Neville and Harriet Turner raised their children in the bungalow and stayed through retirement and death. The property was abandoned, lost in probate limbo: unable to be sold or occupied. Tony noticed the dense screen of overgrown trees and shrubs around the perimeter of the property as he walked between bus stops. The jungle of overgrowth was in the middle of two corporate office parks that had developed around it. The weeds, bushes and wild trees benefitted from the over spray of water and fertilizer from the neighboring corporate landscape.
Tony rode the city bus to school, changing from one to another near the complex of business buildings with their daily morning dew of freshly sprinkled lawns and shrubs. His parents had divorced a few years ago and he lived with his mother. The plan was for him to spend summers with his father, which is when Tony had his birthday. So far this had never happened. This summer Tony would be twelve and had mostly given up on his dad.
His mother was the assistant manager at an office supply store, which meant that if someone called in sick or quit she had to take up the slack. Tony didn’t have any siblings so was on his own after school until his mom returned each evening from work.
Tony had become curious about the overgrown lot because it was so unlike the rest of the buildings around it. In the business park tidy sidewalks circled squat brick buildings revealing nothing about what was going on inside. Cars parked beneath or behind the buildings, with a small buffer of grass and neatly trimmed bushes near the street. Perfectly spaced trees ran along the sidewalks and it was all kept unceasingly tidy. Except for the abandoned house. The wildness of the dense thicket made Tony curious about what might be inside, and as he peeked through the overgrown plants he could see the outline of a house. It was late spring, live plants and dead debris made it impossible to see any details.
***
Tony didn’t care for his school. He started there when his parents divorced. He hadn’t made any friends and everyone kept calling him ginger. He’d correct them that his name was Tony, eventually discovering that ginger was a name for people with red hair. Fire crotch was another common slur he suffered; also carrot top, freckle dick, brush fire, burn and peel, cinnamon balls, traffic cone, Cheeto, and God’s mistake. His hair was the color of a jack-o-lantern and the density of his freckles made it look like a spray tan applied with a splatter gun. He rode the city bus with a few other kids, none going as far as his stop at the office complex.
Tony ate his lunch in the library, a concession the librarian allowed due to Tony’s status. David Patel also ate lunch in the library at a different table. His family was from India and he was also new to the school. David was picked on because of his accent, his baggy thrift store clothes, his dark skin and the weird food he brought for lunch. He was called rag head, 9-11, Al-Qaeda, skid mark, brownie, 7-11 and camel jockey. Occasionally they were picked on together, the kids suggesting that if they had a baby it would come out the right color.
Tony decided to approach David, to see if they could make an alliance.
“Can I sit here?” Tony asked about the otherwise empty library table.
“I guess so,” David replied.
“Your lunch looks great. Did your mom make it?” Tony asked. David just stared at him, not eating.
“My mom makes mine too. Mostly peanut butter and jelly and a bag of chips. I bring a bottle of water because the water here tastes like shit.” Tony hoped that swearing would make their conversation seem more intimate and relaxed.
“What do you want?” David asked.
“Nothing. I eat my lunch alone. You eat your lunch alone. I thought we could eat lunch together.” Tony smiled, and waited for David’s response.
“Okay,” David replied, and went back to eating. Tony opened his sandwich, poured the chips inside, crushed them between the slices of bread and ate slowly, enjoying the crunch of each bite.
***
After a couple of weeks Tony, built up the nerve to walk through the bramble and up to the abandoned house to peek in the broken windows.
