the world but Leroy beneath the low hanging branches of a big sassafras
tree. Well, it didn't take Leroy long to tell a teacher, since they were at
school when it happened. And it didn't take Tuck's daddy long at all, once
he got his boy home, to give him the whooping of his life.

Tuck was still bitter about it. He was not one to forgive. He'd given Leroy
a thrashing every bit as bad as the one his daddy had doled out to him, as
soon as he saw the chance. After that, Leroy feared him, and Tuck
reinforced this view in the boy every time he saw him. Shoving him hard
against lockers when his back was turned, flicking his ears in class,
wedgies, all forms of intimidation. Tuck's bag of tricks was endless, his
resentment vast. But none of it, it turned out, had done much good, for
there was Leroy with Jeannie. And they were canoodling.

When Tuck saw them, he froze. He ducked behind a tall rack of costumes, and
pulled Duke with him.

"Would you look at that?" Tuck said.

He cleared his throat and spat onto one of the hanging costumes.

Duke didn't know what to think of it. Wasn't Tuck dating Carlene Lowell?
Why should he care what Jeannie did?

They stayed hidden for a while, Tuck glaring at any shopper that looked his
way twice. When Leroy and Jeannie finally left with their costumes, the
boys emerged from hiding and got down to business. But afterwards, when
they were back in Tuck's truck with their own costumes, Tuck hammered on
about it, his anger growing and growing. Duke thought it was too much. He
didn't care. Not until Tuck pushed his buttons did Duke respond as Tuck
wanted him to.

Like many farm boys the world over, Duke's family was conservative and
religious. Very religious.  Born again Christian, born again all over the
place, they were all about Jesus and the bible, and Duke was too. He did
pretty much as he wanted, but he had some lines drawn in the sand,
especially regarding sex, for that seemed to be the main focus of his
family's religion. Prohibition of sex before marriage. Prohibition of any
type of sex, in fact, that didn't ultimately result in legitimate
offspring. Even the mention of the word abortion was enough to push old
Duke into a cataclysm of anger and revulsion.

Knowing this, Tuck started in on him.

"That Leroy has designs on Jeannie," he said.

Duke perked up. Tuck had got his attention.

"Yes, Sir, Leroy thinks he's gonna get himself some with Jeannie."

"That ain't right," Duke said. "I hope Jeannie's smarter than that."

"She wasn't with me," Tuck said, with a leer.

Duke knew Tuck had sex with girls. He didn't like it. He convinced himself
many times to break off the friendship but he could never quite bring
himself to do it.

"And what if Jeannie gets pregnant?" Tuck said.

Duke's eyes widened. An illegitimate child!

"Do you think old Leroy would do right by her if that happened?" Tuck
said. "Or do you think he'd ask her to get an abortion? Well, I can tell
you what I think would happen, knowing Leroy as I do."

The heat was rising up in Duke. His face, starting with his ears, turned
bright red.

"We gotta stop it!" Duke said.

"Any ideas how?" Tuck said, but his eyes were sharp and twinkling.

"No," Duke said. "How 'bout you?"

"I got few," Tuck said.

When he told them, Duke was reluctant. But Tuck only had to mention the
poor imaginary unborn child again to convince him.


At school the next day, Tuck was waiting for Duke in his truck. He had
skipped his last class and had grown impatient. When Duke finally arrived,
he hopped right in next to Tuck.

"You got it?" Tuck asked.

"Yessir, I do," Duke said.

He pulled his backpack off and searched through it, pulling out an ancient
tape recorder, the kind that used old fashioned cassettes. It was a low,
flat box of black plastic, but it worked when Tuck pressed the 'play'
button. An old rock song from the 1980s spluttered to life, but Tuck was in
no listening mood, so he shut it off.

"Now all's we need is a blank tape. Your daddy got one of those?"

"I dunno," Duke said. "Don't think so."

"Well, I'll look around my dad's shop. If I can't find one there, might
have to buy one."

"You got the rest of the stuff?" Duke asked.

"Yep. Got everything I need 'cept the cassette tape. Made me a real nice
ghost, real life like. Got the pulley. Just got to set it all up."

"What if he don't come?" Duke said.

"Oh, he'll come. Trust me on that."

Duke hopped out of the truck, went to his own. He didn't know why he was
going along with Tuck's crazy plan. It seemed stupid. And, truth be told,
he was a little scared. But he would never, ever let Tuck see that.


When Tuck got home, his daddy was waiting for him. The old man was working
on another beater, this one a truck, and he set Tuck to work on an old
car. Tuck fiddled with the engine a bit, got it started, but his heart
really wasn't in it. He liked his truck well enough, but Tuck just wasn't
the car guy that his daddy was, not by a long shot. What he really liked
was raising steers.

