CHAPTER ONE – IT’S ACTUALLY WITHOUT AN ‘E’
CHAPTER ONE
IT’S ACTUALLY WITHOUT AN ‘E’
Samuel Cook III was running late. He was running. And he was late. He cut through Mr. Olin’s yard and then through Mr. Olin’s sister’s yard. Sam knew they were both heavy drinkers and would be asleep by now. He chanced cutting through Boo Boo’s yard with the hopes of reaching the alley untouched, unscathed.
No luck.
Boo Boo issued forth a salutation which sounded an awful lot like a warning or threat. But Sam knew better. He stopped immediately, planted his running shoes, and waited.
Boo Boo leapt off his front paws and, standing just as tall as Samuel Cook III, gave his friend a prolonged hug. Boo Boo’s wiry whiskers and hair scratched Sam’s face as one smiled and the other laughed. “Gotta go boy,” said Sam, ruffling Boo Boo’s brow.
In one languidly smooth motion, Sam flexed his feet and ran towards the alley. Boo Boo loped with him for ten yards barking with zealous joy before stopping just short of the electric fence keeping him safely contained in his backyard kingdom. Sitting like a good boy now, he watched his buddy run towards the Barron County Nursing Home. Looking up and over his right shoulder, Boo Boo saw the moon and howled a little.
Sam grinned. He was cruising now and his pal’s howl echoed up and off of the multitude of oak trees lining the neighborhoods of Foster’s Crossing’s Northside. Sam looked at the Garmin on his slender left wrist and verified that he was running at an eight minute a mile pace.
He was still half a mile away but knew now, knew he could coast. The cornfields to his right were high and dry and the winds gathering three miles to the north and whipping up speed over the distance–these winds slapped at the stalks and caused the folding green leaves to chatter. It was a fearsome sound and it was pushing ten p.m., but Samuel wasn’t scared in the least. And why should he be? For Sam worked as the night watchman at the Barron County Nursing Home. He had for almost two solid years, and, if that place didn’t scare you, nothing did.
He focused ahead. He was on a running path but would be crossing cars where the streets intersected with it and he was certain drivers wouldn’t be looking for runners at this time of night. He had a slight incline now and rather than beating through the cornstalks, the wind here was racing over a holding pond and it fragrantly cooled Sam as well as giving him a good whiff of organic life. “Twhoo!” he breathed and blew his nose clean, his eyes watering.
Samuel turned up the slight bend, the trailer court to the left, the pond still curling to his right. No headlights were forthcoming and so Sam burst across the double lane, divided highway which had promised Foster’s Crossing big results and had netted the town exactly two convenience stores and forty trailer homes. Sam didn’t care. He veered left and started jaunting up The Hill.
Barron County Nursing Home, in all of its forms, all of its incarnations, has always had one thing in common. It had always been built on what the locals of Foster’s Crossing called, “Foster’s Hill,” “The Witch’s Hill,” or even simply, “The Hill.” So, up The Hill, Sam sprung. He loved running hills as much as he loved running flat surfaces. Finally level with the first hill, he cut across the service road leading to the old part of the building–his part of the home. Taking a deep breath, Sam sat down on the brick ledge and leaned up against one of the ancient pillars. Laughing, he was certain he could still hear Boo Boo howling, the moon appreciating his husky Irish tones.
…
Sam finished rinsing off with cooler water. The place was old enough that there were still ample showers from a time and place where many of the service employees would rinse off after work, having been exposed to the foulest, most disturbing fluids and scenes and displays of the most intense insanity. The water poured through his black curls and bounded down over his sloping back muscles and his elegant arms. He liked the way the water made his dark skin glisten. He grabbed his towel and double checked that the shower was locked. He always double checked locks and doors, more out of modesty than fear. Again, if you were going to work here…
He pulled open his locker and threw on his scrubs. He had on the bright green ones today and they made him happy, for some reason making him think of far off Seattle. He shook his head. Where was his head at? He needed to get up stairs to clock in. It wasn’t a bad set up–a quick little bonus run to work, a quick and cool shower, throw on scrubs…but then he had to sprint up two flights of stairs to punch in. Still, buildings this old, and so many of them, they never really made sense at some point. It was like the entire set of buildings had morphed into a physical representation of what exactly they contained within their decaying, crumbling, some times steel reinforced walls, metal slides, secret rooms, belts, straps…even chains. Now, he really shook his head, realizing he was about to be officially late. Daydreaming was fine for running, it was not fine for running late for work.
The door to the shower room had not yet shut while Samuel was slipping through the opened door to the stairwell. He scooted up the steps with an amazing sense of ease, grabbed a third door, and listened to all three of them slam shut just as he skimmed his badge through the time clock slot. One thread of watery sweat ran down his beautiful runner’s cheek.