Once he made his way through the brush, the house appeared. The bungalow was no longer visible from the street. It had been deeply vandalized, no window glass remaining, doors warped or broken and no longer able to close. The paint was curling back to the bare wood and raccoons and other animals wandered in and out freely. The thicket that now hid the house was a boon to the local birds and squirrels. The roof drooped and the entire building leaned a bit one side. Through the windows Tony saw empty bedroom closets with the doors open or missing, a smashed sink and toilet in the bathroom, and the blackened remnants of a fire someone tried to start in the center of the living room. Around back of the house a stove and refrigerator had been dragged into the yard. Between the kitchen and yard was a mudroom that once held a washer and dryer, the hookups now beaten into little stubs. There was a small landing with a stairwell that quickly disappeared into darkness. All the kitchen drawers and cabinet doors were gone, scattered about the back yard. Through the windows, Tony could see that all the walls and floors were covered with faded graffiti, some smeared by water that had leaked through the roof and down the walls.
Although the perimeter of the property teemed with life, the central area was totally dead. Widely scattered weeds occasionally found a foothold in some spot of shade, and long-dead grass was mostly a mat of straw. An ancient ash tree used to shade the backyard, but was now just a giant stump jutting out of the ground that receded from its roots like a diseased gumline. The stump was as wide as an SUV and taller than the house; its greying wood slowly being consumed by carpenter ants. The tree’s rotted limbs had piled around it in heaps like dead snakes.
There was a shed in the back corner of the yard, which stood surprisingly straight. Its doors and windows were gone, and Tony could see weeds growing inside it. It was a workshop with the heavy wooden workbench still in place; too heavy and well built for vandals to make a dent. It too had the blackened stain of an attempted fire that had apparently failed to catch. Black marker outlined where the handyman used to hang his tools.
The perimeter of plants made up of lilacs, arborvitae, wild roses, iris, elm and black locust trees camouflaged the house from the street. Tony heard the voices of office workers on their phones as they walked to their cars, which suddenly made him self-aware, and he headed for the bus stop.
That night his mind churned over what he’d seen. He wanted to explore the house more, to go inside and maybe even see the basement. The next day after carefully watching the perimeter of the property, he again stepped into the wild hedge but stopped before entering the open. He watched the house for an hour and felt sure no one was using it. He looked in all the windows again, nothing had changed, no signs of pee or poop, no footprints other than his own from yesterday. He yelled into the house, then prepared to run, but nothing stirred. He entered the house, crossing the tilted threshold.
Because the windows and doors were open to the elements, the house smelled fresh; the damp plaster of the walls and slightly musty oak floors simply made it smell old. Piles of food wrappers, bottles, cans and old clothes filled the corners of most rooms, sun bleached and covered with dust. Built-in cabinets in the bedrooms and dining room had been un-drawered and de-doored.
He did find a few slivers of soap in the back of the bathroom cabinet along with an empty lipstick tube, some rusted razor blades and several spoons bent at the neck and with the round side blackened. Most of the tiles on the bathroom wall and floor had been broken but remained in place, the quality work of a long-dead craftsman.
The living room floor creaked and groaned, its finish weathered away; grey tongue-in-groove wood warped and buckled against its forced containment. The doorway to the kitchen showed the only sign of the family once living there.
Tic marks on the doorjamb listed dates and names and heights; Barbara and Josie both grew to five feet seven inches. Randy made it to five feet eleven, but Donny only grew to two feet seven inches; Tony wondered what had happened to him. The family also had measurements for Peaches, Pickles, Mittens and Sparks, which he guessed had been the family pets. No one had marked Tony’s growth in any of the houses he’d lived in. His parents were too busy fighting or avoiding each other to note any of his milestones.
The kitchen still had patches of linoleum clinging to the flooring beneath. Just outside the kitchen the mudroom still smelled of detergent where the washer and dryer dutifully worked. Opposite the washer/dryer hookups a landing led to the basement. The stairwell was dark, with debris scattered along each step.
Throughout the house brown rings stained the ceiling, which sagged ominously in some places. In the hallway a pull-down ladder was still standing, some of the steps broken but enough remaining for access. Dirty little footprints made a path along the center of the steps, which Tony imagined were from a squirrel or raccoon.
Tony looked at his watch and realized he would have to hurry to the bus stop to make it home before his mother. He made a mental note about what he needed to bring to explore the attic and the basement.
