It’s been about a month since we found out the truth about the town we grew up in. By the time you read this, I will be gone. I have to make myself scarce for what I’m about to do. But I think you, all of you, will understand.
Here we go.
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The worst part of growing up in a small town is, of course, the boredom. I’m sure many of you who experienced a similar upbringing can reflect on the times when you desperately looked for something to do. We explored every inch of our neck in the woods, hoping and praying something interesting would happen. “Hours are to be used, not counted.” My grandmother would say and shoo me and my cousin, Billy out of the door. We’d mess around with the other latchkey kids and get into trouble, though I can’t remember exactly what we did to pass the time.
I’ve always had a bad memory.
What I do remember vividly is the Davis Hills, which took you South into another town. There were three hills, all with a dirt road slapped on top of them. They were just dull mounds of dirt to most, but to us, it was a bootlegged rollercoaster.
My grandma would take the Davis Hills often because she believed the grocery store in the adjacent city had “cheaper eggs.” Billy and I would beg her to take us so we could enjoy the ride. We’d pile into the front seat of my grandma’s dusty Ford Ranger and giggle in glee when she would shift the car in neutral as we went speeding downhill. I still remember the feeling of my stomach dropping as we made the plunge from one hill to the next.
Another amusing part of the ride was the “Disappearing House.” When you reached the top of the first hill, you’d see a tiny red brick home that seemed to vanish when you got to the second. It would almost magically reappear at the third hill before slowly becoming invisible again as you left town.
The house wasn’t anything special. Even as a kid, I could tell it was even older than my grandparents’ decrepit shack. But someone must have lived there, as the lawn was always cut, and two rows of Indian Hawthrone shrubs created a natural pathway to the front door. But my grandma didn’t know who lived in the home, much less if it was even owned by someone. I always found this odd because my Nana knew every soul who lived in our dumpy village and was something of a local celebrity.
“Best stay away from there,” she would say. “If I don’t know them, they’re a stranger. Do you boys hear me?”
Still, Billy and I always had some sort of fascination with the house, and our friend group always dreamed about poking around the yard to determine who lived there. But we never did, and soon, the house faded in our memories over time.
I left town after high school and went to school as far North as I could. Settled down in Brooklyn and became perfectly comfortable with being a drop in the ocean. I went back to my hometown twice. The first was when my grandfather passed shortly after I graduated from college. The second time was last month when Nana finally kicked the bucket.
It was a community event, with many residents helping Billy and me with the arrangements. Billy had also escaped and did quite well in the lumber industry three towns over. We were more different than ever but still close like brothers. Two latchkey kids whose parents were either dead or absent usually never stood a chance. And yet, we persevered.
The whole village attended the funeral, and after the last few stragglers left my Nana’s house, a couple of our childhood friends stayed behind for some late-night revelry. Billy built a fire in the backyard pit, and I tapped a keg of Miller.
“To Nana,” our friend Shawn Norris said, “The people’s grandma.”
“Hear, hear!” we shouted in unison.
“Sure is good to see y’all!” Hank Wilson said, “What’s it been? Ten years since we saw you both?”
I nodded, looking at the other men who stayed behind. They looked more weathered and weary than Billy and me, worn down by decades of stagnation. I felt a twinge of guilt. “Feels good to be back. I honestly missed this place.”
Billy shot me a puzzled look but quickly masked it. “Me and Sam appreciated the kind words at the service, Pastor Milton.”
Freddie Milton laughed and rolled his eyes. “You can call me Freddie outside of the pulpit.”
I spoke up, “Who would’ve thought old Freddie Milton would be the Pastor at Mount Sinai? Same Freddie Milton who could shotgun a beer in three seconds.”
“Ha! I could say the same for y’all. Big City Sam working for Mayor!” He turned to Billy, “ And I still can’t believe Billy Burns is driving that fancy Cadillac parked out front.”
“I thought he’d be driving the short bus!” Shawn yelled in jest.
