It was the first day in the new house. Aunt Marge moved us -- my two sisters and me -- to her home town of Cedar Ridge. She thought it would be a better environment than the drug-infested apartment building where we had lived with our dad for the last six years.
My sisters are Janine, the oldest at seventeen, and Shay, the youngest at twelve. My name is SaraAnne Wexler; I am fifteen, and A Little Too Big For My Britches according to Aunt Marge. I think she mans I'm cheeky -- always trying to find the correct word or phrase for a situation. Janine tells me I'm just a smart-ass, but that's just her Potty-Mouth attitude.
When we moved to Cedar Ridge, I knew it would be bad. Starting a new school was never fun, but it seemed like the whole town knew we were coming. Aunt Marge had all sorts of "company." The first couple of weeks, the visitors were all her old buddies coming to remember the Good Old Days. Then distant relatives who came to gossip about my daddy. The next were neighbors, eager to find out about the city-folk invading their town.
Well, I'm not really the lovable-hugable kind of person. I'm much more like the prickly pear that Balou the Bear sings about in "The Bear Necessities." You know: sharp-tongued, but extra sweet in the inside?? I like things real -- I want to know the truth, even if it hurts. And I do
not like surprises.
After unpacking and arranging my one-small-suitcase belongings, I decided to go exploring. Aunt Marge has an enormous backyard filed with all types of Ancient Family Heirlooms," as she puts it. A quick look shows some amazing debris: a rosy-red wheelbarrow birdbath; my grandpa's antique (broken) Pinto that doubles as an animal shelter; rainbow-hued Japanese lanterns in the trees; and an amazing array of toilets and tubs. They all house flowers and plants, so I suppose that beautification makes them respectable (Doubt it).
Once I hiked my way through the Forest of Folly, I came to a small copse of trees, bare from the fallen leaves. Jumping over the narrow creek, I saw a figure lying on the ground. At first, I thought it was a gigantic alligator, so I snaked my way across the leafy hill. Sloth-slow so I didn't wake the gator.
"What the hell are you doing out here?" a scratchy old voice hollered at me from the left.
"I'm exploring my back yard, moron," I yelled back. "Why do you care? Who are you?"
She hobbled over to me, an old lady with a florescent yellow kerchief wrapped around her head. Her shuffling feet made so much noise, I had to shush her. "Lady," I whispered loudly, "you're going to make that alligator hear us. Hush!"
She stopped mid-shuffle, doubled over, and started barking. Like, barking. And then she raised up and I saw her lips parted in a...a smile? "Oh, girly," she continued to chuckle, "there ain't no alleygator hopping 'round these woods. That thar is a deenosor." Her yellow teeth showed through the hole in her face.
"A dinosaur? Why would a dinosaur be laying in the middle of the woods?" I asked. I didn't really want to keep talking to this lady. She scared me with her wrinkles and stringy hair.
"Oh, hit's an old playground. Haunted, it is."
"Haunted?" I started backing away, looking around for help from this strange old lady.
"Ayep. Wanna go up, take a look-see?" she invited.
I looked around at the trees, the creek, the leaves. No one would hear me if I screamed; I may break a leg if I just turned and ran. I hate surprises.
"Sure, I guess. Is it safe?"
"Nope. Ain't safe. But damn sure is fun!"
She grabbed my hand and pulled me up the hill. The closer we got to my gator, I saw how wrong I was. The T-Rex, pale green and rusty from the weather, smiled at me. I found myself smiling back -- how stupid.
"Looky thar," the old lady said as she pointed in front of us. "Hit's that old farris wheel. Ah, lordy. I used to ride that thang with my sweetheart ever summer. We had the best time getting stuck at the top." She leaned over, hand to her mouth, and whispered, "Ernie used ta sugar me up real good up thar." She cackled again. "My maw never liked him. Paw neither. That's why we never married. Back in 'em days, you was 'posed to merry who you kissed most." The wistfulness and melancholy for her lost love came through as she whispered, "Ernie was my man."
"I'm really sorry about your troubles, ma'am...."
"Coral. Name's Coral, like the color."
"Coral...what a pretty name," I told her. "Well, I'm sorry for your troubles, like I said, but where are the ghosts? What makes this place haunted?"
"You don't remember?" She looked straight into my eyes, trying to push a memory into my brain with the force of her thoughts. I shook my head, no.
"Why honey," she said patiently, leaning toward me. "You're Ernie, come back to me. I knew you would. Some day, I knew you would."
T-Rex smiled a welcome. Like I said, I hate surprises.
Trent chose a vial -- bright green, the color of a freshly mowed lawn or sour taste of a Granny Smith apple. He unstoppered the vial, smelled it, shrugged his shoulders and drank.
