Inspired by Writing Prompt One Hundred and Seven: The elastic on his waistband was frayed, adding one more pleasantry to this awful business.
I
love my job but sometimes… let’s just say… some days are harder than others.
A
few years ago, in late October I had a major remodel to a house out in the
middle of the desert located in the middle of nowhere. It was a 3 ½ hour drive one way from the shop
that called for us to spend the next 2 weeks, day and night on the job site.
This project was so far out we no longer got radio waves let alone cell
service. Why anyone would build a house forty minutes off the paved road in the
foothills of the Mojave is beyond me.
For
this project I took Barry… a large, 53-year-old man of questionable upbringing.
After 12 years in prison he had… let’s say the residual effects of a
pharmaceutical enhancement that called into question his ability to be alone. More
interesting than this was his prevalent fear of the dark. He had, on more than one occasion, refused to
go under a house to work unless I went with him. He lived in real fear of zombies, werewolves
and vampires.
I
know how that sounds… that a man who spent time in prison and appeared to have
no problem being accepted as an equal among a Hell’s Angles’ reunion party would
have trouble with the dark or being alone, but it was something he battled with
every day.
At
the end of the day we made our way to the new job that would start in the
morning. On the drive he was buoyant,
talkative, and enjoying the ride. Then, just outside of Victorville in the
growing dark, civilization began to drop away one or two houses at a time. Within the next twenty minutes the landscape
had changed into one of open, undulating, vast waste land.
“Where
are all the houses?” he asked with a little panic in his voice.
“We’re
in the desert… there are no houses,” I returned with little interest.
He
turned in the seat and stared out the window.
“What
do we do for lights?” he asked, turning to me again.
“Sorry
pal, none of them out here either.”
He
sat silent for the remainder of the ride.
At
long last we bumped our way through the dark over a less than maintained dirt
road coming
to
a group of large weathered trees. The branches swayed heavily with the wind
that blew wildly carrying with it giant clouds of dust thrown in the air by our
arrival.
“Get
the gate Barry.”
He
sat there looking at me with wide eyes, glancing first to me and then outside.
“By
myself?”
“Yeah,
get out and open the gate.”
“Come
with me,” he insisted.
“Stop
dicking around and open the gate,” I admonished, pushing him lightly.
“Hell
no. I ain’t going out there by myself. No telling what’s waiting to eat ya,” he
returned locking the door.
“God,”
I huffed undoing my seat belt, opening the door.
“What
are ya doing?”
“I’m
opening the gate.”
“You
can’t leave me here by myself… what if one of them comes for me?”
“One
of them?”
He
popped the door open on his side and ran to throw mine open as well.
“Open
the gate,” I was tired, hungry, dirty and frustrated. I didn’t need this shit.
He
stood upright, staring out into the dark. His head swiveled around franticly as
if someone lay in wait.
“Come
with me,” he pressed.
“Christ,”
I sighed and did as he asked.
He
pressed close to me as we made our way to the gate doing everything he could to
stay within the glow of the headlights.
I
did the combo and it popped open on the spot.
I pushed it open and rolled a rock in front of it with my foot to prop
it open. At the instant I released it
the sound of the truck door closing filled the air… followed closely by the
lock engaging.
Barry
was safely ensconced in the truck once more.
He
rolled the window down a crack and shouted. “Get in before they come,” and then
cranked the window close quickly.
I
had to laugh to myself a little... a guy as big as Barry afraid of the dark was
way too much fun. I had always assumed he was joking about his ‘condition’. He
could be a scary looking guy in his own right… it never occurred to me he was
on the level.
“Yeah,
yeah.”
The
house, still a five minute drive from the gate, was built sometime in the
mid-fifties. The paint was chipped and blistered by sun and wind. Its board and
batten exterior had seen better days. The truck’s headlights swept across its
face and for the briefest of moments there appeared to be an animal or a
person, something on the porch. Whatever it was, it disappeared before the
truck came to rest.
I
turned the truck off and the lights died quickly as the darkness washed over
us.