Most of his young life was devoted to animals. 4-H was his thing when he
was a kid. Chickens, hogs, but best of all those steers, fattening 'em up,
keeping 'em nice and pretty, with sleek coats, until they were big enough
for show and slaughter. His mother liked animals too, but not his
daddy. For some reason his daddy didn't like animals at all, said they were
too much work for too little return. And when Tuck's mama died, he put a
stop to it, got rid of the livestock completely, and took up cars.

The big property was littered with them. Some, rusting heaps, looked as if
they could never spark back into life, but others were more
promising. Since his daddy got them at auction most of the time, for next
to nothing, Tuck was sure he made some profit. If only his daddy could see
that he was an animal man. But Tuck's daddy was hard, and he would brook no
argument on the matter.

Tuck still dressed the part, though. He was rarely without his cowboy hat
unless he was wearing his red MAGA hat, reserved for special
occasions. Otherwise it was the cowboy hat, tried and true, broken in so
well that it wore like a second skin. Button down shirts, wide at the
shoulders, narrower toward the belly, worn every day, with a white t-shirt
underneath in case it got too hot. He insisted on Wrangler jeans, always
had, and they, too, clung to his narrow hips and tight, round little
buttocks like a second skin.

There was some vanity to the boy. There could be no denying that. He was a
long, lean drink of water on a parched day, in a parched land, with his
tight body and golden hair, the bangs of which were perpetually falling
over his eyes if they weren't trapped under his hat. His eyes were a
sparkling blue, like the sky on a hot, cloudless day, and his features were
strong and straight, creating a perfect symmetry. It was no wonder the
ladies, at school and elsewhere, paid him heed. But his beauty, strong as
it was, couldn't entirely conceal the ugliness inside.

Like his hard father, he was a hard young man, and getting harder by the
day. Just shy of eighteen, he had enough anger and malice inside him for a
much older man. He had a hot temper and a disdain for authority, and a
welling hatred towards those he considered weaker than himself, which was
nearly everyone. He did not like the color black, or any other color, for
that matter, unless it was clean, spanking white, preferably with a little
red at the neck. Anything he considered to be part of the 'liberal agenda'
could stir him to violence, and he considered himself lucky to live in a
part of the country that was staunchly conservative, even though he was
himself entirely unprincipled.

His anger extended to women, too. He had no thought of being faithful,
considered pussy to be his God given right. He had never, thus far, hit a
female, but he'd come close a few times. Neither had he committed the crime
of rape, but it wasn't beyond him. Had he not been attractive to the
ladies, had he not been able to turn on the charm when he needed to, there
is no telling to what depths he might have sunk to get laid. But he was
still young. There was plenty of time left for that.

It was a warm day, despite the season, warm and muggy. Tuck pulled off his
hat, let sun radiate in his blonde hair and caress the fine planes of his
already tanned face. He started to daydream, thinking of a certain girl who
was not Jeannie nor Carlene, thinking of prying apart the lips of her pussy
and shoving his cock deep inside, and he grew aroused and he felt very
good, with little of the usual malice inside, but his daddy saw him idling
and snuck up behind, and backhanded him hard across the face, snapping him
away from a momentary peace.

"Quit dawdling, boy!"

Tuck looked at his daddy with eyes ablaze with hatred, then advanced on the
old man and knocked the can of beer right out of his left hand. His daddy
just smiled. His daddy egged him on.

"Think you can lick me now, boy? You ready to try?"

Tuck took another step closer. His fingers were bunched up into fists, and
they were twitching.

"Go on and do it, you little pussy. Make your old man proud!"

They were not the right words. They were words his daddy had forgotten that
he'd once said to Tuck before a little league game a long time ago, when
Tuck's mama was still with them. Words that his Daddy meant, back then.

The twitching fingers went still, relaxed, and then Tuck's body slackened
in defeat, and he hung his head.

"Get back to work," said Tuck's daddy.

The boy shouted back, "Yes Sir!"

The old man smiled when the boy went back under the hood. Tuck was almost
there. He'd been waiting for years for the boy to take him on, to give him
the beat down that would make Tuck a man, the beat down that would show
that Tuck was strong enough to make his own way in a hard, hard world.


Duke wasn't having much luck at his studying. When he came home he'd looked
after the family horses, fed them, gave them clean water, brushed their
coats and manes, and then his mama fixed him a tomato sandwich, and he took
to his room. But he wasn't feeling it. What he felt instead was something
he didn't much care to feel, for he was aroused and there wasn't much to be
done about that. His mind had wandered to his girlfriend of the past four
years, Mary Ellen, and that was it. The unwanted erection sprang up, and it
was like an alien had sprouted from his crotch.

