Something Has Happened to You

This is the opening section of a novel draft I have just completed. It’s a mix of horror and suspense. What scared me most as a kid were ordinary things I didn’t understand, and I spent a lot of time afraid—afraid of parents dying, being hit by hurricanes, becoming a victim of violent crime or a terrorist attack, and so on. So in this excerpt, I’ve mixed some really awful things and some kind-of ordinary things that seem awful. I haven’t decided if I like the overall work, so I appreciate any feedback.

Dad shook Ben awake just past three a.m. and said, “Put some jeans and boots on, we gotta finish by daylight.”

Ben rubbed sleep from his eyes and tried to make out Dad’s face, but the hall light backlit him and shrouded his features in darkness.

“What have we gotta finish?” Ben said.

“Jeans and boots,” Dad said. “I’ll be out back working. Meet me there.”

Ben stumbled out of bed, grabbed a pair of jeans from the pile at the foot of his bed, pulled them on, and stepped barefoot into a battered pair of boots outside his closet. He moved through the lit hallway and into the dark family room. The shades were open, and he looked out the window at the small backyard. A wheelbarrow sat in the middle of the grass with a pile of . . . he couldn’t tell what . . . tarps? Ropes? He shook his head and tried to get himself awake knowing he would have to work quickly and do whatever Dad asked.

Outside, Dad had cut a rectangle of sod and stacked the grass squares in a pile next to the wheelbarrow. A half moon lit the backyard enough to make out the objects. Dad was shoveling and he said hoarsely, “Grab a shovel and start digging. It was taking longer than I had planned so had to get your help. Gotta finish before light.”

The other shovel was next to the wheelbarrow, and when Ben stooped to grab it, he saw tennis shoes protruding from the pile on the wheelbarrow.

“What are we doing?” Ben said as he plunged the shovel into the South Texas clay.

“Always questions with you,” Dad said. “Just dig.”

So Ben dug, and when Dad said, “Put the dirt on the side opposite of the wheelbarrow,” he did what Dad said. They were both shirtless, and the night was humid and warm, maybe in the low seventies. Ben was drenched in sweat within twenty minutes, and Dad had been before he came in Ben’s room.

About half an hour in, Dad said, “We’re digging a hole.”

“Ok,” Ben said.

Dad’s dirt pile was probably twice Ben’s, but he said nothing, just cut the clay soil at a steady rate while Ben was forced to take breaks every few minutes. Ben waited for him to scold him, to tell him to speed up and not make excuses, but Dad said nothing and barely looked at him. Mosquitoes buzzed around, but he ignored them unless they plunged at his ears. Usually, a shoulder shrug drove them away. In the far distance, he heard the occasional car on Aaron Road, but nothing came as far down as their street.

His hands were starting to blister and he thought the first shades of sunlight might be coming up when Dad said suddenly, “Good enough. Now help me lower her.”

The words barely registered with Ben. Sweat dripped into his eyes and burned them, and he stood for a moment beside the hole as Dad cleared the tarps and ropes off the pile to reveal a woman’s body face down and stretched across the wheelbarrow. He spread the tarp out on the ground.

“Grab her feet,” he said.

Ben stood in silence and took a deep breath.

“Move it,” Dad said. “Sun will be up shortly.”

Ben let the shovel fall in the grass and grabbed the woman’s ankles. Dad lifted most of her weight and Ben struggled to keep pace with him, losing her right foot once and hearing it smack down on the tarp. He collected it quickly, and they moved to the center of the tarp—Dad lowered her gently, but Ben lost his grip and both legs flopped down onto the tarp.

Dad folded the tarp over her from all directions, then rolled the body over twice, then tied ropes from under the tarp around her. “Now into the hole,” he said.

Ben lifted from the feet area again, this time gripping only the tarp. Dad had her torso in the air, but the best Ben could do was drag his part until she tumbled into the hole. “Now push the dirt on top.”

And so Ben stood next to Dad, as they both shoveled dirt quickly back over the body and tarp. When the hole was filled, they stamped all over it to pound it down, and then Dad placed the squares of sod back into place, and they stepped all over those to mash the edges together.