We all laughed and stared at our beers for a bit. There was a brief moment of silence before Hank spoke.
“Say, y’all remember taking the Davis Hills in your Nana’s truck?”
“Course I do,” Billy said while smiling, “Hell, that was the most fun I had as a little kid.”
“Closest thing we had to an amusement park,” Freddie added, “Your Nana really whipped that beater down them hills too.”
“Do y’all still take them?”
“Nah, there isn’t really a need anymore. I tried taking my kids down a while ago, but they were too glued to their phones to appreciate them,” Hank said.
“Heh. Kids these days have it easy. I can’t remember all the times we got in trouble just to pass the time.”
“Remember that creepy house on the hills? How would it go invisible every time we went down those hills?” Shawn asked.
“Oh yeah!” Freddie exclaimed. “I can’t believe I forgot about that house. Who even lived there?”
“Dunno,” Billy shrugged. “Nana didn’t know them, so they must have been trouble.”
“We talked about snooping around that place. I remember all the stories we made up about who actually lived there.”
“I thought we did check it out!” Shawn said.
“I don’t think so? We always said we would, but I think we chickened out.”
“No, I swear we went there. Billy, you and Sam were definitely there. Hell, all of us were. Hank, Freddie, and what was that kid’s name….Kevin…Kyle….Kenny! Yeah, Kenny Doyle!”
“What the hell are you talking about, Shawn?”
“Who’s Kenny Doyle?”
“Kenny! You had to have remembered him. He had a lazy eye…and kept his hair spiked up. He was a total oddball dude.”
“Oh yeah, now I remember!” Freddie said. “His pops was the janitor at the church. Odd family. Didn’t he move before we started middle school?”
“I….I don’t know.”
“Hold it. Guys, I have no idea who you’re talking about. We never went into that house!”
“I swear we did. The door was unlocked, and we went into the living room…..there was an old TV, an antique chair…a record player…and a weirdly small door. Like only a kid could go in it….” Shawn trailed off before he stopped talking altogether with a concerned look on his face.
“Well? What happened after that?”
Billy spoke up, but his face had grown white, “I-I remember now! A lady lived there and offered us some cookies….and….oh God…”
“Are y’all fucking with me? Billy, what are you talking about? Hey! Where are you going?”
Billy had thrown his beer down and was hightailing it to his Cadillac. We chased after him, trying to get him to stop because he was too drunk to drive. I hopped in Hank’s truck and sped after him. The only light we saw was from his red tail lights.
I knew where he was going.
We approached the first hill, and I swear, as we zoomed down it, I felt a wave of euphoria followed by an intense sense of dread. Memories poured into my head, and as we leapt out of the truck and tore after Billy into the now abandoned “Disappearing House,” I suddenly realized…..
We had been here before.
It was the summer before middle school. Kenny Doyle was a pariah amongst the other kids. He was jittery, prone to anger, and would throw uncontrollable tantrums when we were in grade school. Hell, every time we saw him, he was in the principal’s office. Usually, we avoided him, but that summer, Billy and I were in the same Vacation Bible School group with Kenny. The Disappearing House came up as a topic of discussion, and Kenny was adamant about checking it out. “We should ding-dong ditch it!” he yelled while clasping his hands together. Billy and I were always down for some revelry and gathered the usual suspects.
We snuck out on our bikes and met the other boys about an hour after sunset, laughing in glee as we zoomed down the first hill. Kenny crept up the walkway and banged on the door while ringing the bell. As we zoomed back to our bikes, the front door flew open with such force that I tripped and fell from being so startled.
A tall woman who must have been in her mid-to-late thirties appeared in the doorway. She had her dark brown hair in a bun and wore a red-checkered apron. She shook her head and grinned, showing a mouth of shining white teeth. “Boys causing trouble,” she said in a firm yet soothing voice. “Okay, come on in. It’s about to rain, and I’m baking cookies. “ I looked to Billy, who shrugged and then stepped inside. The rest of us followed behind into darkness.
