Hall Door
He said don't play with matches. Then told a joke about matches burning twice. The green strike anywhere tip disappeared in a flare of light. The pain was terrible. He laughed at his own joke. The blister lasted a week.
He yelled put your bike away in the shed. The rain was falling and it would rust. But there was only a little mist. Even the cat went outside when the porch door opened. He lifted the bike with one hand. The metal frame bent as it was pressed down in the trash can.
He threw comics across the room. It was Wednesday night, and there was still homework to finish. They fluttered like birds too heavy to fly. Some of the covers tore. Some of the pages ripped out. James is going to be pissed when he gets them back.
He was done, and he said dinner was over, so it was time to clean up. He dumped out the whole plate of spaghetti. It covered the place mat, the chair, and the floor nearby. It had been really good, too. With meatballs instead of the crumbled meat sauce Mom usually made. Everyone there was quiet. It was really awkward.
He growled that toothpaste should be washed down the sink. The hot water hurt so much. The scrubbing powder stings too. The dried toothpaste finally came up. It all washed down the drain. And even though it was only in the blue bathroom sink, and now all the sinks, tubs, and toilets in the house are clean.
He spit out a piece of steak onto his plate. Mom tenderized the meat all morning. The sound she made with that spiky hammer thing drowned out the cartoons. He told her they should be tender or he would teach her to use that hammer the right way.
He said it was time to go. The sun was not even up yet. And it was so cold. The school uniform was laying on the floor. He slammed open the door, and threw on the light. The day was spent at the doctor's instead of school. The cast should come off in a month.
He warned she wouldn't be happy. She cried. Some dishes were pulled from the full sink and shattered on the wall. The back door opened and crashed shut. Then it opened again. There was more yelling until the car started. She hasn't been back yet.
And I hated him for that.
He said stay away from the closed room at the end of the hall. There was no good reason for a kid to go into that room. He slid Grandad's old leather chair out of the living room and into the hall. The recliner filled up the space in front of the door almost exactly.
He told me to go to sleep, and don't come out of the bedroom until morning. It was Friday. Game night. Not that Friday. There was a loud scratching and a high pitched whining noise that made it impossible to sleep. He pounded on the door at the end of the hall and the sounds stopped. Later they started again. He did not sleep good that night either.
He held the key up and shook it. There was nothing behind the door that his key couldn't stop. He drank some more of the brownish water. He never had tea or Coke, or even coffee any more. But the water from the filter in the sink was always clear. He must get his water somewhere other than home. He set the key on top of the fridge.
He said scary movies rots kids' brains and keeps kids up at night. He was asleep on the couch and didn't hear the howling. There were always scary movies on late at night. But the TV was off. And the howling continued. The bedroom light stayed on all night until he turned it off in the morning. He said electricity wasn't free.
He knew the black stuff wasn't covering the door in the morning. He knew school had just got out a little while before he got home. But he said the black stuff didn't put itself there. He took away the Nintendo and put it on his high closet shelf. There were other games and toys there too. His gun was up there beside them. The closet door closed. Games never came down off the shelf.
He yelled to get back. To stay in the bedroom. He darted across the hall to his room. Both of the doors slammed at the same time. It was so quiet. For a minute. Grandad's chair was back in the living room because of poker night. The hall door opened, and the knob crashed through the wall. A picture frame, with a photo of the family, fell to the floor and the glass shattered. The wall shook that hard! It was scary. The floor shook too. Something big walked up and down the hall. Passing by the bedroom door it stopped and sniffed and growled.
He explained the difference between the nails. One kind was for pictures on the wall. The other kind was for boards. And for doors. Boards like the ones he used to build the deck last summer. And doors like the one at the end of the hall. He worked all afternoon. He said it was better to be safe than sorry. He stopped hammering when the brown water was all gone. There were still a lot of those door nails in the box.
He was quiet when he said it. He talked slow like he was only going to say it once. He did that a lot of times and that was never good. But this time was different. He explained that when Mom left that was her choice. No one was to blame. She couldn't do what had to be done. So she left. He squeezed hard when he talked. There would be bruises to cover up with long sleeves again. He said it was up to him. He said it was time.
He meant what he said, and would be minded. Now the bedroom door was to stay closed no matter what. And there was a beating waiting for the one who opened it. Listening at the bedroom door each nail he pulled loose could be heard tinkling as it hit the hardwood floor in the hallway. A moment later, he was in his bedroom opening the big closet. There was a loud thud. That was followed by the sound of metal things clinking together, like bottle caps tumbling around the bottom of a metal trash can. Then he went out again. He repeated his threat to stay in the bedroom, behind a closed door, or get eaten. But that wasn't right. He must have meant beaten.
He shouted that he was ready to settle things. But he was talking to someone else this time. Settling things was the worst. It meant being sore for a week. Or longer. The bedroom door was thick, and that made it harder to hear. There was a gurgling sound, like when a big snot ball is stuck and wants to come out on its own. And under the wet syrup gurgle there was a low growl that got louder and louder.
He screamed when the door frame splintered and crashed in front of him. Some pieces must have flown all the way to the kitchen. It sounded just like the time he dropped the Chinese food, and chopsticks clattered on the floor by the dumplings. But then something else screamed. More like roared. It was horrible. It was one of the scary movie things that rots kids brains. The undies would have to be thrown away, but the jeans could be washed clean enough to wear again.
He moaned a little. It wasn't crying because he didn't cry. He never cried. Did he? His knees dropped to the wood floorboards with a single dull thump. He sobbed "Don't hurt him. Take me. Leave him alone!" A second later several quick pounding sounds followed. It was the same heavy driving force of the thing in the hall from before. But fast. Very fast. Then there was a muffled cry that was hard to hear below the sound of meat hit with spiky hammers.
He said the room was off limits. He never said why. Now he didn't have to.
And I loved him for that.
THE END
In honor, and memory, of my late step-father
Oliver Adley "Buddy" Kendall Jr.
(September 9, 1957 - June 2, 2015)