And Crawling Things Lurk

Hunching her shoulders to relieve a pinch the backpack straps were already causing, Muri started to cross School Street at Cypress for her normal four block trek to her home over on the west side of town. Then she noticed Tory and his two creep friends were already over there, and they sped up to get to the corner first.

Oh, great. Her class presentation had gone so well, and she was feeling pretty good – until now.

She’d have to go right past them to get home, and she was pretty sure they wouldn’t let her get past without doing something, even if it was right outside the school. With the end of the school year only a week away, only one teacher was assigned to keep an eye out front, but he wouldn’t do anything unless things got physical, and even that was only if he could see it from the sidewalk in front of the school. His attitude seemed to be the old “sticks and stones” thing along with “stick up for yourself.”

Staying on School Street, she went south across Cypress, and so did Tory. She had managed to stay ahead of them a couple of days ago and made it to the library before they could cut her off, but this time they were ahead of her. She didn’t know what Tory and the others might do, but she was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant. She slipped her thumbs under the backpack straps and kept walking south. She could cut over to Main at Dogwood, then back to Cypress and it would only be two blocks extra.

“Hey, Murray, you missed your turn!” one of the voices called out.

“Yeah, Murray,” there was Tory, “you want us to show you the way? We know lots of ways, huh guys?” That one got lots of giggles and twitters like they were a bunch of girls instead of the three, worldly ten-year-olds that they considered themselves to be.

Muri refused to look over at them or to respond in any way. That’s all they were after, just to know they were getting to her.

It had been an old game with them since second grade. She had punched Tory back in that long-ago time when he cut into line in front of her. All she did was step around him to regain her position as next to climb the slide ladder when he tried to cut in the front of the line. But when she did, he stepped around her again, slamming an elbow into her side as he did so. Her natural and wholly reasonable reaction, she thought at the time and since, was to punch him in the belly. He went to his knees gasping for breath, and she ignored him and took her turn on the slide. The yard-duty teacher pulled her to the side after she came down and gave her a time out. She thought, even then, that it was a raw deal. After all, he hit her first. But the teacher said she hadn’t seen that, only her hitting Tory and him falling down. And, of course, the teacher wouldn’t ask any of the other kids standing around who had seen the whole thing. Nothing else resulted as far as the school was concerned, but her mother lectured her about violence. When she tried to claim self-defense, her mother merely pointed out that Tory was the son of their minister, sang like an angel, and he often helped his father by handing out material at Sunday service and such. It was unlikely, she insisted, that he would assault anyone. Three years later, Tory still carried a grudge.

She made it all the way down that block, past a couple of houses separated by weedy lots, with nothing but snickering and whispered crude remarks from across the street. They paced her, but they stayed on the west side of the street knowing she would have to come to them sooner or later. They got to the next corner at about the same time she did, so she didn’t even start to cross. School Street made a “T” with Dogwood Street instead of crossing it. To the left on Dogwood was nothing but a three-block long row of connected old buildings with large doors and loading docks, abandoned and boarded up. To the right, Main was only a block away, but she would have to get past Tory. Left was towards the river two blocks to the east. Starting halfway down the first block, old, dilapidated buildings like those on the south side also lined the north side of the street. She turned left.

“You going to the river, Murray?”

“What’re you gonna do, go swimming?”

“You gonna go skinny dipping, Murray?”

Only Tory and his pals called her Murray instead of Muri, and it was why she had come to hate her real name. Her mother said Muriel was her grandmother’s name, and she should be honored to have it. Well, she wasn’t.

“We’ll go skinny dipping with you, if you wanna.”

“Yeah, Murray, let’s go skinny dipping.”

She realized she had erred by going east instead of doubling back towards the school. Each step took her deeper into an area she had seen from afar but had never ventured into. All she knew of it was what she could see of the old building exteriors as she went past. They all looked pretty much the same, but who knows what lies behind those walls? With Tory and his buddies now behind her, she couldn’t turn back. She’d just have to go all the way around the block. But maybe that was okay. She’d circle the block and go back past the school on Cypress and on across Main the way she wanted to go in the first place, only, now idiot Tory would be behind her instead of blocking her way. It surprised her, but only at first, that he would follow her all that way. Once he got going on one of his stupid games, he didn’t have sense enough to back off.

