A Michael Jackson Horror Short Story
By MJsLoveSlave
Interstate Highway 69
Somewhere Outside of Los Angeles
“I’m hot…I’m so hot, Michael…”
I whimpered, staggering along beside him, holding onto his arm for support as we shuffled alongside the long stretch of road that appeared to be never-ending.
I didn’t know how long we had been walking on that road, or even what time it was. I just knew that the sun was out, it was hotter than Hell at the moment and I hadn’t seen another car go by since we’d started our trek.
“I know you’re hot and tired, Lover…” Michael said quietly, and was draping his arm around my shoulder. I noticed how wet he was from the perspiration pouring from his thin body. “…but think of how lucky we are. We’re lucky to even be alive…when I think of what happened--”
“No, Shhh!” I declared, and quickly pressed a finger to his bright pink lips, not wanting to replay the terrible event that left us where we were right then.
But it was too late, my mind was already, unconsciously playing it.
Earlier that morning, Michael and I had left his house, cruising on the inside of his cool, air conditioned Hummer, destined for a relaxing day on the beach.
It was so vivid in my mind: we had the music blaring, an old song by The Temptations, and I was teasing Michael about why he never wore those little Speedo bathing suits like European men wore on the beach.
Michael was smiling so brightly and cheerfully, and replying that he was a Black man from Indiana, and he had no business in a Speedo, and why I wasn’t going to be wearing a thong like European women.
I had began to reply, with a carefree laugh that I was a Black woman from California, when suddenly Michael had screamed.
A sharp, piercing scream that I would forever remember and be haunted by the rest of my life.
Michael wrenched the wheel to the left, hard, throwing me against the door of the passenger side of the car.
For a scant moment, I had seen the hind legs of a deer, running away.
That was it. Michael had swerved to avoid hitting a deer.
To avoid killing a poor, dumb animal, he’d unknowingly thrust us into the wide open arms of danger.
We had gone speeding off the road, going at least seventy miles an hour.
(I knew we were over the speed limit, but Michael had a natural lead foot and a trail of speeding tickets to his name.)
The Hummer, though built to be driven on all sorts of surfaces and terrain, was bobbing and bouncing violently, as we careened off into the woods lining the road.
I remember Michael yelling and cursing and telling me to “Hold on Lover, just hold on!” as he struggled to regain control of the car, fighting and yanking like a mad man at the steering wheel, desperately trying to bring the vehicle to a halt.
We were jostling back and forth, up and down, the only thing keeping us from effectively flying all over the interior of the car , and most likely snapping our necks and breaking our skulls, was our seatbelts.
I remembered the sickening thunking noise Michael’s foot made as he tried in vain to get the brakes to work, to stop the car.
Nothing happened.
I’m not sure if the brake lines had broken when we ran off the road or what but that car was not stopping for anything
I was crying and begging God to save us when it became clear to me the brakes were kaput.
Trees.
All I saw were trees, flying through trees, by trees, breaking low hanging branches. One of the side view mirrors had been ripped clean off the Hummer with brute force as we sailed by.
The last thing I remember is Michael howling, through his own frightened and wild tears,
“Jesus, help us!”
And he grabbed me, wrapping his arms around me, hugging me tightly.
There was a loud BANG, and it felt as if the car was going to be rattled to pieces, right from under me.
Glass crunched, and I could feel shards of it raining down on me, some cutting my arms.
There was a foom sound as all six of the front and side airbags deployed, knocking us back into our seats.
Then it was quiet. So, so quiet.
I wondered if I was dead.
If we were dead.
No…I was breathing. I was breathing so hard.
I couldn’t pull enough air into my lungs, even if they could have inflated to the size of a Zeppelin.
And so was Michael. He was breathing, shakily at best, but breathing just the same.
Michael Jackson had been right, we were extremely lucky we hadn’t been killed.
Once we realized we hadn’t yet crossed over, we sat there in the Hummer, holding each other and kissing feverently for a few moments, before we carefully crawled from Hummer, through the back doors, as the front had been crushed and crunched badly.
It was a wonder our legs hadn’t been shattered.
Considering that the Hummer was essentially totaled, our own injuries had been relatively minor.
We both had a few cuts from the glass shattering and Michael had a bruise on the left side of his face where he’d taken an airbag directly.
Other than that, maybe shaky legs, that strengthened as we had picked our way out of the woods, to the main road and were going in search of help.
We’d had a road assistance system inside the car, but it was busted to bits, and unfortunately, our cell phones were out of range. We both owned expensive, top of the line phones, and both were nothing now but high-dollar calculators.
