The greatest, and at the same time, most horrendous year of my life was when I was fifteen. The forest behind my neighborhood was an idyllic setting for adults who stared out their kitchen windows while washing dishes or sat on their decks grilling out and smoking cigarettes, but for the kids it was an escape from the world. The forest was a different universe with rules of its own, offering inscrutable signs of something deep and mysterious hidden from everyday reality. The farmer who owned the land was too old to farm anymore. He had no family, or at least none of them that he cared about, and he decided to sell the land. The land would be developed and an apartment complex with only six units would be hastily thrown up where once stood trees, hills, and the best damn bike trail in the world. No one wanted it. Everyone hated it. At every stage of its development we, the neighborhood kids, were there to tear the shit out of it. It was frustrating to lose something we loved, but I have never had so much fun in my life, with the opportunity to cause so much destruction for something I hated so much. The parents knew what was happening but never mentioned it, nor even acted like anything was happening. They were content to let the mayhem continue without any interference. In the end, the dragon of chaos was uncontrollable, as it always is, and we were faced with a terrifying realization that we unleashed it and gave it the momentum it had been craving.
I lived near a dead-end street, where all the neighborhood kids hung out. Most of my friends lived there but some of us migrated from other parts of the neighborhood. It was the perfect place to live and play. Most of the people that moved there did so because of the somewhat rural feel of the environment. The bulk of the forest lie behind that dead end street. It was nestled right behind my best friend Steve’s house. He had a tiny back yard, with a small creek running through it. On the other side of the creek was the forest. I often envied Steve, with his bedroom window looking out over the wooded landscape, near to everything we admired about life- our clubhouse, the miniature Grand Canyon, and our bike trail. Years later though, I felt sorry for him, being so close to that icy nether world that would forever haunt our memories. Beyond the forest was an open field, with some hills and lonely isolated trees. There was a dirt path that ran the length of the fence line that separated the forest from the farmland and the property across the field. Steve had a small motorcycle that we would push through the woods and through an opening in the barbed wire fence, that we had cut ourselves. We had to take turns who would go first because it wouldn’t be long before the farmer would start up his tractor and chase us out of there with his shotgun and rock salt. To the west of the woods, was a medium security prison facility, with a vast array of buildings. It was a good distance away from our neighborhood but sometimes we would get so bored and curious that we would walk to the facility, not daring to come too close to the fence.
The first sign that we were losing the forest, were the survey markers. We had been throwing rocks off the cliff that we called the miniature Grand Canyon, when Karen, spotted an orange flag waving in the wind.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know,” I responded.
“Those are for marking the land to be cleared for construction. Damn.”
Steve knew a little more than most of us. “But I’ll ask my dad about it, just to make sure.”
It was as we feared. Most of the parents had already known about it. They were unhappy, but there was nothing they could do. We decided otherwise. We went and talked to Chuck and Gary, two other friends, brothers, that lived on the dead end, and they agreed that we should do something about it. So that afternoon we went and pulled up every survey marker we could find and threw them in the creek. Chuck and Gary were a little older than the rest of us and they invited us back to their house to celebrate. Up to that point, celebrating to me was cake and ice cream, but they had graduated to something a little less childlike.
“Who wants a little whiskey? Coalton?”
Of course, he had to ask me, and with Karen there.
“Sure, why not,” like it had been a while since I had tied one off.
Chuck poured a little in a glass and I sipped it down. I started coughing and wheezing, my throat burning like fire. Why do people drink this stuff? Of course, after a while I would find out why, and then the next morning I would be asking the same question as before. Everyone began laughing, especially Gary. He could barely breath he was laughing so hard.
“You dumb sum bitch! You got to throw it down fast. We ain’t wine tasting here!”
Everyone kept laughing for several minutes and at first, I was a little embarrassed but after a few proper shots, I began to see the humor.
“We got a mission,” interrupted Chuck, always the serious one. “They ain’t gonna build this shit. Not if I have anything to do with it.”
We all agreed, but over time you forget things, other matters more important, like building the perfect ramp, impede upon your previous plans. A month passed and the machines moved in. They knocked down the barbed wire fence and cleared a portion of the forest. Chuck was furious. We let this happen. He motivated us to do more, to keep our promise. So, we cut hydraulic hoses, busted windows out of the office trailer, and routinely stole equipment. After a while, the foreman hired a security guard, and we backed off yet again.
