Three Truths and Other Unsettling Tales Page 11

  With frosting and cake all over my shirt, I returned to my bedroom to change yet again. Candyboot was still passed out in the closet. I thought about giving him a good swift kick, but then I thought better of it. I put on a clean shirt and returned to the festivities, where my mom handed me some cash. “Get enough for everyone,” she said tersely. “Don’t take too long.”

  I walked through the living room to where the last few remnants of cake were being cleaned up by a few of my relatives. The cake, though smashed, didn’t look as though it’d been affected by any magic. My aunt Chloe got some frosting on her fingers, and I watched as she absent-mindedly licked it off. It seemed to have no effect on her, and I suddenly didn’t feel very confident that the cake was the center of Candyboot’s plan. “Sweet,” I repeated to myself. What else at the party was sweet?

  Everything seemed to move in slow motion as I looked around the room, taking in all the sights. Looking into the den, I could see a large space had been cleared out. The piñata had been strung up over one of the exposed beams along the vaulted ceiling. My uncle Joe was manipulating it, moving it up and down as a hapless small child took a swing at it with a bat. The child took one final swing before my brother Kyle stepped up and took a turn. He put the blindfold on, but even from across the room I could see he didn’t really pull it all the way over his eyes. Cheater. As my uncle pulled on the rope to move it up, I saw the piñata momentarily bulge along its midsection, as if something inside of it was pushing out.

  I screamed at Kyle to stop, but he either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. He stepped into his swing, like he’d been taught in little league, and nailed that damn piñata square in the middle. A large crunching sound erupted as the paper horse split open. Children, with their greedy little hands stretched out, pushed forward in anticipation of the sweets about to pour forth.

  At first, I couldn’t tell what it was that came spilling out of the piñata. For a half second, it looked like a single, black, pulsating blob that came falling to the floor, but as it descended, it began to spread out, and its individual elements became identifiable. Spiders – cockroaches – centipedes – all sorts of creepy things – thousands of them. They hit the ground and immediately spread out like a ton of marbles rolling away from each other.

  The children closest to the scene saw exactly what was happening, but as they tried to escape, they were pushed even closer by the clueless children behind them. This continued for a few seconds until it became clear to everyone that there were no sweets to be had. Soon they all pushed back, trying to leave the scrum that had formed around the busted piñata. Screams moved through the room as the bugs began crawling up the legs of the partygoers. I could hear my uncle Joe cuss and yell out, “Oh my God!” as he fell down. Several roaches crawled over his face.

  The chaos spread as the disgusting bugs and panicked children fled from the den into the other rooms of the house. Pickles the Clown tried to maintain a sense of calmness, “Slow down, everyone,” he said in a surprisingly calm voice. The kids paid no attention and trampled over him in their haste to exit the house. All I could see of him were his hands and legs shooting into the air as the kids stepped on his torso. A handful of the party goers rolled on the ground in an attempt to squash the bugs that had crawled into their clothing, though this had the unintended consequence of allowing even more bugs access to their internal compartments. A teenage girl tried to dive through a closed window in an attempt to get away, but she nearly knocked herself unconscious when the unyielding window proved to be a hell of a lot stronger than she anticipated. Bugs overran her as she sprawled out on the floor. People tripped, fell, and pushed each other. I somehow managed to avoid being knocked down.

  Soon, the house was empty of people, with the exception of me, Pickles and a couple of others. Pickles moaned as he rolled over from his back and got onto his hands and knees. Somehow in the melee he’d swallowed his red foam nose, which he vomited up with a retching sound as bugs continued to run by him. Outside, people were stripping their clothes off and shaking out the bugs.

  The moaning sounds of the fallen were punctuated by the hiss of a Madagascar cockroach that crawled up on the table behind me. I surveyed the scene, and as far as I could tell nobody was seriously injured. People had bumps, bruises, and cuts – things that would heal in relatively quick fashion. The psychological damages? Those wouldn’t heal for a long time, if ever.

  From my location, I could look down the hallway to my bedroom. The door opened slowly, and I made eye contact with Candyboot as he poked his head out. He gave a big smile as a wallet-sized spider walked past him and into my room. In his left hand he held the shirt I’d been wearing when I fell on the cake. He licked some frosting off of it, then raised it up and nodded to me as if he was making a toast. I nodded back to him, thoroughly defeated. Happy birthday, you little fucker, I thought. Candyboot dropped the shirt and made a thumbs up motion, then he clapped his hands together and disappeared, leaving a little puff of smoke in his wake.