(All the advances technology had claimed to make and there we were, set back a hundred years by a broken machine and drifting satellites!)
And there we were, walking along the road, looking for a sign of life, any life at all that could have lent a helping hand.
“Lover…we, we have to stop…” Michael came to abrupt halt, and began leaning against me, shaking his right foot.
“What’s wrong? Michael, what is it?” I questioned, wiping sweat from his streaming brow and saw he was wincing in pain.
“My foot, it’s hurting me…” Lifting his foot up, Michael hopped on one leg over to a large rock on side of the road and took a seat on it.
Going over, and thankful to sit down, even if it were on a hard boulder, I watched as Michael brought his foot up and removed his shoe.
The two of us gasped in horror.
Around Michael’s big toe, the white sock covering his foot was stained crimson with his blood.
“Oh great, just great! I must have walked a blister on my foot and now it’s burst. Damn.” He groaned and a ran hand through his long, disheveled curls that tumbled over his shoulders.
“Michael, what are we going to do? I don’t even know where we are! Are we still even in the city limits of Los Angeles? I’m scared. What will happen if night catches us?” I inquired, nervously twirling a lock of my own hair around my fingers, a few shards of glass falling from it.
“That toe could get infected. You’re a dancer! You need all ten toes!” I moaned wondering if Michael would lose a toe, or worse, the entire foot.
What would happen if night did catch us? Would we have died then? Would some sort of wild animal have come along and ripped our throats out?
Oh how could this have happened to us. Michael and I were good people. We obeyed laws, donated to charities, and even gave money in church--the kind that folded, not jingled!
It just didn’t make sense.
“We’re on an open road. Sooner or later, somebody has got to drive by, or we come up on a gas station or rest area--something where we can call for help. If we find a phone that works, we can call one of my brothers to come and get us.” Michael was patting at my hand and painfully putting his shoe back on.
“Call Marlon, he’s got that big R/V he uses for trips. I would sure like to sleep in the back of that on the way home.” I suggested, already dreaming of Michael’s brother’s Winnebago.
“Whatever you want Lover…” Michael, seeming to be in good spirits for a moment, pushed himself to his feet and jumped in agony. “I hate to put my weight on this, but we have to find help. Come on. Let’s put some more road behind us.”
Clutching his warm hand, I reluctantly got up and we started down the road again.
“I hate we took the scenic route. If I had just taken the expressway, we could be at the beach and sitting and eating some ice cream and pizza slices, right now.” Michael murmured and I touched his arm reassuringly.
“It’s okay. We had no idea this would happen, Baby. When we get back home, we can go buy all the ice cream and pizza we can stomach.”
“Sure…” Michael, looking grim spoke absently, and was taking off the long sleeved, yellow, oxford shirt he wore, revealing a once white t-shirt, now dingy with bodily fluids, .
We continued on for I don’t know how long. Once Michael had tried looking at his watch, but threw it to the pavement in disgust, when he found its face broken and the arms that showed the time missing.
I kept it to myself that he’d just thrown a ten thousand dollar, gold trinket away.
Michael’s appearance was so sour, I feared if I’d said anything about it, he might have struck me. He’d never raised a hand to harm me in the five years we’d been together, but under the strain he was carrying, anything might have been possible.
If only I could have done something to soothe him, make him feel better.
Smile or anything--
“Ava, stop!”
Bruised hands clutched my arms, bringing me to a stop instantly.
“What?” I demanded, staring up at him curiously. I ached all over.
His voice dropped to a whisper as he told me,
“Listen, do you hear singing?”
I stopped, and tilted my head, straining my ears for any possible sound.
I could just make out the sound of a child, somewhere in close proximity to us warbling,
“…knick, knack, paddy-whack, give a dog a bone…”
“I…I hear it!” I was so excited, tears were coming to my eyes, as Michael, forgetting his bleeding toe, began rushing along the street, and a few yards ahead of us, still singing, a child appeared from the brush.
She was a pretty child, maybe ten years old, with long nearly platinum blonde hair arranged into two braids, both fastened at the end with light pink ribbons. She was dressed sweetly in beat-up overalls, and a pink gingham shirt. The child was barefoot. (Which should have been murder on her soles, standing there on the gravel.)
A small, wicker basket swung from her arm.
“Little girl! Little girl!” Michael called as we came up on her.
Her eyes, more grey than green, widened in surprise as she gazed up at us.
“Are you folks alright? Looks like you were on the losing end of a fight.” She giggled, but abruptly stopped as Michael stooped and lifted her off the ground.
