9 Tales Told in the Dark 8 Read online

  Adrian laughed out some smoke and said, “Yep. That’s what some might call it.”

  The boy reached out his hand. His fingernails were long and tinted green. The smell of mint and pine seemed even stronger than before. Adrian handed the kid a smoke and held the lighter out to him, but the Kool was already burning in the stranger’s mouth. “How’d you light that?” he asked. The boy looked at him strangely and shrugged. “Fire, how else?’

  Adrian shrugged back as they smoked their cigarettes in silence. The breeze felt good against Adrian’s face. It brought with it the scents of rain and leaves, strange considering the location.

  “Do you live near?” the odd boy asked. Adrian noticed the way his hair did not blow in the wind, and how the color sometimes shown green in the sunlight. “I stay at the projects down yonder.” Adrian nodded to the far off street, hidden behind the ruins of what was once a neighborhood market.

  The boy exhaled a stream of smoke, brighter and thicker than Adrian’s. It looked like a fallen cloud, hovering before them. Adrian could’ve sworn that he saw a flicker of lightning in that little cloud of smoke. He looked away.

  It had to be the glare of the sun. It had to be.

  “You yearn to be free. I can smell it on you. I see it in your eyes.”

  “Whatch’you going on about?”

  “You sense it, all around you, hidden by this wreckage. It’s right there, for you to take.” The boy pointed towards Mount Rustmore. “It’s still there, always will be.”

  “What?”

  The boy stood from the wreckage of the car. In the sunlight, his skin almost appeared light green. He walked on bare feet, over rocks, junk, shards of glass. None of it seemed to faze him. Adrian followed him, curious. The kid started climbing Mount Rustmore, quick like a cat. Adrian struggled to keep up. The debris creaked and groaned beneath his feet. He almost fell backwards, but the boy shot his hand out, and steadied Adrian with a firm grip around his wrist. Then they were at the peak of the mountain. The boy looked out beyond the debris. “It’s what you’ve always wanted. It’s right there for you. You just have to go.”

  Adrian slowly shook his head back and forth. Kid had to be an escapee from some nuthouse. Then he saw what the boy was pointing at. From the top of Mount Rustmore they could see the rest of the junkyard sprawling out into the distance, eventually ending at West 35th. The Little Devils’ hangout, a three story apartment complex stood on the other side of the street. Beside it was a Laundromat. The Little Devils did most of their business around there. But that wasn’t where the boy was pointing. Next to the Laundromat, on the opposite side from the complex, was an empty lot. Whatever structure had once sat there was long since demolished. Overgrown grass and weeds swayed together in the breeze. The same smells that came from the boy seemed to carry over to him. It was strong, overwhelming. Adrian almost lost his balance. The boy grabbed him again by the wrist, steadying him with a hand as rough as wood.

  A couple of deer grazed on the long grass. Adrian watched them, how free and peaceful they looked. Deer sometimes showed up around the hood, coming from the grassy wastes between highways, or from the nearby park that was used mostly for shooting H or smoking crack. The lot stretched back into a cluster of trees, obscuring most of what lay behind them. It looked almost like a path…

  “Where does that go?” Adrian asked.

  “Wherever you want it to. That’s the oldest of roads. Older than even me.”

  “Yo wassup Adrian,” a familiar voice called out behind him. Adrian jolted, again almost falling down the mountain. Adrian turned to Little Tony. The boy was stylin’ ridiculously oversized shorts practically clinging to his ankles. With it he wore a red hoody, ridiculous in its own right, considering the temperature. The clothes were a message to others, red for the Little Devils, large pockets for carrying his business. Adrian had a pretty good idea that the business Little Tony carried was a nine and some bags of crack.

  “Just chillin.” Adrian replied. His heart rate sped up in time with the quickness of his breaths. What would Little Tony think of this strange kid with the mossy eyes? What would he think of Adrian for chillin’ with him? Adrian’s mind raced. He looked over at the white boy who wasn’t really white. Adrian’s jaw dropped.

  The boy was gone.