“We’ll show you ours if you’ll show us yours.”

After several howls of laughter, Tory called out, “You got anything different from us, Murray? Betja don’t.”

“Hey, Murray, are you really a girl? You don’t look like one.”

“Yeah, Murray, how come you ain’t growing tits like other girls – like real girls…like Carrie? She’s got some – she let me see ’em. Show me yours.”

It hadn’t gotten this bad in months. They usually just made some crude remark and went on their way to play video games or toss around a baseball or whatever they did after school. It looked like they didn’t have anything else to do today. Or, maybe, with the level of their verbal assault getting so crude so fast, it just promised to be more fun than their normal pastimes.

The old buildings blended one into the next. Where a portion of wall had failed, its replacement was rusty, unpainted sheets of corrugated steel. On either side of it, pealing and flaking paint revealed dusty, gray wood, and tufts of grass grew across the bottoms of the walls in the years’ accumulation of blown soil where they met the sidewalk. Poorly spaced boards covered grimy windows, but had failed to protect them over the years from the occasional thrown stone. There were a few man-type doors and several of the large kind they use in warehouses, but they were all closed and so covered with dirt and grime, it appeared they had not been opened in years.

As she neared the corner of River Street, the last turn before the dead-end stub at the railroad tracks and the river, she heard running feet coming fast from behind. She spun to face them, but it was only Mickey running past out in the middle of the street. Back behind him Tory and Rick wore grins and still paced her from thirty feet back. She turned back and saw Mickey had stopped on the sidewalk at the corner ahead. He stood there grinning and waiting for her to come to him.

When she approached the corner, though, she moved out into the intersection where she could both see and be seen by anyone on either Dogwood or River Street. From there, with her back to the empty, half-block-long street stub to the river, she faced the trio.

Back in front of the school, she hadn’t really thought that all that much would happen, probably some pushing, maybe slapping a couple of hands away from her backpack until the teacher yelled at them. She had never really been afraid of them. She was fairly confident she could hold up to any one of them, one on one, but going against all three at the same time was a different matter. And, now, down here where no cars ever came, and the nearest house was way back around the corner on the last block, she began to get leery. If things did get out of hand, there was no one to notice or that she could call to for help. She probably wouldn’t need to, but if...

The boys stood watching her like they were uncertain what was next. When she started toward them, their grins got bigger, and they snickered and elbowed each other. Tory stood between the other two, blocking her path. She could walk around them, but they could easily move to block her again.

“Let me through,” she said as she came to a stop four paces from them.

Tory exchanged looks and grins with the others and said, “Sure, you can go through. Come on.”

She turned and started to walk past them back up Dogwood Street, but they quick-sidled over far enough to block her. She turned to go back onto River Street, and they blocked her again.

“Come on, you can come through us,” one said.

She wondered if slapping their hands away would even work, now. She was starting to get scared.

“Hey, Murray, don’t you want to skinny dip with us? Don’t you want to show us what you got down there? Is it ’cause you got the same thing as us? Huh? Are you a boy?”

“Come on, Muri, show us.”

“Yeah, drop your pants and let’s see what you got.”

“Let’s help her, guys,” Tory said. “Let’s pull her pants off.”

Now she was getting scared – and mad. “You better stop it,” she said with a voice beginning to quiver. “You better leave me alone.”

“Aw, Murray, what are you gonna do if we don’t? You gonna punch us or something? All three of us?”

Tory’s two friends started moving to enclose her, and Tory took a step toward her.

She shrugged out of the straps of her book bag and let it fall to the pavement. She dropped into a crouch with her fists in front of her in a boxer’s stance.

Tory barked out a laugh and said, “Ooh, watch out, guys, she is gonna punch us. Maybe we oughta punch her first. ...Get her!”

When Mickey moved in first on her right side, she met him with a sideways, backhand snap-punch to his nose. That was enough to stop Tory and Rick long enough for her to spin about and get in three or four quick steps before they reacted. And that’s when she realized she had made another error. She was heading into the dead-end.

In the old building to the right a door stood ajar a bare inch, just enough to offer a promise of safety. If only she could get inside and close it ahead of her pursuers. She veered toward it, but the pounding footsteps behind were too close. If she couldn’t slam the door behind her and latch it or block it somehow after she got in, she’d be trapped in there with Tory and his pals. She had heard how those old buildings were scary mazes of rooms, hallways, and more rooms. The sign over the door said it was Vasov Shipping, but it didn’t look like anything had been done there in years, and it was doubtful that anyone was in there now to help her.

