THE RITUAL ~ Chapter 2: The Invaders (cont.)

Welcome to the conclusion of Chapter 2. Got here without reading what led up to this point? Use the landing page here to navigate to where you left off.

What happened last:

The boys have just narrowly escaped being caught by the new owners of Griffin House. But what kind of people would buy that infamous murder house? They’re about to find out…

Chapter 2: The Invaders
Part Two

By the time they got to Pops, the boys were practically screaming with excitement. They burst through the doors.

“If we had been caught …” Robert projected.

“Oh, my god!” Randy shook his head, grinning—his mop of hair swinging to and fro.

“If you boys don’t mind…”

They all turned to see Mrs. Curson at the cash register, eyeing them with her typical, disapproving glare—the dark eyebrow pencil she wore like warpaint made the effect extra unnerving. Scott wondered why the woman ever considered owning a soda shop like Pops, seeing as how she seemed to hate teenagers. But he always tried to appease. Besides, he could see A.J. looking at him from behind the counter.

“Sorry, Mrs. Curson,” he said at a respectable level. And then to the Brothers, softer: “Come on”.

They moved to a table and sat down.

“Do you think they heard us?” Randy asked.

“I don’t know,” Scott said. “I can’t help but think they heard me slam at least one of the cellar doors. But maybe they didn’t.”

“And what about the door?”

“What about what door?”

They all turned to see A. J. at the table. The Brothers had agreed years ago The Place would remain their secret and theirs alone. Scott had broken this tradition and told A.J. about it, but under the strictest confidence.

“Nothing,” Robert said. “Eavesdrop much?”

A.J. caught a glimpse from Scott that answered her question. So, she turned to answer Robert’s.

“All the time,” she said with a confident, smart-aleck smirk. “So, what’ll it be?”

“Cokes all around?” Scott tried.

General agreement sent A.J. on her way. After a beat, Robert mused: “I can’t believe people are actually gonna be living in that house.”

“Yeah,” Randy added.

Alex looked directly at Scott: “Do you think they know the history of the house?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so. They must’ve asked why it had been empty for so long.”

“You think it’s a family?” Alex posed to the group. “We only saw a master bedroom.”

“We saw a bedroom, too,” Randy said.

“Well, sorta,” Robert clarified. “There was one of those weird twin bed type deals.”

“A day bed?” Alex offered.

“I guess. But the room didn’t have anything like a kid would have.”

Scott’s eyes wandered in thought for a moment. Then: “Maybe it’s a guest room.”

Robert shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“The library was weird,” Alex said. “All those creepy books.”

“I thought about that,” Scott said. “We don’t know anything about these people. Maybe the guy’s a teacher or something. Like of religious studies or language studies or something.”

The slight nods around the table told Scott the boys accepted his logical theory.

Randy decided, “As long as he’s not an undertaker!”

The boys all got a small smile at that. The tension in the group relaxed a bit.

“So,” Scott decided to finally broach. “What was in that other room you were gonna show us?”

Robert leaned back, getting his smarmy grin. “You mean before you got all chickenshit?”

Alex defended Scott like lightening: “It wasn’t chickenshit! It was intuition. If Scott hadn’t started us down those stairs, we’d have all been caught red-handed.”

“That’s true,” Randy agreed.

Great, Robert thought. Once again Scott’s the big hero and I’m the jerk. Robert liked Scott more than anyone else he knew, but he sure hated how Scott always seemed right. And Alex always took his side. They should just get married and get it over with, Robert thought.

“Well, maybe I don’t feel like telling you, now,” he said.

Scott looked at him. Robert was a great kid; you’d be hard-pressed to find anybody more willing to jump into the fire for a guy. But he sure could be an asshole, sometimes. Still, Scott was used to it, so Robert’s words ended up giving him a smile. He turned to Randy.

“So, what was in the other room, Randy?”

“Uh,” Randy started. He knew he’d suddenly landed in the middle of something. He just wasn’t sure exactly what. He looked from Scott to Robert.