He tried to think of other things. He thought of reading his bible, but
that wouldn't do until he calmed down. It would be disrespectful to the
Lord. In all those years of dating, Duke had never done more than kiss Mary
Ellen. They were rarely left alone. Duke had a strict curfew, and Mary
Ellen had a stricter one, and both of them were saving themselves for
marriage, to each other. Nor could Duke satisfy himself in other
ways. Although he had given in once or twice when he was newly pubescent,
scarcely aware of what was happening to him, once he understood the sin of
Onan, he never again debased himself. It was, at times, excruciating, and
it was never less than frustrating. He often felt like he would simply
explode into non-existence.

But he was a faithful young man, true to his vows to God and to his
parents, and that was not about to change, no matter how maddening the
temptation. He had a strong will. Even the sticky emissions he used to
shamefully discover in his shorts when he woke up in the morning had long
since abated. Willpower and faith, that's all it took. He went to the
bathroom and took a cold shower, and that helped his mood. But his heart
just wasn't in his studies, and he called Tuck from his cellphone, and then
got in his truck and drove to his house.

It was late in the afternoon when he arrived. Things were getting
dark. Tuck came to the door with his index finger to his lips, and then
gently shut the door behind him. They made their way to Tuck's truck,
hopped inside, and only then did they utter words.

"I got everything," Tuck said, with some excitement. "You ready to go for
it?"

"I'm not so sure," Duke said. "That house is creepy."

"That's why we gotta do it there," Tuck said. "It'll scare the shit outta
Leroy."

Duke knew this was true, but it didn't help any. Along with being super
religious came a certain susceptibility to superstition. Duke wasn't so
sure he wanted to visit a house that had a reputation for being haunted.

"C'mon, don't be a pussy," Tuck urged. "It's just an old house."

Duke shrugged his shoulders and the truck roared into life.

It took no time to get to the place, the turn off, where they hit a dirt
road that went only a short way before turning too rough to follow. Tuck
parked the truck, hauled out some of the things he'd stored in a backpack
and handed it to Duke, then grabbed another backpack which he would carry
himself. The house lay a half mile further on, but it was concealed by
shrubbery and trees, mostly naked of themselves in the season, but hosting
the dread kudzu, which had clambered up high and smothered all in its
path. The moon was up but only darkness shown where the house waited.

Electric lamp turned on, the boys walked, Tuck's heart full of excitement,
Duke's heavy with rising fear. They came upon the shrubs, were entangled in
the kudzu, slashed at it and broke free, then skirted the greenery until
they came to an open spot in it, something of a tunnel. A faint light shone
through at the other end, and the boys walked on, poor Duke startled by
every snap of twig, every saw of insect, and then an owl hooted and Duke
stopped dead.

"This isn't a good idea," he said. "This place is creepy."

"We ain't even there yet!" Tuck said, with ridicule in his voice.

He trudged on, and Duke followed, unwilling to be left alone. The light
ahead seemed to fade and the oppressive darkness swallowed them. Then the
lamp went out.

"Oh, dear Lord," Duke said, in a rattling voice.

The lamp flashed on again, then off and on real quick. Tuck laughed, and
Duke realized that Tuck was having sport with him.

"Let's turn back," Duke said. "Please."

"Jesus, calm down and don't be such a pussy!"

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain!"

"Just come on!"

Tuck darted ahead, his limbs shuffling with energy, and Duke hustled to
catch up. All at once they broke through, out of the close air of the
tunnel and into the open, with the great house before them, gaunt and
hulking, the low, yellow moon half blocked by one of its tall turrets. It
had four of them, one at each corner of the house, and midway between the
two front ones a giant Gothic arch soared up past the roof, with a smaller
arch on each side of it. A bit lower down was some sort of protuberance,
like half an octagon, part of a large, oddly conceived room, perhaps, and
there was another exactly the same lower down. These rooms hosted large
windows, and there were more windows up and down each side of the front of
the house, but the glass was long gone, and now they stared out into the
night like a multitude of dead spider's eyes. Beneath was a portico,
surrounded by huge columns. Once, long, long ago, huge stone lions had
flanked the porch, just above the stairs to the landing, but there was no
memory of them now

Bellsy Home, that's what it had been called by its original owners, it was
said, and for well over a century and a half it had endured. The paint was
gone, along with the stone lions, the carpets and mantels, windows and
furnishings, but some of the grandeur remained, albeit in a blighted
state. Blighted and empty, as far back as anyone alive could remember, for
those who had called it home came to bad ends. Everyone knew the tales,
everyone who wanted to hear. A family slaughtered, and then another after
them, and then no one had wanted to live there, and the place went fallow,
the vast fields beyond and the sad house itself.

