Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Instead, he shoved the thing in my hand and raced back into the middle of the pack, like the chicken that he was. He’d only come inside with us because he didn’t want to stand out there all alone, with the sun starting to set and all. I remember gripping that flashlight hard, and regarding him with a dull rage. I looked over my shoulder, staring into his beady gray eyes, and my blood boiled.
I had no idea what that feeling was at the time, but I do know what it was now: Disgust. The feeling you have when someone who you thought was on your level lets their fears chase them away from a good time, or in some cases, doing the right thing. Like stickin’ up for a loved one during tense times, or apologizing when you’ve fucked up. I sucked my teeth, hurled a few curse words his way, and turned back around. Larry finally broke from the pack and walked side by side with me, feeling safer with me having the flashlight and all. After we discussed our game plan for where to explore next, I slowed down and took it all in. The funeral home. What I remember to this day is the odor…
I remember the atmosphere was thick and musty. Stagnant air. Stale and rotten. Putrid sweetness, followed by a faint whiff of burnt wood, right at the end of the inhale. I now know that stench all too well. Death. Animal carcasses and men spoil in similar fashions. As a child, I was unsure what that stench was, but it nauseated me. A couple of my friends cursed about it, and pulled their shirts up over their noses. Sometimes the bodies of the deceased can be long gone, but their smell hangs in the air for weeks, sometimes even months afterward. This place had been closed down for at least a couple of years. Strange.
My friends and I began to disperse as we got more comfortable. We could see much better now, and there were things to touch and play with. A woman’s white gown hanging from a wardrobe. Sheets of music on the piano. Artificial roses. Stacks of yellowed obituaries. Rodney pretended to be dancing with the dress on, and teased that it was Larry’s mother. That almost started a fight. We traveled up the steps and discovered an office, empty bedroom and bathroom.
The office was strangely clean. Just a thin layer of dust. On the wall hung a calendar dated from two years prior. Beside it was a framed picture of Jesus. He had milky white skin, and flowing light brown hair. A peaceful slight smile graced his face. It was so much different than the pictures in Mama’s house. She had big movie posters, psychedelic rugs pinned up for display, tarot card pictures, and spiritual sayings she fancied.
Next was an old desk with a couple of ink pens on it, and pamphlets. Some of my friends opened the drawers, hoping to find treasures. There were in fact a few pennies and dimes, but nothing that felt like a jackpot. Several of them jammed the money in their pockets all the same. We left the office, and entered the bathroom.
The toilet was filled with stinking brown water and some of my friends threatened to splash it on each other. It smelled like old piss and rancid shit. After raiding the medicine cabinet and coming up empty, no prescription pill bottles or anything of value found, just a bottle of lotion and a shaving kit with no razor, we ventured back down the steps. I could have sworn I’d heard the piano. Just a note or two. It happened so quickly, it was like my mind was playing tricks on me. No one was standing around the piano—everyone was accounted for upstairs, and nobody heard it but me. I pushed it out of my mind, figuring I was hearing things, and we challenged one another to go into the basement.
Once again, I volunteered. At the time, I was terrified, but the last thing I wanted to be viewed as was a punk. Larry and a guy named Petey came beside me first. The other boys, not wanting to feel like pussies, finally tagged along. The door was half hanging off the hinges and slanted at an angle, but still difficult to muster fully open. It was heavy, and anyone larger than a child would have a hell of a time getting past it. We slipped behind it, one by one, careful to avoid a crooked nail jutting out from the middle of the damn thing that would surely cause us pain. The stairs were warped and crooked, and I immediately heard droplets of water as we descended.
Some of my friends feared tumbling down as some of the boards felt soft in some spots. It probably wasn’t the best decision for us all to go down at once, adding far too much weight. Children aren’t the best planners, though, and hindsight is 20/20. Even though the lights upstairs were out, and we relied on the meager glow from the outdoors and the flashlight I waved about, Larry decided to try the wall switch anyway. It came on, much to our surprise, painting the bunker in a creepy, piss yellow. We all suddenly froze.