Page 5 of Hoodoo House
An insult to the hoodoos, if you ask me.
This place gave her the creeps. It would give the Bates house fromPsychoa run for its money.
Bowen took a final drag on her cigarette, flicked the stub onto the ground then crushed it with her heel.
If I had to live in this house, I might consider taking my own life,she mused, then walked back to her car and drove away.
* * * *
For a long time after the police had left, Henry sat on the swinging bench on the south porch. There was a freedom in swinging. The gentle motion helped to calm him. And there was always a gentle breeze blowing over the hill to the west. Whenever he needed peace and quiet when the weather was pleasant, this was where he went.
He rifled through the comic books that he’d brought with him and pulled out one from the seriesMomrath and The Slithe. The Slithe was his favourite superhero. He was powerful, even if he was a slim guy in a shiny skin-tight black costume. Few dared to bother him, but if they did, The Slithe could deal with them. And The Slithe believed in justice.
Henry was reading the current issue for the fourth time when he heard the deep rumble of a motorcycle engine. A familiar bike made its way up the long drive from the concession road. It moved slowly towards the house, then the driver killed the engine so the only noise was the crunching of rubber tires on gravel. As the bike came to a halt, the rider dropped the kickstand and dismounted. He took off his helmet and hung it from the handlebars. Henry recognized the man. He was one of Mr Tull’s visitors. The man looked fit and not that old, not like Mr Tull. Not even as old as Mr Yamada, the editor.
“Hey kid.”
“Hey.”
The biker started to walk towards the house.
“Mr Tull’s not there,” Henry said. “He’s dead.”
For the first time, Henry noticed how much the rider looked like The Slithe. He wore heavy leather clothes, but he doubted the biker’s motorcycle was made of pure diamond like The Slithe’s was.
There was a long silence before the rider asked, “You okay?”
“I guess,” Henry said. “I’d never seen a dead body before.”
“Sorry you had to see that.”
The rider looked at the window at the front of the house—the window which belonged to the writer’s office. He stared at it for a long time, while he chewed on his lower lip.
“Look, kid, I left something here with Mr Tull. I was hoping to pick it up today. I think it’s in his office. Mind if I go in and check?”
Henry was about to answer when the front door of the house swung open. Gramma Carol came striding out onto the porch. She had her rolling pin in her hand.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but you’ve got no business here. Now get off this property before I call the cops.”
Henry smiled. Gramma Carol was a lot like a superhero. She always used reason before she resorted to using a weapon, in this case her rolling pin.
The man shrugged and headed back to his bike. He got on slowly. Henry grinned.
He doesn’t want Gramma Carol to see that she won.
But Henry also suspected that he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that piece of smooth rounded maple. The man started up his bike and motored back down the drive.
“What did he want?” she asked Henry.
“He said he forgot something here.”
“His decency, I’ll bet.”
She shook her head and returned into the house.
Henry thought that Gramma Carol deserved to have her own comic book. The villains wouldn’t have a chance.
Chapter One
