Chapter Four

That Weird Stuff

The closer I get to the place I spent my childhood, the more familiar the surroundings become.

Eventually, I don’t even notice that I’ve stopped paying attention to the GPS and started driving by memory. Lots of woods out here. Dirt roads mostly. It’s the kind of area where neighbors are too far away to see their houses. These are the back roads I wandered in my youth. My mind floods with memories of long days spent roaming the forest. Sounds so romantic-nostalgic to think about how we used to run wild through the trees, build forts, and swim in the creek on a whim… but honestly? If I had to do it over again, I’d prefer a normal life in the suburbs where we’d worry what was for dinner, not if there would be dinner.

I’d like to think I’ve given that kind of security to my kids, even with all the paranormal craziness.

Without even thinking about it, I navigate back to my parents’ house while my mind wanders through the past. The way to the house is barely a driveway; basically, just two dirt ruts with tufts of grass in between them, winding through the trees for maybe a quarter mile before they reach a large open space in front of the house. Six vehicles are parked there, mostly off to the right against the trees: four pickup trucks, one old Toyota Corolla, and a fairly new-looking Nissan Sentra.

Those trucks have been there longer than I’ve been alive. None of them work. Dad always talked about fixing them up and selling them. No, it’s not a laziness thing. He actually did work on them… constantly. The problem is, he’s not a mechanic and had no idea what he was doing. I think the old Toyota was Mom’s car before she went totally flaky. I’ve never seen her drive it. At any point in history, there might have been one working vehicle around here and it was always Dad’s. And by working, I mean it had about a fifty-fifty shot of getting him where he wanted to go without breaking down. He went through old cars like most people go through underwear. But I suppose when you spend $150 for a car, it’s not going to run for more than a few months.

Speaking of which, I don’t see any vehicle that looks like whatever might be Dad’s current (and barely) functioning beater. Hmm. I wonder if he gave up on driving? Hold up. There’s a spot of dead grass close to the house that looks like a car had lived there. My gut tells me it’s where Dad would have parked, but the car is gone. Meanwhile, the newish Nissan is an anomaly... until I see the Enterprise Rental license plate frame. A visitor is here. No surprise there, obviously one of my brothers.

As for the house itself, it’s every bit as bad as I remembered. The place is a huge ranch-style house, though only one story. We might not have had a lot of money growing up, but all five of us kids had our own rooms. Whatever genius designed it only put in two bathrooms. At least I only have one sister. Any more than two girls living here at once would’ve made mornings nightmarish. Dusk and River got into the habit of showering the night before to avoid conflict with me and Mary Lou. Clayton just ‘showered’ out in the yard with the hose. I think he got the idea after that time Mary Lou hosed him down when he was seven and had come home covered head-to-toe in mud.

The wood-shingle siding is exactly as I remembered, too, minus a shingle or three.

Seeing this place again is a mixture of heartbreak with the same sort of mood one gets when they’re about to get started on a major unfun project, like cleaning out a garage.

I sit there in the Momvan staring out the windshield at the house where I spent my childhood. The property is overgrown. One of the rain gutters has fallen halfway off, its right end on the ground while the left is still connected to the roof. It totally looks like the kinds of places you see on Hoarders , except without the hoarding part.

Tammy whistles. “On this episode of Hoarders …”

I laugh. “I was just thinking that.”

“It really does.” Tammy grimaces. “Has Grandpa been sick for long?”

“Well…” I shut off the engine. “Knowing him, he wouldn’t have gone to the doctor until he passed out on the floor and someone else carted him in. He’s got lung cancer, so yeah… he would’ve been sick for a while. At least, pretty weak.”

Paxton pulls her shirt up over her face. “Ugh. Is this place gonna stink like cigarettes?”

I nod. It’s a good question. Truth is, I stopped noticing it as a kid, but Dad smoked a lot. When we brought Tammy out here to visit years ago, we weren’t able to breathe comfortably inside.

“It might, yeah,” I say, fidgeting.

“We’ll fix it,” says Tammy confidently.