All who went there afterwards told of strange happenings, odd creakings,
faint movements, even voices and apparitions. The house gained a
reputation. Children were warned away. Few ventured there that were not
seized by fear, even naughty youngsters like Tuck, who had once thrown a
rock at perhaps the last remaining pane of glass of the house, and then
fled shrieking when he thought he heard an angry voice call back from
inside.

But that was long ago. Tuck was no longer afraid. He wasn't afraid of
anything. He charged forward, into this Bellsy Home, threw open the doors,
and went in with Duke at his heels. The room they entered was tall and
spacious but the air was dead and still. At the back of it was a double
staircase, grand in construction but now dusty and decrepit looking in the
barely illuminated gloom, and strung everywhere with old cobwebs, heavy and
gray, like tattered Spanish lace, and the place couldn't have been more
dismal, not to Duke.

He was saying a prayer, beseeching his maker to protect him, and once it
was finished, he felt immensely relieved, because he knew he was then
safe. Tuck was busy at work. He had abandoned his pulley and instead was
spooling out fishing line. He went up the right staircase, which creaked
and sent up clouds of dust with each step, until he reached the
landing. This landing served for both staircases, and there was a long
stretch between the two. It formed a sort of balcony overlooking the entry
room, and was bordered by a spindled balustrade that matched the woodwork
banisters of the stairs.

Tuck tacked his fishing line to the rail dead center of the balustrade,
then dropped his spool. Down the stairs he raced, and he picked up the
spool and walked close to the front door, letting out line as he went. He
tacked the line directly to the wood floor, then checked to make sure it
was tight, adjusting and re-tacking it a couple of times. A simple set up,
but Tuck was satisfied. He had constructed a ghost out of a white sheet,
and it looked suitably ragged. When things were just right with the line,
and after he had gone up the stairs again, Tuck attached this phony ghost
to the wire with a safety pin, then set it loose from up above. It sailed
down a few feet, but then came to an abrupt halt. More weight was needed,
Tuck said, and he told Duke to go outside and find some rocks. Freshly
fortified by Jesus, Duke obeyed, but when he returned, Tuck was making
ghostly noises into the tape recorder. He played it back, but wasn't
satisfied.

"You try," Tuck said.

Now Duke had a stronger, deeper voice than Tuck, and when the recorder was
turned on, he gave a low, eerie moan. Tuck played it back, but still wasn't
satisfied.

"Lower and longer," he said. "Think of all those ghost movies you watched
on TV as a kid. Think of the ghosts on Scooby Doo!"

Duke tried again, and when it was played on the recorder, Tuck expressed
his appreciation. Then he gathered up the rocks Duke had brought and
stuffed the one he judged the best into his ghost. Up the stairs he went,
lickety split, and then he tried his ghost again on the wire. It sailed
down smoothly.

"Okay, now, I'm gonna try again, but I want you to come up here with me and
play the recorder when the ghost is down a little ways."

"Sure, Tuck."

So up they went, and Tuck let Duke push the ghost, and then let Duke press
the 'play' button on the recorder, and everything worked just as it
should. But there was one problem, Duke thought.

"How's Leroy gonna see it when it's dark in here?"

"I'm gonna leave the lamp, dumb ass. Just turn it on before you start. I'm
doing the hard part by getting' Leroy to come up here, right?"

"Still too dark," Duke said. "Need a light inside the ghost to see it
good."

"Well, shit," Tuck said.

He scratched his noggin, deep in thought, and then his eyes grew bright.

"I got it. We'll put one of those little head lamp things in there, you
know, the ones with a strap on it that goes around your forehead? Those
things don't weigh nothing. I'll give you one tomorrow at school. Can you
remember how to do everything?"

"Yeah," Duke said. "But how will I know when to do it?"

"I'll try to make some noise, but you just gotta be ready. When that door
opens, let 'er rip. Gonna scare the living shit out of Leroy."

"But how's that gonna stop him from getting' on Jeannie? That's what I
don't understand."

"After we scare the shit out of him, we'll tell him how it's gonna be. If
he don't nod and say yes, then I beat the shit out of him."

"Okay," Duke said. "Seems kinda crazy, but I'll do it."

"I know I can count on you, Duke man. Always could. I'll get that head lamp
to you at lunch tomorrow. 'Member what I've said, now, and don't fuck it
up."

"Can we get out of here now? It's getting cold."