There was no one for him to relieve, the dayside employees and maintenance men went through the “Old Buildings” enough during their shifts that there was no need for someone to be posted to Sam’s building alone. But, towards the evening and nights, things were a little different. The dayside and evening workers had their hands full getting people fed and to bed so Samuel had gladly accepted the night position. He wasn’t much of a sleeper and it wasn’t much of a job. It was mostly just patrols and some basic upkeep, not that anyone really cared. Or checked up on him. They were all busy enough in their own wards that they needn’t worry too much about the kid.
…
The first point of business for Sam was to take a stroll down the halls. Designed in the classic “Cross shape” design, Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the notion—thousands and thousands of churches and institutions built across the world using a cross as their actual foundation in order to venerate Jesus Christ and therefore protect the inhabitants, be they crazy, be they pilgrims, be they saints, or be they…demons.
And all of that, all of that protection, based on an ancient, pagan symbol: The Cross. Samuel shrugged his shoulders and glided down the first hallway. He remembered to walk and not to run. He was young and he was strong, but even his legs needed time off and Sam knew that walking was one of the very best things anyone, anywhere, could, at anytime, do for their legs. And so he walked. Past one door, and then past the next, mostly these rooms were currently empty though in this line of business, that was always changing (for good, for bad, for eternity). He slowed his step as he approached the flower room.
It was usually occupied.
He strolled in and looked out the large bay windows over looking Foster’s Lake and within the hint of light of the moon creating a reflection upon the glass, Sam spotted him.
“Hello Samuel Cook III,” said Gabriel in a bulbous voice. Samuel did not respond verbally. He put one hand out and indicated for Gabriel to quiet down. Rather than do this though, Gabriel seemingly pumped himself up, appearing to grow larger. His white, caterpillar like skin bubbling and rising like some pupa. Gabriel’s eyes took on a mad squint and his smile contorted into a sinister smear, he opened his toothless jaw and went to unleash a very unpleasant salutation and he started raising his claws, wanting to give the young fellow a very proper physical greeting as well!
Samuel Cook III barely raised his right eyebrow at Gabriel and shook his head. Gabriel slunk back down into his chair, putting his claws away as well. Sam left Gabriel in the flower room, wherein, it was known, there had been no noticeable flowers for at least awhile.
Sam walked out of the flower room and entered the one across from it. The Gaslight Twins were already waiting for him, having done their constant best to spy on Gabriel with the also constant desire to do anything they could to annoy him. Rueben’s globe of a head with its ring of strikingly red hair was practically hanging out of the doorway. His brother Zeke’s slightly smaller head, with its slightly fuller ring of impossibly yellow hair, was right below it. Sam looked down at them and nodded. As the two Gaslight Twins clung to their door and leaned out as far as they thought it safe, they said in unison, to Gabriel in the flower room, “And don’t make him come back here!” Each word bounced off of their hanging lips, spittle seemingly flying across the hallway, looking for nonexistent flowers to water. Then the two of them started laughing their strange, choking, wheezing giggles which would cascade and boomerang and eventually crescendo so loudly that even Boo Boo, one and a half miles away, turned his now sleeping ears to listen.
Samuel just finished walking the space of their room, looked out the north window to the loading dock and saw that all was clear there as well. He raised his eyebrows to the two of them as they continued clinging to their door, letting him exit without incident. As the Gaslight Twins watched Sam’s perfect posture silently melt into the darkness of the long hallway, they yelled behind him, “Don’t worry! We’ll be good too!” This was followed by more giggling, though it was more subdued this time. “Keep up the running kid!” they added.
…
Sam continued his rounds, all the way back down the west wing, a stop into the southern room to check out how the parking lot looked, and then he returned to the cross’s midsection and walked to the south wing. It was normally his quietest wing but tonight he saw half the doors closed and half of them…opened. Still, there was nothing except for Sam to do the work that he had got to get done and so he finished the round, and headed straight north for the other wings. Sometimes, he just needed to see the others.
…
It’s a fairly long set of meandering and sloping hallways and passageways which lead from Sam’s section to the others. Sam knew this was because, as was often the case, the Barron County Nursing Home (in all its permutations), had always existed right here. If one wing had fallen into such neglect (or, found its facilities use or purpose no longer appropriate), it just got bulldozed over, razed, wrecking balled…and sooner than later, a brand new building, one looking nothing like the rest of the surviving ones, would pop up. How many times had this happened. Samuel, being the studious, curious type, had tried to investigate. But the truth was, no one knew. The county didn’t even have many records for anything dating before 1967.
It opened in 1867.
So, the ramps, the slight hills, the hallways which led to nowhere (where once there’d been “somewhere” there), the old crutches, braces, the low ceilings, the high ceilings, the fences with the spikes on them, the blood letting rooms rumored to be bricked closed…Sam took it all in stride.
He could see none of the other night crew was around, none of the custodians, nurses, careworkers…it was going to be a quiet night, and he needed one. Shrugging, he turned around and was ready to make his way back, figured he’d mop and then start on his homework. It was nice that he could get paid to do his schoolwork but sometimes, just sometimes, being seventeen, Samuel enjoyed a few distractions beforehand. He would get them tonight.