  He was gone, off to some other part of the world to spread his miserable little brand of humor. At least his visit had been a short one. I did a little dance-step to avoid a potato bug that had crawled up to me. As I brought my heel down on its body, I imagined that it was Candyboot. The crunching sound made me feel a little better. With that, I went over and helped Pickles up from his hands and knees, and together we went outside, away from the mess that Candyboot had created.

  Going Home

  It was the last rainstorm of his life, he already knew it. Staring out of his bedroom window at the retirement home, the old man gave a silent prayer of thanks for the late season downpour. If he was going to act, this was his last chance, ever.

  With shaky hands, he zipped up his sweater and shuffled to the door of his room. He hesitated before stepping into the hallway, but only for a second. I’m not chickening out, not this time, he thought as he stepped through the threshold with a boldness he hadn’t felt in decades. The door swung closed behind him with a solid click. He never looked back.

  His steps grew more certain as he made his way into the reception area, where Enrique’s booming voice greeted him. “Mr. Cooper, what are you doing awake at this hour?”

  The old man, James Cooper, looked up and smiled. “Oh, I just had a little trouble sleeping.”

  Enrique noticed the sweater. “Is your room too cold?” He held out his hand to assist James. “Let’s get you back to bed, I’ll help you with your thermostat. Those digital models can be tricky.”

  “Oh, that would be nice,” James said. “But first, could you get me a couple of extra blankets?”

  “I’d be happy to. I’ll meet you at your room in just a couple of minutes.”

  Enrique started to head off, but James stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I just want you to know, Enrique, you’ve always been my favorite staff here. You’re a very kind man, and I’ve enjoyed our conversations over the years.”

  “Why thank you, Mister Cooper. That means a lot to me.” Enrique was obviously touched.

  “And,” James continued, “I want to apologize in advance.”

  Enrique’s face crunched up with bewilderment. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. I’m always happy to help you.”

  “I know you are,” James said. He began walking in the direction of his room, but stopped as soon as he saw Enrique leave the area. He had only moments to act. Making his way to the reception desk, he pulled open the drawer where he knew Enrique stored his personal keys. He found them in seconds. Looking over his shoulder to make sure Enrique was still out of sight, James pocketed the keys and shuffled over to the front doors, which opened automatically for him.

  Bitter cold – the stinging wind smacked him in the face. He thought for a moment about returning, but resolved himself to move forward. As he cleared the awning, the hard raindrops began soaking his clothes. Behind him, the illuminated sign for the Abbey Bonita Retirement Center cast a pale glow into the parking lot.
His eyesight was already poor, but the rain made it all that much more difficult to see. He knew that Enrique drove a big, white car. After shuffling around the parking lot for far too long, James found his target. He held the key fob up and pushed one of the buttons. The car in front of him chirped. Success! James hobbled over to the vehicle and opened the door.

  Once inside, he put the key in the ignition and turned the car on. Shivers ran through his body as the wetness soaked through his clothes and chilled his skin. He looked to turn on the heater, but with all the lights, gizmos, and switches, he couldn’t figure out which controls to use. There was even a small video screen that confused the hell out of him. He’d given up his license fifteen years earlier, and even then his vehicle had been twenty years old. When the hell did cars get so complicated? he wondered.

  Running low on time, he gave up trying to find the heater and decided to just make the best of it. He put his seat belt on and shifted into reverse. The car moved out of its parking space, and seconds later he felt the vehicle softly collide with another parked car.

  “Oops. Sorry,” James said to no one in particular.

  He managed to put the car in drive and moved slowly through the lot. Leaning forward, he plastered his face against the inside of the windshield just so he could see. Just like riding a bike, James thought as the car meandered over the asphalt. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the empty street at no more than ten miles an hour. The next few miles were travelled in silence as the car repeatedly drifted in and out of its lane.

  By the time he got to the Old River Bridge he was shivering, whether it was from the bitter cold or from his growing feeling of apprehension, he wasn’t sure. He allowed the car to roll to a stop to give himself a chance to gather his nerve, then tapped the accelerator once he felt ready.