“Really?” I glance sideways at her. “ You can fix that? It’s been soaked into the wood for decades. ”

Tammy makes a pondering face. “The faeries taught me a spell to get rid of poison. It’s meant to be used on people, but I can try it on the house. Also, I have a ‘fresh air’ spell…”

“Yay! Sounds good to me,” says Paxton.

We get out of the van.

As we do, the front door opens, revealing a bearded, scrawny guy who looks part homeless beggar, part Unabomber, part crazy science professor with a nuclear reactor in the basement. Okay, to be fair, he’s not particularly dirty or too disheveled. His brown hair is a little unkempt but it appears to be wet suggesting a recent shower. Is this a squatter?

“Holy heck…. Sam?” blurts the guy. “Is that you?”

I freeze. While I don’t recognize this person at all by looks, the voice I do remember. It hasn’t changed too much since he was sixteen. “Dusk?”

He fast walks over to me, nodding, and sweeps me into a huge hug. He smells like soap and fabric softener with an after-note of something herbal… chamomile? I hug him back, not really sure what my emotions are doing.

My brothers and I never had like a falling out or feud or anything. We got along great. Just… for one reason or another, ended up going our separate ways and not really staying in contact too much. Oh, there it is. I’m feeling a mixture of guilt and relief that he’s okay. The guilt is from me not making much effort to stay in touch.

After the hug, Dusk holds me at arms’ length and looks me over. “Wow. Sam. Just Wow.”

“Huh? Do I have food in my teeth?”

“No. You look… amazing.” He chuckles wheezily. “I’ve turned into an old salt of the Earth and you don’t look any different than I remember.”

“Thanks.” I hook my thumbs in my jeans pockets. “Just lucky I guess. ”

Dusk blinks at Anthony. “Danny too. Damn. How the hell did both of you stay looking so young? Wait, I think your husband actually got younger. ”

“That’s not Danny.” I chuckle. “That’s Anthony. My son. Your nephew.”

Dusk blinks. “Oh, damn.”

“He’s sixteen,” I add.

“Bullcrap.” Dusk laughs. “Are you serious? He’s only sixteen? What are you feeding him?”

Anthony laughs. “Spaghetti mostly.”

“Hi.” Tammy waves at him. “I’m your niece.”

“Hey there.” Dusk holds his hand out.

Tammy goes in for a quick shake.

“Does Mary Lou know you’re here?” I ask, knowing she had been trying to get in touch with him.

“Yeah. I emailed her as soon as I got off the plane.” Dusk exhales. “Hell of a scramble to get back here on such short notice.”

“How bad is it?” I ask in a near whisper.

Dusk sets his hands on his hips. “The house? Mom? Dad? Which bad are we talking about here?”

“All of it I guess.” I look down. “I haven’t exactly been the most dutiful daughter.”

He rolls his eyes and gives me a ‘who can blame you’ look. “Join the club. Not like any of us have been here since we left in our teens. I’ve only been here for a day. Mom’s in back. Same as ever. I don’t think she ate much after they took Dad to the hospital.”

“Oh, dang.” I wipe a hand down my face.

“She’s eating now, though—now that I’m here to cook.” Dusk rocks back on his heels. “Dad was taking care of her.”

“Who called 911?” I ask. “Did Mom find him after the heart attack? ”

Dusk’s expression goes grim. “A stranger, likely. He went into town to get groceries and collapsed in the store.”

Oh. That explains why his car is missing. It’s probably still in the parking lot of the supermarket over in Klamath.

We exchange a silent moment, wordlessly acknowledging the timing had been perfect. If he’d collapsed here, likely no one would’ve found him, especially if Mom is that far gone. I suppose it’s remotely possible that seeing him on the floor might have shocked her into picking up a phone but… I don’t really think she would’ve processed things.

“Who’s this?” Dusk smiles at Pax.

“One of my Barbies came to life,” deadpans Tammy.

Paxton giggles.

“That’s Paxton.” I put an arm around her. “My youngest daughter.”

“Cool.” Dusk does the same quick handshake with her. “I’m the eccentric uncle who spent the last twenty years wandering around Europe.”

