Me: I have another chapter for you! Anderson: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Me: You know you want to read it. The Society: We already know what's going to happen. Me: Do you honestly think that? Charlie: We filmed it, what the hell could we not know what's going on? Me: Oh, you never know… The Society: WHAT DID YOU DO? Me: Anderson, babe, remember those scenes with the magazines that got dubbed inappropriate by my censors? Anderson: Yeah… Me: Guess who snuck in part of them for you? Anderson: AH! I love you! The Society and Me: That was creepy…
"Dream on! Dream on! Dream on!" I was singing to Sean's very, no, extremely illegal eight-track player in the cave. No one was much impressed with my singing, nor the song. Sean, Danny and I were the only ones who like Areosmith, so naturally we were singing at the tops of our lungs. The boy's voices ran a tendency to crack a little which made me laugh hysterically, so it wasn't even as if we were even getting all of the lyrics out. But it was fun! When the song ended Sean stowed the player before Geoff did as he was threatening to do and smash the thing.
"Now that the insufferable noise is over." Anderson shot looks around at us three. "Now may we actually include poetry? Or at least something interesting?"
"I got something!" I said as I whipped out my trusty flute. There was a collective groan. "Shut up!" I said cheerfully as I assembled it. I stood in the middle and bowed to the crowds. "An original piece by Charlie Dalton."
"Running, fleeing, never seeing!" I played a series of high notes in a frantic flurry.
"Cowering, devouring, not being!" I played another trill of highs.
"Je suis alleé à la campagne!" I hit the keys and jilted them so they sounded like birds.
"Fuck the French!" Sneered Anderson. "You know we have to take Latin."
"J'ai vu les lacs, les rivieres, les eaus!" I smoothed out the sound of the flute to sound like water, rippling and dancing.
"I can't be, I can't see!" I hyped the notes again.
"Suffocated in this cit-y!" I was making high notes that would have shattered glass.
"Standing, demanding, I is seeing!" the erratic notes were calming.
"Towering, empowering, BEING!" I finally played a real tune. It was drawn out and low key as I walked around the old fireplace. I leaned in and played in the faces of the group, letting off an earsplitting high when I got to Anderson causing him to jump where he sat and hit his head on the stony wall. I took my seat with raucous laughter in my throat. He threw a rock at me.
"Ok, everyone shut up!" Geoff was demanding attention. "Now, I have a story guaranteed to scare you girls. Now, where I came from, don't you laugh! We have this ghost on the highway, The Phantom of 44. Now, it was a normal night between Rehoboth and Seekonk and there was this lady driving along, right? So it's about ten o'clock at night and as she's driving along, a guy appears right there in the middle of the road, from like nowhere. She slams on the brakes so she doesn't hit him, right? Well, there's no thump or anything, so of course she gets out to investigate. There's no one there, but all of sudden there's this laughing from all around. She gets all freaked out and runs back to her car and floors it out of there. Then the guy appears again out of nowhere. This time, when she thinks she's hit the guy, she doesn't get out, she just sticks her head out the window. There's no laughter or anything this time, so getting all relieved, she drives away. She looks in her rear view mirror and guess what? The guy's in the back seat! She flips out and almost hits a tree, but when she checks again, he's gone. Then-"
"Aw, shut it." Said Danny, who was lighting up one of his precious cigarettes. Sabs had made some whole big joke that no one had got. She had snitched one Dan's smokes (he was not amused), leapt up onto a rock and stroked it calling it 'Precious'. She said it was Danny in a nutshell. No one understood it. "I've heard that one before." The native Rhode Islander said in his lazily drawl. "You Rehoboth hicks wouldn't know a good story if it hit you over the head. Now in Providence, we got some good ones!"
Dan blew a smoke ring and continued. "Now on my street there was this house and it was way haunted. But it wasn't really the entire house, just this one closet. We'd break in from time to time to make new kids sit in it. They never were the same after that, all just sort of scared of old men. But then, when one day me and my friend Allan braved the library, (A memory that still plagues me today), we found out something interesting about that house. Turns out some old guy shot himself right in that closet. Explains a bit, but we would tell that to every new kid and scare the shit out of them! Until this one girl from New Hampshire locked me in the thing. Let me tell you, never a-fucking-gain could you pay me to go in there." Danny finished somewhat poorly.
"That's nothing!" Geoff said indignantly. "Mine was better!"
"Vote." Said Sean. "For Geoff." Sabs, Geoff and Sean.
"For Danny." Anderson, Rob, Danny and I raised our hands.
"Danny's story was better."
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"It's Saturday and we're doing homework, something is not right here!" Anderson exclaimed as we were toting our books to the library. Danny had run off and I was some how mysteriously saddled with his materials. It was just Neil, Rob and I, as we were in the same Chem. class. There was something called a project due soon; now it would help if one of us could remember what it was supposed to be in, but that was what Sabs was for.