“Little girl, you have to help us. My name is Michael Jackson. This is my girlfriend, Ava Shearer. We were in a car accident, and we need help. Please go tell your mommy or daddy to please help us.”
The child’s eyes swelled in her head. I was sure it was something for her to wrap her mind around, seeing two people wandering from a wreck, dirty and battered.
“Yes, Sir. I’ll run and get my daddy. My house is a bit away from here, but I’ll run, Sir. I’ll run. You wait!” She vowed as Michael set her back on the ground.
With that, we watched as she struck out from us, moving as fast, it seemed, as her skinny little legs would carry her.
As the girl left, Michael dropped to his knees.
“Thank you Lord. Thank you!” He wept and I dropped beside him, hugging him against me.
“It’s okay. We’ll be okay now. That girl is helping us.” I cooed, patting at his hair.
“I don’t even know her name, the little darling. She’s helping!” Michael sniffled loudly.
We waited, rooted to that patch of road, for about twenty minutes.
It was a joyous occasion, when we could hear the sound of a motor chugging a moment later, over the horizon, a large, old, black Model-T truck was racing towards us.
It came to a halt beside us, the door flying open.
The girl hopped out of the passenger side of the truck and rushing to us, followed by a man, her father, I presumed.
The man was tall, and gangly, and even slimmer than Michael, with pale skin, and short, dark hair, falling into his light blue eyes. He was dressed in a dark blue plaid shirt, with the sleeve rolled up and jeans, with little brown work boots on his feet.
He looked like a farmer, but he could have been a little green man from Mars for all I cared.
“There they are Daddy! I told you there were some people here!” The little girl announced, getting on her knees beside us, and looking at both of us intently.
“Well, I’ll be damned! Lavinia, I thought you were pulling my leg!” The man cried and was patting after both of us.
“Hello, y’all. I’m Steven Driscoll. I am so sorry. I would have been here sooner, but I thought my daughter was lying to me.” The man apologized, eyes huge in regret and Lavinia put in, angrily,
“I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Daddy!”
“Are, are you okay? Can you walk? I reckon I can carry you to my truck if I have to, you too Mister.” He nodded between me and Michael.
“We can walk.” Michael was all grins as he and I slowly rose to our feet and introduced us. “We’re just so thankful you came. We’re so glad…Lavinia found us.” Michael reached out a hand and ruffled the girl’s hair.
“It’s good to know you, please get in my truck. My daughter can ride in the bed in the back. Please.” Steven stuck out his hand and Michael shook it and then offered it to me.
I quivered a bit as I touched his hand--it was so cold. But I assumed that he’d come from a well air conditioned home and that was why he was so cold.
The thought of air conditioning put a smile on my face as Steven helped Michael and me into the front of his truck and Lavinia gamely ran and hopped into the back of the truck.
“Golly, you folks had you a wreck.” Steven shook his head as he made a U-turn in the center of the road and began rolling in the direction his daughter had run earlier. “What happened, if you don’t mind my asking. You both look more shook up than a milkshake.”
Michael gave him the short version of the tale.
“We were driving to the beach and a I swerved to keep from hitting a deer. Lost control and hit a tree.”
“You’re lucky to be walking as good as you are. You know, I lost my brother Darryl in a wreck similar to that, yes Sir. He swerved to avoid hitting a skunk, cause those things stink something awful when you hit them, and he went down in a ravine. Steering wheel hit him clean in the face and broke all the bones in the front of his face. Doc said it killed him instantly. Rather glad it did, I’d hate to think of him suffering and in pain. One of his eyeballs flew clear out his head and we never found it. Nope.” Steven was shaking his head, and I stared up at him.
That was an awful story to recant, but it appeared he had no trouble in telling it. But he seemed like a simple man, and maybe he didn’t see that many people and just liked to talk.
I didn’t; care either way; Michael and I were saved.
“Can you tell us where we’re at? Are we still in Los Angeles? We were heading to the beach in Malibu, but I’m not really familiar with any of the towns between the two.” Michael, sweetly changed the topic, and I was trying to get the idea of a missing eyeball from a corpse out my head.
Hadn’t we been through enough already?
Glancing behind me, I saw that Lavinia had her little face poked through the small window in the back of the truck, listening to our conversation.
“Michael, you’re in a little town called Pine Burr, California. Nothing fancy like Los Angeles, I know, but we call it home, right Lavinia?” Steven chuckled and his child answered,
“Yes, Sir, Daddy.”
“Now I know you folks have been through a lot, and I flat insist that you join me and mine for some dinner. Right as I left, my wife was finishing up dinner and I did tell her to set some extra places. Night is fixing to set in and I sure would hate to try to send you folks on your way without at least offering you a nice hot meal.”