“My name is Ms. Hattie, by the way….”
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Hank swerved into the front yard, where Billy was on the ground, rocking back and forth like a madman. He looked up at me, his eyes wide and his face pale. “S-sam,” he sputtered in almost a whisper, “I-I remember everything..” Billy then leaped to his feet and barreled toward the front door. “It should have been me!” He screamed while sprinting.
“Billy, wait!” Shaw cried out as Billy thrust his shoulder to try and open the boarded-up front door. I went after him, but after one more push, Billy breached the door and fell head-first into the house. As he did….I felt a wave of nausea and collapsed as more memories piled in.
Kenny….what did we do to you?
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“Take a bite of these! They’re not as good as your Nana’s, but they’ll do the job.”
“You know our Nana?”
“Why, of course I do, Billy Burns! Everyone in this whole town knows your Nana!”
“Well, she doesn’t know you.”
“Oh, she’s just being coy, Sam. Your Nana and I go way back. She and her friends used to play around my house all the time when they were your age!”
“Huh? You don’t look that old.”
“Well, the Lord has been good to me. What can I say?”
“Well….I guess we should be going. Thank you for the cookies. They were awfully good.”
“Oh, no, no, no. I can’t let y’all bike back in this rain and track mud all over your Nana’s house. She’d have a hissy fit. Say, would you boys like to meet my very special friend?”
I remember trying to get Billy and the other guys to leave but strangely found myself sitting next to them Indian style on the plush shag carpet. Ms. Hattie stood in front of the tiny living room door and looked at us one by one. She smiled broadly, but I noticed no warmth behind her saucer-like blue eyes.
“Ok, boys! Behind this door is my special friend! She’ll choose a lucky winner who will receive a wonderful prize! Does anyone want to go first?”
“I do,” Hank replied.
“Well, excellent! Let’s see if young Henry is the winner! Henry crawl on over and knock on my friend’s door!”
Hank shuffled to the tiny door and carefully knocked. Ms. Hattie bent down and put her ear to the door, listening patiently while the rest of us looked at each other with confusion. “Nope! Oh well, better luck next time!” Hank shrugged and sat back down next to us.
“I’ll go next!”
“Excellent, Freddie! I’m sure my friend will want to meet the preacher’s son.” Freddie knocked on the door, but nothing happened again. “Oh darn!” Ms. Hattie exclaimed. “I guess my friend is a little shy today. Mr. Norris! Why don’t you go next, young man?”
Shawn knocked on the door but was denied. “Fiddlesticks! What is going on with her today, huh?” Ms. Hattie put her hands on her hips and then smiled at me. “Samuel Burns! I believe it’s your turn!” I waddled over to the door and softly knocked on it, but like the rest, nothing happened. “Well, she surely has to pick one of you! Billy?”
Billy hunched over, his left-hand fingers crossed behind his back, and his eyes closed. He knocked on the door and put his ear against it to listen. His eyes grew wide, and he turned to look at me. But before he could speak, the door rattled, and we heard three loud knocks that seemed to be coming from the other side. The temperature in the room plummeted, and I remember the hairs on the back of my neck standing up in excitement.
“Well, would you look at that!” Ms. Hattie gleefully shouted. “Billy is our winner! Yay, Billy! Go ahead and open the door to meet my fr-”
“Wait a minute!” Kenny yelled. “I didn’t get to go!”
Ms. Hattie stopped talking and slowly turned her head to face Kenny. Her perma-grin had now shifted into a sour frown. “Excuse me?” she said with thinly veiled contempt.
“I said,” Kenny began with his hands on his hips. “I didn’t have a turn.”
“My special friend only chooses one winner, Mr. Doyle.”
“But I didn’t get to go. That’s not fair.”
“Well, sweetie, sometimes life isn’t fair.”
“NO! I get a turn! This always happens to me! Everyone always does this to me when I didn’t do nothing wrong! Why won’t you give me a turn, lady? I don’t even want the prize, I just want a GOD DAMN TURN!”