Finally, Dad said, “I’ll take care of the rest of this leftover dirt. You can go back to bed for a couple of hours before you start your studies.”

Ben nodded and started back toward the house. Then he turned, his heart pounding and pulse throbbing in his ears.

“Dad?”

“What?” His eyes were dark, his five o’clock shadow glistening with sweat, his dark hair matted down with sweat and humidity.

“Who . . . ?”

“Always the questions with you, boy,” he said.

And Ben turned back for the house.

***

They had an old television, and connected to it was an old Nintendo Entertainment System Dad had grown up with. He kept a stack of carefully organized games in the hall closet. Ben was not supposed to play games until his schoolwork was done, but when Dad was gone, as long as his studies were done when Dad got home, it didn’t matter what order Ben did things. Of course, Dad had told him to do what he said in the order he said “because I will know,” but he had lied—he didn’t know.

Maybe four days after they had dug the hole and buried the lady, Ben was playing Legend of Zelda when he looked out the living room window to see two men carrying bags of cement and buckets into the backyard. He paused the game and watched in silence, his pulse quickening. They went back and forth from the front yard, carrying tools and supplies until one of them started mixing and the other disappeared to the front. The second returned driving a large machine with a heavy metal plate at its front. He lowered that plate and began cutting through the sod and pushing it away to reveal dirt.

Ben leapt from the ground and moved quickly and silently to the wall phone in the kitchen. He dialed the only phone number he knew, heard two buzzes, then Dad’s voice: “Yeah.”

“Dad, there’s men out back,” he said breathlessly.

“There’s a note on the table,” Dad said.

“I think they are gonna dig up the hole and the lady.”

“What hole? What lady? Did you look at the note?”

Ben turned around and scanned the table. “I, uh, was doing my silent reading in the front room. I haven’t eaten yet.”

A folded piece of paper from a yellow legal pad sat at Ben’s spot.

“Read the note, Benny,” he growled.

Ben stepped over, unfolded it, and read Dad’s handwriting: Some friends of mine are putting in a basketball hoop and a small court for you. Stay out of their way and stay off the wet pavement.

“Uh ok,” Ben said. “I read it.”

“I gotta get back to work,” Dad said.

Ben’s heart raced again and his vision narrowed. “Dad, wait.”

“What?”

“If they go too far down, if they find what we put in that hole, won’t you get in trouble?”

Ben heard silence for several long seconds, then a deep breath. “I don’t know what you think there is, son, and I don’t know what hole you’re talking about. Just let the men do their work. And trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

Ben heard a click and then the line go dead. He hung up the phone and headed back to The Legend of Zelda.

***

By late afternoon, his yard had a ten by ten cement court and a ten-foot basketball hoop on one side. When the workers left, Ben stepped into the afternoon heat and walked around the drying cement, careful not to touch it lest Dad find out. The hole they had dug was now under the middle of the cement, and Ben stared at the section thinking, Did I dream that? He looked up at the shiny new rim, backboard, and hoop. It was definitely ten feet tall and not one of the adjustable types. He had never played basketball, didn’t even own a ball. But Dad had to know that, right?

Off to his left, he heard a chatter and saw a squirrel sitting on the telephone wire about twenty feet off the ground. The back fence had a grapevine draping over it into the neighbor’s backyard, and Ben wandered over and pulled a few small green grapes off the vines and popped them in his mouth. The juice was tart, almost bitter, and he made a face, but kept chewing.

“Psst!” a voice hissed from the other side of the fence.

Ben froze.

“Hey, kid!” the voice whispered loudly.

“Uh, hello?” Ben said out loud.

“Y’all are new, huh,” said the voice.

“Moved in a few months ago,” said Ben.

“Over here,” said a boy’s voice. “Past the grapevine.”

Ben moved to his right, clutching a few more grapes, until he saw an eye and a tuft of black hair through one of the gaps in the fence.

“I’m Jason,” said the boy.

“Hi, Jason,” said Ben.

“What’s your name?” Jason said.

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” said Ben.