  “What’s up with you bro? You been dippin’ into yo mamma’s beer?” Little Tony watched him with a curious expression. Adrian tried to appear cool. He just shrugged and started on down the hill of garbage. “No man, I was just takin’ a break.”

  “Talk to ya’self when you breakin’ on a pile of garbage?” Little Tony asked. Adrian didn’t answer. He just picked the bag of beer off of the ground and glanced around the old ruins He saw no sign of the stranger.

  “What’s over there in that old lot next to the Laundromat?” Adrian asked Little Tony. Little Tony shrugged. “The Devils call it no man’s land. It’s just an empty lot. It runs into the power lines between the projects and the highway. Nobody ever goes there, cept some zombies maybe.”

  Adrian nodded. So it was a road in a sense. He recalled the boy’s words. The oldest of roads. It went wherever he wanted it to, or so the boy had said. Adrian felt goosebumps prickling his dark skin.

  It’s what you’ve always wanted. It’s right there for you. You just have to go.

  “What took you so long!” His mama shouted in his face. Droplets of spittle made him blink. Adrian dropped the bag on the floor and put his hands in the air. “I came right back! I had to lose some zombies on the way back Ma. They was trailin’ me.”

  Mama grabbed the beer out of the plastic bag so quick that the bag took flight before his eyes like some little ghost. Then Mama slammed the twelve pack down on the kitchen table so hard that one of the cans exploded, sending suds all over the table. She snarled at Adrian. He had nothing to say, no excuse, no nothing. He had learned to just let Mama do her thing, take it like a man, and she’d burn out like a comet. “Warm beer. Goodness sakes boy. And one of em is busted.” She swatted him across the face. It hurt, but it was no big deal. That’s how it went around here. You had to take a few hits every now and then.

  “Go to your room, boy.”

  Adrian flipped the open pack of Kool’s on the table and retreated to his bedroom while Mama shouted at him about smoking. Not that she cared if he smoked, she just was pissed that there were two less cigarettes in the pack. As Adrian walked past the living room, he smelled that smell. It was the smell that everyone in the hood knew, but seldom paid attention to. It smelled like burning plastic, or Styrofoam to Adrian. That smell was everywhere, always lurking in the dark corners. The scent of death.

  Mama’s new man, Jerome looked at Adrian with red, drooping eyes. He turned away, as if ashamed of his addiction. Adrian paid no attention. He was trained in the ways of the streets. You pretended not to notice things. You lived longer that way.

  Adrian sat down on his bed and turned on his old school radio. He’d won it playing a game of horse a year ago. The kid he’d beat was called G. G was in juvie now for robbing some dude at an ATM. At least he wouldn’t miss his radio. Adrian listened to some jazz station. The only thing the radio seemed capable of picking up. He didn’t mind. It was relaxing.

  He rubbed at his cheek. It still burned with the heat of his mother’s backhand. Adrian sunk into his bed. It was too early to sleep, but he didn’t know what else to do. He wished he was somewhere else, wherever that old road would take him.

  Adrian didn’t recall falling asleep. He jolted up in his bed, sweating from the summer heat. He wiped the perspiration from his brow, eyes finding the rectangle of moonlight on his wall. The window was open. The curtains swept towards him, dancing with the breeze. The air brought with it the smell of pine, leaves, mint. Adrian breathed in deep. He looked at his cheap prepaid cell phone sitting on the nightstand. It was midnight. Man, he’d slept the day away.

  A yawn, and then he sat up in bed. The smell brought him to the open window. It wasn’t the normal
smells of the city. It was different. It reminded him of that peculiar boy.

  He lived on the second floor, giving himself a good view of the back parking lot. It was dark and quiet. A couple homeboys were sitting on the curb beside the entrance, passing around a bottle of hooch. Adrian looked beyond them, to the grassy yard that surrounded the pool nobody bothered to fill any more. And beyond that he thought he saw something else, something his eyes could hardly detect. Someone sat in the dark, on one of the benches. Adrian breathed in the smells of nature. Could it be him?

