Zootown #7
Right before I woke up? In that split second before that image of buildings deep in the woods dissolved? I got the faintest sensation that I was being watched, and not only that...that something was lurking behind those buildings, watching, waiting...
Waiting for me.
*
Father Ward smiled, knowing exactly what the young man had found out there in the woods, but content to let the teen lead him there. "That's a very striking image. Rows of cottages in the woods on either side of a well-worn rutted path. Very mysterious, indeed."
"Right?" The young man chuckled. "All that Sunday afternoon, I couldn't get that image out of my head. And I saw more than cottages, Father. I also saw what looked like long buildings. Almost like warehouses, or something. Of course, when I finally discovered what it was..."
A pause.
A shifting sound, as if the young man was leaning forward, placing his mouth near the grate, and indeed when he spoke next, his voice sounded much nearer, "When I found out what those buildings were, it seemed to make a weird kind of sense why they seemed so familiar. Father...you ever hear of something up in the hills behind Raedeker Park called Zoo Town?"
*
So you have heard about Zoo Town, Father? Okay, cool. D'ya mind holding on to that for a while? Need to get this next bit out.
Anyway, like I said, I couldn't stop thinking about that dream all day after church. Didn't think about it too much during church, of course. I don't really have time. Dad pretty much requires my involvement every Sunday morning. During the service, I'm one of the ushers who collects the offering. During the Sunday School classes afterward, I alway have to attend the Pastor's Studies in Scriptures class, (taught by him, obviously), which is a special kind of torture, seeing as how he and I pretty much disagree about every other verse in the Bible.
However, I learned early on to keep quiet on that score. No point in contradicting him in public. I usually gut out his class quietly, and try not to blush or scream every single time he uses me or some stupid mistake I've made to prove a point in class.
As you can see, Father, I was a little too focused in just making it through another Sunday morning in church to be thinking about the weird dream I'd had the night before.
Soon as church finished, however, and I was in my room trying to finish up that reading I was supposed to do for History class, I couldn't stop turning that dream over and over in my head. Why did the path through the woods seem so familiar? Why did I feel as if I'd been to those buildings before? What was that song, and why did I sorta recognize it?
Also, there had been that faint sense of being of watched in those woods. Stalked, even. What the hell was that all about?
I didn't study much History that afternoon. Luckily, Mr. McDonough's class notes basically cover the same things as the reading. I finally gave up around three in the afternoon, figuring I'd just pay real close attention to the notes this week, to make up for not reading.
After giving up on History, I worked on the few math problems I had left (those were pretty straight-forward), and finished those in about twenty-minutes. After that, I closed my books, stood from my desk and flopped on my back onto my bed. I lay there, staring at the ceiling. Fingers laced behind my head as I tried to recall the dream I'd had. I also wondered why I'd taken that song I thought I'd heard and mixed it into some weird dream about a road running through the woods to an old town.
I suppose the answer is pretty obvious. I thought I'd heard someone singing a familiar song that evening, out at Raedeker Park, so then later that night, I dreamed about it. The the road running through the woods to an old town was just random junk my brain dredged up. Brains do that sometimes, in dreams.
Thing is, Father, I’m not that practical. Like I already said - I love mysteries. That's the biggest source of conflict between Dad and I, after all. I love mysteries, he wants everything explained through Scripture and theology.
That Sunday afternoon, after having endured enough of my father’s practicality in church, I wasn’t in the mood for practical explanations. The more I turned it over in my head, the more I became convinced there was a connection of some kind between the singing I'd heard near at Raedeker Park and that little town in the woods.
I just couldn't quite figure what. Even as I laid there, staring at the ceiling, turning the dream over and over in my head...turning it over and over until, slowly and gradually, I dozed off. I didn't dream at all (that time, anyway), just sort of hovered there in a near-sleep-not-awake state until Dad called me to supper, which was hamburgers. Again. We eat that and hot dogs, spaghetti, fried or broiled fish, and occasionally steak, a lot. Dad’s a pretty good cook, but he kinda sticks to the same several meals, so eating at my house is a little predictable, and sometimes boring.