He couldn’t sleep. Tony ran what he’d seen in the house over and over in his mind and planned on bringing a flashlight, some rope, a flair gun, a real gun, peanut butter, a camera, heavy boots, a change of clothes, a liter of soda, a knife, extra batteries and an emergency whistle. The next morning he was only able to find was a flashlight and some bottled water, but felt it would be enough.
His backpack was slightly heavier than normal with a bulge the kids at school told him made it look like a nutsack. Tony impatiently endured his school day until finally arriving back at the house. He didn’t hesitate. He pushed through the bushes and walked through the front door, stopping at the attic ladder. Dropping his backpack he fished out the flashlight and gingerly worked his way up the ladder, his heart pounding harder the higher he went.
He could see small cracks of light through the worn-out roof. His flashlight revealed more piles of old clothes, food wrappers, dried up condoms, lots of cigarette butts and remnants of some Penthouse magazines. In the eaves were some old hornets nests, and in one corner the desiccated up remains of a squirrel. The air was dry and hot and tasted like dust. He looked at the magazines but only the articles were left. He sat with his legs hanging out the attic hole, and knew he had to go to the basement.
Being in the attic was easy. There was something about being up above everything that felt safe, like he had the advantage. Sitting in the attic hole he was calm. Nobody could sneak up on him; he was out of reach, and far from harm. But his eyes had begun to feel sticky from the heat, and the back of his throat was raw. He dolefully descended the ladder.
Once down, Tony drank deeply from his water bottle. It felt like silky ice on his dusty throat. Sweat dribbled from his forehead leaving a trail on his dirty skin. He ran his fingers through his hair to wipe away the sweat, which darkened his pumpkin crown at the roots. Screwing the cap back on the bottle, he put on his backpack and headed for the mudroom.
The door to the stairwell and the handrail had both been torn away long ago. The linoleum on the stairs was intact and still trimmed with a lip of grooved metal for safety. Tony’s flashlight wasn’t powerful enough to light up the dark at the bottom of the stairs, so he took two steps on each tread, keeping an eye on the doorway above him. The air was damp and cool, and he could feel his heart beat harder the deeper he went. As he entered the dark his flashlight dimly revealed a post supporting the floor, a rusted furnace, a three-legged table leaning against the wall, chunks of concrete falling away from the foundation, more piles of old clothes, a rotten mattress, and more food wrappers. He could smell mold and snails and as he went deeper into the dark he heard a soft thunk. Tony froze, hoping he had bumped against something. As he stood in place he could hear scraping against a piece of metal. His flashlight shook as he slowly moved it toward the sound. Two eyes shined back at him. Tony screamed and dropped the flashlight. The light shone uselessly along the floor into the darkness, partially blocked by a pile of beer cans. The eyes began to hiss, and Tony screamed again as he jumped for the flashlight, turning it toward the sound. A raccoon hiding in a piece of broken ductwork stood with its paws outstretched, bearing its teeth. Tony carefully backed up to the stairs, leaving the damp funk of the basement behind.
In the full daylight, he felt better, realized there was truly nobody home, and claimed the house for himself.
“Stupid raccoon,” Tony said as he walked out to the shed. With his flashlight, he was able to see into the corners of the shed and noticed a narrow horizontal cut across the bead board that lined the walls. He could also see tiny bump outs that looked like hinges that were spaced evenly along the walls. There weren’t any handles or knobs, but Tony suspected something was behind the panels. He ran outside and found piece of broken glass that he was able to wedge into the tiny gap. Working the glass into the gap he tried to pull panel open but it wouldn’t give. Tired, he leaned against the panel to gather his thoughts and heard a click as the panel slightly gave way. When he stepped back, the panel swung open to reveal a nearly pristine collection of tools and hardware. Pushing on the panels to release their latches, Tony found the walls filled with saws, hammers, chisels, hand planers, joiners, braces, clamps, knives, levels, rulers, drills, a couple of plumb bobs, as well as dozens of boxes of nails, screws, latches, and hinges. Tony couldn’t believe his luck. He didn’t understand before why he so badly needed to explore the house. Now he knew it was to find this treasure.
