Story by
Doppelgänger Shockwave
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1
There's no heat like summer in the semi-arid land of West Texas. Rain is often scarce, triple digit temps are the norm, and when the wind blows, it blasts your body with the ferocity of a furnace. Stay out in this heatwave too long, and tricks will play with your mind.
It was the summer of 1994. Under the intense morning sun, four lads ventured through suburban terrain on bicycle towards their favorite hangout, Aladdin's Arcade.
Upon arrival, the boys hastily made their way inside to play the hottest cabinet around--Mortal Kombat II. Its over the top action, mixed with gratuitous blood and gore, was everything a prepubescent boy yearned for. However, their excitement would morph into frustration with the game's ever increasing difficulty. By noontime, the boys' squabbling had worn upon the owner. Tired of their bickering, he seized them by their shirts and escorted the four outside.
“Vamoose,” the balding man shouted.
As the owner walked away, the boys made obscene gestures. Hearing their snickering, he stopped in his tracks, but refused to turn around and entertain their lewd behavior. Flying past him on their bikes, the owner just shook his head, then went inside.
Sizzling from the sweltering sun, the boys journeyed to 7-Eleven for a Slurpee. While they guzzled down their cold beverage to counter the merciless heat, Ernie propositioned his friends as they came upon an old abandoned house.
“Y'all wanna hear somethin' good?”
“Certainly,” Rickard replied.
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2
”Okay! I overheard my old man tell my mom they arrested The Barrow Boys durin' their turf war with The Street Hawks last night.”
“Everyone knows, Ernie,” Gordan chimed in.
“Sure, but I heard somethin' even better!”
“Yeah? What's that,” Pedro probed.
“My sister Deidra told her friend Latoya over the phone she saw The Barrow Boys hide their treasures inside that deserted house there. So, what say you all to raidin' those treasures for ourselves?”
“I-I dunno, Ernie” Rickard responded with a sweaty stammer. “Place looks unstable to me.”
Claiming the house was in shambles would be an understatement. Bullet holes riddled the walls, the roof was sunken, doors gone, and thanks to kids throwing rocks, the windows were glassless.
“Come on, dude,” Ernie moaned. “Don't be a flippin' chicken! If that place was gonna fall, it would've already done so!”
Rickard placed his left hand over his face and sighed. “Fine, let's go...”
Walking through the rear entrance into the kitchen, the boys saw large chunks of drywall strewn across the floor. Exposed wire jutted from the walls. And the carcasses of bugs hung from spiderwebs in the ceiling's corners.
Being the last to enter, trepidation stirred inside Rickard. Even though he didn't believe in apparitions, tales of hauntings wafted through his thoughts. The rapid rhythm of Rickard's pulsating heart beat against his ribcage, reverberating the sound inside his ears. His movements became restricted to the kitchen while his friends searched the other rooms.
Peering through the kitchen's side window, blazing sunbeams gleamed back from the street, blinding the youth. Rickard turned away, attempting to regain clarity as red and orange circles swirled in his vision. Soft unintelligible voices, emanating from speakers in the distance, permeated his ears. The Barrow Boys' beatbox was the first thing to enter Rickard's mind. Sensing danger, the boy tried to snap out of his disorientation.
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3
“Hey, guys,” Rickard shouted while he jostled his head. “I think someone's comin'!”
No one responded.
From the darkest corner of the kitchen, a humanesque shape formed. At first, Rickard could only make out what looked like a man's torso covered in a denim dress shirt tucked behind a black leather belt with a brass buckle. Just as his eyes cleared, a pistol wrapped in hairy knuckles materialized on the shape's right side with the barrel pointing at the boy. With the pistol's hammer pulled back, the shape then motioned its gun.
“Gu-Guys,” Rickard shouted with his heart in his throat. “Someone's in here with a gun!”
The house rumbled, causing dust to fall. Running as fast as their feet would carry them, the boys bailed through the rear exit.
Racing home on their bikes, Rickard looked back just in time to see the shape in the rear kitchen window, repeatedly pulling the gun's trigger as the house toppled. Rickard found it odd, however, as there was no muzzle flash, nor any sound of gunfire.
After supper with their families, the boys met back at Pedro's.
“Say, y'all see the dude with a gun inside that trashed house,” Rickard inquired in a soft tone.
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4
Without notice, Pedro's Auntie Carla interjected.
“What were you boys talking about?”
“Auntie Carla,” her startled nephew shouted, “Well, umm... you see, we went inside that abandoned house over by grandma's and it fell in on its self. But don't worry, we weren't inside when that happened,” Pedro skittishly remarked.
“Not the one with the roof caved in,” Auntie Carla gasped.
“Yes ma'am,” Pedro replied.
“You kids stay away from there! That house once belonged to my late brother, Hector!”
On Hallow's Eve, 1972, Carla's family celebrated Hector's return from Vietnam. In the front yard, Hector and his best friend Jaime engaged in a drunken brawl. When police arrived, Hector went for his pistol. Carla's brother was having a flashback and thought the officers were Viet Cong. Their fierce shootout would be the tragic end of Hector's life.
Was the shape Rickard saw the spirit of Hector warning them to leave? This thought pondered long while he wrestled to sleep on that muggy summer night. With tired eyes pulling him into his nightly slumber, the boy ultimately chalked the incident up to a heat-induced hallucination.
Two days later, the collapsed house was hauled away. No body was ever found, nor any treasures.
