Sticky Situations
Chapter 7
Morning brought with it an awful exhaustion, and school, an unbearable anxiety; of course, forcing oneself to stay up all night does little good to a young person’s disposition, but a teacher ignorant of its cause compounds everything. The children were sluggish, sickly and impatient with every subject, considering them inferior to the duty of finding and photographing the creatures around town. Miserably, they drudged through school until the bus hiccuped to their stop and all four tumbled off the steps and onto Bell Branch. The afternoon breeze lifted their spirits with the adrenaline of the mission.
“We-all gots to figger out anew plan,” declared Aaron. “We breck up and try and teck pitchers of each.”
“I suggested that yesterday,” informed Esther.
“You misremembered,” Aaron said flatly. “And dawg me if I keer. Didje gals figger out whut unicorn likes?”
“Well, yes, but—” Marian began.
“Great,” Aaron replied. “You girls’ll gopher the unicorn, and the men’ll get a pitcher of a Cherokee Booger.” He slapped Herbert on the shoulder and winked. “And I knows whar to gets it.”
Marian and Esther didn’t appreciate being bossed around, but they were too tired to argue. Herbert’s face had turned pale; the thought of traveling alone with Aaron ran up his spine like a serpent until he found himself shivering from it.
“Don’t wharry, Herbie,” Aaron assured him with a grin. “Iffen you gets inta trouble, isle look afta ya.”
Reluctantly, Herbert followed Aaron on his bicycle around their neighborhood; the two boys veered and coasted while Aaron informed Herbert about each house’s history. “That-there place’ll give good candy at Halloween,” he said. And, “they’s a dawg madder’n a rattlesnake in a forest-far in that yard”, and “that-there booger-man snatch’d a kid oncet. Stay way from hem.”
The boys entered the trough of two large hills that neighborhood children used for racing; for Herbert it might as well have been Mount Everest. Far up above, he saw the remains of an abandoned quarry filled with forgotten tractors rusting alongside enormous mounds of clay and rock; the county had deserted the project months ago, and the contractor had left the equipment until the funding returned. Aaron scaled the hill at a steady pace, but it exhausted Herbert. He had to stop his bike, defeated, only a third of the way up to push it with his little, shaking arms the rest of the way.
“Sum kids jist ‘an’t make the climb!” Aaron hollered. “Butcha best get movin’ or Barb’ll getcha!”
Herbert squinted his eyes at Aaron blocking the afternoon sun, inquiring who “Barb” was, when he heard a fierce honking and screeching noise at his left hand. He glanced in time to see a white and gray mass of feathers and crescent black beak charging at him from the yard closest; it was a blustering, belligerent Canadian goose, and it certainly did not appreciate Herbert near its house. He screamed as it flung itself at him, the violent bill just missing his face. His short legs scrambled like lightning across the pavement while the bird turned on its orange pins and flashed at him again.
Honk! Honk! The goose nipped his shoes and pants.
“Run, Herbie, Run!” Aaron screamed wildly at the top of the hill.
Sweat swept Herbert’s face; his glasses slipped; he shoved them up his nose with his forearm, and the bike jerked sideways in his tense grip. The bicycle fell; his legs tangled into the spokes; he dropped to his knees, and the skin pealed back.
Honk!
Herbert cowered under the bike frame, holding it above him, peering through the cracks of his fingers, watching the angry black and white bird glaring down at him; its wings widespread; its horrible black eyes glaring.Herbert shrieked. The bird wrenched its neck up and honked at something coming down on the two of them; Herbert felt the sunshine disappear; the bird hissed. Herbert screamed again.
Aaron had jumped over Herbert’s bicycle and slammed his foot into the bird’s abdomen; the goose flailed into the air, honking and screeching until it fluttered to the ground several feet down the hill. It picked itself up and ran back into its keeper’s yard, spluttering and cursing at the boys in defeat. Herbert’s heart pounded in exhaustion and relief; he looked to see Aaron picking up his bicycle.
“Stoopid gander,” Aaron said under his breath. He kicked the stand down on Herbert’s bike and set it upright. “By juckies! Herbie, you ain’t got the backbone of a fishworm.”
“Thank you,” replied Herbert.
“C’mon,” said Aaron.
The two boys made the rest of the climb, slowly, side by side. At its top, the hill banked left off the mountainside down a steep gravel path into the quarry; the contractors had cut the face of the mountain into a moon-shaped crater, a quarter of a mile wide and two hundred feet deep. At its base, miniature mountains of granite, sandstone, and clay scattered for hundreds of yards in each direction. In the distance was a green reservoir, full of flotsam and jetsam floating on oily water next to a rusty old school bus.
“What is this place?”
“This-here’s whar both us gonna prove that Cherokee Booger eggzits,” Aaron replied. He dropped his bike to the ground after removing his backpack from the handlebars; he strapped it to his shoulders and dropped down the side of the hill.