“We appreciate it, really, and thank you so much. We’re not putting you out, are we?” Michael wondered and I elbowed him violently in his side.
I was starving. Yes, I wanted a plate if those kind people were offering!
“Heck, nah. We love having company! It’s no problem at all.” Steven assured us, and was steering the truck, off the main road and onto a well worn, dirt path. Bits of gravel were hitting the underside of the truck, sounding like a dozen tiny guns firing a hail of bullets.
We drove a few yards, and out of the late day dusk, a house appeared.
It was a quaint, two story, wooden home, solidly built, two sconces on the porch already burning and lighting the area.
A rickety, picket fence, that in the past night have been white, circled the house.
As we came to a halt and Steven parked the truck, he tooted the horn twice.
Steven got out of the truck to give Michael and me a hand unfolding our stiffened bodies, while Lavinia ran to the house, hollering “Mommy!” all the way.
A short while later, a woman, who didn’t seem much older than me, came through the screen door on the porch.
She was a beautiful woman, looking like an adult version of Lavinia, wearing a loose fitting pink floral dress, her blonde hair swept back into a braided bun at the base of her neck.
And like her daughter, she was also barefoot.
In her arms she held a fussing infant, dressed in a blue romper.
“Steven, do you need a hand, Dear?” The woman questioned, venturing to the edge of the porch.
“No, I believe we’ve got it, Mina, and you’ve got the baby in your arms.” Draping an arm around each of us, Steven us led us to the porch and the woman.
“Mina, I’d like you to meet Michael Jackson and Ava Shearer. These folks here had themselves an accident, and I invited them to dinner. Reckoned they could use a good meal.” Steven informed his wife, and she looked at us with wide grey eyes.
“Goodness me. I’m sorry we have to meet under circumstances like this. Please, come on in. Dinner is just about ready. Please, come in.”
The baby kept gurgling and wrestling in her arms and Mina fought to keep from dropping him.
Michael who loved children and babies, automatically put his arms out for the child.
“What’s the little guy’s name? Looks like he’s eager to help us too.” Michael giggled as we got up on the porch and Mina placed the baby in his arms.
He continued to fuss, but did give Michael a gummy smile, saucer-like blue eyes searching his face.
“This is our little boy, Joseph, named after my father.” Steven was swelling with pride.
“My father’s name is Joseph too, how sweet.” Michael was snuggling the child against him as Mina rushed and opened the door for us.
“ You don’t say! Small world.” Steven helped us into the house, which was brightly lit, and smelled of good cooking food, with the slight smell of smoke.
My mouth was watering so, and no one seemed to mind the smoky scent, so I guessed nothing was burning. Perhaps they were grilling something.
Or The Driscolls might have relied on a wood burning stove, out in the sticks like they were.
I didn’t mind, I was getting full off of the delicious scents bombarding my nose.
Inside, the house appeared to be something out of a Norman Rockwell painting, lace doilies appeared to cover ever table and the mantle. All over the place, old black and white photographs adorned the wall. People long gone and definitely not of this world anymore.
These truly appeared deep in it, country folk. I never knew people like them even existed in California.
Smoothing the front of the pristine white apron that was tied over her dress, Mina spoke the sentence we all wanted so desperately to hear,
“If you folks is hungry, I’ll have dinner on the table in about twenty minutes.” And she was ushering us into their living room, making us sit on the over stuffed couch.
She then made her retreat to the kitchen which was somewhere in the back.
“Thank you for your hospitality…we appreciate it.” Michael spoke at a falsetto and I knew he was feeling shy with all these new people around.
He always did sound as if his “boys” had receded a bit when he was nervous. But they always dropped back down to normal size once he was at ease.
Holding little Joseph, I knew in a short while, he’d sound like himself again.
“Oh its nothing at all, we don’t have too many visitors…” Steve grunted as he dropped into an armchair on side of us.
I was still surprised by how smoky the house smelled, but I didn’t really care. Once again, I ascribed it to the idea of a wood burning stove somewhere.
We sat quietly for a few moments, Michael playing with the baby, me watching them and Steven watching us.
Suddenly Steven called out,
“Lavinia, come bring our guests some lemonade, please!”
“Yes, Sir!”
Quick as lightning, the child appeared, two large glasses, stacked with ice and filled with the lovely yellow liquid in her hands.
“Here you go. I hope it’s not too tart.” The little girl smiled and was handing me both glasses.
“Mr. Jackson, Mommy wanted me to get my brother, she wants me to put him down to sleep.” The girl put out her arms for little Joseph.
