“Oh, Geez.”
“How’d we get here?”
“I don’t know, but it’s creepin’ me out. Let’s go.”
“Which way?”
Ouija points. The pink neon glow of the Tastee-Treet Drive Thru sign on the far side of Fifth Street shows through a dense stand of lilac bushes.
“The space burger place,” says Jesse. “Let’s get out of here and go get one. I’m hungry.”
Just as the group starts toward the distant pink beacon, a tremendous howl fills the air. The long, drawn-out wail rises and ebbs and rises again, vibrating around their heads so closely that it’s impossible for them to tell where it comes from. Ashley clutches Jesse’s arm. Curtis claps his hands over his ears. His helmet rides up on his head, his hair standing on end beneath it. Ouija and Chris shine their flashlights in each other’s faces, as if searching there for the source of the terrible sound. The howl ends abruptly with a queer, rasping jerk, and the silence that follows is as profoundly unsettling as the sound that preceded it.
Breaking free of Ashley’s grip, Jesse starts to run, blindly. She stumbles on a low, rounded stone curb that fences in a family of headstones and falls, arms outstretched in front of her. Before she lands, however, other arms grab hers and haul her up, supporting her back onto her feet.
“Who’s this?” says a deep voice just above her head.
“There’s more of ‘em,” says another. “Get ‘em.”
Three dark figures holding flashlights emerge from behind the taller stone monuments. They surround Ashley and Ouija where they still stand as if frozen, near the trap door. Chris and Curtis are not in sight. Jesse is nudged back to her friends, and the strangers--all tall and dressed in black--train their flashlights on the three friends. Ouija shines his light back defensively until one of the figures yanks it out of his grasp. “You’ll get it back,” the deep voice says, “maybe.”
For a moment, captors and prisoners stand in silent, concentric circles, contemplating one another. Then the tallest of the strangers speaks, and the three friends recognize him as the older brother of one of their classmates.
“S-so. What are you guys-s doing out here?” says the stranger. His sibilants are purposely exaggerated, covering a hint of lisp.
“‘Serp,” Ashley whispers. Ouija nods almost imperceptibly without looking at her. “Serp” is short for “Serpent,” a nickname inspired by the older boy’s speech. Junior high rumor has it that Serp’s lisp is a result of being struck by lightning while fishing the Portneuf River during a storm. Ouija remembers seeing the name scrawled on walls near their school, the winding “S” topped by a snake’s head with a protruding, forked-lightning tongue. Serp is the leader of a small band of ninth grade boys who spend their lunch hours lounging on the back steps of the funeral parlor across the street from the high school gymnasium.
“There were more of ‘em, Serp,” says one of his followers.
Serp moves his light from Ouija’s face to Ashley’s, then Jesse’s. “That s-so?”
“No,” says Jesse.
Serp takes a few steps toward the three friends, and they can see that he’s not only dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt, but he’s also wearing a theatrical black cape. The cape is long, hanging below his knees, and fastened at the neck with a heavy brass medallion. The medallion is embossed with an image of a snake twined around an inverted cross.
“I think ‘yess.’ Find ‘em.” At their leader’s command, two of the older boys rove their lights over the grass and nearby tombstones. One of the lights stops on what looks like a bright white rock, a particularly round boulder lying at the base of a large grave marker. Crossing to the white mound, the boy leans down and tugs on it, dragging Curtis to his feet and prodding him into the circle to join his friends.
“Helmet Boy,” laughs Serp, rapping Curtis lightly on the top of the head with his flashlight. Serp points his flashlight at the two girls. “And what are your namess?”
“Ashley.”
Jesse squints into the light. “None of your business,” she says.
“I know you anyway,” says Serp. “Your dad hangs out with my dad at the Bourbon Barrel.” He turns to Ouija. “What about you?”
“Ouija.”
“Wee-gee? What kinda name iss that?”
One of Serp’s band joins in. “Like the Ouija board? That game that spells out the answers?”
Serp looks closely at Ouija. “That it? You the ansswer man? You got all the ansswerss?”
“No.”
“Well, ansswer thiss, Ansswer Man. What are little kids like you doing in the graveyard this-s late at night, huh?”
Ouija wants to look at the dark square of the tunnel entrance in the ground a few feet behind him, but he manages to turn his glance to Ashley and the others. “Nothing,” he says.
“How late is it?” Curtis interjects. “My mom--” He breaks off as Ashley squeezes his arm.
Serp and the older boys ignore Curtis. They narrow their focus to Ouija. “Maybe,” says one of them, “they’re spyin’ on us.”
“Are you?” demands Serp. “Are you s-spyin’ on us?”
The four younger kids break into murmurs of protest. “Hey. We’re just out here by accident,” Ouija explains.
“By accident,” Serp repeats. He touches Ouija on the chest with his flashlight. “Tell me, Ansswer Man. Ouija Board. What d’you think we’re doin’ out here?”
