One of the wood shutters on the Anderson’s old house hung loose and creaked eerily in any wind.
He had knocked it loose with a fence post that had come loose in a storm…or maybe Walt had knocked that fence post loose too.
When a new family moved into the neighborhood, Walt Beedley changed the Anderson’s name to the Moolvalauks because it sounded creepier, and Walt began developing a whole mythology around them and their foreclosed, abandoned house.
Casey Winthrop just nodded dumbly, afraid to contradict Walt, who, beyond being a storyteller, could be a bully.
The more new kids moved in, the more elaborate the myths and horror stories around the Moolvalauks Walt created.
Casey was his plant now, backing him up with “Swear to gawd, he ain’t lyin’.”
There were various dares involving the Moolvalauk’s house, challenges with little reward beyond not being called chicken.
Walt talked Casey into coming up to the Moolvalauk’s attic with him, to rig some fake blood to drip down the walls.
Casey wasn’t exactly sure how Walt was gonna do it, and neither was Walt.
While they were up there trying to figure it out, spilling fake blood and breaking molding, the sun went down behind the trees, and the attic got dark and Casey wanted to leave and Walt grabbed him to make him stay and when Casey yanked away he stepped hard on an exposed nail that went right through his foot.
Casey screamed for real better than Walt could have ever hoped for and he knew Diana Bisignano and Kelly Durbin and those brand new kids from Port Huron must have heard him, making the myth of the Moolvalauk’s house even more real.
Walt laughed and tried to help Casey up but his foot was stuck to the nail, and when Walt pulled Casey screamed so loud it almost scared Walt.
Walt promised Casey he’d go get help, so he went home.
Mr. Beedley took one look at Walt, with attic dust all over him and fake blood on the knees of his jeans and said “You been messin’ around in the Anderson’s old house.”
Walt said “no sir,” and shook his head no, side to side, shaking it right into his father’s fist.
When he flew back, his elbow busted some clean dishes on the rack and started bleeding real blood as he held his jaw and tried not to cry.
“Your room. Now. Silent,” Mr. Beedley said. “No TV, no Playstation, nothin’. Now.”
Walt went up to his room, trembling, elbow bleeding, thinking about hangdropping out his bedroom window and taking the bus to Marysville to his Mom’s house, except he only had state quarters his Gramma gave him.
Alone in his room, he started to cry, muffling the sobs with a Sonic pillow, and cried himself to sleep.
***
Walt stood in the street by himself, flipping a sunbleached plastic puck into his rusted street hockey net with a cracked goalie stick his dad had used to bust a hornet’s nest down off the garage wearing a snowmobile suit and a dirtbike helmet.
Casey came out of the Durbin’s house on crutches, followed by Kelly Durbin and Diana Bisignano.
He crutched right up to Walt.
“Complete. Asshole.”
Walt shrugged because he didn’t know what else to do.
“You get a tetanus shot?”
“Fuck you,” Casey said, looking like he might cry. “I screamed until Mr. Bisignano heard me and he took me to the ER.”
If it was just Casey standing there, Walt might have told him about his dad. He looked at Kelly Durbin. He could tell she was wearing a sports bra under her Sarnia Sting shirt.
He thought about teasing her about it but she already looked furious.
“You’re a dick, Walter,” Diana Bisignano said. “And there were no Moolvalauks. You made it up. You’re a liar and a dick and a…”
“Now, Kelly!” Casey yelled. Kelly Durbin flinched, hesitated, then wound up awkwardly and hit Walt in the chest with a chunk of brick.
Kelly and Diana ran.
Casey just backed up on his crutches. He held one crutch in the middle as though he would swing it if Walt came at him.
Walt looked down at the chunk of brick. He could pick it up and bash Casey’s head in with it.
He picked up and threw it half-heartedly at the girls running up the Durbin’s driveway.
“Total. Dick.” Casey said, and spit toward Walt.
When Walt didn’t react, Casey turned and crutched toward his friends, little pieces of gravel falling from his black medical boot.
Walt Beedley walked out of the subdivision, and out on to Sebewaing Rd toward 142.
He was pretty sure someone would pick up a kid hitchhiking.
He wasn’t sure if he’d tell them he was running from the Moolvalauks, or just tell them he was going to live with his mom.
***
https://www.dosomething.org/us/facts/11-facts-about-child-abuse
Photo Courtesy of Getty Images
Astounding how you can flip our sympathies from just Casey, to both he and Walter with one line of dialogue from Walt's father. The physical abuse was almost superfluous (except, that you are never superfluous). I've encountered enough bully kids to know this is usually how it is at home for them. Excellent work, and thank you for the link.
Hoist by his own petard.
Don't miss childhood at all.
How you get into the different heads is amazing.
Another great story.