  He gasped when he finally saw the figure. She had an almost glowing aura, though it was really just the headlights reflecting the rain falling around her. The car inched up to the moving figure and stopped.

  Blue jeans, white t-shirt, no jacket - the girl was freezing. With a sorrowful look, she peered into the car. James scooted over and cracked the door for her. He could hear his heart beating.

  The frigid little thing pulled the door open and sat inside. She stared straight ahead. “Thank you. I need to get home.”

  As cold as he already was, James noticed that the temperature dropped even lower when the girl entered. It was freezing in there. He could only stare at the sight of the specter next him. The girl, who looked about seventeen, didn’t seem to pay attention, but only repeated herself. “I need to get home.”

  “Horrible night, isn’t it?”

  The girl only nodded in response.

  James took his foot off the brake and the car gave a slight jerk before rolling forward. He’d imagined this moment for so long, he thought he knew what he would say when the time finally came, but they drove in silence with his practiced monologue nestled uselessly in a forgotten portion of his brain.

  He finally found some words. “You were in a crash.” It hadn’t been his plan to start off that bluntly.

  “I just need to get home.”

  “I know you do.”

  The girl gave no further response while the man struggled with what to say next. “You… your car went off the road and into the river, on a rainy night just like tonight.” His voice was shaking.

  “Please, I just need to get home.”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  The girl shivered in silence as she continued to stare straight out the window.

  James continued, “there have been so many stories over the years… at first I didn’t believe them. I always thought the people telling them were just a bunch of crazy hippies high on LSD, but they always said the same thing. They spoke about the pretty girl with the reddish hair that was walking out in the rain, the girl who just wanted to get home.”

  An oncoming car screamed by, blaring its horn as James barely pulled back into his own lane in time. When he was finally able to stop shaking he started his story again. “People would give her a ride, but she always disappeared right before they made it to her home. Some of them would even go and knock on the door to see if she had made it safely inside, but she never did.”

  The girl acted as if she hadn’t heard a word of what he’d just said. “I just need to get home,” she replied.

  “I know you do, my Strawberry.”

  Strawberry – the girl realized it’d been ages since she’d been called that. Turning toward her driver for the first time, the girl stared intently at the man next to her. It took a few moments, but eventually she saw past the wrinkled skin and noticed the true shape of the man’s face. She knew who he was. “Dad?”

  He turned and faced her. “Yes, it’s me.”

  “What happened? I don’t understand!” A sudden panic overtook the poor girl. “What’s going on?” She fumbled with the door handle in a clumsy attempt to open it and run out into the night.

  “No!” He grabbed her and felt a shock of angry cold run up his arm. “It’s okay. You’re okay now.”

  She stopped struggling and sat with her eyes fixed straight forward, watching the rain hit the windshield. She nodded her head up and down. “I remember now. I slid off the road and into the river. The water filled up the car. It was so cold – and it’s still cold.”

  “It’s been fifty years, Strawberry. I don’t want you to be cold any longer.” The car pulled off the road and onto a long driveway that had long since been claimed by weeds. “Here we are,” James said as the car stopped. At the top of the driveway sat a derelict house. Decades had passed since anyone had lived there, yet it was the same home the girl had been desperately trying to reach for so many years. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. I guess I was scared of what might happen, but I know now I had nothing to fear.”

  “Oh Dad,” the girl said as she went to hug her father. The man felt the warmth of her embrace.

  The police found his body the next morning, parked near an old house he’d lived in decades earlier. Hypothermia - that was the coroner’s final conclusion, though she noted that the man had a whole list of ailments, any one of which would’ve likely killed him within a year. The coroner also noticed that he seemed to have died with a smile on his face, though that tidbit never made it into the final report.

  As for the phantom hitchhiker, her legend, like any other good legend, never died. Whenever there was a storm, it seemed like there was always someone insisting afterward that they had picked her up on the side of the road, but those who made the claim were typically braggarts, liars, and attention-seekers. The real truth is that the girl, who’d spent half a century trying to return home, was never seen again.

  THE END

  A Note from the Author: Thank you for reading Three Truths and Other Unsettling Tales. Now that you’ve made it to the end, would you so kindly take the time to leave a review here and/or on Goodreads? Independent writers such as myself live and die by the reviews we get, so even the tiniest of blurbs will be appreciated. I welcome all feedback - positive or negative.

  Also available from Thomas O.

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