Another month passed and three units had been framed and sidewalks poured. Every now and then I would go and tear something up or write some profanity in the drying concrete out of a sense of duty and obligation. I admit it was fun, as long as it was every now and then, and the coast was clear. Chuck wanted more though. He wanted something done every day and he wanted some major shit done, tires slashed, more windows broken, so much more than what we were doing. He was a teenage terrorist, I swear. He drove us crazy.
And then one day it stopped. Chuck had stopped caring. He had gotten a girlfriend. Amy, a beautiful red head, long and slender, with the cutest voice I had ever heard. I didn’t blame him one bit and so the mission lagged more than ever, and three more units were framed.
One winter day it snowed, and the construction site had an eerie look. Two-story skeletal buildings dotted the land, incomplete, mired in mud and snow. The security guard had not been seen in a while. Maybe they felt they could save money now that most of the vandalism had died down. It’s amazing the influence one person can have. Without Chuck, the developers could somewhat relax. I mean somewhat because the rest of us weren’t angels. We didn’t stop everything. In fact, we enjoyed hanging out in the half-finished units, especially at night. We would climb the unfinished wooden stairs to the second story and go to the edge where no walls yet existed. It was dangerous but exciting. We would tear some foam insulation from the walls and make huge “paper” airplanes and toss them from the buildings, seeing who could engineer the best design. We also upgraded our clubhouse with stolen supplies. We took plywood, nails, shingles, and even some carpeting. Well come to find out later, Gary had ripped that up from a house that was for sale on an adjacent street. Our clubhouse would have been the envy of the neighborhood if we would have let anyone in, but we didn’t, because everything in it was hot, burning with felony charges.
One Friday night we were in the clubhouse when Chuck made an appearance. He was filthy stumbling drunk. Amy had broken up with him. The mission was back on.
“Nice playhouse, you fucks. Instead of doing what I needed you to do, you decided to make a little penthouse in the woods.”
“It’s over,” said Steve.
“Yeah, man. Just calm down.”
“No Gary, you calm down.”
Chuck stumbled in with a case of beer and a bottle of whiskey. He slumped down in the far corner, dragging mud all over our carpet. It was a rule that you had to take your shoes off before you came into the clubhouse, but we let him slide because he could beat the tar out of all of us by himself. He didn’t say much after that, just stared off in the distance.
Everyone was getting a little bored and sleepy. I was about ready to go home myself. It was after one in the morning, and I would have to sneak back into the house through the back door, hoping my parents wouldn’t hear me. We were all in agreement, but Gary was a little hesitant. He didn’t know how he would get Chuck home.
“Wait a little bit longer. He’ll get better. Let him sober up a little bit. Don’t leave me here with him, please.”
We agreed, but I was getting nervous. I needed to get back home. Outside we heard some footsteps approaching.
“Shhh… someone’s coming,” whispered Karen.
My hands started sweating. I heard it too. We were dead still. I looked up at Steve. He had a worried look on his face.
“Amy. Fuck you Amy” Chuck started mumbling.
Gary clinched his teeth in anger, but he dared not go near Chuck in this mood. I could see the hatred in Gary’s eyes. The footsteps got louder. We had a shower curtain hanging over the entrance and I could see underneath a pair of tennis shoes. There was stillness, nothing moving for about a minute. I pointed at the door. Steve looked and then the curtain snapped back.
We had two lanterns in the clubhouse. They were bright but they cast long shadows and the light was only focused in a small area. Standing in the door was a short man with choppy black hair, as if he had cut his own hair, and with no skill whatsoever. He wore a long button up shirt, blue jeans, and a blue jean jacket. His clothes looked to be three sizes too large. His face was painted with heavy amounts of cosmetics, and he was wearing cotton gloves.
“Can Charlie come in?” he asked.
“Well yeah, but we were about to leave. You can hang out though,” I offered.
“No! Come on in Charlie. We have a mission. Do you want to join our mission?”
“We need to get home Chuck.”
“Shut the fuck up Gary. Charlie, these apartment buildings don’t belong here. We got to tear this shit up. Are you with us Charlie?” Chuck had revived, and unfortunately, taken a shine to this weird stranger at our door.
“Oh yeah, Charlie likes tearing shit up.”
“I like you, Charlie. Let’s go. Everyone now. War, we’re at war.” Chuck shuffled out the door and past our new comrade. Charlie followed willingly with excitement. He skipped along like a child on a playground ready for the chaos that was about to ensue. The rest of us were not so willing. Wanting to stifle my fear, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and gulped down as much as my mouth would hold, swallowing fast and hard. The rest of the group did the same.