Herbert laid his bike down and sat at the edge, dangling his legs against the loose gravel; the height was vicious, but he knew he must keep up with Aaron, who was already racing along the bottom without him. His feet tapped the loose dirt away and he scooted his butt down the soil. By the time he landed, Aaron was climbing again, up a large embankment of slate and dirt; a crane rested at its peak. Herbert’s anxiety grew as his feet floundered across the clay and dirt; he was trespassing! What’s worse, he was trespassing in a dangerous place with rocks, boulders, rusty metal and sharp edges ready to hurt him at any moment! What would his mother think! And yet, where his fear grew, excitement converged. He was doing something no one had done before—well, not anyone he knew. He found an unknown giddiness in his chest that he participated in something so dangerous and illegal.
He reached the base of the dirt hill, and all his joy left him; the idea of climbing such a steep hill of loose soil and rock shook him, but he knew Aaron was waiting for him at its peak. He wandered the eastern edge of the hill, hoping to find a less frightening way up, albeit slower and less courageous. The far north end sloped downward, meeting the earth like a ramp, which the crane must have climbed. Unfortunately, a wide pit of watery clay separated his way to it. He searched for a dry path through the pit, huffing and puffing across whatever boulders he could find, but the pit grew wider and the boulders smaller; soon, he understood why Aaron had climbed the hill on the steep side.
“Herbieeee!” Aaron’s voice echoed through the construction site and bounced off the mountainside, carrying on a long whine across the valley; he had forgotten about Herbert and worry caught up to him.
“I’m here!” Herbert replied from the pit.
“Kid, you aboutten to dive into shaller water goin’ thataway,” Aaron hollered from above; his goofy expression leaning over the embankment. “Whar ‘re you doing down there?” he asked.
Herbert stared at the embankment and shook his head in frustration. He retraced his steps along the boulders and returned to the southern end for his attempted climb up the mound. It was loose dirt on the surface, but steadier slate lay underneath, making the climb less arduous than he had first believed. After a few grueling minutes, he reached the top, dirty and exhausted, and found Aaron sitting in the crane operator’s seat; he jumped from it as Herbert came over the edge.
“Okay, here’s the ideer,” he said. He threw his backpack onto the ground and took out a large black hood and a gorilla mask from last Halloween. Herbert looked at him, confused. “I’m ‘onna get diked up in this-here mask and go afoot that pond over-yander.” Aaron pointed at a large oily reservoir a hundred yards from the western end of the crane’s hill; a path of stones and plywood made a bridge to its midway. “And yer’n gonna keep put up here and git pitchers wit that-here camera.” He handed Herbert a disposable camera.
“We are gonna cheat?” Herbert asked.
“Good Gaw, yer a poke! I’m fixin’ to slap ya, Herbie.” He shoved the camera into Herbert’s hands. “I needs hep gittin’ the pitcher. I knowed yer sesters ‘ould be a coupla biddy-pecks, but yer worser steel.” Without waiting for Herbert’s consent, he slid down the dirt-hill.
As he watched the figure of the boy race across the quarry with mask and hood in hand, Herbert felt deflated. He was merely a pawn in Aaron’s devilish plan; but for a few fleeting moments, he had begun to believe Aaron had liked him. He sat down in the dirt while Aaron balanced across the pathway over the pond. He put the hood and mask on and waved his hands over his head, indicating to Herbert that he was ready. Herbert put the camera to his eye and watched through the tiny viewfinder. Aaron walked across the boards, draping his arms low and wide, and giving his best Bigfoot—or Cherokee Devil—impression.
Click.
Herbert wound the film and put the camera to his eye again. Better to take two photos.
“Hello, sir,” a slithering voice whispered in Herbert’s ear. He dropped the camera, and it hit the ground beside a pair of strange-looking pointed shoes.
Click.
Herbert spun round and looked to a see a man, whom he instantly recognized as the stranger he had seen watching his family from afar on more than one occasion. He was tall and skinny, with long, crooked, brittle fingers holding a strong, ornate cane; his shoes were made from crocodile-and-snake-skin, and a black top-hat rested on his thin, pale head. From underneath his hat, a piece of cork stuck out of his right ear. “My name is Mr. Dauer,” the man introduced himself.
“Hello,” Herbert whispered. The man was standing between himself and the crane, and he had a hard time believing the man was there all along; instead that he must have appeared suddenly.
“I gather you are here to fake the photo of the Cherokee Devil,” said Dauer, smiling surreptitiously.
Herbert clenched his jaw, and wanted to scream for Aaron’s help, but suddenly , he doubted Aaron’s desire to come to his aid. Apprehension, fear, doubt, worry, and laziness smothered him like a tight, wool blanket. “How did you know?”, was all that he could muster to say.
