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y name is Elizabeth Jenkins. I am twenty-five years old. Two friends, one an albino, the other a hemophiliac, saved my life during the fall of my seventh year, allowing me to tell my tale.
My neighborhood was like any other aging suburban neighborhood. Old enough so the hedges grew high and the trees were shady. It was common to see some sort of home repair going on to houses that were beginning to show their age. Children played tag through multiple yards and chased ice cream trucks. Mothers still wore aprons, yet rushed to watch Dark Shadows with guilty pleasure. Fathers worked jobs that they thought they would have for the rest of their lives. It was that kind neighborhood and that kind of time.
Sometimes, if it was an overcast day or early evening, Andy Clark would walk by my house. I would watch in awe, wondering why Andy always wore a hat, long sleeves, and sunglasses regardless of the weather. His hair was snow white and long, really long. I believed with all my heart that he was somehow related to Santa Claus. I would learn later that he was an albino, and was sensitive to the sunlight. He always kept walking until he came to Tim Bell’s house where he would then disappear inside.
When I first saw Tim Bell, the hemophiliac, I was trying to help my friend Karl Hanes catch his puppy, Pork Chop. Pork Chop was my dog Muffin’s puppy. Pork Chop’s daddy was a beagle from two streets over. We cornered the hyperactive puppy on the Bell’s front porch and I saw him, Tim the bleeder, Poor Tim, Tim the parent’s burden to bear. He was looking out of the huge window smiling at me, waving with a long pale arm. He had long black hair, some of it hanging over one side of his face. I waved back. After that, whenever I was over Karl’s house, I noticed that Tim was always watching us out of that big picture window that set the Bell’s house apart from the others.
My stepmother was just like most fairy-tale stepmothers, not kind. She did not feed me very well, though there was food in the house. I had that poverty-stricken look, you know: Please, for just 75 cents a day, you too . . . Yeah, that look. My hair was long and brown, but greasy, and knotted. I had this scum thing on my neck from the neglect to my hygiene. My clothes were ill fitting, my shoes painfully tight. The combination of all of these things set me apart from my peers, and I often felt left out.
When Nancy Granger disappeared in the spring of 1968, it was hard on us kids. No longer did we play on the street; we lost a freedom that all kids took for granted in those times. Police and people in the community searched everywhere for Nancy. A detective even came to our house asking if we had seen anything. No one had. I could have told them that Nancy had changed before she disappeared, but no one asked.
I had known Nancy and played Barbies with her. I fit in better with the boys, but Nancy did play with me and was never mean. Most girls picked up on my poor hygiene; Nancy didn’t seem to care. Her family lived caddy-corner to Andy’s house. I remember Nancy’s big thing was that she wanted to be the neighborhood babysitter when she grew up. I think that is why she was so bossy.
Not long before she disappeared, Nancy had stopped being so bossy. She was quieter, and even let me decide the games. She didn’t pay attention. Sometimes I would have to grab her and guide her back into our game. I never asked what was wrong. Children just do not think like that. I wish that I had. She was my only friend who was a girl like me.
With Nancy gone, I thought I would be stuck in my attic room all summer. I can still see the dusty shafts of light that streamed into that sweltering attic through a tiny window. Pink fluff floated everywhere. No wonder I was itchy. Insulation does not make good pretend cotton candy. Parents were still cautious because of Nancy but, hot and whiny, we were eventually released back into the wild. I ran straight over to Karl’s house.
Karl Hanes was a year older than me, and my best friend. Karl had a shaggy mop of hair that only convinced my stepmother further that his parents were hippies. She said it like it was a bad word, but Kyle’s mom was nice to me and wore pretty, long skirts and sandals, which showed off tanned feet. She smelled good too, clean. Not reeking of the newest Avon like my stepmother. At the time, I did not think that Kyle’s mom could ever be something bad as a hippie.
We talked a lot about Nancy. Kyle in his quiet voice claimed that Nancy was in heaven with Jesus. I was not convinced that this was an entirely good thing for her, because, how was Santa going to bring her gifts? Besides potty training, first days of school, and a select few other holidays, Santa takes up much of a child’s brain space. I felt bad for Nancy, and hoped they would find her in time for Christmas.
This is the hard part of my story, what happened to me in the summer and fall of 1968. My parents were going to a party. One of those parties where Tom Jones and Englebert Humperdink records were played. Fancy drinks with pretty glass stirrers were created in avocado-colored kitchens.
Elroy, a teenager from across the street, was to be my babysitter for the day and evening. I played outside most of the day, coming in only to grab a sandwich. He was the biggest kid in the neighborhood and most of the other kids avoided him. His dad was in the military, so Elroy wore his hair in a crew cut like his dad. He was also our paperboy, and was always trying to hit our dog Muffin by whipping the paper hard at her as he rode by on his bike.
When evening came, I went to my room to change into my pajamas. Elroy came creaking up the attic stairs. I tried to pull my bottoms up, but he was already next to me. He looked at me as if he had never seen me before in his life. I remember him leading me to the bathroom and running a bath. I only remember standing while he washed my hair and privates. He would not stop touching himself; he would not stop touching me. I was already confused about the bath thing, but everything else was too much, I started to cry. He told me to stop crying, that if I didn't, something bad might happen to Muffin or Pork Chop. He ordered me to be still. I stood very still.