Robert gave in and said as if he didn’t care: “Tell ’em.”

Permission granted, Randy relaxed and said, “There were boxes.”

“Crates,” Robert corrected.

“Crates,” Randy echoed. “A bunch of them. Everywhere. Stacked up and stuff.”

Alex was unimpressed. “They just moved in! They probably haven’t unpacked those crates, yet.”

“Duh,” Robert said. “That’s not the point.”

“Well, what is the point?” Scott probed.

Robert couldn’t wait for Randy to get it out. “They all had little holes in them. Real small. And something inside them was moving.”

“What?!” Scott was caught off guard.

“Robert finished: “There’s something alive in those boxes!”

“Coming within earshot,” A.J. playfully warned as she approached with the sodas. Alex noticed A.J. give a stealthy, small wink to Scott who tried to hide a grin. The boys sat back, each offering an individual “Thank you” as A.J. placed the drinks before them. Except for Robert, who merely grunted.

“Anything else I can get for you? Like maybe a cone of silence?”

Scott cracked a smile. “No thanks, A.J. We’re cool.”

“Right,” she said, returning his grin before turning and walking away. The boys leaned in, again.

Alex whispered: “What was in the boxes?”

Robert went on: “Couldn’t see. The holes in the sides of the crates were too small.”

“You think they were pets?” Scott offered.

Robert’s left eyebrow rose on its own—that quirky way it did when his skepticism reared its head. “Twenty-something crates of pets?”

“Maybe they’re gonna open a pet store,” Alex tried.

That seemed to give them all pause. It was another logical answer, clearing away the mystery enough. At least for the moment.

“I wonder what they look like?” Randy mused.

“The pets?” Robert tossed out, incredulous.

“What? No … the people,” Randy clarified.

Robert responded with a hangover of his sour grapes that only added to the sarcasm: “They probably dress in black with matching capes.”

Scott, ever the bridge-maker, joined Robert’s game: “Yeah. And he has a widow’s peak and really long incisors.”

Alex chimed in: “And she rides a broom to work the graveyard shift at the blood bank.”

By now, they were all laughing.

“Well, you’re a noisy bunch, today!”

They hadn’t even seen Bennie Johnson come in, hand holding a to-go cup of coffee. As the town barber, Bennie always took a long lunch on Saturdays before going on his weekly trip for supplies up in Craigmont. So, his presence alone wouldn’t have surprised them in the least. But Bennie always wore a beanie on his head. It was his odd, loveable trademark. And today, he was without one.

The boys all greeted him before Robert plunged in with: “Where’s your hat, dude?” Bennie was cool that way. You could talk to him like he was one of the gang. You could call him dude.

“Well,” he replied. “Did you know some people moved into the old Griffin house?”

The boys all looked at each other. They played dumb as one.

“No,” Scott said for the group. “When?”

“A few days ago. A nice couple. The lady came into my shop, and we chatted a bit and then she invited me for dinner. They’re European or…Middle Eastern or something, because they have a dark look about them and they have just the slightest hint of an accent. But they’re charming as can be. Well, she is anyway. And she can cook like you wouldn’t believe. I have no idea what I was eating, but it was mag-ni-fique!”

The boys were enraptured. Bennie was a great talker and a great storyteller. Probably one of the things that made him a good barber. Aside from the whole hair-cutting thing,

“So, what are they like?” Robert tossed out.

“Real nice. She said she wanted to get me in her lair so she could get the dirt on the town ’cause she figured I’d know it all, being the town barber.”

“She got your number down, huh?” Scott teased with a smile. Bennie wasn’t just every guy’s barber: he was their confidant.

“She sure did,” Bennie admitted. “I didn’t mind, though. I love good food almost as much as good gossip. So, she fed me while I fed her. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time; I’ll tell you that.”

The mysterious new strangers were becoming dull and ordinary. But Bennie’s tale remained engaging.

“So, we’re having coffee and she asks me the famous ‘Who cuts the barber’s hair?’ question.