It’s pretty obvious to anyone with working eyes that the kiddo looks completely different than me, Ant, or Tammy. She’s obviously adopted… or I got knocked up by some Nordic Viking dude with genes so powerful they just stepped on mine and produced this super cute blonde kid. Dusk doesn’t seem to notice or care. I called her daughter and that’s good enough for him.

“So how did that go?” I ask. “The wandering thing.”

Dusk smiles. “It was amazing. Met so many people, saw so many things… Crazy to think about how much is out there left unseen. The world’s a huge place.” He exhales. “I think I’m kinda done with all that, though.”

“Oh? The wanderlust is gone?”

He smiles faintly. “It’s still there, but the body is getting old and tired now. Homeless camping across Europe is a young man’s game. C’mon in. ”

He leads us inside.

The living room smells like cigarettes that have been sitting in a wet ash tray for a week mixed with marijuana. I can’t help but cough a little on my first breath. I’m kinda shocked at how neat the living room is. I expected to see the packaging from freezer meals and take-out all over the place. Dad had an awful habit of just dropping that stuff wherever he happened to be. With no Mary Lou here to clean up after him, he’d have been a king sitting on a throne of Lean Cuisine boxes… or whatever brand he got to liking these days.

The centerpiece of the living room is an old wide recliner chair, dark brown and droopy. If Pixar made a movie with talking furniture, Dad’s chair would be a basset hound. The ceiling is severely yellowed from decades of cigarette smoke, concentrated in a brownish-orange ‘puddle’ stain directly above that chair.

A few bits of baseball memorabilia decorate the room, along with a big poster of Dad as a young man in mid-swing. It’s framed behind glass so the paper hasn’t yellowed, though a thick layer of cigarette smoke oil coats the glass, yellowing the image. There’s no sign of a baseball in the photo, so I can’t tell if he missed or hit a home run there. He was only ever in the minor leagues, but to hear him talk, you’d think he was Jose Canseco or something.

Looking at that old ‘baseball card’ of him fills my head with his voice telling me that college is for brainwashing people into government control... and I’m not smart enough for it, anyway. Sigh. All these years, I kept telling myself his disapproval didn’t bother me. Guess it did more than I admitted to myself. Freaking Elizabeth knew that, too. She must have. Why else send me to an alternate world where I got to relive that day? Bitch tried to break me, but I’m stronger than I look.

Tammy and Anthony glance around. My son’s face gives away no hint of opinion. Tammy’s got a ‘oof, this is going to be a project’ expression. Paxton looks like she wants a hazmat suit. She’s standing three steps in from the door, feet together, arms clutched to her chest, as if she’s trying to avoid even touching the air in here.

“Now I know why your brother was always naked,” whispers Tammy. “Your clothes can’t stink like cigarettes if you don’t wear any.”

Anthony laughs.

So does Dusk. “Ahh, Speaking of Clay, have you heard from him at all?”

“Yeah, he stopped by my place not too long ago, for Thanksgiving. Seems to be doing okay for himself.”

“Cool.” Dusk nods.

“Eww,” whispers Paxton. “My hair’s going to reek.”

“Don’t worry.” Ant pats her on the shoulder. “We’ll just burn our clothes, hose off in the yard, and drive home naked.” Anthony nudges her. “I’m not being serious.”

She eyeballs him.

“Or we could wear trash bags?” He grins.

All of a sudden, a breeze whips up and whirls around the room before rushing down the hallway. A faint minty aroma lingers in its wake.

“Whoa…” Dusk turns around in a circle, then gazes down the hall where the breeze went. “Did anyone else notice that... wind?”

“Wind?” I ask. “We’re inside, silly.”

Tammy sniffs audibly, then smiles, proud of herself.

Dusk looks at me as if he’s about to ask something, but a thud from deeper in the house distracts him. He holds up an ‘excuse me a moment’ finger, then hurries out of the living room.

Equal parts worried and curious, I follow. As does everyone else .

We go through the dining room into another short hallway with two rooms that never really had a defined purpose to them other than storing stuff. At the end of the hall, a doorway leads out into Mom’s ‘greenhouse.’ At some point in this house’s existence, this door went to the outside. Our parents built a greenhouse against the side of the building. It’s not easy getting large trucks out here, so the story goes Dad hand-poured the concrete slab floor over the course of several months.