“I’m not a stranger,” said Jason. “I’m your neighbor. Climb up the fence and see. I’d climb up but we have the smooth side of the fence and you have the side with the supports you can climb.”

Ben looked back at his house, saw no sign of his dad, then placed his foot on the bottom horizontal support beam and pulled himself up to the top beam and looked down. Below him was a latino boy with black hair, chubby cheeks, baggy shorts past his knees, and a worn-out knock-off Supreme shirt.

“Hey,” said Jason. “So what’s your name?”

“Uh, Ben.”

“You go to Sanders Elementary?” Jason said. “I never see you there. We should be on the same bus.”

“I’m, uh, home schooled,” said Ben.

“You wanna jump down into my yard and hang out?”

“I’m not allowed to.”

“You just got a new hoop today.”

“Yeah,” said Ben.

“I got a ball. I could come around and we could play,” said Jason.

Ben glanced back at the small court. “The cement is still wet.”

“Oh. Tomorrow then.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Ben was uncomfortable on the thin support, so he dropped back down into his backyard.

“So your mom teaches you at home?” said Jason.

“My dad actually,” said Ben.

“Oh that’s cool,” said Jason. “My mom works too. She’s a nurse at Caritas Rehab. My dad works too. He runs a Midas on SPID.”

Ben glanced up at the squirrel as it dashed back to the telephone pole. “I don’t have a mom.”

Jason was quiet for a few moments, then said, “Dude, everyone’s got a mom cuz how did you get born otherwise?”

Ben shrugged. “It’s just me and my dad. It’s always been that way.”

“Did she die?”

“I don’t know. It’s just me and my dad, and he never talks about her and never answers questions about her.”

“No offense, but that’s weird.”

“Yeah,” said Ben. “Hey, I gotta go. My dad will be home soon, and I gotta do some stuff before he gets home or he’ll get mad.”

“Cool,” said Jason. “Maybe I can come over with my basketball tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” said Ben.

***

Dad didn’t come home that night. Sometimes, he did that—not come home until the next evening. Ben didn’t like when that happened. It always made him wonder if something had happened to Dad.

Once, he said to Dad, “Why did you not come home last night?”

Dad replied, “Because they asked me to pull an extra shift.”

Ben had looked at him for several moments. “Can you tell me when they do that?”

“Sometimes I’m out of cell range,” said Dad.

“What if something has happened to you?”

“You’ll know if it has.”

“How?”

Dad had rolled his eyes. “Because you will.”

Tonight was one of those nights where he didn’t call and didn’t come home. Usually, Dad brought dinner home—always something fast food. But when it hit 7 pm and was growing dark, Ben made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He ate a banana with it because his health book said you should eat fruit. He finished it off with milk. Then, he played Tetris for a while, maybe an hour or more. They had basic cable, and he watched the ten o’clock news, knowing with each passing minute that the hope of Dad walking through the door during the long night dimmed. The news rolled over into one of the late-night talk shows, and his eyelids began to feel heavy. He knew he would fall asleep here, knew that if Dad walked in he would be in trouble, knew that it probably wasn’t going to matter.

As the laughter from the opening monologue died away and a guest settled onto the couch, he closed his eyes and felt dreams coming on . . . and then heard a noise that was out of place. He stirred and listened. It was coming from outside: thump, thump, thump. Rhythmic and steady, then suddenly a clang. He shot up from the couch and bolted to the window. He parted the shades and looked out. A boy, maybe five or six, stood in the middle of the new pavement dribbling a basketball while facing the basket. Ben had never seen him. He watched in silence as the boy took another shot that rattled around the rim then dropped through the basket. The boy retrieved the ball, then turned toward the house and looked directly at Ben. A shiver ran through Ben’s body. The moon was waning, and yet, he could see the boy’s bright eyes.

The boy motioned with his head, beckoning Ben to come out. How had the kid gotten there? Who was he? Ben hadn’t seen him in the neighborhood, but he had not been out in the neighborhood much either. Ben felt stuck at the window, but the boy motioned again. Was he safe if he stepped outside? The boy stared at him, and now Ben felt unsafe staying inside. His heart pounding, he moved softly to the back door, unlocked it, and slowly pulled it open. Barefoot, he stepped onto the porch’s cool, moist pavement and stepped slowly until he hit the grass.