In fact, a cold chill had descended into the room. Duke could see his
breath in front of him. The stairs snapped and creaked as Tuck and Duke
went down, and then something worse than the cold came. Duke felt the air
stir, and then a wind raced over the old wood floor, sending swirling
trails of dust skittering across the room, right up to where the boys
stood.

"Holy shit!" Duke said, but Tuck just laughed.

"Only the wind," Tuck said.

"But--"

"Don't be a pussy!"


It was a sunny, bright day that greeted Duke the next morning, hardly the
kind of weather that he associated with Halloween. But he didn't mind. The
sun peeking through the windows of his upstairs bedroom, which until
recently he had shared with two older brothers, made it easier to get
up. He'd had a strange dream, one he could scarcely remember but for
disturbing fragments, and those were fading fast. He felt funny. Just
odd. He wasn't sure why, but it was there, underneath it all.

When he stirred and pushed his blankets off of himself, he realized he was
aroused. His penis was trapped by his pajama bottoms but was struggling
fiercely against them. It wasn't easy to maintain his vows of purity on
warm, cozy mornings such as that one, and Duke knew he'd better get into a
cold shower fast. He hopped up, walked gingerly to the adjoining bathroom,
and laid out a fresh towel. Then he turned on the water to its lowest
setting.

Duke pulled off his top, then the pajama bottoms. His penis, hard as ever
it was, snapped up after it was released. Duke refused to touch it while it
was erect, but the sight of it caused him trouble enough. It was big. Real
big. Duke had a theory that all those years of abstinence, all those years
of ignoring the stubborn thing, had caused it to grow out of spite, and it
seemed to have no mind to stop growing. Duke had never seen the like of it
on another man. Certainly not in the locker room at school. Certainly not
on his brothers, but they didn't take their purity so seriously as Duke
did. He'd heard one and the other, too, grunting in the shower at different
times in their development, and he'd heard 'em at night, under the covers,
more than a few times.

He himself had never given in, not but twice at barely thirteen when he
knew no better, and he never would again, not 'til the wedding and the
marriage bed. The thing to do was to get under that ice cold water and
think of other things. So that's what he did, that morning and hundreds of
others, and when he got out, dried and dressed himself, he said a prayer of
thanks. It was the Lord who saw him through, then as always, and he knew
it.

But would the Lord see him through that Halloween? Never before had he
attended the dance scheduled yearly for Halloween night, though he'd
thought of it a few times. He knew the dance was meant to keep the older
kids out of trouble and the younger kids safe from the older kids, who
liked to rob them of candy. But none of that applied to Duke and his
family.

Halloween was Satan's holiday, his parents said, and their family didn't
have no truck with the bad man. Duke nor his siblings had ever been allowed
to dress up, never been allowed to trick or treat or go to any
dance. Halloween was a day for prayer for lost souls, or souls that were in
danger of being lost on that night of mindless debauch. But things were
different this year for Duke. He was of age, had turned eighteen a month
before, and that meant he was a man who could make his own choices, for
better or worse. Well, he'd made his choice and even told his folks about
it. He saw no harm in Halloween. They said he could do as he pleased.

So he would. The dance might be fun. There was only the thought of Tuck's
foolery with Leroy and the Bellsy Home that troubled him. He really should
have put his foot down on that one. Tuck always thought he had the measure
of him, but they both knew that wasn't really true. When Duke really put
his foot down, nothing Tuck could say or do would change his mind. The
truth was that he had the measure of Tuck more than Tuck had the measure of
him. He could take Tuck in a fight any day, even though Tuck didn't fight
fair. Many's the time where he had stood between Tuck and one of Tuck's
victims. Heck, he'd stopped Tuck from picking on Leroy hisself a few times,
even.

But Duke had a hard time saying no to Tuck. He loved him because he was his
oldest and most constant friend, but he also pitied Tuck. Everyone knew
Tuck wasn't being brought up right after his mama died, not with that mean
drunk of a father. There was nothing anyone could do about it 'cept make
allowances for the boy's behavior and love him anyway. It sure wasn't easy
sometimes.

Duke wondered how the evening would shake out. He wondered what Mary
Ellen's costume would be. Then he wondered if he'd follow through with
Tuck's plans or tell him to forget it. Felt like they'd be pressed for
time, anyway, with the dance starting at 7:30 sharp, like they wouldn't be
able to do both things Tuck wanted to do. Because Duke had a mind to go to
that dance if it killed him. He was looking forward to wearing his
costume. He was looking forward to arriving at the dance all dressed up
like someone new.

