A silver splinter of the moon does little to light our way as we move deeper into the raw darkness, closer to our prize, standing guard in his lonely garden. The tip of my nose is numb. I huff out a breath, expecting to see it. Nothing. Maybe it’s just too dark. It’s got to be cold enough. I stuff my hands into my jacket pockets to find some warmth.
Jace grumbles behind me as we kick through waist-high weeds. “If I step on an opossum, I will seriously kill you . . . if I don’t die from a heart attack.” I say nothing and chuckle. He keeps telling me about a recurring nightmare he has, where he has to ride a giant opossum. It doesn’t sound scary to me, but it haunts the shit out of him. I have an irrational fear of paper cuts, so I try not to judge. “Could it be any darker? I swear, I can’t even see my hand in front of my––”
A yelp and a thud behind me. I spin around. The king has fallen. I cover my mouth with my hands to keep the laughter from exploding out. “Are you okay?” I whisper through my clasped fingers. Jace is completely consumed by the weeds, his hand holding up his cocktail. Not a drop has spilled. “Very graceful! Now that takes some skill.”
“These are my new True Religion jeans! I am not built for wilderness hikes. Get over here and help me up!”
“Wilderness hike? I think we walked like 200 feet.”
“Well thank you for keeping track of our progress, Mr. Cartographer! This still feels like some Lewis and Clark bullshit to me.”
The darkness can’t hide his flushed face. I can tell he wants to be angry, but he starts to laugh. It’s contagious. Trying to laugh quietly only makes it burst out even louder. This gets the attention of two enormous-sounding dogs. The barking seems far away. I hope it’s far enough.
I help my accomplice to his feet. “Our first kidnapping is not going very smoothly.”
He brushes the dirt off of his heavily embroidered back pockets. “That’s funny! I’m so tweeting that.”
“Like hell you are! This is a secret, undercover operation. The whole party will know we’re up to something.”
Keeping track of Jace is too easy. He can’t cross the street without a photo and a clever comment being posted online. Seriously. Since lunchtime, I’m fully aware that he ate a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos popcorn, shaved with a razor that was too dull, plucked a nose hair that was “freakishly long,” and ate watermelon for dinner because he was feeling bloated. Which I’m also aware means he’s drinking whiskey on an empty stomach.
A firefly is glowing just above Jace’s shoulder. He notices and swats it away. The tiny ball of light traces down into the weeds. “Okay, okay. I won’t touch my phone. At least we don’t have to feed the scarecrow after we steal him.” He downs his drink and doesn’t take his eyes off of me. Waiting.
Fine. I’ll bite. “What are you talking about? Feed it?”
“Because he’s already stuffed!” He spits out a laugh and tosses his empty glass into the darkness. I wonder if Karen and her father will miss it.
The dogs bark again.
I look off into the pitch-dark distance toward their warning. “You’re officially drunk-a-lunk. No crying or any more falling down.”
“I’m not even!”
The scarecrow is bigger than it looked from Karen’s yard. At least as tall as I am, its arms outstretched on wooden supports. I’m sure I can come up with a joke about a “crow-cifixion,” but I’m too distracted to think. The religious symbolism makes stealing seem wrong, not without a proper introduction. “Hello, Mr. Scarecrow. I’m the Tin Man. This is my friend, the Cowardly Lion––”
An offended gasp over my shoulder. “No! I want to be the Tin Man.”
“Seriously? What’s the difference?”
“I like the Tin Man. I’m tragically heartless and polished to a dazzling shine, so I can relate.”
Hardly a tragedy. Jace has the biggest heart of anyone I know. I don’t mention this out loud, because that’s not the kind of thing a guy tells his friend. Ever. “Yes, that’s true. You’re an asshole. The fact that you’re willing to confuse our new straw friend is proof that you’re heartless.”
“See! I’m so the Tin Man.”
“Okay. Let’s try this again. Hello, Mr. Scarecrow. I’m the Cowardly Lion, and this is my friend, Dorothy.”
“Hey!”
“We’re here to take you to see the Wizard. He’s got a nice brain waiting for you.” I lean in toward its head. “He says he would love to join us.”
Jace looks at me, side-eyed. “You can hear it talking to you and you think I’m drunk?”