  He was still dressed in his clothes, so he just popped on his shoes and walked out of his room. He could hear his mother and the crack head sawing logs in the living room. Sometimes he wondered if Mama was hitting the pipe as well as swigging down brews, but he pushed those thoughts away. It wasn’t his business. Adrian walked in the dark. He bumped against the kitchen table. It was loud, but Mama and Jerome seemed out for the count. Adrian sighed. He remembered how it used to be, before Mama started drinking, before his old man had been put away for stealing. It was better back then. His father had hardly ever been home, but still, things had been alright.

  He opened the door, locked it on his way out, and shoved his key in his pocket. The staircase was creepy at night. The light was hardly ever on. In the hood, people liked their shit dark. It was just the way it was. Some brother was passed out on the steps. He smelled rank. He wasn’t a zombie at least. Adrian stepped over him, muttered, “Loser,” and then made his way to the exit. He went outside, not even acknowledging the two dudes getting drunk on the curb. God knows what they were up to. Better to stay out of their way.

  The soft murmur of crickets welcomed him to the outside night. The hood was quieter than usual, no pounding bass, no sirens, just the whisper of the breeze and that hum of crickets. Adrian walked to the grass. An old fence was set around the empty, stinking pool. In the dark he couldn’t even see it. That smell grew stronger. There was someone on the bench for sure. Adrian slowly walked over to the shadowed figure. There was always that chance it was a zombie, or some thug looking for a reason to draw.

  “Long days, dark nights Adrian,” the boy said. Adrian felt chills in his bones. In the dark, the kid seemed kind of creepy.

  “How’d ya’ know my name?” Adrian asked, sitting down next to the stranger.

  “I just do.”

  “Ok, so what’s your name?’ Adrian asked him.

  “I have many names, none that you’d know. I have been called Ash, Lempo. I was once known as Selvans, Banyan…But that was in another time, another place.”

  “Huh?” Adrian had no idea what the kid was talking about. His head was still fuzzy with sleep, and the strangeness off the boy’s words gave the conversation a dreamlike quality. The boy looked at him with a face like shadow. In the moonlight Adrian could barely make out his features. The boy reached out his hand and Adrian thought he saw leaves wrapped around his wrist, but that couldn’t be right. Nobody wore leaves like clothes, not even crack heads in the slums.

  Maybe I’m the one trippin’…

  “Take it,” the boy told him. Adrian reached out and grabbed something out of the kid’s hand. It felt like a rolled up blunt. “What’s this?’ Adrian asked.

  “Tobacco. Real tobacco.”

  “Cool,” Adrian said, noticing that the tip glowed red hot, even though he hadn’t noticed it being lit. He placed it in his mouth and took a hit. The smoke was sweet and herbal on his tongue. At first he thought it might be weed, but Adrian was familiar with the way weed smelled. This was something different. It cleared the cobwebs from his mind like a wet sponge. Adrian stretched his legs. He said, “This is good man. Thanks.”

  “Just returning your kindness.” The boy said. Adrian nodded. This kid sure did talk funny. Maybe he escaped from the circus or something. That would explain his tricks, his leafy sleeves or whatever that was.

  “Did you think about our earlier words?” The boy asked.

  “Yeah. Maybe I’ll go check that place out. But tell me bro. How’d you disappear like that when Little Tony showed up?”

  Adrian took another puff on the homemade smoke. Really good shit.

  “Listen to me Adrian. They won’t want you there. They will try and stop you from finding the long road.”

  Adrian exhaled a stream of smoke through his nostrils. It didn’t burn at all, so smooth.

  “Watcha talkin’ bout?”

  The boy pointed towards the side street ahead of them. A couple of the Little Devils were chilling on an old Caddy, waiting to do some business. “The Little Devils? Nah, we cool. I’m down with most of them dudes.”

  The boy watched the two thugs. He shook his head. “You don’t understand any more than they do. They won’t want you to go. They are there to keep you prisoner in this world of rotting dead wood and crumbling stone. Even though they don’t realize it, they are serving a higher power, and that power wants nothing more than to keep you away from the old path and the old ways.”

  “I ain’t followin’.”

  The boy stood up. “You don’t follow because you are no follower. You must find your way. They will try and stop you. That is their nature. Its influence digs deep, even deeper than my roots. If you truly want to find your own path, you must risk your very life. That is the way of the old.”