Anyway, we didn't talk much during dinner. He made the usual inquires into the state of my homework (again implying I was slighting both my teachers AND God by leaving it for the last minute on the Lord's Day), and I gave the same noncommittal semi-lie-kinda-truth answers about how I’d finished most of my work in studyhall Friday afternoon.
I don't feel too guilty about fudging those things, Father. I'm on the Honor Roll and above 90's in all my classes. It's not like I'm slacking or anything, right?
Anyway, we finished up dinner, and went to get changed for evening church. I actually looked forward to evening church every weekend, though not for the reasons my Dad wished I did. For some reason (maybe because he felt bad and wanted to give me some freedom, though that doesn't seem likely) Dad doesn't give me any responsibilities during the Sunday Night service. Our Youth Bible Study group meets on Friday nights, not Sunday, so basically I'm free Sunday nights.
The weird thing is, Father...Dad doesn't keep very close track of me on Sunday nights. Never has. Once I grew out of the nursery, he made me sit in the front pew during the evening service, until I got to be about thirteen. After that, he let me sit where I wanted to...which usually was in the balcony.
And soon as everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes for the evening service’s opening prayer, I slipped out of the balcony with my best friend Brian, and we walked down to the Quick'n Save on the corner of Henry and Allison Street.
It's become kind of our Sunday night tradition, really. Brian and I sneak out to the Quick’N Save for Cokes and Slim Jims, and then we meander our way back to church, talking about whatever pops into our head.
I hope you don't think less of me, Father, for skipping church…especially my Dad's church. Brian and I talk about some pretty heavy spiritual stuff, sometimes. We both have the same questions about God and the world and all, and it's nice to talk about some of the stuff the Bible says and shoot questions back and forth without having someone shut us down by accusing us of being blasphemous or heretical.
Honestly? I think I've probably gotten more out of my Sunday night talks with Brian than I have out of my Dad's sermons for the past three or four years.
Y’know what’s another weird thing, Father? Dad’s gotta know I'm sneaking out Sunday nights. Has to. Clifton Heights Baptist isn't that big. It's not hard to miss us. Plus, Dad always shops at the Quick'N Save. I figure at some point, the manager, Old Man Kretzmer, must've said something to Dad about seeing the town's preacher kid out and about on Sunday night when he's supposed to be in his father's church. listening to his father's sermon.
But Dad hasn't ever said a thing. Or, at least, he'd never said a thing before this past Sunday. Even then, when he casually brought it up (letting me know that, yeah, he's probably known this whole time), he didn't say Brian and I had to stop. He just casually referred to it like he was asking me what the weather forecast for the next day was.
Anyway, with weirdness I’d been experiencing lately, along with Dad's renewed campaign against the evils of Halloween, you can bet I was busting at the seams when Brian and I finally slipped out onto Henry Street during the opening prayer. Before he could open his mouth, I told him the whole story hearing the mystery singer at Raedeker Park, and then my dream later that night about those buildings in the woods. After I finished my story, he whistled and said, "Wow. Freaky."
"I know, right? Whaddya think about all that?"
Brian shrugged. "Dunno what dreams mean, and I don't know anything about buildings in the woods or whatever. But the singing at Raedeker Park..."
He looked at me, eyebrows raised. "People say the amphitheater is haunted. You didn't know?"
I stopped and gaped at him for several seconds before blurting, "Since when?"
Brian shrugged again. "I dunno. Since forever, I guess. Heard some older kids talking about it in school this week, because it's Halloween next Saturday." (Which, of course, is tonight, Father.) "Apparently you can only hear the singing around Halloween."
We continued on our way. I held my silence for several minutes, trying to process what I'd just been told. Finally, I aske the obvious question. "Whose ghost is it? Like...is there a story about how they died, and why they haunt the ampitheater?"
Brian shook his head. "Dunno. Just heard some seniors talking about it in studyhall this past week. I guess every year a bunch of them get beers and sneak into Raedeker Park at night, right before Halloween, to see if they can hear the singing."
"Huh." I kicked the pavement as we walked, thinking. "I wonder if that's why Dad told me to stay away from there until after Halloween. Hell, he practically forbid me to go the other night."