“My Herbert, I never thought I’d see you stoop so low as to cheating and lying.”
“How do you know my name?” Herbert asked, his fear growing rapidly.
“Then again,” Mr. Dauer said, “it’s not the first time you withheld the truth. Wasn’t it you that broke open that gate?”
Herbert’s eyes widened. “Aaron!” He shouted.
“Why do you need that boy?” Mr. Dauer asked. “Oh, it must be true, then. You did break open the gate, didn’t you, Herbert? Where’d you hide that little trinket, anyway?”
“I think you should leave,” Herbert whispered with his head drawn.
“That’s cute—trying to sound like your big sister.” Mr. Dauer laughed, and his neck twitched. “I bet that streak of not telling the truth isn’t a fluke at all, is it, Herbert? I bet it’s just the kind of boy that you are. A boy that makes friends with bad kids like Aaron, goes to places he shouldn’t, and lies to get away with things.”
“Who in the heck-far are you!?” Aaron hollered. His head was popping up over the edge of the embankment, and his hands clambered to pull his body the rest of the way. He was out of breath from running to the hill as soon as he saw Herbert was not alone.
“Aaron White,” Mr. Dauer greeted him with a smile that disappeared into a scowl as the filthy boy stood to his feet. “What a pitiful sight you are.”
Aaron squinted at the man with one eye open for a moment and then shook his head violently. “Nah, beat it, acorn-cracker,” he said. “Who done ‘vited yer cankered old crack up ear with us?”
“Herbert, of course,” Mr. Dauer said. “We were only discussing his recent descent into loathsome behavior. Don’t worry, Herbert, it’ll be our little secret.”
“Ha! You knowed you gotta face like a mule eatin’ briars? Good Gawd, ye’ns ugly. Mayb’ I oughtta glomb you’n the eye wit my fist ‘nd foot, you ugly acklander. Get away frum Herbie or I’mma ‘onna ‘ave to keel you for no reason a’tall.”
“Oh, you’re such a creative young boy, Aaron.” Mr. Dauer brushed his hands together and a white cloud of dust sprung up into the air. “Did you learn that vocabulary from your pitiful upbringing of a father? Or do you not even remember him before his imprisonment?” He took a step toward the boys. Herbert took a step back, extremely aware that the three of them were completely alone. “Oh! I know—” Mr. Dauer continued. “It’s because of that teacher who always gives you F’s instead of listening.”
“Shoot! Ye’ns all vines and no tater’s. I doesn’t even keer ‘bouten my grades, grampah!”
“Clearly.” Mr. Dauer straightened his back and looked disinterested. He took another step toward the boys. Aaron remained motionless, but Herbert stepped back.
“Herbert, if I can give any advice,” he opened his hands like a mentor. “Better be careful, walking so close to the edge. You never know when you might fall.”
At that moment, the unthinkable happened; the embankment edge below Herbert collapsed. Aaron glanced at him just as the soil came from underneath. Herbert felt his stomach leap into his chest as he slid down the side of the hill. His head smacked into the rock face under the loose soil, and his body tumbled the rest of the way. Aaron slid after him but Herbert’s body had disappeared behind a plume of dust and sand.
He had landed in the clay pit. Crimson and black earth ran up his legs like tar; it covered his knees, waist, and sucked his chest into the abyss. He screamed for help and flailed his arms and legs under the thick, viscous sludge, but they would not budge. The fear had come over him now so great that it formed a cloud on his chest; his breath stuttered like a broken locomotive and tears burst from his eyes.
“Herbert!” Aaron yelled as he came through the cloud of dust. “Don’t move, Herbert! I get sumpen to hep!” Herbert was only a few feet away, but out of Aaron’s reach. A two-by-four lay nearby and supplied the necessary length; he put the board in Herbert’s blubbering incoherent face.
“For Pete’s sake, keep your tail in the water, kid!” Aaron hollered in panic.
“What?!” Herbert screamed, confused.
“Grab the pole, Herbie!” Aaron roared.
Herbert opened his eyes and grabbed the splintered wood beam; Aaron yanked with all his might, and Herbert budged toward him, before the wood slit through his palms. He sunk to his initial spot in the succulent clay.
“Gawd bless!” Aaron muttered under his breath. “I’ll be dogged!” He threw the two-by-four out again, and Herbert took hold anxiously.
With two great heaves, Aaron pulled Herbert to the edge of a boulder. The boys locked arms and Aaron pulled him free; they rolled on their backs; Aaron laughed hysterically; Herbert wept furiously. Aaron felt bad for his friend and wrapped his arms around the small, filthy boy.
“I’m sori, Herbert,” Aaron said. He looked up and Mr. Dauer was gone. “Figgers,” he muttered. He looked beside him and saw the camera. It had fallen down after them.
Keith G. Alderman 