Suddenly
the truck filled with a high pitch squeal that sent chills down my spine.
“What
are you doing? Turn them on… what are you waiting for? Turn them on,” Barry
shouted and then punched me had in the shoulder.
“What
the hell?”
“Turn
them on or so help me…”
I
did as he asked but now I was mad.
“Happy?”
I asked.
“Go
turn the lights on in the house,” he ordered.
“And
here I was thinking I was the boss,” I sniped, pushing the truck door open
wide, stepping out.
I
walked through the beams of lights and opened the door.
“Come
on you lazy bastard,” I called waving him to the house.
He
scampered wildly toward the house, darting between billows of dust, almost
knocking me over in his attempt to get inside.
“You
left the lights on in the truck,” I groused, pointing.
“What
are you, crazy? I’m not going back out
there,” He said brushing himself off.
Now
it was getting under my skin. I was the one who had to go back out into the
wind and shut off the lights.
The
rest of the evening went by without incident. The wind howled relentlessly
beating against the house, thumping loudly. Then around eleven the unthinkable…
“I
gotta go to the bathroom,” Barry said softly.
“Beg
your pardon?”
“I
have to go to the bathroom,” He repeated louder this time.
“Well
pal, none of the plumbing is hooked up you’ll have to go outside.”
“I
can’t.”
“You’ll
have to… its outside or hold it until the morning.”
He
looked to the door and back to me.
“Come
with me.”
“I’m
not going with you. If you have to go… go, you don’t need me.”
“You
have to… I can’t go out there by myself.”
“Go
outside or crap yourself… all the same to me.”
“Go
with me.”
“No.”
He
began to dance about… his eyes pleading with me.
“Okay…
I’ll go this far with you,” I said opening the front door. “I’ll leave the door
open for you.”
“Come
with me.”
“Nope,
if you’re afraid of the dark it’s on you. It has nothing to do with me.”
I
sat down on the couch tickled pink to be in control again.
“I’m
not afraid of the dark I just don’t like it,” He corrected.
“Well,
prove it… come or go. Do what you want but leave me out of it.”
At
last, reluctantly, he dove through the door and into the darkness outside.
I
was filled with self-satisfaction.
Time
seemed to slow as I waited. He was taking far too long… even for Barry.
After
a moment or so I went to the door… I could see nothing, hear nothing beyond the
wind.
I
was about to call out for him when I thought I heard him call.
“Help.”
At
first I wasn’t certain that I heard it and I stepped out onto the porch.
“Help!”
Barry’s voice cut through the howl of wind, sending goosebumps rippling over
every square inch of me.
“Barry,”
I called.
“Help
me! They’ve got me,” He screamed.
My
mind instantly swam with confusion as I searched the darkness for some sign as
to direction I should go.
“Help!”
He cried out again, his voice clearly filled with panic.
I
ran in the direction I thought it came from… again I heard him call and I ran
to his aid. Then much to my shock I found him…
there standing in the dark was Barry.
His clothing was tangled in the bramble he was now totally naked save
for his under ware.
“I
was stuck… I fell and I couldn’t get free,” he moaned. His backside was covered
in cactus needles.
“Help me.”
A
part of me wanted to laugh… a part of me felt sorry for him. To make things worse the elastic on
his waist band was frayed, adding one more pleasantry to this awful business. It was going to be a long night.
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Married forty-three years to a woman he calls Dearheart, Tegon Maus lives a contented life in a small town of 8,200 in Southern California. By day, Tegon is a successful home remodeling contractor, but his passion is storytelling.
Tegon's progatonists are frequently wedged between a rock and a hard place, but manage to work things out through the story. Like most when pushed into a corner, it only brings out the best in his characters and become the unstoppable force of a reluctant hero. Tegon's signature style is creating characters who are driven and believable, and who strive to find happiness.
Tegon is the author of The Chronicles Of Tucker Littlefield series.
Check out Tegon's other work on Amazon, including her latest novel, Service Before Self!