Tony carefully closed all the panels, latching the doors into place and once again ran to catch his bus.
Every day after school Tony went to his house to make something with the tools. He used wood from the broken doors and windows to teach himself how to use the hammers and saws, how to hinge two pieces of wood together, and how crank the hand drills to grow curls of wood as he made a hole. Tony loved the strong pine smell of the wood chips and shavings, and the way the planers left the wood perfectly smooth. Tony thought about running away to live at the house, but knew if he did his secret would be exposed and he couldn’t visit anymore. It was his sanctuary, away from school and the other kids, and away from his parents; like the eye of a hurricane hidden inside a business park.
Tony was dying to tell someone about his find, but was also worried that he’d be discovered. He decided to trust David Patel.
***
“Sounds cool,” David said, unpacking his lunch. “No school, no parents. And you’re sure nobody lives there?”
“It’s been a month and nobody. Do you want to see it?” Tony asked nervously.
“Why are you asking me?” David had become suspicious of anyone offering him opportunities as they usually turned into cruel pranks.
“Who else am I going to ask? You’re the only person I know.”
“How do I know it’s real? Can you prove it?” David asked.
“Well, no, it’s a house. How do you prove a house?”
“Show me a picture.”
“My mom won’t buy me a phone,” Tony said, dejected. “Look, never mind. I just thought you might think it was cool.” They both ate in silence, listening to the tapping of the librarian’s keystrokes in the background.
“How would I get there?” David asked.
“The bus, same as me.”
“What would I tell my parents?”
“Don’t tell them about the house. That would blow it for sure. Could you tell them you had detention and had to stay late?”
“My dad would have a heart attack if he thought I was in detention. But I could say that I was staying late for math club or something like that. My parents keep wanting me to make friends and be more like other kids.”
“That sounds good. Do we have a math club?”
“It doesn’t matter. My parents would never call the school. They’re afraid their English isn’t good enough even though it’s better than most of these idiots.”
“Awesome. Once you tell them, you can just ride with me. Then take the bus back to school.”
“My father will be very happy,” David said, and went back to his lunch.
***
David was dutifully impressed with the house, the jungle perimeter and the work shed. Like Tony, he preferred the attic to the basement. Soon he and Tony were hammering nails, cutting boards and turning screws with abandon. They also worked on cleaning all the garbage from the house. It seemed disrespectful to let their sanctuary be so messy.
During the last week of school, Tony worried that David would no longer be able to hang out at the house. Tony was planning on spending his days there, once his mom left for work.
“Not to worry,” David told Tony. “My grandfather lives with us and is supposed to watch me during the summer. But he sleeps most of the day or watches Indian movies on the computer in his room. He’ll never know I’m gone.”
Tony and David began to bring more and more supplies from home; pillows, sleeping bags, books, games, snacks and anything else that made things more comfortable. But eventually simple freedom became boring, and they felt there was more they could be doing with all their tools and opportunity. After kicking around a few ideas, they decided to build a lookout in the attic.
As always, the attic was hot and dark. David suggested they cut some windows in the roof, and they both ran to the shed to retrieve some tools. They tried hammering and drilling holes in the roof, but made little progress, plus the heat and dust made the work miserable. They managed to drill some eyeball-sized holes, through which they spotted the dead ash tree. It was taller than the house, and the remaining branches formed a natural cradle. They decided to build a tree house.
Nailing wood to the tree to make hand and foot holds, the going was slow since they had to hang onto one piece as they nailed another. But they eventually made it all the way up the tree. A squirrel scuttled up to scold them, but they were at peace. Being up in the tree felt like floating; they were safe, relaxed and while no one could see them, they could see everything. They stayed until they heard workers jabbering on their phones and slamming car doors as they left.