The boys sat back as one. The question never occurred to them. But they suddenly needed to know the answer.

“So, I told her I did. And I can give anybody else the best haircut they can get, but I can’t do myself for beans. Always just buzz it, for the sake of ease, when it gets too long, but I think I look like crap with a buzz.”

“That’s why you always wear a hat?” Randy surmised, amazed.

Bennie nodded. “That’s why I always wear a hat. So, she told me how she had been a licensed barber a while back and I said I’d love to see her work sometime and the next thing I know she’s giving me a haircut!”

“No way!” Robert uttered, loving it.

“I kid you not. I was long overdue for a trim, and I think she did a damned good job.”

The boys all agreed. He did look good: alien without his hat, but real sharp.

“Well,” Bennie said with a sigh. “Gotta blow this joint and get to Craigmont.” The boys all hissed and made the sign of the cross. Bennie nodded. “Yeah, I know: City of Skunks. But duty calls. See you boys soon.”

Then, he slipped his fingers into Randy’s dusty curls and said: “Hope to see you real soon!”

“Never!” Randy swore, grinning.

Bennie laughed his wicked chortle that was almost as famous as his hat.

“I’m gonna let mine grow out, too,” Scott said.

Bennie looked at him, shook his head, raised his arms to the sky in a shrug and declared to the heavens: “I give up!”

The boys all laughed and Bennie took off. They all called out “Bye, Bennie!”

Then, Scott turned to the Brothers. “Well, that settles it,” Scott said. “If Bennie says the people are cool, they’re cool.”

“Cool,” Randy echoed.

“Are you really gonna let your hair grow?” Alex asked.

“Yeah. Why not? Randy can’t be the only hippie in town.”

They finished the last of their sodas. Scott watched Bennie get in his famous yellow VW bug and drive off. Just like every Saturday afternoon.

Everything was looking pretty normal, again. Even if The Place had been invaded.

That evening, Scott and his family sat enjoying dinner, which they always ate while the six o’clock news played in the background; they never paid much attention to the television unless something really major caught someone’s attention. Or on the rare occasion a local story popped up.

Jamie, Scott’s seven-year-old sister happily babbled about her day when Mr. Benedict’s face focused on the television, brow furrowing, and he said, “Just a minute, Jamie”. He reached for the remote and turned the volume up.

Mrs. Benedict looked up at her husband’s words and followed his gaze to the television. Scott looked, too.

“What is it?” Jamie wondered.

The television screen filled with location shots of the scene of an accident on a winding, mountain road. A section of guardrail was missing—torn through.

“I always hated those poor excuses for barriers on that road,” Mrs. Benedict said.

An anchorperson replaced the location shots. He stated clearly: “The identity of the driver of the yellow VW bug will not be released until the family has been contacted. In sports…”

Mr. Benedict lowered the volume. Jamie looked at the somber faces around the table.

“What is it?” she asked again, more afraid.

The phone rang.

Scott got up to get it. “Hello?”

It was A.J.

“Yeah. I saw it. I know. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Bye.” He hung up the phone and looked at his father. “Bennie’s driven that road every week for—what?—ten, fifteen years? He could have driven it blindfolded.”

“Scott,” his father said with compassion. “If his brakes failed, there’s nothing anybody could do. Nobody drives that well.”

Scott didn’t want to hear it. Hardly anyone died in Brooks End. Except old people. And nobody cool like Bennie.

“May I be excused?”

“Honey ...” his mother tried.

“Please.”

She could hear the need in his voice. “Of course, dear.”

Scott left the room and headed down the hall. Behind him, in the other room, Jamie tried again: “What happened, Daddy?”

When he got into his room, Scott closed the door. He sat down on the bed. He felt a wave of emotion welling up in his chest: anger, despair, horror. And, deep in his gut, he felt something was wrong.

In her bedroom three blocks away, A.J. felt it, too. Something was definitely wrong.

But what?

NEXT UP - Chapter 3: Contact With the Invaders

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