Later he dried me off, brushed my hair, so tangled from past neglect that it seemed an eternity to be done with. I tried not to cry while he pulled the knots apart. He made me english muffin pizzas. As we watched television, he talked soft and low in my ear, telling me how much trouble I would be in if I told anyone what I did. I was already walking on eggshells through my childhood. Life was already so hard. I remember Elroy telling my parents how good I was, how he would babysit anytime. That night was the start of the loneliest time of my life.
By the end of summer I had grown thinner. I still went over to Karl’s house, but I don’t remember playing. I do remember sitting on the swing watching Muffin and Pork Chop play, Pork Chop’s half-beagle-half-dachsund body waggling in front of Muffin as he tried to take an old sneaker from her jaws. I saw Tim Bell waving at me through his window, but now I waved back with a thin pale arm of my own.
Elroy spent a lot of time with me that summer. He would often lead me past Tim’s house into a little patch of wood, sometimes a hangout for teens. On an old dirty blanket that had been left there he would unzip his pants and rub his penis up and down against my legs, his weight taking my breath away. Sometimes I thought I would die but it didn’t matter. I already felt half dead.
Elroy babysat me at least five more times over that summer. In order to hide my shame and protect the two little dogs, I kept silent. This silence was not without its price. It had taken a toll on my body. Where I had not enough nourishment before, now I was eating half of what was offered. My father asked after my health one day. My stepmother said I was growing taller, thinning out. Thinning out, yeah. I was thinning away.
Andy Clark still made his daily visits to Tim’s house. One day I was sitting on the curb in front of our house idly watching one of my old green crayons melt on the hot pavement. Andy drifted over towards me, and I started to tremble. Andy was about the same age as Elroy so I thought he was going to do things to me too. I wanted to run, but instead I sat there frozen to the curb.
Muffin, sensing my distress, licked my face, but I kept shaking. My teeth chattered and my knees bumped together as I trembed. I closed my eyes hoping that he would just go away. I started to feel a vibration in my head that slowly ran down the length of my body. It was pleasant and I heard what sounded sort of like a million tiny honeybees in my ear. I felt my shaking slow, then cease all together, the humming in sync with my breathing. I once went to the dentist and was given a sweet gas. That was how I felt.
Andy sat down on the curb beside me and took off his sunglasses. I peeked over at him and looked into two beautiful violet-blue eyes. He said hello and cautiously took my hand. The vibration in my head increased, just slightly, and I relaxed a bit more. His voice was hummed in my brain. I said nothing, but held his eyes with mine.
I heard him say It's going to be okay, Beth, I promise. Please trust me.
I believed him. I had no other hope. Tears formed and rolled down my cheeks. He knew my horrible secret. I was no longer alone. Andy Clark also knew that my secret was slowly killing me. He gave my hand a little squeeze, got up and walked on towards Tim’s house.
That night I slept, free of the horrible nightmares of dead Muffins and Pork Chops. After that day, I tried to stay over Karl and Luke’s house as much as I could to avoid Elroy, but I was not always lucky. I started to think about becoming invisible so Elroy could not see me. I thought about Nancy Granger, how I had seen Elroy walking with her past Tim’s house. I couldn’t remember when, but it was not long before she disappeared. Is that what happened to Nancy? Did she become invisible? I found myself missing Nancy very much.
Mischief Night was really big in our neighborhood. Every teenager seemed to be armed with Ivory soap and eggs. The next day was Halloween, when we little kids would be permitted out for trick-or-treating. Toilet paper hung all over the trees and telephone lines. Many cars and front doors sported smashed eggs slowly drying to a hard glue finish. Some windshields had dirty words written with soap—the more unpopular the neighbor, the dirtier the words. My stepmother’s car had quite the colorful vocabulary. When she called me in to try on a second-hand bunny costume, I was mortified. Only my face poked out of the costume, and it felt like it weighed fifty pounds. I hated it. I was told to get the pout off my face. I did. Later, when she was washing eggs off the front door, I went to my room and laughed till my ribs hurt.
Karl came to get me for trick-or treating. He had on a cool pirate’s costume, complete with a plastic hook hand. I was suffocating in the furry bunny suit. I could feel the sweat running down my ribby sides. We started down my side of the street towards Andy’s house. The plan was to make a loop all the way around the neighborhood until we reached Karl’s house. Karl’s mom was the best, and had decorated the house and yard to look like a real haunted house. She even had a record that played scary noises, a little scratchy, but effective.
When we stopped at Andy’s, his mom gave us two Snickers bars each, and money for our UNICEF boxes. Chaos was everywhere. Teenagers armed with pillow cases ran ahead of us. Boys trying and succeeding to scare the girls caused screaming and running in all directions. We took our time. Back then kids really did not have a Halloween curfew, we could stay out as long as porch lights were still on. This was my first year of this timeless freedom. By the next day there would not be a house left that had candy or loose change. I looked over at Nancy Granger’s house. It was dark, and there were no decorations like there had been last year. To me it was the saddest, creepiest house on the street. Its darkened windows whispered, Something awful happened to us.