"Um, maybe we should do the work because the project if due on MONDAY?" I said.
"Well, we can do it tomorrow can't we?"
"Your work ethic is incredible."
"I know, thanks."
"So why are you still at this school?"
"Same reason as you."
"It's a good school; one of the best in the country?"
"You bet."
"Damn the parental logic!"
"No kidding."
"Chem., Chem., Chem., think Chem.!" Rob reminded us.
"Shut it Overstreet." Were our synonymous thoughts that somehow found their way out of our mouths. In the library, while Rob diligently worked at his homework, I looked at dusty tomes in the back of the room. Anderson was somewhere over the rows, looking for his brother's and, unfortunately, my father's legendary stash of Playboys that were said to be hidden somewhere in here. But that was all they were proving to be; legend. I thought it was strange that though my father had been kicked out of the school, and the entire incident for, had been quieted, he still had left a, er, lasting legacy at the school. Oh well! I had found that some of the teachers, most likely students at the time themselves, remembered my name as well. Anderson, Overstreet and Meeks were given special distinctions as well. But I'm boring you with school life!
So I eventually wandered into the area where to old Annuals were kept. 59-60, 59-60, 59-60, ah ha, here we are. I took my prize off the shelf with a cloud of dust. I coughed and spluttered loudly as I wiped it away. And wouldn't you know what was hidden behind the books. "Anderson, over here." I called to him as I shook my head at the carefully stowed Playboys.
I carried my prize over to the table where Rob was sitting and being a good little boy. I flicked it open; he rankled his nose at the smell. "What's that?"
"Annual." I said flipping to the D's. Dad wasn't there; I didn't expect him to be. But Perry was still there, bedecked and honored like he was a saint. I checked the parents of my friends. Yup; they were all there, all of them not marked for being Dead Poets. I wondered why then was Perry still in there for dying, though the Annual mentioned not how he had died. There was a photo of a crewing team; arms slung over each others shoulders, all grinning widely. I smiled; it was the only photo my dad was in, and all of his other friends. Dad at seventeen stared back at me, as did Rob's father. They looked somewhat alike, but Rob's eyes were blue like Chris's. I know I've already told you about Sabrina, so I guess I should move on to Anderson. I had go to a regular class photo to make the comparison. Young Todd emanated shy and had no distinct lines in his hair, it just looked like something his mother had set upon his head. Anderson had almost the same hair cut, but it wasn't the all the same monotone dark honey color, it was rippled with blond from an obvious summer outdoors. And he wasn't shy, he was like me, never had a self esteem issue in his life. I'm not saying I have a giant ego, by the by.
I shut the Annual and finally started cracking at my Chem. Out of the corner my eye I saw Rob take the book and start looking at it. At the crewing picture he stopped, and I knew he was comparing me to the first Charlie Dalton. Two hours later (oh the pain and torture), we walking back to our dorms. Anderson was working a swagger that he'd attained from two hours of Playboy; and Rob still held the old Annual thinking I didn't know he had it. And that fact was almost adorable, almost.
Me: Ya ya! Chapter 11! Charlie: Am I that bad at describing things? Me: Yeah, you never noticed? Charlie: Uh, no. Rob: I come off as a stiff. Me: You can be. Rob: What's that supposed to mean? Me: I'm just saying… Rob: Neah. Anderson: Shut up, you can be a stiff. Me: Ha ha! Danny: Anyone seen Sabrina? Rob, Anderson, Geoff, Sean, Charlie and Me: NO! Danny: Jeez, calm down. Sabrina: Right here hot stuff, come on! Rob, Anderson, Geoff, Sean, Charlie and Me: NOT AGAIN! Sabrina and Danny: Aw, just one more go, please? Me: No way on Earth. Rob: It burns when you do that. Me: Ok, let's move on. The two ghost stories that I used are actually real ones. Geoff says he lives in Rehoboth MA (as do I) and the notorious Phantom of Rt. 44 is local legend. Most of the people in the town have seen him, and it's on the creepy side. There are main and defining facts to the story that Geoff left out- Geoff: Oh, shut up. And stop being such a perfectionist. Me: Like the fact the Phantom is always described as a red headed man wearing a red plaid shirt with white eyes. I have the entire version of the 44 Phantom by Charles 'Chip' Robinson on file for those of you who would like the full thing and multiple accounts. Danny's story is true as well. Danny: See! I told you it was true and way better! Me: I have the full story on file, (also authored by Chip Robinson) it's titled 'Don't Look In the Closet'. For these stories and more, see The New England Ghost Files, Mr. Robinson again. This book is a wonderful compilation of the best pee-your-pants ghost stories you've ever heard, along with illustrations that will scare you more. Charlie: ((looking in the book)) I don't think they're that scary…SHIT! Ok, ok, that one is CREEPY! That looks so wrong. Me: Which one…oh yeah, that's the one for 'Don't Look In The Closet'.