…
Pulling the mop bucket out of the now defunct “dementia” unit, and carefully pulling it down the last of the odd ramps, he approached his unit, slid his badge through and opened the guard doors. Gingerly walking the mop bucket through and then resting the actual mop against the nearest wall, Sam looked up and sighed as big of a sigh as he could ever muster.
Sherbet Sally was in the kitchen. She was throwing cups of sherbet. But she wasn’t throwing them to the other residents, she was throwing them at the bay window. Having used, by choice, mostly the rainbow sherbet variety, she’d made a rather impressive decoration on the window. At the bottom of the window, laying under the radiators, were the Gaslight Twins. They were licking up the droppings.
In the television lounge, Coach Craig was sitting in front of an old Magnavox cabinet unit. He sat with his knees on his legs, intently watching Nebraska take on some sacrificial lamb in an early season game.
Coach Vincent was there sitting next to him, his long, thin neck seemingly longer than usual. They both looked almost gray, and Sam thought it might be from the cigarettes. When they told him that, as players, they actually used to smoke during the games (and not just while coaching them), he was amazed they’d lived as long as they had.
“Turn the goddamn Badger game on, you cornhusking corn holing sonofabitch,” Coach Vincent growled to Coach Craig.
Coach Craig glared at Vincent and then raised a gaze to Samuel. “Not in front of the kid, okay? We’re trying to raise fine young men!”
Coach Craig was known for having been very conservative, having grown up in the farmlands of Nebraska.
“Right, right, sorry kid,” said Vincent to Sam. Vincent’s neck really looked bad tonight. But before he could address that, Sherbet Sally launched a couple more sherbet cups, but this time, she launched them at him, barely missing.
“You. Need. To. Eat. More! Skinny Sam!” she howled and prepared to launch a few more of the rainbow cups.
“Oh no you don’t!” yelled Rhine, “I’m the one who’s going to have to clean that up–Lord know them fellas won’t!” And it was true, Sam knew, those guys weren’t going to clean up anything. They were old time, Midwestern men, and they hadn’t cleaned anything their entire lives; they weren’t about to start now. Sam sighed and thought about his rounds and his homework.
“Come on! Come on! Lighten up!” yelled Rosie as she danced her way into the lounge area. She was pushing Madge in a wheelchair, pushing perhaps a little too fast. The Gaslight Twins had finished slobbering all about the bottom of the window and now they had made their way over to the lounge just as a sherbet cup nailed Nebraska’s star wide receiver.
“That’s the best catch he’s made all year!,” laughed Rueben, his red hair, slightly dripping with sherbet, clung to his round face and his thick lips, which he proceeded to lick. His brother Zeke was laying as close as he could to the bottom of the cabinet, trying to catch drops. Mostly they fell on his fourth chin. Still, he giggled that strange giggle of theirs’.
“Oh my God! Get their goddamn tongues off of my tv screen!” yelled Coach Vincent.
“Piss on your tv screen, get that sherbet and get his tongue off of my Nebraska player!” yelled Coach Craig.
“Good luck with flying monkeys!” screamed Sherbet Sally, launching a new volley of cups.
Now Rosie was using her full figure to dance and sway in front of the hallowed, sherbet, Nebraska football game television. As she did so, she dumped Ms. Madge onto the floor next to the Gaslight Twins. Ms. Madge scooped up some sherbet drippings and smeared them across her neck, her ears, and then her teeth. “See any sherbet you want to lick now boys?” she asked.
Klasten Klinnins came in, tall beyond belief, and always in a hurray. The spikes on top of remaining head cracked off three of the four hanging lights in the lounge, which, combined with the off and on of the tv, made the entire place look like some kind of dance lounge for really strange sherbet eating fans of football.
Now Gabriel came, seemingly floating in, looking larger than ever, virtually filling the room and yelling over and over about the plants! Samuel could see Rhine had come back in with a second bucket and she was yelling for the mop. “The mop! The mop!” she cried out, “I must mop now, my shift is done!” She walked right into the heart of the fray and began mopping sherbet, residents, wheelchairs…lightbulbs. The coaches were now on the couch, trying to wrestle but mostly just rolling and tumbling. Madge was now smearing sherbet into places Sam was pretty sure even the Gaslight Twins didn’t want to lick, Klasten Klinnins was shaking his head around, trying to gouge the walls in some kind of pattern, and Sally Sherbet announced she was going to go find the kitchen because she needed more sherbet!
Samuel Cook III looked upon all of this, all of them, thought of his rounds, thought of his homework, and calmly, sternly said, “All of you, every single one of you, it’s quiet hours. And you know it.”
As they all slunk back into their rooms, their crevices, their holes, they did what they always did, and said, “Goodnight Sam.”
Samuel smiled and walked into the office. Firing up his lowly laptop, he watched as the screen hummed to life. It would be a quiet night after all.
End Chapter One