At lunch, Duke met Tuck at one of the old picnic tables set up outside for
eating. They were used mostly in summer, or when a student wanted some
peace and quiet away from the lunch room. Tuck was in his usual outfit,
wearing his cowboy hat, pulling food he'd made himself out of a crumpled
old brown sack. Out came a peanut/jelly sandwich. Tuck took a couple of
bites, tossed the crust onto the ground, then did the same thing with the
other half. He guzzled his Coke, then pulled his can of chew from his back
pocket and had himself a big, three fingered dip of Copenhagen snuff. No
sweet, minty stuff for old Tuck. He sat for a minute, then spat a mouthful
of brown juice onto the ground.

Duke didn't much care for that habit, but he'd seen it enough to know to
ignore it. He started in with Tuck about skipping Bellsy Home that night,
but Tuck wasn't having it.

"Don't be a pussy," he said, and spat again.

"Just don't think it's a good idea," Duke said. "I wanna get to the dance
on time. You know I never been."

"It ain't nothing," Tuck said. "Just a bunch of dopes walking around the
gym listening to shitty ass music."

"You always go," said Duke.

"That's only cuz I always got a date," said Tuck, with a nasty
smile. "Ain't no night like Halloween for getting into a girl's
drawers. But you wouldn't know about that."

"Nope, I sure wouldn't," Duke agreed. "Anyway, I'm skippin' the Bellsy
place. You're on your own."

"C'mon," Tuck said. "Please?"

His clear blue eyes suddenly looked pained, and his lower lip quivered
around his chaw, and Duke was just about caught.

"It's our last year at school together," Tuck pleaded.

"But the dance--"

"We'll still make it," Tuck said, and his voice was now quivering like his
stuffed lip.

Duke exhaled dramatically, but he gave in.

"Alright, what do I have to do?"

In a flash, the quivering lip and voice, the sad eyes, all of it was gone,
as if those things were never there to begin with.

With a self-satisfied grin, barely concealed from Duke, Tuck told him what
to do.


A little after five, Duke pulled his truck onto the little dirt road that
led to Bellsy Home and parked. His costume was not the same one he'd chosen
with Tuck at Value Village. Something had compelled him to return that one,
some mysterious notion. He had gone to the store and asked the sales lady
to help him find something a little more dramatic. He chose a dark jacket,
a very old fashioned one, long and with a high collar, wide lapels, and
also a white cravat that was now folded neatly over his upper chest,
disappearing beneath the buttoned coat and concealing his button down
shirt. He wore black pants and shiny, old fashioned shoes, also black. His
hair, normally plastered down to the top and sides of his head, was now a
thick, unruly mass of auburn waves and curls. He looked like some Lord of
the Manor from a bygone era, dashing and romantic in a way Duke had never
dreamed he could appear.

He said another prayer for confidence, although it was not yet sunset, and
the woods ahead looked less ominous than they had in the black darkness. He
found the tunnel choked all around with kudzu, took a deep breath, and went
in. He could faintly see some of the front of the house way down at the
end, but the light was going out by the second. Midway through, Duke
stopped. An odd feeling came to him, like what he'd felt when he woke up
that morning and dismissed as caused by his arousal. But there was no
erection now, and the feeling was stronger than before, much stronger. It
felt like the hairs at the back of his neck were standing on end.

He thought he saw something in the woods, just to the right of him, in the
darkness of the kudzu void. More rightly, he felt it, just knew something
was there for him to see. He switched on the electric lamp to its highest
setting, turned it in the direction he wanted, then paused, for then he
thought he saw the skeleton. Not a human skeleton or an animal skeleton,
but a fragment of something familiar and dear to his heart. He walked
towards it, light in front of him, careful not to trip on the trailing
creepers. He stopped before what he'd seen. Choked in kudzu, covered with
lichen and moss, yet he'd been right, for buried under it all was a cross,
a sturdy one made of stone. Beneath it, he knew, lay a grave.

Was it for the Bellsys, murdered so long ago? One family, and then the
next, all Bellsys, all forgotten but for their haunted last home? Were
their bones beneath him? Did they rest, untroubled? He fell to his knees
before the headstone, scraped away the moss with first his fingers, then a
jagged rock. Feverishly he worked, in a strange desperation, and when it
was reasonably clean, he pointed the light at the headstone, and gasped at
what he read.

                                             John And Leticia Latimer

                                     May They Rest In The Peace Of Our
Savior

There was no date. There was nothing else. But Duke was spooked. The name
Latimer was his own name. And he'd never heard of these people. Who were
they, and why were they here, under this miserable gloom? He knew the woods
and kudzu probably weren't there when they were buried, but how had their
graves been so left, so neglected? There was no one to visit them. There
was no one to say their names.