"Wow. That's not like him. I mean, he lectures you a lot and his curfew is pretty strict and all...but he's never really laid down the law like that before."
Brian paused and then added with a sly grin. "I bet it was because you were hanging out with me, right? Cause I'm a bad old Catholic leading you straight to Baptist hell."
I shook my head. "No, I don't think so. At least, not this time."
"Gee, thanks."
"Y'know what the funny thing is? He didn't even care about you being there at all, I don't think. Not really. Not after I told him I'd thought I heard someone singing. When I told him that, he got all...stiff like. You know how he gets when he's upset about something but doesn't want to show it? That's when he told me to stay away from there, at least until after Halloween."
Brian raised an eyebrow. "That is weird. So maybe he's heard the stories about there being a ghost that haunts the amiptheater. I mean, he is a pastor and all. Probably worried you’ll get possessed, or something."
A light dawned in Brian's eyes, as an idea apparently occurred to him. "Do you think maybe...I dunno, your Dad's got some sort of prayer revival or something like that planned to get rid of the ghost down there? I mean, you've been saying that your Dad's really been on an anti-Halloween kick, lately. Maybe he's got some kind of...prayer intervention planned, or an..."
I snorted. "An exorcism or something? That's a Catholic thing, isn't it?"
Brian scuffed the concrete himself. "I guess. But maybe there's a Baptist version, too. Maybe that's why he doesn't want you around there until after Halloween, either cause he doesn't want you to know about the exorcism or whatever, or maybe because...maybe because he actually believes the amiptheater at Raedeker is haunted, and like I said: He doesn't want you getting caught up in all that bad ju-ju."
I gotta admit, Father...the thought that maybe the amiptheater was really haunted, that maybe there was a ghost there...I'm not gonna lie. I was pretty excited. I don't what Catholics believe about ghosts...but it was just the mystery of it, y'know? Wondering if the stage really was haunted, and if so by who? How did they die, and why were they haunting the ampitheater?
Here's something else, and I don't know how you'll feel about this part, not knowing how you feel about ghosts and all. The idea of my Dad holding a prayer revival there, or actually performing some sort of exorcism (I don’t know how he would've gotten permission to do that from the Town Board, unless he'd just decided to lie to them about it) scared the hell out of me.
Why?
I got the idea, somehow, that if Dad went through with something like that, he was gonna destroy something...unique. Don't know why I thought that, but somewhere deep inside, I was afraid that Dad trying to "cleanse" the ampitheater’’s ghost was going to be the worst possible thing, ever.
"So what's the deal?" We turned the corner off Henry and onto Allison, headed for the Quick'n Save. "Think your Dad's gonna try and cast out some demons Halloween night?"
I sighed. "Have no idea. I know what I wanna do, though."
"What's that?"
I held up my hand and ticked each item off on my fingers. "One: I wanna find out who that ghost is. What's the story and all. Why do folks think a singing ghosts haunts the stage at Raedker Oark, and why around Halloween?
“Two: I'm going to figure out what Dad’s up to. Somehow. Figure it out, and why he's trying it.
"Three: Figure out that dream. It's driving me crazy. It was just too specific, y'know? A bunch of abandoned buildings alongside a road in the middle of the woods?"
Brian spread his hands. "Yeah, but this is the Adirondacks, dude. You know how many little towns sprung up and then died out and were left to rot for one reason or another?"
I pointed at him. "Which really is a point in my favor. That sort of thing has happened a lot over the past 100 years or so. Those buildings in the woods, with a dirt road running down the middle? It's real place, Brian. A real place I'm going to find."
Brian nodded. "Okay. You're crazy mi amigo, but okay. That's only three, though. You got a four and five?"
I nodded. "You bet. These last two have been bouncing around my head for years, but I've always been too scared of Dad to do anything about them. But this year...screw that. Screw Dad. I need to know."
"And these two things are..?"
I counted off my final two fingers. "Four: Find out why Dad hates Halloween so much. It's more than just him being a preacher somehow, I know it. And number five?
"Find out what really happened the day my mother died."