We put on our shoes and trekked through the woods for about a minute, coming out in the open only after I had tripped through a thorn bush. Karen giggled, but I could tell she was scared; it was a nervous laugh. This felt different. This felt like a drunken rage on top of a heart-rending breakup. This was careless, not carefully planned. We were just along for the ride. We got to the first unit. Chuck didn’t hesitate. He punched right through the insulation and then kicked at the two-by-four framing. He was a madman, but it was fueled by alcohol and heartbreak; it was artificial. Chuck could be abrasive, but he could also be reasonable. Charlie was legitimate. He was a real mad man. He pushed Chuck to the side and barreled into the building. We heard a crack and then saw a two-by-four fly through a glass window. He let out screech and a laugh. Even though we were still outside, we could tell where Charlie was inside because he was punching and throwing things through the windows as he made his way down to the other end of the unit. He wasn’t quiet either. He would yell and laugh, saying, “Charlie likes this,” over and over, as if that was the only words he knew.
“Charlie! That’s my boy! Tear it up Charlie.” Chuck had gotten riled up with Charlie’s enthusiasm. He ran inside the building, and we could hear him ripping through wood and glass. At that point, the rage was contagious and the rest of us went in and did the same. I grabbed some insulated wiring and ripped it out of the electrical enclosure. I saw Steve doing the same on the opposite wall. Gary was kicking at some framing. Karen was tearing down insulation and at one point she ran outside and gathered some rocks.
“Here.” She handed me some rocks and I followed her outside. We started throwing them through the windows. It was invigorating. We were lost in the mayhem, not realizing that a security guard had pulled up in a truck. The green lights were flashing. I finally noticed it and motioned towards the truck. Karen looked at me in confusion and then turned her head towards the truck. She started fast-walking back towards the clubhouse, picking up her pace as she got further away from me. I could see her waving me to follow her. I ducked in the building where Steve and Gary were.
“Hey, security guard. Let’s get out of here.”
We all made our way back to the clubhouse, except for Chuck and Charlie.
“Coalton, do you think they got caught?” asked Karen.
“I don’t know.”
We waited for about thirty minutes when Chuck and Charlie entered the clubhouse laughing.
“You chicken shits. Oh well, it’s alright because I’ve got Charlie now. You should have seen the damage he did. This dude is a monster.”
Chuck sat back down in the corner and handed a beer to each of us. He swigged on the bottle of whiskey and then handed it to Charlie.
“Only the best for Charlie. Here’s to a good year. A good year for drinking and a good year for getting high.” Charlie pulled out a joint. He lit it, puffed, and passed. We all took a hit. It was my first time, probably all of ours, except for maybe Chuck and Charlie.
“A good year for friends,” said Karen.
Everyone held up their beers in agreement.
“A good year for fucking,” said Steve, immediately ashamed of his outburst.
Charlie snickered. “Ain’t none of you got laid. Don’t lie to Charlie. Little kiddies.” There was an awkward silence and a little bit of embarrassment. We took another hit, and I was feeling good. I broke the silence.
“A good year for vandalizing.” It wasn’t a very profound line, but I guess the weed had taken effect. We all laughed our asses off like it was the greatest thing anyone had ever uttered. Charlie especially enjoyed it. He was throwing his head back as he laughed and I didn’t know if it was the beer and weed, but I thought I saw two rows of teeth.
“You damn right Coalton. Couldn’t have said it any better.” I was proud that Chuck liked what I had said. For all his faults, it was him that most of us were trying to impress. “Time to get home and to bed. Ready to do it again tomorrow night.” A part of me was ready to do what Chuck wanted, but the other part of me was scared of Charlie. I went home that night and made it inside without my parents noticing. I laid in bed, not able to sleep, worrying about this stranger.
Saturday night rolled around, and I had put on dark clothes. I thought about painting my face for camouflage but then I wondered if Karen would think that childish. We met up at Steve’s house, all of us except for Chuck.
“Where’s Chuck?” I asked.
Gary sighed, “He’s with Amy. I guess they’re back together.”
“Just like that.” I was sort of relieved. The more I thought about the mission, the more I realized it was hopeless. Those apartment buildings were going to be built no matter what we did.
“Well, we should postpone tonight.”