Over the next several weeks, Tony and David dragged wood up the tree and built a platform, which gave them more room to spread out. They attached a railing from branch to branch, although lost much of their work when a rotten branch gave way as Tony was hammering on it; David managed to grab the back of his shirt and pull him to safety. David watched the boy-sized limb crash to the ground below and crack in half. After that, they tested all the limbs while holding onto the platform to make sure they were solid. The railing finished, they stood and surveyed the house and yard from their new vantage point. They were just at the level of the tallest trees around the perimeter of the yard, and in places could see for blocks. But the sun was hot, and Tony knew he would burn if he stayed there too long, which would bring questions from his mother.
“We need some shade up here,” Tony said.
“Let’s see what we’ve got,” David replied.
They climbed down, surveyed the broken doors and drawers, the yard and the house but didn’t find anything they could use. They went home and thought about how to put a roof on their tree house.
For the next several days they tried hanging blankets, nailing boards to act as a shield and even dragged a door up the tree.
“They look crappy,” Tony said.
“Yeah, they do. Like a bum made it. We need something more substantial,” David replied.
“Maybe we could steal some stuff from a construction site,” Tony offered.
“How would we get it on the bus? Plus it’s too suspicious.”
“Yeah,” Tony agreed, disappointed.
As the sun bore down on his fragile skin, Tony shielded his eyes from the glare. As he did so he noticed the refrigerator and stove in the yard.
“The refrigerator! We can use that!”
“We can’t drag that up here,” David said.
“No, we can peel off the sheet metal and use it build a roof. It’s perfect!”
The boys went to work with chisels and hammers, removing the sheet metal skins from the stove and refrigerator. Once they had it in the tree house, they nailed it to the railing and used dead branches to make a frame for a cone-shaped roof. There was enough left to line the inside of the railing to the floor, and left gaps like embrasures in a castle wall. Despite the clanging reverberations of the metal, the boy’s work drew no attention from the workers nearby. They now had a roof and walls to protect them from the sun, rain, wind and even snow and yet were still able to see out in all directions.
Tony and David transferred all their supplies to the tree house. They piled the sleeping bags and blankets into comfortable seating where they could read comic books and enjoy the cool breeze. They brought tools up to the tree house and worked on their whittling and carving skills.
This went on for weeks, and Tony was never happier. But then one day David didn’t show up. Tony had no way to reach him so he just had to wait and wonder. Three days went by and Tony figured his parents had found out about David riding the bus to the tree house and that everything was about to end. On the fourth day, David returned.
“What the hell happened? I was freaking out!” Tony exclaimed.
“My parents,” David said.
“We’re busted. I knew it was too good to last. Crap!”
“No, they don’t know anything. But they’re making me go to another school. A private school.”
“What? Why?”
“They don’t think I’m getting a good education. Too many dumb white kids. I’m going to live with my uncle in Oregon and go to a school for Indian kids. They said it’s much better and will prepare me for college and scholarships.”
“Bummer. That sucks. Who’s going to help me winterize the tree house?” Tony asked, both sad and annoyed.
“You don’t understand. I leave tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“They said I have to take summer classes to catch up with the other kids. Sorry,” David said, looking down.
They were both quiet for a long time. Then Tony climbed down, went to the shed and returned. He handed David a solid brass plumb bob with delicate scrollwork on the top that looked like the cap of an acorn.
“Here, take this. To remember. And maybe you can e-mail me when you get there.”
“I will,” David said, his eyes misting a bit.
“Wanna play Battleship? I’m still ahead four-hundred and forty-five to four-hundred and twenty. You might be able to go out a winner,” Tony was waving the game, taunting David.
“You’re on, Cinnamon Balls.”
“Take your best shot Nine-Eleven.”