  Adrian stared at the band of Devils. It almost seemed as if they were staring back at him. No, he thought, they can’t see me in this darkness. They were the ones under the streetlight. Only he could see them. Still, the Devils were looking right at him. Adrian shivered. When he turned back the boy was gone. When Adrian stood up, he felt dead leaves crunching beneath his feet in the very spot where the boy had been.

  As the sun cooked the pockmarked pavement below his feet, Adrian wiped sweat from his brow. It was hot. Everyone in the projects was sportin’ bare skin. Most of it wasn’t worth looking at. Adrian squinted at the glare of the sun. Everything shimmered. The asphalt speckled with chips of diamonds. He walked the sidewalk on the east side of 35th, the side of the street where the Little Devils did their business. He peered across the road, to the west. The slums were over that way. He could see Mount Rustmore sparkling like a dirty gemstone in the shimmering heat.

  The Devil’s apartment complex was right beside him. They were mostly out of sight. Only one thug clad in red was flyin’ his colors near the entranceway. Adrian paid him no mind. He just kept walking until he came to the Laundromat. A couple Devils were chillin’ out front. They were probably dealing. It was hard to tell in the daylight. When the sun was shining, the deals were fewer, and done with more caution. You never knew when the law might come cruisin’ on by.

  “Sup Adrian,” a kid called Little Devin said with a cock of his head. He was a big boy that Devin. His head was the size of a fifteen pound bowling ball, bald n’ shiny to boot. He had a red bandanna tied around the top of that shiny head. Adrian replied with a “sup” of his own. Then he walked by the two Devils, trying to look casual. He wanted to get a good look at this old road, or long road, as that kid called it. A few more steps and the long road was right before him.

  The old lot was squeezed between the Laundromat and a huge grey wall that must’ve separated the highway from the neighborhood. Adrian figured it was used to muffle the sounds of the cars and trucks zooming down 77, or maybe to keep zombies or deer from wandering out into the express lanes, where they’d meet an early death. The roar of engines sounded loud enough to Adrian’s ears, and he wondered what purpose that big ol’ ugly wall really had.

  He looked away from the wall and took in the little abandoned lot. It was only as wide as an average front yard, but seemed to stretch back quite a ways, a line of green in the concrete jungle. The cluster of trees about forty yards in blocked out much of the view further back, but Adrian could make out the tops of tall telephone poles poking out from the leaves and branches. It really did resemble an old path. Up close, Adrian could see how long the grass was. It swayed in the breeze, li
ke the waves of some green ocean. A huge buck stood in the grass. Its antlers were immense, amazingly so. They were at least three feet long, crooked and spiked at the ends. No way. Not possible.

  The huge buck snorted. Adrian smelled that clean, pine and soil smell. He breathed it in, and wanted nothing more than to be one with it forever.

  The long road. He imagined it stretching out to anywhere, far far from this place. It looked like a painting. The greens were so lush. Birds swept through the air, chirping and singing. For a second or two Adrian saw that mysterious white boy, standing in the trees. Adrian noticed his skin wasn’t white, more the color of bark. Sometimes green shimmered through him when the breeze picked up. Just take one step, he thought, and leave the zombies, and the crack, and violence behind.

  A hand fell on his shoulder. Hard. Adrian almost went down on one knee. “Damn, bro,” he mumbled, but checked himself when he realized the two Little Devils were staring him down.

  “What you think you doin’ boy?” Little Devin said. He glared down at Adrian with that look. It was the kind of look people like little Devin threw down at anyone who might’ve disrespected them. Adrian felt his heart kick up a couple beats. The last thing he wanted was trouble with these cats.

  “I was just lookin’ at that place down there,” Adrian said, pulling away from the hand still clasping his shoulder like a vise. Little Devin didn’t ease off. He squeezed down harder and said, “Nothin’ out there dat’s yo business.”

  “Yeah dog, I gotcha. No disrespect.”

  “No shit you ain’t dissin’ on me. But now you know better right? Now you know to keep your punk ass where it don’t belong.” Little Devin said, his face snarling down like some angry, darker brother of the man in the moon.