Ms. Hattie stood unfazed during Kenny’s rant before smiling at the huffing boy, his fists balled up and tears in his eyes. “Oh, Mr. Doyle. What have they done to you?” she said, but her voice sounded darker and appeared to echo through the house. “Come now,” she said while extending her hand to Kenny.
She led Kenny over to the door and patted the back of his head while he happily knocked on it. There was a brief moment of silence before the door softly began to shake, and the sound of a lock being turned ripped through the house.
Ms. Hattie began to giggle and opened the door. We looked inside but only saw darkness. “Go inside, Kenny. It’s rude to keep my friend waiting.” Kenny smiled, got down on his knees, and disappeared. Ms. Hattie closed the door behind him, and the door locked behind him.
The next thing we heard was screaming.
Shawn ran to the door and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. The screaming continued, becoming loud shrieks while the rest of us begged Ms. Hattie to let him out. Ms. Hattie stood impassively and ignored our pleas until Kenny went silent.
Ms. Hattie’s eyes rolled back into her head as if she became possessed, and a disembodied voice thundered from her mouth, “LEAVE THIS PLACE.” We scrambled out of the front door and shakily hopped on our bikes, peddling up the hills….not even noticing the events of that night seemed to vanish from our minds as the house disappeared behind the hills.
I remember waking up with a headache and being pestered by my grandma about whether we had hung out with Kenny Doyle last night because he hadn’t come home. The whole town launched a search. I remember volunteering with the other guys to help look for him in the forest, not realizing Kenny was less than a mile away.
How could I have forgotten?
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“Billy! C’mon man, where are you? We can’t be in here!” Shawn screamed at Billy. Hank fumbled in the backseat of his truck before turning on a jacklight and illuminating the living room. Even through all the dirt and dust, the room looked untouched from when we last saw it.
Billy was sitting on the ground before the small door, muttering softly to himself. “Billy,” I said softly, “I remember everything too, ok? We have to go.” Billy shook his head. “You don’t remember everything…..you don’t know….”
“Don’t know what?”
“That I was…chosen. I was supposed to go through that door.”
“I remember, I finally do. But Kenny took your place instead. You got lucky that..”
“No! You don’t understand. I-I……..”
“You what?”
“I heard a voice coming from the other side of the door. It sounded like my mom’s.”
“Your mom’s? What?” It didn’t make any sense. Billy’s mother, my Aunt Julie, had already been dead for over five years when we first visited the house.
“I don’t know, man, I swear it was her. She was calling for help. She seemed to be….in trouble…..I have to see….”
“Have to see what?”
But before I got an answer, Billy darted to the small door and banged on it. Chaos ensued as the rest of us lunged forward to grab him, and we tried to drag him out of the house. Just as we were about to reach the front doorway, we heard it.
Three knocks.
We fled back to my Nana’s house, frantically trying to make sense of what happened all those years ago. But after some discussion and more alcohol, we decided to just move on with all of our lives. After all, who would believe us anyway? I flew back to New York and settled into my regular routine until I got a phone call from Billy’s wife, Melissa.
He was missing.
They found him the night before I planned to return to help with the search, though I already knew where he was. I remember being numb as an investigator asked me why Billy would have ventured into this abandoned house and entered its crawlspace, even though it could only fit a small child.
I helped Melissa with the funeral and watched as the other guys avoided me at the service. Melissa couldn’t understand why Billy did what he did, though she noted that he had been acting strangely in the events leading up to his death. We still haven’t really been able to grieve.
I have to take care of a few things first.
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And so now I’m here, standing outside this decrepit shack, with a bottle of Lonestar filled with gasoline and an old washrag. I light a match and then hurry back to my rental car, taking the hills back to Nana’s and watching in the rearview mirror as the house disappears, hopefully for good.
But as I drive down the last of the Davis Hills, the memories remain.