"John and Leticia Latimer," Duke said, aloud, "may the Lord keep you kindly
and always in His grace. Amen."

Duke's head was bowed in reverence, and then he lifted it up and left the
lonely place. He made it through the tunnel, then passed quickly into the
house. His heart wasn't in his work, but he did it for Tuck, set everything
up, rewound the cassette tape with his ghostly impressions on it, and then
waited. He felt bad for Leroy even before anything had happened. Such a
simple boy, so trusting and simple. Duke hated to see what Tuck had in
store for him.


Luring Leroy was no problem. Tuck knew exactly how to handle him. The boy
was not the sharpest knife in the drawer. An invitation for beers in Tuck's
truck before the dance was enough for him, for he was the type of boy that
was desperate to fit in. He was also extremely good-natured, and more than
a little naive.

Leroy had a rough time of it in school but was barely aware of it. He was
perpetually excited and perpetually cheerful. Although often scorned or
ignored, he somehow believed he was important at school. It was not because
of his grades. Those were poor. It was not because he was a gifted
athlete. He wasn't quick enough for that. It was simply a desperate need to
believe in himself that led him to fantasy.

But he'd had some successes. He had managed to progress to his senior year
of high school, although many times that had looked doubtful. And some
people treated him tolerably well, even if they made fun of him behind his
back, but he was none the wiser of that. His greatest success was scoring a
date with Jeannie Peterson for the Halloween dance, and that was
recent. But it seemed to confirm his belief in himself, and it seemed to
inspire further efforts. Friends to hang out with would be nice, even a
friend like Tuck, whose abuse he had not forgotten. He was, however, a
forgiving person, and anyway, he was desperate, so he accepted Tuck's
invitation without question, the gist of his remarks on the subject being,
"Neat!"

When Tuck picked him up at 5:30, Tuck was dressed in the Atlanta Braves
uniform he'd bought for his costume, a cheap knock off that yet fit him a
little too well, meaning it was tight. Tuck had used electrical tape in a
poor attempt to add the number '5' to the back of his top, because Freddie
Freeman was his favorite player.

Leroy, too, was already dressed, and his costume gave Tuck a chuckle. The
boy was dressed as a cowboy, but he looked uncomfortable and a little too
fancy, as if he was trying to be Roy Rogers. He had the ten gallon hat, an
expensive one that was much too large for him, jeans, chaps, a Garth Brooks
type button down shirt, very loud, and what looked to be brand new boots,
but they were also too big, and the boy struggled to walk. He was a short
boy, no more than five foot six, and the boots weren't helping him any. The
shirt was several sizes too big and kind of hung off the boy's narrow
shoulders.

"Hey, you trying to look like me?" Tuck said.

A blank expression crossed Leroy's face, then a big smile broke out.

"Yeah, sure!" he said. "Neat!"

Tuck felt like smacking him. His big, gray eyes were just so bright and
gullible. But Tuck played his part.

"Well hop on in, cowboy, and let's go have us some beers."

"Neat!"

Leroy struggled to make it into Tuck's truck, but the grin never left the
boy's face. He seemed completely innocent of any bad intentions on Tuck's
part. For a moment Tuck felt almost guilty, but then he reminded himself
about Leroy and Jeannie, and wiped away his weakness. Tuck drove to the
turn off to Bellsy Home, stopped the truck, and turned on the light. The
boy, when he saw him, looked totally unconcerned. Like a lamb to
slaughter. Tuck grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and handed it to Leroy.

"Neato!" the boy said.

He took a sip, seemed unsure of the taste, but then took another one as
Tuck cracked his own beer.

"So, you a big drinker, Leroy?"

"Yeah, I drink all the time," the boy chirped.

"What's your favorite beer?"

This seemed to throw the boy off. Tuck could see in his eyes that the boy
was scanning his brain for a suitable answer.

"Colt 45!" Leroy said, and Tuck just had to laugh.

"Do they even make that shit any more?"

"Yes, my mom drinks it," Leroy claimed.

Tuck laughed again.

"You're shittin' me, right?"

For a moment, Leroy looked wounded.

"No, I swear! That's all she drinks."

Now, Leroy was known for making up very tall tales that he thought would
enhance his reputation, so Tuck didn't quite believe him. But he was
laughing anyway. The kid was a nut. A slow drinking nut, too. Tuck was
finished with his first and the boy was still sipping. Tuck cracked another
for himself and one for the boy.

"Hurry up, slowpoke," Tuck said.