“Aww, alright. Sleep well, little guy.” Michael pinched the baby’s cheek and he gave another gummy grin as he was passed into Lavinia’s arms and took the lemonade from me.
“I’ll be right back.” Lavinia, cradling the baby against her, exited the room.
“Cute kids.” Michael commented and took a sip. I drank at mine and it was perfect, good and cold and sweetened just right.
“Thank you. They can be a handful at times, but I love them. Kids, what a blessing.” The man of the house commented, grunting as he kicked his boots off, and flexed his toes in well mended white socks.
Steven then went into a dialogue about how he and his wife had wanted one of each child and how after several tries they received the family they prayed for.
But even with the best intentions, I found my attention span shortening and my eyes wandering.
Still looking about the living room, I was surprised to find that it lacked a television-- I had five televisions in my house and I lived alone.
Instead of a TV, an old fashioned radio stood on the opposite side of the room. I figured it was there to go with the antiquated theme of the place.
I didn’t care about the TV. All I wanted was to feed my face, go home and sink into bed. (And not rise for several days.)
On the coffee table in front of me, I saw that several vintage magazines, very fitting with the old-fashioned theme of the home, almost as old as Michael Jacksons himself, had been spread out on it.
Picking up one about movie stars, I leafed through it and began reading an article about how actress Sandra Dee had helped keep up troop morale by performing at USO shows. (During the Vietnam War!)
Reaching into the drawer of the little side table, next to his chair, Steven came up with a golden cigar box, as Lavinia returned, grabbed a whodunit magazine and stretched out on the woven area rug with it.
“Cigar?” Steven opening the case, revealed six thick, and brown cigars.
“No thank you.” Michael kindly waved them away. “I don’t smoke.”
Biting and spitting off the end of a cigar and lighting it, Steven declared,
“Don’t seem natural for a man not to smoke…”
Michael glared at him out the corner of his eyes, but said nothing more.
He didn’t offer me a cigar, and though I didn’t smoke either, I was mildly offended.
“Dinner’s ready!” Mina’s saccharine voice wafted from somewhere in the back of the house. “Come and get it!”
Michael and I couldn’t have moved faster, if Mina had come out and drawn a shotgun on us. Michael had completely forgotten about his toe at the thought of food and hanging on my arm, was dragging me through the house towards Mina’s voice.
Lavinia and Steven brought up the rear, both chuckling.
My eyes swelled at the sight of all the food on the long, simple wooden table in the center of the warm and bright kitchen.
There was a heaping platter of roasted chicken, with bowls of mashed potatoes, crisp green beans and buttered corn on the cob, a basket of steaming biscuits. And cooling on the stove, a large lattice cherry pie.
It was heaven on earth as Michael, Driscolls and I paused to say grace and then began devouring the wonderful, home cooked food.
Who knew all hell was about to break loose?
Sometime Later
“Would you like another piece of pie, Michael?”
Mina asked and was holding up the last couple of slices left in the pie tin.
“Oh, no thank you. Two is my limit, that really is some wonderful pie, delicious.”
“If you want, I could give Ava the recipe, then you could have it anytime you like.” Mina offered, setting the pan down and rising from the table, going across to the counter, where a small box was setting.
“That’d be nice, Mina, thank you.” I called after her.
“I don’t know how to thank you for your hospitality. You are so kind. I didn’t think people as nice as you were still around,” Michael laughed as he drank what had to be his fifth glass of lemonade.
“Ah, we are a dying breed, indeed.” Steven paused to take a napkin and wipe at Lavinia’s mouth, stained red from the cherry pie.
“Do you have a telephone we can use? I’d like to call my brother to come and pick up Ava and me.”
“Oh…” Steven, mouth full, pointed out a phone hanging next to their little white icebox. I really did love the old fashioned way their home was made.
The phone was even a rotary one. God only knew where a rotary phone could be found in this cell phone age we lived in now.
While Michael got up and hopped on the phone, I announced,
“I really love how cute your home is Steven. I might decorate my place with some vintage stuff like this. It’s darling.”
“Yes, vintage…thank you.” He was nodding and chewing his last bite of pie. A fresh cigar smoked on the edge of the plate.
“Here you go, Dear.” Mina smiled, handing me a small piece of paper with the pie recipe jotted down on it in elegant writing.
“Thanks.” I smiled, folding the paper and placing it in my front shirt pocket.
“Well, it’s all set, Lover!” Michael was clapping his hands happily. “Marlon is on his way to come and get us! We’re going home!”
Delighted, I jumped up and ran into his arms. “I’m so glad!”
