The Crypt of Hubbard Hayle

~Part one~

–1–
 

“Why! Why do you always gotta be like that, Danny? I swear, one of these days, you're gonna give somebody a heart attack. Then, maybe you'll be sorry.”

I didn't mean to scare Timmy as badly as I did. It was only a stupid hockey mask and a rubber machete, fer chris'sakes. Nevertheless, I couldn't suppress my laughter when he started all of his girlish hoppin' around and screaming. It just poured out of me, like sour wine from an uncorked bottle. I nearly peed my pants.

“Yeah, you idgit, you just go right ahead — keep laughin' it up!”

“Jeez Louise, don't take it so personally, Timmy. I do this kind of' stuff to everybody, not just you.”

Timmy Milton swiped at the ass of his jeans to dislodge all the dirt, wood chips, and other debris he'd gotten on them from falling on his oversized butt.

“You made me trip over the damn tent stake, you moron. What if I would'a fell and landed on one, huh? Do you ever think about junk like that when you plan these stupid gags? You're gonna' hurt someone really bad one a' these days. Maybe that's the only thing that'll make you wake up and stop doin' it!”

I averted my eyes towards the ground to avoid seeing the hurt in his own, shuffling my feet around in the crisp fall leaves a bit before responding.

“Okay, Tim. I'm really sorry. I swear.”

Tim held his right hand out, pinky extended.

“Pinky swear? Do it, Dan-o, or I ain't gonna forgive you.”

I hated pinky swearing. I thought everyone who partook in such a childish ritual was either severely mentally impaired, or just plain crazy.

“If I do...pinky swears, I mean, will you still go with me out to Briarwood Cemetery tonight?”

Timmy pulled his hand back like I'd smacked him on it, crooked pinky and all.

“No! I done told ya', Dan-o, I ain't goin' up to that haunted place. It's got a curse on it. What's so dang important you gotta go riskin' your neck up there, anyhow?”

It was just about then that I stuck out my own pinky.

Timmy looked at me then — that stubborn way he had of curling up his nose when he disagreed with something you said. Like he'd just caught a whiff of somethin' particularly rank.

“I ain't don' it. Uh-uh, no way.”

I jammed both my hands in my jeans pockets.

“Okay then, we might as well part company right now. Just cut our losses, and walk away.”

I figured that'd get him thinkin'.

“Whaddaya mean, cut our losses and walk away? You mean, stop being best friends?”

I was startin' to wear him down. I could feel it. Besides, I always did.

“No, I don't mean stop being best buds. I mean stop being friends altogether. You promised me, ya' know, last week, when I covered for you after you run your bike into your dad's car. That was a pretty mean lookin' scratch you put on it, too.”

“Yeah, and my Daddy says it's gonna cost more than that old clunker is worth to get it fixed,” Timmy came back at me with a vengeance.

“That ain't my problem. You still promised, and a promise is a ...”

“Yeah, okay, I know,” he cut in, “A promise is a promise.”

“That's right. And do best friends renege on the promises they make to each other?”

Timmy gave me the face again.

“What about old Hub Hayle?”

Oh boy, here we go again with the fairy tales and nursery rhymes, I thought, fuming.

“What about him? That old buzzard's been dead for more than a hundred and fifty years. What's he gonna' do? He ain't nothin' much but muck and bones now. What's a sack of bones gonna' be able to do to you? Nothin', absolutely nothin'...”

“You know what he done to all them kids up there on Harlan's Hill, don't cha? You heard everyone talk about it...about them stories, I mean. Cynthia Cody's mom says he cooked 'em and ate 'em. Cindy said...”

“Cindy said this, and Mrs. Cody says that. Who cares what a couple a' old cum bags like Cindy and her mom says?”

“Hey, Danny, don't you go calling Cindy or her mom nasty names, you got me? You ain't that big.”

I gave Timmy my most effective 'don't be a dummy' look just then, and mounted my counter attack. I'll bet ya' it was pretty impressive, too, even for a fourteen-year-old.

“So, you're gonna' believe a bunch a' spooked old ladies and little girls who piddle in their purty pink panties every time a hoot-owl cries out? Even over your best friend?”

“We ain't best friends no more. You said so yourself.”

Timmy thought he had me on the ropes, but I was ready for him.

“We are if you pinky swear me, like you promised you was goin' to.”

We both locked pinkies then, to seal the bond — and Timmy's fate.

“Pinky swear... say it,” I said firmly.

“I pinky swear, Dan-o.”

I saw a light go off behind Timmy's hazel eyes. He'd just had an epiphany of sorts, it seemed; a way out of this predicament.

At least, that's what he thought.

“What about Old Man Coleman's dogs, them mutts he keeps in the boneyard with him?” Tim looked like a kid who'd just got caught with his hand down his britches. He'd been trapped — like a big, fat juicy rat — without even realizing it.

“Oh, those hounds? They're long gone. He had to get rid of 'em,” I lied. “The town couldn't afford to pay him for their dog food anymore, so Coleman had to let 'em all go. We got nothin' stoppin us between the gates and Hubbard's crypt.”

"Yeah," Timmy muttered, just loud enough for me to hear him.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."
 

~†~