Back From The Dead

nasty rumors about you from other kids.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Well, Al said that Jennifer Walbert told him not to hang around with me because I sold my soul to the devil and belonged to a coven.”

At the mention of this, Naomi retorted in anger. “That little bitch has been a thorn in your side since seventh grade. When the hell is she going to grow up?”

Tim grinned. “Al told her he thought that was cool. He said he couldn’t wait to join the coven, and she looked at him like he was a freak and walked away. I don’t think that was the reaction she was expecting.”

Jeff chewed his food. “Well, that tells me Al doesn’t give a damn what the other kids say about you, and that’s good.”

“Yeah, when Al told me about it, he was laughing,” Tim said, relating the incident in surprisingly good humor. In days past he would have either been dismissive or depressed about it. “He was like, ‘damn, she’s got to be the dumbest chick I’ve ever met.’”

“Unfortunately, she’s probably going to grow up to assume some position of influence or authority,” Naomi said. She was finished with her meal and leaned back from the table. “And she’s going to torment some other hapless soul.”

“It really is so like The Stepford Wives living here,” Tim said.

“You can say that again,” Jeff muttered.

Naomi couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret when she talked with Tim about his problems or saw his reactions to the vicious teasing he received. She’d hoped the good of living in a small town would outweigh the negative; that hadn’t happened for Tim. She remembered hating Spring Valley High. She liked the town — the architecture, its history, the peaceful setting of the surrounding countryside. But the people? They were all narrow-minded, self-righteous religious zealots. Okay, maybe not all of them, but more than she could count. When Naomi was in high school she’d gone through her own identity crisis stage. Her parents had been strict on appearance, stressing that how you presented yourself through dress, grooming, hair and makeup, formed an impression on other people. Things like your personality, whether you were a pleasant person, easy going, friendly, or kind, did not matter.

So when Naomi had fallen for a boy named Chuck Gabriel, a sullen olive-skinned boy who wore his straight black hair below his shoulders, her parents had disapproved of the relationship vehemently. They’d been trying — hell, pushing her — to date Greg Argall, a boy who lived down the street who’d grown into a Ken-doll caricature of perfect hair, perfect teeth, six-pack abs, and a predictable future of an MBA position at some faceless corporation. If Greg hadn’t been a belligerent asshole, she might have been mildly attracted to him. The fact that she could engage in more stimulating conversation with a pile of mulch was another souring point for Naomi. Chuck, on the other hand, was kind, considerate, polite, and genuinely cared for her and she could talk to him for hours about everything. He wasn’t cruel, did not possess a sense of humor from the gutter like Greg, and he was smart — a straight A student. Despite her pointing this out to her parents, they still didn’t approve of him. Her relationship with Chuck was the first time Naomi ever lied to her parents, and the sneaking around to see him eventually took its toll on the relationship.

Naomi offered Tim a smile. “The difference between you and me is that my parents didn’t take the time to understand me, nor understand what it was like to be a teenager when I became of age. They saw it from their own perspective, which was the nineteen fifties. They didn’t relate to the early eighties trends or fashions at all. Your father and I…I’d like to think we’re trying a lot harder than my parents ever did.”

Tim grinned. “You guys are the best. I mean…I hear some of the kids in my class talk about their parents and they think Linkin Park is a place!”

They all laughed at this.

Jeff was finished with his meal. He stood up and began clearing the table. “Son, your mother and I are happy with the way things are going for you lately. We really are. George and Al seem like great guys, and I think some of the kids that used to be so much trouble for you are eventually going to come around and grow up. If they haven’t by now, they probably will by the time you graduate.”

Tim got up to help his father. “Actually that might have already started to happen. Gordon Smith actually asked if he could borrow a book from me!”

Naomi raised an eyebrow at this. While Gordon wasn’t one of the kids who’d set upon Tim that dark day, he’d participated in too many incidents of harassment against her son that she felt instantly wary and suspicious. “Why did he want to borrow a book from you?”

Tim shrugged. “Beats me. But he seemed really interested in it.” Tim told them about his initial contact with Gordon last week, and the conversations and encounters that led to Gordon’s growing interest in Back From the Dead. “Maybe he’s finally seeing reading as something that can be fun. You know?”

Naomi nodded. Tim inherited his love of books from her and Jeff, and had developed his unique tastes on his own. She surely hadn’t been into horror fiction as a child the way her son was, although it was a genre she dipped into from time to time and enjoyed occasionally. But if it got kids into reading that was half the battle. She’d been pleased when Tim went from Goosebumps to Stephen King and finally to Faulkner, Dickens, and Capote on his own, at no urging from his high school curriculum. “Maybe you’re right,” she said.

And as the three of them bustled about the kitchen clearing the table, rinsing the dishes, placing them in the dishwasher and doing the evening chores, Naomi felt the first ray of hope that perhaps Jeff was right. Their son was going to turn seventeen this summer. He was on the road to adulthood — manhood. He was a mature kid for his age, and she had no doubt that he had a bright future ahead of him. She truly hoped that Al and George were opening new doors for him, that things would improve on a social level for her son in the coming months as he gradually ascended to his senior year.

Chapter Seven

Scott Bradfield and David Bruce accompanied Gordon Smith into the woods to see if there was evidence that the rabbit had come back from the dead.

David giggled. He and Scott had gotten stoned before Gordon showed up at the Bradfield house and they were getting on his nerves. “A zombie bunny!” David said.

“Shut up!” Gordon said.

“I wonder if it’ll try to eat us?” Scott asked, half seriously.

David and Scott burst into laughter.

Gordon stopped and turned around. His friends had stopped in their tracks and were doubled over with laughter. The days were getting longer, and at a few minutes past eight pm there was still sufficient sunlight to see by. They had another ten yards to go. “I’m going to go check. If you assholes want to come, let’s go.” He turned and started heading toward the clearing, not caring if they followed.

Despite it not being fully dark yet, the woods had a sinister quality to them, more so than last night. As Gordon picked his way past poison ivy and fallen pine branches, he heard the crickets going at it again. They sounded normal to him now. What was I thinking last night? he thought as he reached the clearing.

He stood at the edge of the clearing, not too surprised at the sight but his heart sinking nonetheless.

The hole he’d dug and buried the rabbit in, that he’d filled up and tamped down, was undisturbed.

Gordon hoisted the small bladed shovel he’d brought along. This wasn’t going to be pretty, but he might as well get it over with. He took a step toward the area where he’d buried the rabbit, plunged the blade in the soil and started digging.

Scott and David showed up a moment later. Gordon didn’t notice the look on their faces, but he could tell from their tones of voice that they were disappointed. “Hey, there’s nothing here.”

“I know,” Gordon said. He was almost a foot down now.

“So it didn’t work?” Scott asked. Both of them sounded serious now.

“Not sure,” Gordon said, because he didn’t really know how to answer that one.

Because despite not seeing the tell-tale signs of the rabbit having clawed its way up out of the soil, something didn’t feel right.