“Is it okay that I was playing with your hoop, Ben?” said the boy.

“Uh, yeah,” said Ben. “How do you know my name?”

“I live here,” said the boy.

“In the neighborhood?” said Ben.

“In the house,” said the boy.

“You live in the house?” Ben asked. “I’ve never seen you.”

“I’m good at hiding,” said the boy.

“You hide in my house?”

“There are lots of great places to hide. I will show you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kevin,” the boy said. “Do you play basketball?”

“Not really,” said Ben as he edged closer.

“We can play together,” said Kevin. “I can teach you. I’m pretty good.”

“Ok,” said Ben. “Does it have to be now? It’s kind of late.”

Kevin shook his head. “No. But before we go to bed, you need to do something.”

“What’s that?”

The grapevine rustled, and Ben turned to see a small animal emerge into the backyard.

“It’s a possum,” said Kevin.

It trotted across the grass toward them, spotted the two of them, and stopped.

“You have to kill it,” said Kevin.

“Why?” said Ben.

“They carry rabies. You don’t want your dog to get rabies,” said Kevin.

“We don’t have a dog.”

“Trust me,” said Kevin. “You have to kill it so your dog doesn’t get rabies.”

“But we don’t—“

“Trust me.”

Ben studied the small animal and took a deep breath. “I don’t have a gun or anything. Dad has guns, but I’m not allowed to touch those.”

“You have shovels in the garage, right?” said Kevin. “That’s what you buried the lady with.”

“How do you know about that?” said Ben.

“Don’t worry,” said Kevin. “I won’t tell. But remember, I live here so I know. Go get one of the shovels. You will have to hit the possum over the head with it.”

“Oh,” said Ben.

“How old are you?” Kevin asked.

“Seven,” said Ben.

“You’ve probably never killed anything more than an ant, huh.”

“Right,” said Ben.

“You get used to it,” said Kevin. “Go get that shovel.”

Ben walked to the garage feeling that he had no choice but also wondering what a six-year-old had killed. He grabbed the shovel he had used, then came back to the humid night air. Kevin put his ball down and said, “Guess we better get on with it.”

Ben followed Kevin into the grass. As they approached, the possum dropped to its side and feigned dead.

“Seems like he’s dead already,” said Ben.

“He’s playing dead. That’s how he tricks predators into going away. But your dog won’t leave him alone, and eventually, he will get tired of being nipped at and will bite your dog and give him rabies. So you have to hit him over the head.”

“Why can’t we just go inside and let him go back to his hole or tree or whatever?”

“Come on, Ben. He’ll keep coming out and your dog will get rabies. Let’s just get it over with.”

“Do you want to do it? It seems like you’ve done it before.”

“I have done it before,” said Kevin. “That’s why you need to do it.”

Ben nodded, took a deep breath, raised the shovel high above his head, and swung it down with a clang as it connected with the possum’s skull. The possum flinched but didn’t move from his position.

“That was good. Do it again,” said Kevin.

“You don’t think he’s dead?”

“It usually takes a few times.”

Ben shook his head and swung again. This time, blood poured from the possum’s nose, but he still didn’t move from his spot.

“Almost done,” said Kevin. “Probably once more.”

Ben shuddered and wiped his brow. He was sweating hard and trembling, and he kept thinking that he was doing something terribly unfair and cruel. But he raised the shovel and smashed the possum’s head again. It stirred slightly, exhaled, opened its eyes, and froze.

“That got him,” said Kevin. “Good job.”

“I want to go to bed now,” said Ben trembling.

“You should probably bury it,” said Kevin. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t need as big a hole as the lady.”

Ben shook his head and started toward the house, dragging the shovel behind him. “I’ll do it in the morning. Before Dad gets home.”

“I hope your dad doesn’t find it,” Kevin called after him.

“I can handle it,” said Ben.

He shut the door behind him, took a deep breath, then locked the deadbolt and the handle.

***