Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Common Ground
Simon was jolted out of a deep and dreamless sleep by the rattle of hard plastic wheels on the cracked asphalt of his parents’ driveway. His feet picked their way across the cluttered bedroom floor without any input from his conscious mind, expertly navigating the heaps of dirty laundry and the scattered notes from last night’s Bigfoot hunt on pure muscle memory. The cracked and yellowing Venetian blinds across his dirt-streaked single pane window had been jammed at half-mast since before he could remember, and a sliver of grey-brown lawn was visible in the gap between the blinds and the sill.
In the strange and hazy blue of false dawn, the children gathered in front of his house were shadowed and indistinct, but the milk-white blankness of their eyes glowed beneath the peaks of their old-fashioned wolf scout hats. From where Simon stood, half-concealed by a closet door that sagged and gaped on its one remaining hinge, he counted perhaps a dozen of them. They stood astride their tricycles, their bare knees scraped and bloody beneath grey uniform shorts that no school in Eerie had ever used, and their small hands were smudged with dirt and gore where they rested loosely atop the handlebars of their three-wheeled bikes.
Simon knuckled his eyes, blinking away the last sticky vestiges of the night’s slumber. The children remained motionless, the moon-like paleness of their faces still turned towards the window one along from Simon’s own. Still the sensation of being watched prickled along his neck and made sweat bead along his spine, and his hands trembled on the soft rotten wood of the windowsill. He swallowed thickly, his tongue parched and huge in his mouth and his throat closing on an incipient cough, and slid back into the concealing dark of the broken wardrobe. Fighting against his knees sudden desire to knock together, he pressed close to the wall and inched towards the door that connected his small, dingy bedroom to Harley’s smaller and dingier one. The click of the catch disengaging seemed very loud in the echoing silence and he bit down on his lip hard to muffle his own despairing moan.
Harley was sitting upright on his narrow bed, the dark covers pooled around his waist as though he was already half-swallowed by the writhing night. His head snapped towards the open doorway as Simon slipped in, moving around the broken and half-melted remnants of a dozen cheap plastic toys with the ease of long practice. He said nothing as Simon settled himself at the foot of the thin mattress, but scooted closer to his big brother as his gaze returned to the covered window.
“Hey,” said Simon, his voice soft. “You okay?”
Harley nodded, the movement making his fine blonde hair gleam in the ambient light that leaked through from Simon’s bedroom.
“There’s some people outside to see you,” said Simon, and in the semi-gloom Harley’s eyebrows rose and he showed his teeth in a knowing grin.
“Okay,” said Simon. “Not people, but you know what I mean.”
Harley nodded again, stray strands of his tousled fringe glinting gold in the watery moonlight.
Simon crossed his legs underneath him, re-arranging the blankets so they covered his icy feet.
“You don’t have to play with them if you don’t want to,” he said. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends with someone, but it isn’t nice to let them keep showing up here night after night if you’re not interested.”
Harley said nothing, but the tilt of his head showed he was listening intently.
“I can go down there and tell them to go away,” Simon continued. Harley nodded quickly, but Simon held up a hand to stall him. “But,” he said, “You need to come down with me.”
Harley made a face. Simon slid off the tiny bed and held out his hand.
“Come on,” he said. Harley scowled, his smooth forehead wrinkled with displeasure, but he slipped his warm fingers into Simon’s cold ones and followed him across the dark landing and down the stairs.
The mass of silent, staring children had grown by the time the boys got to the front door, covering the lawn and stretching out and away in all directions. The streetlights had all conveniently gone out, but Simon could see the pale outline of their faces and the gleam of moonrise on the cold metal of their tricycles as they lurked near the Teller’s station wagon, in Mr. Walter-Funk’s prize-winning flowerbeds, by the white picket fence that bounded the Wilson Twin’s deserted home.
Next to the half-empty shoe rack was a small canvas tote, the kind of reusable grocery bag Mr. Radford sometimes sold at the World o’ Stuff. Inside was a pair of neat black patent shoes, grey knee-high socks, and a heavy double-buttoned blazer in black broadcloth. Simon picked it up, his eyes watering at the rotten-egg stink of sulphur trapped in the fabric.
“Thank you very much for stopping by,” he told the ocean of tricycle-riding pre-teens. “Unfortunately Harley isn’t interested in being part of your group.” He held out the noisome bag, dangling it from two fingers. Without any of them ever seeming to move, suddenly the uniform was in the arms of one of the children in the front row. Simon shivered, and nudged his brother, who was digging in the desiccated soil of a long-dead potted plant on the porch. Harley looked up, his expression startled and irritated in equal measure. Simon thought he might have already forgotten why they were stood barefoot on their front step in the early hours of the morning.
Harley retrieved a small stone from amongst the rotted roots of the dead plant and hurled it at the assembled Anti-Christs. The Damiens scattered like ripples on a pond, disappearing into the night with a rattle of plastic wheels. Harley stuck his tongue out at them as they fled, and Simon ruffled his hair affectionately, careful to keep his fingers well clear of the 666 burned into his brothers’ scalp.
“See?” said Simon. “That wasn’t so hard.” He gave Harley a quick one-armed hug. “Always remember that you don’t have to do any Armageddon stuff you don’t want to, and just because you have something in common with people doesn't mean you have to be friends.”
Harley regarded him solemnly, then tipped the heavy poured concrete planter on its’ side. It shattered with a loud crash, spilling sandy light-brown earth all over the front steps. Simon sighed.
“Great, Harley,” he said. “That was great.”
Harley grinned, and his eyes were full of flickering hellfire.
Holmes Brothers
The End by froodle, in which Simon reads Harley a bedtime story
Drains by froodle, in which clowns are evil, murderous sacks of shit, and Simon is having none of it
Kaleidoscope by froodle, in which Simon has cause to regret buying cheap toys at the World o' Stuff
Sneakers by froodle, in which the latest Sky Monsters are released
Reception by froodle, in which Simon has problems with his mobile phone
Festival by froodle, in which Eerie's local businesses celebrate the summer
Strawberry by froodle, in which there is unauthorised hubbub in Eerie
Anticipation by froodle, in which Simon and Harley look forward to the Equinox
The Hut by froodle, in which Simon takes on the forces of Eerie solo