Ouija draws a breath. “I’d say you were tipping over gravestones.” No one says anything. Ouija glances at the medallion at Serp’s throat. “I’d say you were having some kind of ceremony.”
“Satanists!” Curtis cries. Ashley squeezes his arm hard and he yelps again. “Ow!”
“Shut up, Helmet Head,” hisses Serp. He turns back to Ouija. “What kind of s-ceremony, would you s-say?”
Ouija shrugs and starts to speak, but Ashley beats him to it. “‘Evil Summoning,’” she says, drawing each word out fully and clearly, as if conjuring up spirits from some deep, dark place.
The focus of the group immediately shifts to Ashley, but before Serp or anyone else can speak, Jesse takes a step forward, flinging her arms out in front of her in a casting away motion. “Evil Unleashing!” she intones in an equally dramatic voice, and if her tongue hesitates a bit between “leash” and “leach,” only Ashley notices.
As Jesse throws up her hands, Serp’s followers instinctively take a step back. Serp stands his ground, but his mouth hangs open slackly. Before he can recover himself, a low groan rises from the earth behind the younger kids. Curtis starts and looks around nervously. Ouija and Ashley step away from each other, and in the space between them, Serp and his group see light shining up from a hole in the ground. The groaning grows more intense, warbling and wavering. Then slowly, like Satan himself uncurling from his underground lair, a disembodied head, bleached by light, rises out of the hole. The hair of the head is dark and filled with crumbling earth, and the eyes show no color, only bulging whiteness. The mouth forms a dark “O” from which the eerie sounds continue to escape.
The head rises a couple of feet above ground level and hovers there, groaning and swaying slightly. Serp and his followers fall back. One of them turns and runs away, the beam of his flashlight bouncing frantically ahead of him in the dark.
All are frozen in place for a moment, then Serp begins to laugh. He shines his flashlight on the head and the body beneath it. “Hi, Chriss,” he says.
“Hi, Serp,” the head says, snapping off the light under its chin. “Hey, you guys, help me outta this hole.” Ouija and Curtis pull Chris out of the tunnel’s entrance. Chris hands his flashlight to Curtis and leans over, brushing the dirt out of his hair with both hands. Serp’s remaining followers gather around him and Chris, exchanging high fives and stamping and spitting casually on the ground. One of them hands Ouija’s flashlight back to him. Another lights a cigarette and passes it to Chris.
“Pretty good trick,” Serp admits. He turns to Ashley and Jesse. “You, too. Where’d you get that 'evil unleashing' stuff, anyway?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” says Ashley. “Around.”
“How d’you know Chris?” Jesse asks.
“My dad dated his mom,” says Serp.
“Chris’s mom sure gets around,” Ashley mumbles behind Jesse.
“One thing,” says Ouija. “How did you make that loud howl noise? It scared us half too death.”
“Oh, that’s eassy.” Serp gestures to one of his group. “Bring me the cougar call.” The other boy picks something up from the base of a tree and brings it forward, holding it out in both hands for inspection. Ouija turns his flashlight on the contraption, a length of thick, rough rope that runs through a ragged hole punched in the bottom of a tin can. Two of Serp’s followers hold a length of the rope taut between them as Serp jerks the tin can up and down the rope, generating short, rasping screeches.
“It’s called a cougar call, ‘cause it s-sounds like a cougar. The longer the rope, the more noisse you get out of it.”
Ouija and the girls take turns making the cougar call howl.
“Uh, I hate to interrupt--” begins Curtis. Serp looks at him, and he falters to a stop.
“Go on.”
“Well, I was wondering.” Curtis touches the top of his helmet. “What time is it? We gotta be at the roller rink by eleven.”
“Then you better get going,” says Serp, shining his light on his watch. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
Ouija sighs. “Oh, man. We’re not gonna make it. We gotta go back and get our bikes.”
Serp fishes in his pocket for a ring of keys and tosses it to one of the older boys. “He’ll drive you,” he says. He motions toward the distant street. “Take my car.”
“You have a car?”
“Well, my dad’s,” Serp admits. “Gotta have it home by midnight. I just got my night license.”
“What about you guys?” Ouija says to Chris and Jesse and Ashley.
“We’ll give them a ride home after you’re dropped off.” Serp turns to the two girls. “In the meantime, how about a s-space burger? My treat.”
Jesse and Ashley nod. Ouija and Curtis start toward the car, but Serp stops Curtis, pushing a forefinger into his chest. “Take that s-stupid helmet off. I don’t want anybody s-seeing that in my car. I gotta reputation, ya know.”
[To order a copy of the book, Walking Pocatello, call the Idaho State University Bookstore, (208) 282-3237, or send me an email.]
[To order a copy of the book, Walking Pocatello, call the Idaho State University Bookstore, (208) 282-3237, or send me an email.]