She ran on down the street to the end, over the curb, and onto the wooden trestle about where a sidewalk would normally be. To the left the tracks ended after fifty feet or so. The roof overhanging the loading dock of the abandoned building had collapsed onto the dock, and the dock and trestle were largely charcoal. It looked like fifty feet or so of blackened trestle had collapsed. There was a way past, but it was a footing of mere inches between the dock and the drop and would have required going slow and easy. To the right, she could see no farther than a mountain of old crates and other junk on the trestle where it had spilled from a similar but larger pile on the dock above it. It didn’t look very passable, either. She saw no one in either direction, and she was getting more scared. Adrenalin kept feeding her energy, but she wouldn’t be able to keep up her speed much longer. The boys showed no signs of slacking off.

She bounded into the space between the rails, turned right and ran about twenty feet to where a ramp-like slope led down to the flood plain beside the slow-moving river. Again, too late, she realized her mistake of not running to the left and taking the chance getting past the burned area and back into the inhabited town. She was pretty agile. She would have been able to scramble past the collapse easier than Tory and his goons. Now, down there ahead of her was a dead end unless she could cross the river, and she had no intention of even trying that. If she couldn’t find a place to hide, she’d have to fight.

At the bottom of the slope, she turned downstream and slipped into the thick reeds growing along the water’s edge. Her feet sank in to her ankles and she almost fell. Stepping back with care, she found solid footing and ran along the edge of the reeds to where a thick mass of blackberry brambles met them. Sliding to a stop on the slick ground, she looked around for a way past or through the thorny barrier, but it was solid. She made it over to where the bushes met the bank beneath the trestle, but it was all pretty much open with no place to hide and too steep to climb.

She ran back upstream to the slope and stopped when she saw the boys standing at the top, looking down at her and laughing. She ran on, past thick patches of reeds, piles of trash, loose piles of old ties and rusted wheels, and more bushes. But, with the boys so close, it was too late to crawl into a hiding place. She ran farther upstream, but there was no other slope to take her back up. The farther she went, the more the trestle overhung the bank, creating shadowy recesses but nothing that would stop Tory and his friends from seeing her. And they were following, at a slow trot, just enough to keep her in sight—and they were laughing.

The flat and level ground ended where the river’s edge curved in with the high tide to meet the high bank beneath the blackened ruins of the collapsed trestle, and she had to stop. To go any farther, she would have to swim. Except for runoff from the surrounding hills during the rainy season, the river wasn’t much more than a slough from the north end of San Francisco Bay, flowing twice each day with the tide. So, even in the last week of May, besides being filthy from slimy, silty mud that stunk like sun-baked tidal flats, it was icy cold, almost as cold as the Pacific Ocean that fed it.

She turned to face them.

Tory led the others by half a pace and slowed as he approached her, although she didn’t think it was from caution...more like he was stretching it out to prolong his enjoyment.

“Bet it’s kinda cold for swimming, Murray, ’specially when you’re naked. You gonna get naked for us, or do you want help? I’ll be really happy to help you, if you want. You want me to help you get naked? Huh, Murray? You wanta get naked for us? Naked?” He kept saying it, like the word was pornographic on his tongue and stimulating.

“I want you to leave me alone!” she screamed. She didn’t want to scream. She knew it would just make them even more eager. But she couldn’t help it. She was trapped.

She was in her crouch, again, with her fists ready, but they weren’t going to give her an easy target this time. They spread out as they closed in, cutting off any escape route. She waited until they were almost within grabbing distance before she attacked.

Forgoing the other two, she dove at Tory, leading with her right fist. She was going to make sure he suffered at least a good punch in the mouth. No sooner had it landed than she followed up with hard twist back to her right and her left fist slamming into his cheek and eye. As he was falling backward, she rammed her right shoulder into his belly and followed him down onto the ground. She tried to scramble up, but the other two were on her by then, pelting her on the back with their fists, then grabbing her. They pulled her back off Tory and held her fast with her arms stretched to either side.