Six rows of narrow tables hold all manner of potted plants and grow beds, mostly with herbs, spices, and vegetables. Everything growing in here is useful in one way or another… no pointless decorations. I do remember coming here as a kid to get away from the choking cigarette smoke from Dad. This room stinks too… but in a different way. Dirt, plants, wetness, and fertilizer. Not a great aroma, admittedly, but it bothered me less than the choking cloud Dad summoned. Part of me felt grateful he would disappear for days or weeks at a time when his job sent him all over the place. Finally, we could breathe inside the house.

Mom’s sitting on a stool by a huge tray of green bean plants, staring into the leaves with the intensity of a five-year-old watching Teletubbies . It’s kind of a shock to see her. The reality in front of me clashes with my memory, mostly that her hair has become silver and white. Last time I saw her, she still had brown hair. Mom’s got a poncho on over a sweater, T-shirt, and jeans. She looks so frail and thin.

Seeing her as she is now fills me with a sense of guilt. As a child, I resented her lack of interest in me—in all of us. With the clarity of adulthood, it now hits me that she didn’t have much choice. Standing there watching her, it’s pretty obvious she’s got something going on. Dementia perhaps? Except for her obvious age now, she’s pretty much doing the same thing I remember. Just sitting here in the greenhouse all damn day staring at the plants. Sometimes if we tried to talk to her, she’d respond for a little while, but her moods varied. When she got into one of her manic phases, she’d totally obsess over some hobby until she got bored with it. It was kind of remarkable how she could pick things up so fast. Like, no experience whatsoever with pottery, but she picked it up and started making stuff immediately, as though she’d been doing it for years.

Many times I tried to talk to her as a kid, she’d just sit there silently staring at the plants, often ignoring me. It made me angry and hurt as a kid. Now I feel bad for her.

Dusk’s frantically looking around for whatever made the thud. Nothing looks out of place. Then again, it’s hard to say what’s out of place in a room that looks like it recently experienced an earthquake. Small wooden crates and cardboard boxes are everywhere, pushed aside or stuffed under tables just enough to allow a person to walk down the aisles between tables.

Whatever fell, it wasn’t Mom.

I approach and rest a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Mom. Sorry I haven’t been around more. Life’s been… weird.”

She doesn’t respond.

One of those phases, I guess. Seems like she’s either a breathing mannequin or some random personality that’s not quite the same twice.

I catch Dusk staring at me, so I peer at him. “What?”

“Still trying to process how you look the same.” He scratches idly at his chest. “You into that weird stuff?”

“Ma’s into a lot of weird stuff,” whispers Tammy.

I chuckle. “What sort of weird are you talking about?”

Dusk waves a hand around. “Oh, you were too little then I guess. Mom used to, uhh… I guess ‘magic’ is the only thing to call it. Wasn’t really sure what I saw. I was really young then, too. Don’t really know how to explain it.”

“Oh, umm.” I fidget. “I just eat healthy. Jog. Maybe a push-up or three. ”

“Uh huh.” Dusk smiles. “That doesn’t explain you not having an aura.”

Crap. I blink at him, raising my eyebrows. “You can see auras?”

“Whoa, really?” Paxton gawks. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah. Always have been able to.” Dusk purses his lips. “You had one the last time I saw you.”

“What color is mine?” asks Paxton.

“Pink, obviously.” Tammy rolls her eyes.

Paxton giggles.

Dusk grins. “Ehh, I can basically tell what sort of mood or energy a person has based on the colors they give off. Pax is uncomfortable, worried, and I’m going to say a little guilty because she wants to help and doesn’t know how.”

“Umm.” Paxton clasps her hands in front of her. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

Oh, boy. Here we go. This is where I think about that whole magic bloodline thing and realize that a bloodline is an entire family. Not just me.

“Auras. Neat.” Tammy makes an impressed face at him.

Dusk continues to study me. “Indeed. Our family is a bit… weird.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “You can say that again.”