“No Coalton, let’s do it. I have some tools.” Steve pointed towards the garage door and leaning against it was a sledgehammer and a pickaxe. I was surprised by his willingness to trudge on through without Chuck. I was sure he was losing faith like I was and ready to be done with the whole affair. I should’ve walked away and took Karen with me.
“Well, let’s go to the clubhouse first,” responded Gary. “I left a hammer and some pliers there.”
Steve led the way, followed by me and Gary. I was angry at Steve, for pushing this thing forward. Karen was behind me and as I jumped to the protruding rock that helped us to cross the creek, I slipped and splashed down into the water, hitting my elbow against another rock. Karen laughed. I swear I did more dumb shit in front of her than anyone else. My elbow was bleeding profusely. I had a deep gash, split open and throbbing with pain.
“You, ok?” she asked, stifling more laughter.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Hold up, I’ll go get a bandage. It won’t take long.”
“No don’t worry about it. Let’s go.” I had three shirts on, and I just took off one of my shirts and tied it around my elbow. I was a little chilly before my plunge into the creek, but now I was absolutely freezing, with uncontrollable shaking.
We made our way through the woods then took the westward trail that led to our clubhouse. Steve had one of the lanterns lit up as we made our way. I remember looking up at the light and shadows dancing in the treetops, forming diabolical shapes and figures. I imagined they were dancing demons, an audience hungering for violence, anticipating with joy the further demise of our innocence.
“Do you think Charlie will be there?” asked Karen.
Steve stopped, we all stopped. The thought froze us. “Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.” It was a long pause, and I was hoping that Steve had changed his mind. “I don’t think so. He’s got better things to do than hang out with us.” We resumed our course, and now that I think back, there were so many opportunities for me to speak up or walk away. Regret is a master analyzer of everything you should have done, diagnosing to the very tiniest detail the fucked-up decisions you made.
We were about fifty yards from the clubhouse when we noticed a flickering of light coming from inside. When we got to the shower curtain, we could hear Charlie talking to himself. Steve pulled back the curtain and there he was crouched down in front of a fire he had built on our new carpet.
“Mission time.” He looked up from the fire he had so intently been staring at.
“Charlie, you don’t have to come. We don’t want you getting into any trouble because of us,” Gary reasoned.
“No, Charlie want this.”
Gary went and got the hammer and pliers from a toolbox that was sitting in the corner.
“Charlie smell blood.”
“Yeah, I fell in the creek and busted my elbow.”
Charlie smiled and nodded his head, as if in approval, a predator realizing there was a weak one in the fold. He unnerved me. I shouldn’t have said anything. Now I was the zebra without any stripes, the young cripple foal without a mother.
We made our way back through the trail heading east to the clearing, ready for battle, but this time Charlie was leading the way. Steve had the sledgehammer, Gary the pickaxe, I had the hammer, and Karen had the pliers. We left the units closer to the woods alone. Those we had already defiled and mutilated. The other three units were uphill from where we were. The complex was small, with one circular road, three units up top and three units below.
We got to the first unit. Charlie wasted no time. He ran into the building yelling as loud as he could. We all followed him inside, a last desperate charge against progress. The damage we could do now that we had tools was amazing. It’s been said that with the right tools you can do anything, and we were accomplishing some heavy-handed destruction. Steve was banging out walls, crushing through plywood, and knocking down boards with only a few strokes. Gary wielded the pickaxe in a more majestic manner, like it was Excalibur, being more selective with his shots. I was just hammering away at the windows, enjoying the sound of the shattering glass.
“Give me that damn hammer! Why does the girl get the stupid pliers? What the hell can I do with these.” I agreed and handed them over. She smiled and handed me the pliers. I needed a rest anyhow. I sat back and surveyed the destruction. I thought to myself that everyone was doing a fantastic job. I wondered how Charlie was doing with no tools. He was at the farthest end of the unit, swathed in darkness. I couldn’t see him too well, but I could see his damage, and it was peculiar. He had torn down support walls, with little effort and with no tool, but the oddest thing was the marks he left in the plywood and foam insulation- they were claw marks, as if made by a bear. I saw him jump up out of the shadows and into the fading moonlight, thrusting his arms through the ceiling above. I knew the ceiling was at least eight feet tall. I noticed lying on the floor was a pair of cotton gloves.
“Alright boys. Its over! Stop right now and lay everything you got in your hands on the floor.”
