Serial blogging, stories to tell. Short stories and micro-fiction!

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Timmy's walk home part three

The boys zigged and zagged through the scatters of parents and kids walking down the sidewalk. Four of them reached the chain link fence that surrounded the empty lot together. Earl arrived later, he couldn’t run too well. His mom says he’s “big boned” but he knows he’s fat. Earl tries not to let it bother him, but it does.

The gate was closed and locked with a chain, a rather long chain that allowed the two gates to slide apart enough for even Earl to get through. Apparently the owner didn’t care what walked in, or out.

“Ok, everybody in.” said Travis, catching his breath. He slid the gates apart and led the way like some kind of miniature jungle guide.

“Timmy, let’s put your stuff on this barrel.” Billy put the log cabin on top of an old rusted out fifty five gallon drum.

“Ok.” Timmy was a little nervous about actually being inside the fence. He knew he was disobeying his parents and it wasn’t sitting well with him. He looked around and was amazed to see just how much junk was scattered everywhere. He thought his dad was right, this place is a death trap.

“Alright Earl, you’re IT!” Travis exclaimed as he and Chris ran off to their hiding spots.

Earl looked liked he expected this as he yelled, “Aw man, not again.” He spun around and slapped his hands to his thighs then covered his eyes and began counting.

Billy looked at Timmy and said, “You better get movin’ Earl counts real fast.” Just like that he was gone too.

Timmy paused a moment to look at his stuff on the barrel. He hoped no one would come along and swipe his recorder. How would he explain that to his mom and dad? Then he too ran off into the lot to find a good hiding spot. Earl was on TEN.

He could see the other boys running and ducking behind barrels and into old cars. Where to hide, where to hide he thought. There was the remains of some old shack that looked like one of those huts you sit in to ice fish. That’s no good he thought, there are so many holes in it Earl would find him right away. There was an old wooden crate that Timmy actually crawled into. It reeked of that old basement smell that he hated about his grandma’s Christmas ornaments so he crawled back out.

“TWENTY” Timmy heard Earl yell.

“I gotta find one soon, he’s almost to thirty.” That was when Timmy saw an old refrigerator laying on it’s back. He ran over to it and pulled the lever handle. It opened easily. The inside was huge. “Big enough for all three of us.” Timmy said to himself as he climbed in.

It really wasn’t big enough for all three of them, things just appear that way when you’re eight years old. Timmy brought the door down just as Earl cried “THIRTY”

The next sound he heard was a hard metallic “click.” It didn’t register that he had just locked himself into an old Fridgedaire. He was just surprised by the sudden quiet. The noises from the sidewalk were just cut-off by that sudden “click.” Timmy didn’t even hear Earl yell “READY OR NOT, HERE I COME!”

Timmy was only in the fridge for a few seconds before he thought to himself, “Man, it’s hot in here.” The old Fridgedaire had been laying in this old lot for years and every summer it had collected heat. Almost as if it had a secret dream of being an oven. Today, the cloudless sky had allowed the sun to cook it up to well over a hundred degrees.

He sat there crouched down in the hot and stifling darkness for what felt like at least half an hour. It was only three minutes. The quiet interior of the fridge was kind of creepy. The only sounds he heard now was his own breathing and the small click that his throat made when he swallowed. He was trying to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t want to be found first, after all. The heat was making him feel a little dizzy, but he was sure he would soon hear Earl shouting for him and telling him that he gives up.

A few more minutes passed and the poor kid couldn’t take it anymore, the sweat was pouring off of him in buckets. The dizziness was getting worse. Timmy decided to give up first. He tried to push the door open. It wouldn’t budge.

Timmy finally realized what had “clicked” when the door shut.

It was fifteen minutes past three o’clock.


Sherry said...

OMG this is great and I'm sitting on the edge of my seat here. Please hurry with the rest of it, I'm worried about Timmy.

Sherry said...

OMG this is great and I'm sitting on the edge of my seat here. Please hurry with the rest of it, I'm worried about Timmy.