“Come on. Grab one side.” Jace pushes. I pull. We do this back and forth a few times until the post loosens. “Okay. On the count of three, we lift. Ready?”
DING. Jace’s phone. He pulls it from his pocket. “It’s Karen!” His eyes get very wide. He looks so guilty. “She wants to know where I’m hiding. What do I say?”
He’s the worst liar. “Just tell her that I’m upset and you’re helping me.”
Jace smiles angelically and bats his eyelashes. “Yes! I really am a good friend like that, aren’t I?”
I’m impressed that his lightning thumbs type and send his message at the same time he’s talking to me. That takes serious skill. “Okay, now focus. I’ll count to three.”
DING. “Aww! She says I’m a good friend.”
“Seriously?”
“Sorry. Ringer’s off. You go ahead and do your count-y thing.”
I count to three. The post comes free so easily that we almost fall over. The scarecrow is much lighter than it looks. It’s also filthy. I sneeze and look into the mismatched button eyes of this bag of allergens, and then over at Jace. He’s humming a tune from The Wizard of Oz, and I realize just how exceptional the past few minutes have been. The seeds of a perfect memory. An event so crazy and unique that I’ll remember it forever. Like the lyrics to a song really can come true.
These moments are rare, but I always know when they’re happening. My last one involved a fishing trip with my brother. He cast out his line and the hook went right through my right earlobe. It didn’t even really hurt. My mother freaked out, said that only gay men and lumberjacks pierce their right ear. My brother, Kyle, told her that he would pierce the other so she wouldn’t have to worry about me chopping down trees in a mesh thong. It’s funny what becomes one of those fundamental memories, and it’s nice to have a new one.
I sneeze again.
We drag our straw-stuffed friend back to Karen’s house while I share my plan. “Okay. I’ll set this up in the side yard, under her window. You go find Karen, start talking about that movie that has her so freaked out. Wait like ten minutes, then get her to look outside. It’s gonna scare the shit out of her!”
“The poor girl will be forever traumatized. I love it!” Jace claps his hands and dances some kind of jig in front of the scarecrow. The smile on his face suddenly disappears. “One problem. How will she see it? It’s really dark tonight.”
I look up at an intensely bright star, possibly a planet, searching for a solution. Grey’s dad has a kickass telescope. He sets it up next to the fire pit in his backyard.
“I’ve got it! How creepy would it look if flames were at the scarecrow’s feet? A gentle glow of fire surrounding the monster.” I fan my hands through the air. The universal gesture for a monster walking through fire.
Jace puts his hand on my shoulder. “You know what this is? I mean, do you understand what’s happening right now? This, my friend, this is the perfect prank.”
I feel a tingle shoot up my spine. “The perfect prank.”
My partner in crime retraces his steps back to the kitchen door. He turns back after a few seconds. “We’d better make it twenty minutes. I have to pour myself another drink and hit the bathroom.”
I’m not happy with this. We’re talking about the perfect prank here, remember? Timing is everything. “Sure. Let’s just make it an even half-hour. We’ll get to this later. No rush. I’ll just hang out here and get to know this bird shit-stained scarecrow better.” Jace looks confused. He’s not catching the sarcasm I’m throwing. “Look at me. Pay attention. Be at her window in ten minutes!”
He looks at his phone. “Okay. Okay. Ten minutes. We’re filming this, right?”
“Of course!”
I run down to the old barn behind her house. I don’t have much time to pull this off. Maybe a half-hour would have made more sense after all. I pull the oversized door open. The rusted hinges creak with age. I stare inside, unseeing, into the darkness. I take a couple of deep, gulping breaths and shuffle my feet. I hope the sound will alert any animals to my presence, and they’ll run away before I enter. I feel around at the wall next to the door, blind.
“There it is!” I flip the light switch.
In an instant, the grainy blackness explodes into color and a pulse of sound. Some kind of giant bird flaps its wings together, rhythmic and strong. I fall to the ground and cover my head. The second my knees hit the dirt, I feel like an idiot, and I’m glad no one’s around to see what a coward I am. I stumble to my feet and take a look around. I brush the dirt off my jeans and listen. Nothing but my own breathing.
The dragon must have flown out a window.
When I retell this story, the bird will be a mythical beast about to dine on one of the horses. That will justify kissing the dirt. If my mother taught me anything, it’s to never ruin a perfectly good story with the truth.