I turned and looked back behind me into a blinding beam of light. I could see the flashing green lights pulsating through the window. The security officer had finally caught us. The mayhem was over. He started to say something else, but I couldn’t hear him. It had started to sleet, battering against the building and tumbling across the floor.
“Everyone come over to where I can see you.” We dropped our tools and walked to the wall directly in front of the officer. I noticed he didn’t have a gun, just a flashlight and a radio.
“Hey you down there. Didn’t you hear me? Get over here.” Charlie had never stopped. He kept on destroying as if no one was there, oblivious to his surroundings, focused only on tearing shit up. The officer walked down to where Charlie was, keeping his flashlight held out in front of him, the light illuminating and bouncing with every step. Charlie’s face finally appeared, patches of skin peeling from his cheeks, razor sharp teeth, and flashing red eyes. He leapt towards the officer, knocking him to his back, the flashlight hurled back towards where we were standing. All went dark but I could see Charlie raise his hand and swipe downward at the officer. The officer was struggling to yell for help, but all we could hear was the bubbling of blood and saliva. Charlie swiped a few more times.
“Charlie vandalizing this shit. Charlie like the teeth.”
We ran out the door, sloshing our way through the fallen precipitation, barely able to see through the wall of sleet and darkness. We were almost across the complex and to the beginning of the woods, when we spotted Chuck making his way towards us.
“I’m proud of you guys! You did it without me. I hope you left a little fun for me.”
“Get the fuck out of here. Charlie killed the security guard.”
Chuck started laughing. “Gary’s already been smoking.”
“No man, he is not kidding. Charlie is a fucking monster or something,” I yelled.
“You guys are stupid.” We started running again, with Gary trying to pull Chuck along with him. Chuck resisted and pushed Gary away. I turned to go help Gary get Chuck out of there. They were arguing. I could still barely see. There was enough light from the neighborhood street lights to give me an idea of what was happening. Gary had his back to me, and I could see Chuck’s animated expression of frustration, hands moving with each angry syllable. From behind Chuck, I saw a pickaxe hovering high above his right shoulder, then slam down into his collar bone. Chuck fell to his knees screaming. Charlie was trying to free the pickaxe from the bone, slinging Chuck from side to side and every so often lifting him off the ground. It was effortless for him and when he finally freed the axe, he thrust it through Chuck’s throat.
I turned and left Gary. Years later I would feel guilty about it but it wasn’t a conscious decision, just the fear of death pushing me to worry about my own survival. In those situations, everyone else and their needs fades from your consideration. I ran straight through thorn bushes, tree branches, and plodded through the creek, not even considering hopping across with the help of that slippery rock. I saw Steve and Karen at the top of his driveway.
“What do we do?” asked Steve.
“Let’s go to my house and call the police,” Karen answered. Karen lived at the top of the dead-end street, and we felt like that was a good idea, far enough from the woods to be safe enough to call the police.
We ran to Karen’s house and followed her inside. She locked the door and went to check the basement door to see if it was locked as well.
“Call the police. I’m going to go tell my parents what happened.”
“Everything?” I asked. “Just say there was a murder. Don’t talk about what Charlie looked like. They won’t believe you.” She nodded in agreement.
The police did respond, and bodies were found. A security officer by the name of Ronald Davison had been brutally murdered, his neck and face slashed, and all his teeth were missing, presumably pulled by the attacker. Brothers Chuck and Gary Smith were both decapitated, their remains neatly laid in a clubhouse on the western side of the forest. The assailant was never caught.
My family didn’t stick around. My parents decided that it was time to move. We would find another neighborhood, where there was no risk of development, maybe something close to a state park. Karen’s family made a similar decision. They hung around for a year. I heard they moved to Dickson and had a nice farm, with about ten acres, something her father had been saving up for anyway. Steve, on the other hand, lived there until he went to college. I called him a few years later. He told me he moved out of his room so he wouldn’t be able to see those apartments. He also said that one day he built up the nerve to walk to where the old clubhouse used to be. It was gone of course. Ironically, he noticed survey markers littered throughout the area. He also claimed that he thought that Charlie worked for the apartment complex as a maintenance worker. He couldn’t be for sure but a year later he heard some girls in the school cafeteria talking about how weird their maintenance man was. He always wore long sleeve shirts and gloves, even in the middle of summer. He had thick make-up on his face and liked to talk to himself. He would always talk about the year 1984 and how it was a good year to vandalize.