Finally letting me go and turning to Steve, Michael dug in his pocket and came up with a wad of bills.
I watched silently, as he counted out five hundred dollars, and held it out to Steven.
“Please, take this as a token of mine and Ava’s appreciation, for all you’ve done for us. Thank you.”
Steven waved a hand at us.
“No, Sir. I can’t take your money Michael. I’m just doing what any good honest man would have done. Please, keep your money.” Steven was shoving the money away.
“I only hope that if me or mine ever need help and you’re around, we reckon you’d do the same.” He added with a soft gleam in his eye.
“Why of course. If there’s one thing Michael Jackson doesn’t do, is forget a kindness done him in his time of need. Only God knows what would have happened if Lavinia hadn’t been playing in the woods and found us.” Michael’s voice broke and a tear fell down his sharp cheek.
“Thank you and God bless you.” And he was falling on Steven’s neck, hugging him tightly.
He went around the room and I followed him, hugging everyone there.
I noted that all three of the people were cold, but granted, the inside of the house was nice and cold, combating the heat.
Two Hours Later
“…I still can’t believe you nearly killed yourself and Ava, to avoid a deer. I’d have squished his ass and kept going. Lord, you’re lucky man.”
Marlon was stating as he steered, not his Winnebago like I had wanted him to arrive in, but instead had come in his blue Jeep.
He could have ridden in on a Huffy ten speed bicycle, I was just so glad to be on my way home!
“You know I couldn’t kill a poor dumb animal. It probably had never even seen a car before.” Michael grunted, annoyed by the thought of animal murder.
“Whatever, I just know your skinny ass was lucky to run across those people. Who knows if you’d have ever found your way home out in the boonies like you were. You sure you don’t‘ want to go to a hospital, you‘re both all banged up.” Marlon continued as we went drove down the road and were passing through a small town.
“No, we want to go home!” I insisted from where I was tucked next to Michael in the back seat.
“They were so nice. Steven refused when I offered him money for the nice things he did, but I left it in an envelope on the front table before we left. I just couldn’t leave without giving them something.” Michael sighed.
Coming across an all night diner, that was lit and had several people inside it eating and chatting, our driver spoke up.
“You mind if I stop and get a cup of coffee? We’ve got a stretch to get back home.” Marlon was asking, but not even waiting for an answer, as he parked his car in front of the diner and was disbanding from it.
Michael and I not wanting to sit in the car, followed along behind him, a spring in our steps we had never possessed before.
As we stepped through the door, into the diner, smelling heavily of brewing coffee and frying, salty meats, a man’s voice gasped,
“Good Lord! What the hell happened to y’all?”
It was clear this place was the local meeting ground of the townsfolk of Pine Burr; several policemen and a few older gentleman sat at the counter, an elderly woman pouring coffee.
A man, in his thirties, came flying up to Michael and me, in uniform, the gleaming badge on his chest reading as “Sherriff”.
“I’m Sherriff Matt Rickets, what on earth happened to you and this young lady?” He demanded as Marlon calmly slipped around him and was ordering a mug of coffee.
“My girlfriend and I had a wreck out in the woods, please, we just want some coffee. That’s my brother over there.” Michael, taking my hand, led me to the stools next to Marlon who was stirring Sweet and Low into his mug.
Matt’s green eyes swelled in his head and I noticed that all the other men and the woman were watching with great interest. I suppose it wasn’t every day someone walked in…how had Lavinia put it… “looking we had been on the losing end of a fight”.
“You say you had a car wreck? Well I’ll be damned! How on Earth did you get away.” Matt demanded. “And why in God’s name didn’t you call the police?”
“We were just so eager to get away, all we could think about was calling my brother and getting away. If it wasn’t for the Driscoll’s kindness--”
I was interrupted by the rest of the people chorusing,
“The Driscolls!”
“You know them?” Michael asked, sipping his coffee, and reaching for a donut that was in a stack on a plate.
“Mister…” The Sherriff was looking , and beginning to sweat nervously. “You say you were helped by the Driscolls?”
“Yeah. Steven and Mina. Had a little girl, Lavinia and baby boy named Joseph.” It was our turn to look at the people curiously.
All around, people were becoming pop-eyed and whispering amongst themselves.
“Is something wrong? You’re acting like we killed somebody.” Marlon, munching on a donut laughed.
The laugher cut out quickly when nobody else joined in.
“I don’t know how to tell y’all this…” The Sherriff leaned up against the counter near us and drew a deep breath.
What he said next, nearly threw me off my stool.
“…but the Driscolls have been dead over fifty years.”