The inside of the barn is massive. I could spend an entire day exploring the loft and the old tools scattered around. What could I build with all of these parts? I stop, because I need to stay focused. The clock is ticking. There are some old rags and a can of gasoline next to a lawnmower. I also grab a shovel leaning against the wall. “Yes!” I laugh like an evil scientist. My plan is so coming together.
This stirs a creature far worse than a dragon.
A beast snorts, which sends my heart up into my throat. I turn around and find a giant horse staring at me from inside her stall. Massive black eyes that somehow know I don’t belong in here. Ears pinned back and tail swishing. She’s either pissed off that I woke her up, or she’s about to jump to freedom, kicking me in the head along the way.
Maybe she’s like a guard horse?
“Easy girl.” I’m assuming it’s a girl. There’s no way I’m getting close enough to figure that out.
She responds with a snotting huff and the release of pungent piss that sounds like someone turned on a garden hose. I hold my hand under my nose, wondering how much stink and liquid can come out of one animal.
Maybe if I knew her name, I could calm her down. It’s probably Reaper, or Skull Crusher. Karen’s always talking about her horse. I’m sure she’s mentioned her name dozens of times. Again, I need to pay better attention. “I’m just gonna borrow these rags and things for a few minutes. I’ll turn out the light, and you can go back to sleep.” I back my way to the barn door. “Good, horsey.” I turn out the light. “Nighty night.”
She spits an affronted whinney and stomps a hoof on the ground. I’m out of here.
I race with my collection to the side yard and set up my monster’s new resting spot. A hole gets dug for the post. The ring of rags is next on my list. They get soaked with gasoline. It pours out much quicker than I expect. The smell forces my eyes shut. Almost as strong as Skull Crusher’s river of piss. I fan the fumes away from my face and stare at my wicked creation. This is how Dr. Frankenstein must have felt, waiting for lightning to strike.
I can see shadows dancing on the curtain in Karen’s window. They’re coming! I pull Jace’s lighter from my pocket. This is it. I touch the lighter’s frame to the rags. The gentle glow expands in less than a second to a full-on inferno. The hair on my knuckles gets singed off. The smell is instant and awful. The blistering heat pushes me back. The brightness is blinding as the scarecrow’s flannel shirt bursts into flames. The blaze reaches as high as the roof.
“Holy shit.” I’m frozen with fear. “No. No. No. No!”
Karen’s window opens. She screams, “Someone’s on fire! Stop, drop, and roll!”
Fire safety? Fire safety! “Water! I need water!” My legs start to work again. They carry me to the back yard, where I find a garden hose. I twist the green handle it’s attached to and a pathetic bubble of water starts to dribble out. Jace and a few others come tearing outside.
Jace screams, “Put the fire out!”
“You think?” I pull hard on the hose and stumble back toward my catastrophe. There must have been a kink that fixed itself, because the water is gushing now.
I soak the monstrous inferno and the side of the house. The flames start to die down pretty quick. Everything is black and smoldering. This is a nightmare. What the fuck was I thinking? I notice the side of the house. White siding, now blackened and melted wherever the flames touched.
This is so, so bad. I can’t feel anything in my body except the tears swelling behind my eyes. I know they won’t come out. I have no fear of losing it in front of all these people. But I do want to run and never stop. At least until I cross the Canadian border. Change my name, grow a beard, find some work in a logging camp. Live a life of contrition, with only a cat named Timber for company on the lonesome banks of the Saskatchewan River. I’ll send half my meager pay to Karen’s dad every week for as long as it takes until that impossible day when the damages are finally paid off, and maybe, just maybe, I will have been forgiven.
Who am I kidding? I can’t grow a beard.
I collapse to my knees, exhausted.
Karen smacks me hard in the back of the head. “What is wrong with you? What did you do to my house? My dad’s gonna kill me!”
I’ve never been so sorry. So scared. “I . . . I don’t know. It wasn’t supposed to . . . I’m sorry.”
Someone asks if they should call the fire department.
Jace puts his arms around Karen. “Do you think a news crew will show up?”
She has a wet, crazed gleam in her eyes that turns to tears. “Seriously, Jace? No! No one calls. No fire department. No news crew! We put the fire out. Now, we’re gonna fix this.”