We made our loop back to Karl’s house and had cinnamon donuts and cider. Karl was told that he was to call it a night and I started to make my way back to my house, anxious to take off my costume, wet with sweat, seeming to weigh five hundred pounds. My jack-o-lantern candy bucket was heavy too, so I plodded slowly down the street and past houses starting to go dark now that the madness was over.
I never had time to run. He had my arm before I had time to comprehend what was happening, but the ugly mask depicting a melting face didn’t fool me.
“Come on Beth, let’s take a walk,” Elroy said.
I started to cry, but he pinched my neck, telling me to shut up. When I saw where he was taking me, I tried to pull away. My fear eventually paralyzed me and I was pushed into the old shed behind his house. I fell onto my knees, the heels of my little hands grinding into the filthy dirt floor. I was blinded when he shut the door, but I knew there were spiders, and I could smell the stench of the garbage kept in the shed until trash day. I gagged and retched and tried to get to the door only to be jerked back again by my bunny ears.
Elroy held me still, while he unzipped his pants and tore my bunny costume down to my ankles. He pushed me down into all that filth and I felt his weight crushing me, his breath against my neck, his penis hard against my privates. I started to feel a pressure almost unimaginable when the door of the shed slid open on its rusting, warped runners. Elroy jumped up. Andy stood in the doorway dressed like a wizard, little gold moons and stars all over his dark robe, and a pointed wizard’s hat. Cool costume or not, I felt a certain doom for Andy and me both. He wasn’t a real wizard with a magic wand or anything and he was so much smaller than Elroy.
Elroy was surprised to see Andy, but I wasn’t. Elroy said something to Andy about being a freak and pushed Andy hard. Andy said nothing, just regained his balance and stepped forward, touching Elroy on the chest then stepping back. I cried out as Elroy lurched towards Andy, but Elroy fell to his knees and put his head in his hands. He rocked forward making a sound like gnahhhhhhh. I saw the blood, just a trickle at first, lit by the streetlight shining through the door of the shed. I saw it running, then gushing out of his ears, nose, his eyes. I turned away. When I looked up again Elroy was on his back, his eyes looked like black holes in a pale crew-cutted skull.
I gasped for air and feebly tried to pull up my costume, but I was shaking so hard I couldn’t. My spirit broken, my body tired from fighting, I stayed where I was, trying to recite Hail Mary the best as a seven year old can. Andy pulled up my bunny suit, and then wrapped me in his wizard robe. He whispered in my ear that I was safe.
Andy carried me through neighboring backyards until arriving at Tim Bell’s back door, where Tim and his mother met us. With tears in her eyes, she took me from Andy and brought me into the house. Tim’s mom had black shiny hair like Tim and was very pretty. She cleaned me up and then rocked me until I closed my eyes in exhaustion. It was decided not to tell my parents. My father was out of town, yet again, and my stepmother was useless according to Mrs. Bell. We made a pact that night of secrecy and I, a child already used to keeping secrets, agreed readily.
Worried that I would get into trouble, Andy walked me about halfway and watched me walk the rest of the way home. When I got to my room, I crawled out of my costume, into bed and slept.
They found Elroy the next morning, his mother’s screams reaching my attic window told me so. I hid in my room the entire day, avoiding all the chaos in the neighborhood. I did not attend Elroy’s funeral. My stepmother felt I was too upset by his death.
After that day, I spent a lot time over Tim’s. He had a neat room with black-light posters and his own stereo. Although they were teenagers, Andy and Tim talked to me. Andy didn’t talk about how he had caused the massive hemorrhaging that Elroy had suffered. I do know that Tim’s hemophilia disappeared after that night. He seemed healthier. He now walked over to Andy’s house to play Frisbee. Andy had a beautiful voice and often sang, his silvery white hair falling over his guitar that sang with him. His violet blue eyes smiled at me and I knew that he was not related to Santa. I knew he was he was an angel from heaven.
Mrs. Bell hugged me often, something unheard of at home. She let me take baths at her house, and even bought me a silver brush, comb and mirror set. I still have it. When I looked into the mirror, I did not want to be invisible anymore.
When spring came a man walking his dog in those little woods where Elroy used to take me found the bones of little Nancy Granger. Tim and Andy said they knew Elroy had killed Nancy, but had been too late stop it. Nancy Granger’s murder remains a mystery to this day. A few months later my family moved when my father was transferred to another state. I never saw Andy Clark or Tim Bell again.
I am a woman now, and I live a life lacking in luster at times, as does every woman. I do move often, feeling restless. Sometimes I leave in the middle of the dark night, not knowing why, but knowing I will find out. For this reason, I do not have many possessions. I work transient jobs that pay the bills. I do have a little dog that looks a lot like my old Muffin and I am content with her company. I would like to say that I went on to forget most of that summer and fall, but I didn’t. No one can hold the secrets I have held, and remain unchanged.
I watch out my window and see the man walking with the little girl, his hand guiding her stiff body. My head is starting to hum, sounding like a million tiny honeybees. I get ready. I know it’s not too late to save this one. |
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