Darkhouse

TWELVE

Stinger’s Creek, North Central Texas, 1983

Duke knocked on the screen door and walked back down the steps to look through the window. He could see the light from the television shine across the smooth bald head.

‘Mr Riggs?’ he called out. ‘Mr Riggs?’

Geoff Riggs turned his head slowly and waved Duke back to the house. He lumbered out of his armchair and walked to the front door, throwing it open. Today was a happy drinking day.

‘Hey, Mr Riggs. Donnie around?’ said Duke.

‘Thought he was with you down at the creek.’

‘Oh, sure,’ said Duke slowly. ‘I was supposed to meet him there. Sorry to get you up.’

‘Don’t worry. Need the exercise, son,’ he said, waving the remote control at him.

Duke walked down the path and through the trees. He called out, but got no reply. He finally found Donnie lying under a cottonwood by the creek, legs pulled to his chest, skinny feet sticking out of his tight navy jeans. He was asleep.

‘Hey, buddy,’ said Duke, bending down, pulling gently at his foot.

Donnie woke up slowly, rolling onto his back, rubbing at the dust that stuck to his cheek.

‘Didn’t you make it home last night?’ asked Duke.

‘I made it home,’ said Donnie. ‘And Daddy’d done lock me out again. No amount of knockin’ on the screen door shifted him from that chair, six pack happy at his feet. Looked around at me, too. “Go on, now, boy,” he says, like I’m some dog.’ He laughed, shaking his head.

‘Least you don’t live at my house,’ said Duke.

‘Your mom’s all right,’ said Donnie.

‘My mom’s all wrong,’ said Duke. He sat beside him with his back against the tree and uncurled a book he had pulled from his pocket.

‘No,’ said Donnie, standing up. ‘No readin’. Let’s do somethin’,’ he said.

‘Shut up. This is different. It’s cool. Uncle Bill gave it to me.’

He held it up without looking at Donnie, then flicked through it until he found what he was looking for.

‘Listen to this,’ he said, reading slowly, jerkily. ‘“In mythology, the hawk is believed to have special powers, possessing great knowledge, qualities of pride, nobility, courage and wisdom,” something I can’t read, “and truth. It is considered lucky to see a hawk first thing in the morning.”’

‘Your Uncle Bill must be the luckiest man alive,’ said Donnie.

Duke continued reading. ‘“If you hear the cry of a hawk, it is a sign that you should open yourself up to a message, to…”’ he stopped and finished solemnly, ‘“…beware.” Spooky or what?’

‘Spooky,’ said Donnie. ‘But I still want to do somethin’.’ He began wriggling out of his T-shirt. The early morning sun was hot on his face. Duke looked up at him. Donnie was patting his swollen stomach, his back arched. He pulled off the rest of his clothes and shouted, ‘Last one in is a dead man,’ before running towards the misty water. Duke watched his naked brown body go. Shivers ran cold up his spine. He didn’t like the way it felt. He didn’t follow him.

The water looked warm as Donnie jumped in. He surfaced, waving with both hands. He slid under again then came up, pulling himself with the rope that hung from their favourite tree. He climbed to the top, swung, then plunged back into the water. When he was finished, he ran back to shiver in the shade.

‘Shoulda come in,’ he said. ‘It was cool. Hey, whatcha wanna do after school?’

‘I dunno,’ said Duke, looking up. ‘Jeez, would you put some clothes on, for Christ’s sake?’

Wanda Rawlins sped through Stinger’s Creek in the pickup with a cold can of soda pressed between her thighs. She smoked like a man, the cigarette clamped between her thumb and forefinger, each pull long and deep. She slammed on the brakes when she saw the lonely figure at the side of the road. She reversed in a zig-zag.

‘Hey, Dukey!’ she said. ‘You wanna ride home?’

He shrugged.

‘Hey, hey. Look at me. What’s the matter?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘Nothin’,’ she mocked. ‘What is it?’

‘Aw, I was supposed to meet Donnie is all. No big deal.’

‘Hop in,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you wherever.’

‘Just leave me at the store.’

‘Well, that’s not very far, is it?’

‘Then I’ll walk.’

‘Oh, hop in for cryin’ out loud.’

She leaned into him as she drove, turning her head towards him when she had something to say. He stared ahead and kept a hand lightly on the steering wheel.

Donnie stirred his milkshake with a stripey green and white straw.

‘You’re funny,’ said Linda Willard, pushing his arm.

‘So’re you,’ said Donnie.

Linda poked at her fries, using her free hand to tuck her shiny red hair behind her ear.

‘So what kinda music do you like?’ she said.

‘Dunno,’ said Donnie. ‘Don’t have a stereo or nothin’. Don’t even have a radio. My daddy has the TV on all day…’ He shrugged.

‘So what do you do? I mean, apart from hangin’ out with Pukey Dukey?’

‘Aw, he hates bein’ called that,’ said Donnie. ‘That was all Ashley Ames’s fault. I like Duke. We get along just fine.’

Duke watched their smiling faces through the diner window, then frowned and turned for home.

Two hours later, Linda Willard was riding her red bicycle out of town when she saw Duke Rawlins waving to her from the roadside.

‘Linda,’ he called. ‘Come over here a minute, will ya?’

‘Sure,’ said Linda, putting her foot to the ground to stop. ‘My brakes are shot,’ she said, smiling.

‘Donnie told me all about you,’ said Duke.

‘He did?’ She blushed.

‘Yeah,’ said Duke. ‘Know what he said?’

‘What?’ said Linda, leaning over the handlebars, her eyes bright.

‘He said that you and him were down by the creek the other day and that you—’

Duke leaned over and whispered the last part slowly into her ear. Her eyes went wide. It was disgusting. She didn’t even know anyone could do that. All she knew was that she never wanted to lay eyes on Donnie Riggs again.