Thursday, July 21, 2011

Hunting Archie pt. 2 - 3WW

I looked up at the early morning sky, noting the faint pink in the horizon. The sun would be peeking over the distant mountains shortly. The plan was to wait until he was inside and then take care of business. According to Fletcher, Vamps were supposed to be at their weakest during this time of the morning.
Really? And he would know this, how?
I didn’t even know these things existed outside of a cheesy B movie.
I rubbed the center of my chest. I didn’t want to do this.
Now that the time was near, I was definitely having second thoughts…

We’d found the crypt by accident one night when we were about twelve or thirteen. We were hanging and banging in an old abandoned cemetery on the far side of the river, out of the way of adults and anyone flashing a badge. There were a few markers left from days gone by, faded and worn. No one had been buried there in decades. The grass and weeds here high enough to choke the life out of everything else that attempted to grow there. The trees were thick and heavy with foliage. We didn’t care. It was the perfect hangout spot.

It was here, a few years later, where we drank our first case of Molson (courtesy of Archie), rolled our first spliff (courtesy of Tilly), looked at dirty magazines (courtesy of Fletcher), and sat in awe as Mark told us all about doing it with Sandy Peterson, the captain of the cheer-leading squad. He was quite descriptive, all the way down to the weight and  jiggle of her titties. I remembered having a lot of vivid dreams about her after that.

When Archie disappeared we’d stopped coming here. The consensus was that it didn’t feel right without the fifth member of our group. Sort of like Rolling Stones without Keith Richards.

It wasn’t until we decided to look for Archie that we had given any thought to the cemetery.  Fletcher suggested that the crypt would be the most logical place for him to hide in.
“Think about it,” He’d said over a double-double yesterday. “Its way out in the middle of nowhere and it’s probably underground.”
"I'm surprised nobody thought about it before." Tilly mused, stuffing the last of the Tim-bits in his mouth.
"Why would they?" Fletcher asked, "Nobody's thinking about a cemetery. They'll be too busy tearing up his house to wonder where else he might be hiding."

I added more sugar to my coffee, and kept an eye out for anyone that might be listening. Tim Horton’s is usually a hotbed of activity and damn near impossible to have a conversation in. Everyone talks really loud and fast. They try to over-talk each other and be heard above the din. We were waiting for Mark to get off work so we could get the plan in place.

Fletcher and Tilly went back and forth on their theories before I decided to bring up an earlier argument.
"I still want to drive by the house," I said quietly, "to make sure everyone there sees us. Just in case there's any questions about where we were and shit like that."
"Dude, we've been over this-" Tilly protested, throwing up his hands.
"Been over what?" Mark said from behind me. He came around the table, plopped down next to Tilly and put a fresh box of Tim-bits on the table. 
Fletcher pointed at me with his thumb,
"Knob over here wants to do a drive-by. Says its better that we show up at the mob scene before heading out."
"Hmmm." Mark took a swallow of his drink before answering."He might have a point. If someone says anything, they can say that they saw us there."
“Dude, I do NOT want to see my folks looting that house.” Tilly whined.
“I have to agree.” Fletcher nodded. “Its bad enough they’re gonna be there to begin with but to see one of them running outside, wearing Mrs. Dillon’s fur coat? That's really gonna blow.”
“Hah!” Mark threw back his head, giving a sharp bark of laughter.
“Don’t worry about it.” I said. “Maybe they’ll stay home." 
“Easy for you to say,” Tilly mumbled. “Your Mom’s got sense.”

Night fall found us cruising past the Dillon mansion and I was pissed to say the least. The scent for Archie's blood had whipped the townsfolk into a frenzy. The usually subdued, upper-crust neighbourhood, north of the downtown core looked like something straight out of an end-of-the-world horror flick. The lights were on in the two-story building, the windows on the upper floor smashed out, people throwing stuff out to waiting arms below. Others were running in and out of the front door, their arms filled with stuff, hooting with glee. Debris covered the once manicured lawn. Two guys looked like they were arguing over a lawnmower.

“What the hell are they doing?” Tilly yelled. 
I looked around his shoulders and shook my head. Mark pulled over, Fletcher jumped out and started filming the mob scene with his Blackberry. I climbed out as well, amazed by what I was seeing. The prized rose bushes of the late Mrs. Dillon were crushed underneath the horde that was intent on clearing out the house before the police came. I heard Tilly shout "Mom!" and startled, I spun around.

Mrs. Donalds sashayed by like she was on the catwalk in, you guessed it, a dark fur coat. Her bleached hair was up in curlers and she was in her pajamas. Fletcher maintained his pose, filming everything. Mark and I hurried after Tilly as he marched over to her, fury lacing his tone.
"How can you do this?"
Mrs. Donalds clutched the coat tighter around her neck, her face haughty.
"Quite easily! Do you think your father can afford quality like this?"
"Dad's here, too?" Tilly asked, looking around. "I don't believe this!"
"No, he's not here," Mrs. Donalds sniffed indignantly. "He's decided to become all high and mighty, refusing to get even with those snotty Dillons after all this time."
"Oh, so that makes it okay for you to do so?" Tilly roared, incredulously.
Before she could answer, a car pulled up with the driver beeping impatiently. We turned to look. It was Mrs. Francetti, Mrs. Donalds' bridge partner. She leaned out of the window,
"Come on, Moira, let's go! Did you get that fancy necklace I wanted?"
"I sure did!" Mrs. Donalds squealed happily, pulling out a handful of glittering stones and waving them proudly. "And earrings for both of us!"
They shrieked with excitement while she bustled over to the other side of the car. 
"Mom! Dammit-" Tilly lunged but Mark and I held him fast. It wouldn't do to have him being seen jumping on his mother. The two women drove off, swerving to avoid a couple of other women who were heading to their cars as well. Tilly shrugged us off with a "Get off me!" and stormed down the sidewalk to cool off.

Mark and I looked around. The mayhem didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. I didn't see his or Fletcher's parents among the crowd but then again, I didn't want to look too hard. Seeing the mother of one of my friends was bad enough.
I blew out a breath.
"I think we need to get out of here."
Mark nodded and jiggled his car keys,
"Yeah, let's go."

*to be continued*

© copyright 2011 by Ren Thompson July 21, 2011


  1. You have taken your readers on a wild journey here! From a start of a search for friend to the witnessing of his father's house being ransacked this scenario boggles the mind as we wonder where it is all heading. Enjoyable and frustrating at the same time as you draw us in and leave us dangling. Strange town they're living in.

  2. I love it! I just simply love it! I love things that just seem a tick or two, or more off, in an otherwise normal (seeming) world.

    I nearly freaked out when you started talking about Shreveport, Louisiana and the Fairs. I lived there on Pines Road before moving down to Chalmette. Gosh you brought back the memories. There was like a Riverfest they used to hold that was a lot like the County, or Parish, Fair. I loved Cross Lake. There was a really nice restaurant there we used to go to for "special" occasions or "date" night. That was back in the 1980's. Gee, maybe it really is a small world afterall.