“You goddammed bitch!” Tory got up slowly, holding his belly with one hand and cupping his swelling, bleeding lip with the other while squinting through the puffiness swelling around his darkening eye. “You’re gonna pay for that! I’m gonna make you sorry you ever woke up today!”

While they held her up before him, Tory punched her twice in the belly, on both cheeks, and her right eye. He was cocking his fist for another swing when she snapped her foot out to his shin, then, when he leaned over to grab it, she kicked his already bleeding nose.

“Put her down!” Tory cried out spitting blood. “Put her down on the ground! I’ll teach her!”

They pulled her down onto her back, each one still holding an arm, but her pedaling feet threatened to kick out Tory’s teeth if he got too close. One of them slammed a fist into her belly, and she drew her knees up long enough for Tory to move in and grab her ankles.

“Undo her belt...now the button! …Okay – the zipper!”

Tory stood up into a crouch, each hand with a good hold on a pants cuff, and he started backing up. But he had gotten her pants only down as far as the tops of her knees when he suddenly lifted off the ground, released his grip, and, with eyes as wide as his mouth, sailed off to the side.

“What the hell’re you punks doin?” roared a voice as Tory splashed down in the shallows at the river’s edge. “Get outa here! You Goddamned punks get the hell outa here!”

Tory’s screams were short little breathless bursts as he rose up out of the frigid water, gasping as he tried to get his breath back, wiping slime from his face, and slipping and sliding back to his feet on the sloping riverbed.

Tory’s friends dropped their hold on Muri as soon as the huge figure appeared behind Tory and lifted him away. Now they, too, scrambled to their feet and backed away as far as the edge of the water. One of them reached down to help Tory, but they both kept their eyes on the stranger who had suddenly burst into their midst. Then one of them pointed and said, “Hey, that’s just Jackie, the wino.”

By this time Tory had made it onto firm, if not dry footing, and screamed, “You’re gonna pay for that, you goddamned old drunk! Why don’t you go back to drinking and mind your own business?”

Jackie took a short step towards them and bellowed, “You punks get the hell outa here! Go on, get out!”

Tory screamed in terror again and spun about to take off. But in his haste, his pivoting foot slipped out from under him and he went down on his rump in a particularly soft and slimy spot. He scrambled again to his feet, and this time, stayed up. His friends both beat him up the slope.

Muri was still re-buckling her belt when Jackie glanced back at her. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but she wanted to be able to run. She had seen him around town, but always kept her distance and had never spoken to him. She had heard stories about winos in general, about how they were always drunk, but also stories – urban legends – about how they preyed on kids, luring them into their clutches. All kinds of tales told how they would ravage a kid – whatever ravaging was – and afterwards forcing him, or her, to guzzle foul-tasting wine with them until they became like them, like zombies, never to return to their families. It seemed like every kid she knew, knew someone who knew someone who had actually seen it happen. Her main question, now, was if she could get past him easier to the left than the right. Maybe there was more clearance on the right.

Jackie watched the boys until they were out of sight, then turned toward her. “Damned punks shouldn’t treat a girl like that. Where’d they get brought up, anyway? Damned punks. You okay?”

Muri paused for a moment, not sure she should even talk to him. But, he had helped her. “Uh...yeah, I’m okay.”

Jackie gazed at her, but made no move toward her. He got a grin on one side of his face, though, and she started imagining all sorts of terrible things before he said, “You got ’im pretty good.”

It was so far away from anything she expected, she didn’t know, for a moment, what he was talking about. Then, it dawned on her he was referring to her flattening Tory. She couldn’t help grinning at the memory. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

“They friends of your? I mean – d’you know ’em?” He still didn’t move towards her, but he was still blocking the way out.

Oh, well, she didn’t think it would hurt to just talk to him. “Uh huh, from school. Tory, that’s the one you tossed in the river, he’s been picking on me for years. The other two just go along with him.”

Then, to her surprise, he motioned back in the direction she wanted to go, and he said, “Come on, I’ll show you the way out. There’s some boggy places you don’t wanta step in.”

Before she knew it, she was walking beside him and laughing with him when he pounded his palm with his other fist with a “Pow!” in an imitation of her punch to Tory. By the time they reached the bottom of the slope, she had lost any trace of fear of him. Everything was looking much better, and then a voice roared down from the top of the slope, “Freeze, Jackie! Don’t move!”