Well, that did it. Leroy chugged the remainder of the first beer as best he
could, and started in on his second. By the time he was through with it he
was sounding a little sloppy. Big drinker, my ass, Tuck thought. He cracked
a third beer for himself and Leroy, and then got to working on the boy.

"You know where we are, right Leroy?"

The boy's expression was blank. He was obviously searching his brain, with
great difficulty, but nothing was coming to him. Tuck was getting
impatient. It was dark out, and time was running short.

"Bellsy Home is just beyond those woods," Tuck said.

The boy's expression remained blank.

"The haunted house," Tuck said.

Excitement and a little fear dawned over Leroy's face.

"Uh uh," he said. "There's no such thing as a haunted house."

"No? Want to go check it out, then?"

"No, it's cold!" Leroy said. "And it's getting late."

"It ain't cold, and it's only a quarter 'til six. Plenty of time."

"I don't want to be late," Leroy said.

"You're scared, that's what I think."

"Am not!"

"Then come on. It'll be fun."

Tuck jumped out of the truck, and Leroy slid down from his side, and they
got to walking. Leroy seemed pretty calm, with only a little hesitation
about entering the kudzu tunnel, but Tuck turned his flashlight up brighter
and walked on, giving Leroy little chance to object. When they got through
to the house, Tuck turned up the volume.

"Will you look at that!" he shouted. "Ain't she pretty?"

"Neat!" said Leroy, in an awestruck voice.

Even in the darkness you could see the whites of his eyes shining. Against
the odds, the boy was excited. Tuck would never have credited him having
that much grit.

"It's so tall. I never seen nothing like it."

"Sure is a creepy old house," Tuck shouted. "Wanna go inside?"

"Isn't it locked?" Leroy said.

"Doubt it."

"But who owns it? I don't wanna trespass."

"Ain't nobody own it now. Let's check it out."

"Neato!"

Tuck stomped up the stairs, kept his voice loud. There was no way Duke
could miss him. He threw open the doors, said 'Ladies first' to Leroy, and
then the boy went inside. Tuck followed him.

It was mostly dark. Duke had had the foresight to set the lamp way back to
the left, almost out of the room, and that helped accentuate the bleak
ambiance real good. The place looked spooky even to Tuck.

And then it started. The ghost sailed slowly down the wire, illuminated
from within by the little headlamp, set to its lowest setting.

"Look!" Tuck shouted, pointing.

Leroy turned his head, and his eyes grew as wide as any Tuck had ever
seen. The recorder started up with its ghostly moans and groans. In an
instant, Leroy turned tail and was hauling it at lightening speed down the
porch stairs, clunky boots or no clunky boots. Tuck was laughing so hard he
thought he'd piss himself, but he made it to the door just in time to see
the boy disappear into the tunnel. Then he burst out laughing again. He
would've fallen to the floor if he hadn't known it was so dusty.

"Did you see Leroy?" he blurted, the words coming out haltingly, one at a
time, because he couldn't speak well through his gales of laughter. "I bet
he shit himself!"

Duke appeared at the top of the staircase, and Tuck's laughter died in his
throat. He'd never seen Duke like that, all dressed up in them old, creaky
dark clothes, with his hair a wild tangle, black in the dim light, above a
pale, pale face. But it wasn't just Duke. It was the light next to him, the
form. It was like a mass of pale mist, somehow emanating a dead light, and
it swirled and swirled, an endless cone of particles, a vortex, but
constantly changing, and then a terrible, gaunt face was formed, and a
deep, sucking voice issued from it.

"Cruelty will not abide here!"

The sound made Tuck's balls curdle. He wanted to run for his life but he
couldn't move. The face came apart, the particles swirled again into a
cone, and then it lashed at Duke, narrowed and entered into him through his
gaping mouth, through his nostrils, all at once, and Duke's body
reverberated with the impact and for a brief instant Duke's eyes flashed a
bright, sickly green, and then he collapsed onto the floor.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Tuck saw it, another swirling mass,
smaller than the one that had haunted Duke, and not coming from above where
Duke lay but emerging through a side entrance on the ground floor. It
swirled and swirled, another vortex, and when it passed through the light
of the lamp Duke had laid down earlier, a pale face appeared, a weeping
woman's face, and its eyes suddenly caught on to Tuck and became steady and
furious, and then Tuck's feet came free and he screamed and fled, faster
even than Leroy had a short while before, and the pale woman swirled into a
cone, and the cone pursued him to the very threshold of Bellsy Home and
smashed hard into him there, entering through his back with a jolt, and
Tuck fell, breath and life instantly snuffled out of him, and he lay
motionless on the dusty ground.

Thus were Duke and Tuck possessed by the spirits of John and Leticia
Latimer.