***
Tony continued to go to the house after David left and tried to make if feel whole. It was hard not having anyone to help figure out how to finish a project or to talk to about a funny video he saw on YouTube. Leaning against the railing, he noticed it was a bit rough. He went to the shed to get a planer. He always put all the tools back exactly where he’d found them, and always closed all the panels perfectly just in case anyone ever looked in the shed. He had taken to wearing a digital watch with an alarm that went off to remind him to put the tools away and catch his bus. He had been planing all afternoon, and had a happy collection of wood curls all over the floor. He experimented with how much he could stretch them, how he could make them into a chain, if they were cushiony enough to act as a pillow when the alarm went off. He put on his backpack and started down but part way remembered he had left the planer. He stepped back up, reaching to retrieve it when one of the footholds gave way. Tony fell breaking off two more footholds, catching himself on the sharp edge of the sheet metal doorway. The planer fell to the ground, hitting with enough force to careen across the yard. Tony scrambled back into the tree house and his hand was slick with blood. He was cut across his palm and into his wrist, where blood was pulsing out and squirting across the floor. Remembering what he’d seen in a movie, Tony tore off part of a blanket and wrapped his hand. He peered over the edge and saw the now broken footholds, the nearest intact step too far to reach. If he jumped, he’d be certain to break something and may never get help. He decided to yell, but the metal walls and ceiling smothered the sound. He could hear car doors slamming as the office workers left work. He yelled and whistled out the peek holes but no one looked up. Tony slid to the floor and tried to think. He started banging on the sheet metal, hoping that somebody might hear him. He had to keep changing the blanket around his hand as each became soaked with blood. After several hours of banging on the walls, he grew tired. Darkness fell he tried to signal somebody with his flashlight. He was now several hours overdue and his mom was sure to be looking for him, but Tony realized she wouldn’t know where to look.
***
When she found that Tony wasn’t home, his mother figured he was probably at some kid’s house and forgot the time. She’d have to get on him about that, but at least he had a friend. She made dinner, ate, and when Tony still didn’t show she decided to look around his room for any clues about where he might be. She checked Tony’s e-mails and searches on the house computer but only found questions about woodworking. She got in her car and started driving around, not sure where to look, but at least it was something. After several hours she realized she’d have to call the police.
When the police learned that a twelve year-old boy was left unattended all day, every day, they called Child Protective Services to investigate Tony’s mother. She agreed to go to the station so long as they helped to find her son. They called Tony’s father who at first wasn’t sure who they were calling about but then feigned outrage at his mother’s lousy parenting skills. The police were further shocked to discover that he rode the city bus to school.
“Do you have any idea the sort of predators that are out there? Your son may be locked in some pedophile’s basement or cut up into pieces!”
Tony’s mother sobbed, but kept asking for help to find her son.
“He may not be your son much longer lady.”
***
Tony woke the next morning, his hand throbbing with a stream of blood that spilled out the door. He felt thirsty, had a headache and he couldn’t move his hand, and then realized he couldn’t feel his hand either. He tried to sit up but was too dizzy, and fell back onto his sleeping bag and fell asleep.
***
Police cruisers were dispatched with Tony’s class photo, first checking with the registered sex offenders. They next contacted the principal at Tony’s school to see if anyone might know anything. The principal explained that Tony didn’t have any friends, was often picked on by the other kids and kept to himself. They then interviewed bus drivers. A few remembered his red hair and one recalled him getting off at the business park a bunch of times. But the stop was far from the tree house and they never noticed it behind the overgrown bushes.
***
As the days passed, Tony slept more and more; barely able to open his eyes. He wondered if David was having fun at his new school. He finally went to sleep and didn’t wake. The media were advised of Tony’s missing status, posters were put up around town and when school started again a special assembly was held featuring grief counselors to help the students cope with Tony’s death.
Tony’s mother was arrested on charges of child neglect and his father was happy he didn’t have to pay child support anymore.
David Patel sent Tony several e-mails, all of which were bounced back stating that the account no longer existed. He eventually made new friends and mostly forgot about Tony.
The next spring, in the business parks and in the overgrown trees and hedges, nobody noticed that the birds and squirrels lined their nests with pumpkin-colored hair.