“Quit bullshitting us! My brother and his girlfriend have been through too much for you to mess with their heads with some crap like this!” Marlon instantly jumped on the defensive as a skeptic.
Michael and I exchanged glances, both too stricken to speak.
It didn’t stop Marlon, though.
“If those people are dead, how were Michael and Ava able to sit with them and eat dinner, and call me to come get them--” He was starting to get wound up, and Sherriff Rickets held up his hands.
“Let me guess, you ate roasted chicken, green beans, corn on the cob and cherry pie.” He stated and I grabbed onto Michael feeling suddenly weak.
“How…how did you know that?” Michael stammered, turning milk white.
Marlon, crumbs in his mustache sat with his jaw gaping.
“Everyone who’s ever been to the Driscoll place, and gotten away, have been fed that meal. Folks say it’s the last meal the Driscolls ever ate.” the Sherriff shook his head.
When no one spoke, Michael and I were dumbfounded and Marlon was trying to make sense of the matter, the man continued talking.
“I heard it from my Grand Pappy, he was the sheriff back when it happened. Fifty years ago. A warm, July day, a lot like this one, back in 1961. Nobody knew it at the time, but miles away from here, a derelict had escaped from an asylum up the state. San Francisco, I believe. They say the man had murdered his own family a few years prior in a drunken rage and then went insane at what he’d done. No one knows how he got out, but there he was, on the road.
He came across little Lavinia Driscoll. She was the sweetest nicest kid, Grand Pappy said, always wanting to help people.” Sheriff Rickets shook his head.
“That poor child saw how dirty the man was and offered to get her daddy to help him. Didn‘t know she was helping to bring a killer into her own home.”
My head was spinning. The more the sheriff spoke the more and more it sounded like what had happened to Michael and myself.
Finding the girl singing in the woods, her running for Steven. Steven coming and getting us himself, and offering us dinner.
I wanted to vomit, if this sordid tale was indeed true.
But it couldn’t be, could it?
Judging by the grim faces looking upon me, these country folk were taking as the God’s Truth.
“The little girl ran and got her daddy, got Steven and they brought the man home where Mina was making dinner with the baby, Joseph. Grand Pappy tells me they brought the man in, and fed him dinner--chicken, and green beans all that. And when they got done eating, the man made a move, like he was going to use the phone.
Instead, he grabbed a knife off the counter and without a word, started stabbing them. And stabbing them. Killed Steven, Mina and Lavinia.
When he saw what he’d done, he set fire to the house to cover his tracks and fled. House had burned pretty bad, by the time the fire department got out there and were able to put the blaze out. They found the three of them in the kitchen. Steven dead at the table and Mina and Lavinia dead in the far corner of the room. It was obvious Mina had tried to protect her daughter--she was holding the girl her arms, and had the most stab wounds Thirty-seven, I recall.”
I stared at Michael. He was visibly trembling, and beyond him, Marlon had pressed his hands to his mouth, eyes bulging with disbelief.
“They later found the baby in his nursery upstairs. Someone must have put him there before the stabbings--”
My mind drifted to how Lavinia had taken the baby from Michael and put him to bed upstairs.
“--he hadn’t been touched, but the smoke was what got him, suffocated to death in the smoke. A whole, young family, their lives ahead of them, all wiped out. They caught the man a few days later. He confessed and was hanged. ” The sheriff pulled out a cigarette, but didn’t light it.
“Hanging was too good for him, if you ask me. Should have burned him, like those poor people.” Another officer chimed in, tightly and several people patted after him, approvingly.
“Every so often, some folks come through here, claming everything from a wreck like y’all, to a busted tire, and how the Driscolls helped them. And in a way, I suppose the Driscolls did help them--their souls anyhow.”
We ran.
Michael, Marlon, and I, all in one fluid motion, ran from the diner.
We didn’t’ scream, but we didn’t have to. Anyone who even peeked at us could tell we were disturbed out our minds.
“I don’t believe that shit! I don’t believe it! Dead people? You were with dead people? Bullshit!” Marlon declared, turning the car on and the motor roared to life.
Was he trying to convince us or himself?
“I don’t know what to say…” Michael stroked at his dimpled chin, indecisive. “I don’t know what do you think, Lover?” He glanced at me, eyes big and glassy with fear. His fear was on his face as clearly as his own nose.
“I…I believe it.“ I declared, not sounding like myself as my voice was shaking so much. “The whole while I was there, I constantly smelled smoke. And they were cold. When I hugged Steven and Mina and Lavinia, they were so cold.” I suddenly turned to Michael and gripped his arm.