I really want to believe that we can. In truth, I’m pretty sure I’m going to Juvenile Hall for being an arsonist.
A smug, Southern voice chirps behind me. “Well, lookie what we have here. Someone’s a little firebug!” He kneels down next to me. “I don’t believe we’ve officially been introduced.”
This guy again. Marty “S” for Shithead, a cigar dangling between his fingers like a middle-aged Cuban car salesman. My jaw tightens. “I’m Salem.”
He bites down on the stinking cigar. “Of course, you are. The guitar player. I’m looking for a gig. We should talk, Muchacho.”
Seriously? Does he not see the smoldering nightmare in front of us? My aunt pops into my head again. Calmly respond. Don’t react. “I’m a little busy right now.”
Marty stands. “What? This little mess? This is hardly anything to get upset about.”
Karen lifts her head. Her tear-soaked eyes flash with anger. “I need you to shut the fuck up, Marty!”
Jace strokes her hair. “We need to fix this mess. We don’t need any commentary right now, Marty. If you’re not here to help, then please go back inside.”
Marty holds up his hand, like it’s his turn to talk in chemistry class. “On the contrary. I’ve had a bit of experience dodging trouble. Well, besides that little golf cart fiasco.” He walks over and kicks the smoking monster carcass. “It’s not as bad as it looks. There’s no police involvement, so we have that going for us. We can have this yard looking like nothing happened in no time. At the worst, just a small barbeque that got out of hand. Accidents happen.”
Suddenly, this guy seems useful. Military training is exactly what this disaster needs. Like calling in the National Guard. My heart is actually pausing between beats for the first time in ten minutes.
I need Karen to know how sorry I am. I steal a quick glance at her. She shakes her head, then buries it back into Jace’s shoulder.
He helps her to her feet. “I’m gonna take her inside. You all get to work. Fix this, Salem.”
Spectators are passing around a cigarette. Marty barks orders at them. “I need a bucket of soapy water, some rags, a mop, a rake, a loaf of bread with the crusts cut off, another shovel, and could someone try to find the leftover cans of house paint? If one person takes a picture, I will smash your phone and bury it with the scarecrow. Got it? Now, let’s move it, people!”
He claps his hands together and everyone scatters. I’m left standing with my fallen monster and spikey-haired guardian angel. “Hey, Marty. I just want to say––”
“No need to thank me, Muchacho . . . yet. Let’s clean this up first, then maybe you can give me a tryout in that little rock band of yours?”
“If you can clean this disaster up, you don’t even need a tryout.” What did I just say? He sticks out his hand. I shake it. I want him to fix this, but I still don’t trust him. “Hey, what’s the loaf of bread for?”
“I’m hungry.”
The work continues past midnight. It feels like the temperature dips a degree with each passing minute. I won’t even consider a break to warm up. Not until this is fixed. The siding gets scrubbed. The paint touched up. Scarecrow rests concealed in the woods. We finish up by sprinkling some grass clippings over the black circle at our feet. I hold my breath when Jace and Karen come walking around the corner.
Karen’s blanket-covered shoulders slump as she exhales. “Thank frickin’ God. You guys actually did it.”
I smile at Marty, then take a cautious step toward Karen.
She gives me the finger, followed by a wink. “Come here, you dumbass!” She hugs me. “You are so lucky you were able to clean this up.”
I nod, still a little scared to talk to her. “If it makes you feel any better, your horse almost ripped my throat out.”
She smiles and looks over at the barn. “Good girl, Zira.”
Zira. I make a mental note to remember. Zira, like the nice scientist from Planet of the Apes. “I’m so sorry, Karen. I never thought anything like this would happen.”
“I know. I know.” She wipes a spot of house paint off my cheek. “Jace told me all about your little prank. I have to admit, it was a pretty good idea. Next time, just use a flashlight.”
A flashlight. I smack my hand to my forehead. “I really should have thought of––”
POP!
Karen and I both flinch. No, he didn’t!
He did. “Whoopsy! Another accident, Muchachos. Thanks for a lovely evening.”
Karen picks up the shovel and chases my new keyboard player into the front yard. Keyboards in my band? The last thing I ever wanted. Why do I feel like I made a deal with the devil?
I knew this night was gonna suck.