“You held the baby, Michael--was…was he cold?”
Eyes ever widening, Michael had lost his ability to speak, but nodded just the same and I sank back in the seat, tears of confusion welling in my eyes.
Michael Jackson had held a fifty year old, dead baby in his arms. Played with a dead baby. I was going to be sick.
At the same time, Michael shouted,
“Marlon, what the hell are you doing?”
I was wrenched from crying as Marlon replied,
“I’m taking you and Ava back to that house, so I can see for myself, if that guy was telling the truth or a bold-faced lie and if he’s lying, so help me God, I’m gonna break his jaw.”
“I don’t wanna go back! I don’t wanna go back! Michael! Make him take us home!” I wailed becoming frantic. Who knew what we’d see at the Driscoll home now that the secret was out.
But Marlon was hell bent on proving a point.
And I could have lived the rest of my life without the truth.
As we turned up the dirt path, leading to the Driscoll home, I saw the difference immediately in the early morning light as the sun had begun rising on a new day.
Where the lawn had once been pretty and manicured, just a few hours earlier, was now over grown and appeared to have not been tended to in decades.
Steven’s black Model-T, which had been pretty and polished to a high gleam, now sat on four flat tires, taken with weeds and rusty.
All of our eyes drifted to the house and all around jaws dropped.
“Oh my God!” I’m not sure who said it, but the phrase was wheezed by somebody, as we sort of tumbled out of the car, shuffling in a huddled group towards the house.
The remnants of the Driscoll home.
The home, which had been so inviting and warm, was now completely dark, the sunlight creeping over what was left.
The second floor of the home was entirely gone, a charred outline in the morning. The windows, were all smoked out and the whitewashed front still bore soot from the fire so long ago.
“This doesn’t make since! I was just in there. I ate chicken! This is some--” Michael started, heaving for air.
“Bullshit!” Marlon finished for him. “Michael!” He exclaimed suddenly as Michael began running from us.
“Oh no! Michael!” I cried as we took after him, watching as he stepped up onto the burned front porch, my mind spinning as nothing in life seemed to add up anymore and I understood nothing at all.
Michael disappeared through the hole that had been the front door and immediately began screaming.
“My brother! I’m coming Michael!” Marlon yelled as we scrambled up and into the skeleton of the house.
We found Michael in the front hall, pressed against the wall, shaking all over.
“What is it? Baby! What happened!” I begged, touching his hot and damp face as he began crying uncontrollably and Marlon embraced him.
A pale hand was extended and pointed.
Marlon and I followed with out eyes and found ourselves pressed against the wall, alarmed.
There on the burnt and charred and crispy front table, was the plain white envelope filled with money, that Michael had left behind for the family.
It was as white and clean as when he’d placed it there and stood out blindingly in the ruins around it.
We made no moves to retrieve the envelope, just stared it. I knew for one I didn’t want it, even if I were starving to death.
That envelope was cursed now. Who knew what had happened to it while we had been gone. It had been in the hands of a man who hadn’t been a man for fifty years!
“What kind of freaky stuff happened here? Am I in Hell?” Marlon whimpered and tears were oozing down his face, as he looked about him in wonder.
Staring at the envelope, I thought of the recipe that Mina had given me, and I was digging in my front shirt pocket.
“Ava, what are you doing?” Marlon demanded, patting at Michael’s head.
“The woman…” I was afraid to say her name. “…gave me a recipe for her pie, Look!”
Feeling the paper in my hand, I brought it up and out to show Marlon as the sunlight got stronger.
I got the fright of my life when I opened my hand.
I had a fistful of ashes. No paper, no recipe.
Ashes.
A soft breeze blew them from my hand.
I opened my mouth and screamed until my throat was raw.
That was all we ever needed.
Marlon yelling physically picked up Michael, still sobbing and praying, and carried him over his shoulders as we fled the building and jumped into his car.
And we go the natural hell out of there.
No one spoke a word the entire way home.
Nothing would could say, could ever soothe our nerves or make sense out of what we had just seen and experienced.
The only sound on the way home was of one of each of us crying intervals, Marlon cursing here and there and Michael saying more prayers than I had ever heard in my lifetime.
We never returned to Pine Burr. That place was a gateway to Hell as far we were concerned.
I don’t believe Michael even reported his wrecked Hummer.
He just went out and bought a new one.
We never returned to the Driscoll homestead, but we would never forget who or what ever it was that had saved us from our car wreck.
And we had been lucky to not end up like them, left to walk the Earth instead of moving on.
We were very lucky. 
No comments:
Post a Comment