LOPSIDED

The Old Man in the Old House watched the three children play in the field across the street.

“Wait a minute,” Miranda said, “Did you see that? The house across the street: the blinds opened up.”

“He’s watching us,” Ollie said, nervously.

Miranda suppressed a scream and asked, “what does he want?”

“I don’t know,” Ollie said.

Davy popped up from the long grass and said, “It’s obvious he’s gonna eat one of us,” he walked over and love-tapped Miranda on the shoulder, “he just wants to see who’s weakest.”

“Hey,” Ollie said, calmly, “don’t you pick on her.”

“Yeah,” she said, punching Davy back, “don’t pick on me, I’m not the weakest.”

“Sure you’re not,” Davy said, “look, I’m just saying … he’s gonna eat one of us. And it sure as snot ain’t gonna be me.”

“Nobody’s going to get eaten,” Ollie said, “quit trying to scare us, Davy.”

“You’re scared?” Davy continued, “well you shouldn’t be, ‘cause he smells fear. You know what fear is to him? Man, it‘s like the sauce on barbecue ribs. It‘s like sugar on your Cheerios. It‘s like --”

“That’s enough,” Ollie shouted.

The Old Man was still watching them, his old hand worked over his old beard furiously.

The children ran through the field, jumping over the small shrubs, weaving between them. When they were tired, they rested against a post facing the Old Man’s house across the street. They eyed the wonder of the corn fields swaying, its three sentry scarecrows stood fiercely still against posts of their own. The three scarecrows stood raggedy, two on one side of the field, with one to fend for the whole other side by itself, giving the field a lopsided appearance.

The Old Man weighed the children carefully, each of them was an option. He watched and weighed options.

“My older brother said,” Davy said, “the old man in that house gives one poison candy every year on Halloween, so you never know if you’ll be the one to get it.”

“Aw, everybody says that,” said Ollie, “but no one ever gets sick.”

“That’s because no one ever goes there on Halloween, cause they know.”

Ollie and Miranda tried to let Davy know by looks and posture that they weren’t afraid. And maybe they weren’t actually afraid, but the look of the creepy old house and the idea of the creepy old man in the house excited them. Ollie smiled.

“I heard,” he said, “the reason the old man went insane was because he built the house on an Indian burial ground.”

“Oh yeah,” Davy said, picking up a rock, “look how scared I am.” He got up and threw the rock across the street, toward the house. The rock fell in the front yard with a low thump and a rustle of the grass.

“They also say,” he continued, “he picks off the smallest and youngest.” He looked over at Miranda, “but you’re not afraid are you?”

Ollie clenched his teeth and looked away, picking blades of grass and piling them.

“Come on,” Davy said, grabbing Miranda by the arm, “let’s just get it over with. Here we come with your human sacrifice Crazy Old Man!”

“Let me go,” Miranda shouted, “you’re not allowed to grab my arm! I’m not a human sacrifice!” She shoved Davy, who stood nearly twice her tiny size, shoved him as hard as she could. Davy took a step backwards. Miranda stood with her hands on her hips, staring daggers up at the older boy.

Ollie sat, picking grass, looked over just in case she needed him.

Davy smirked down at the little girl. He could flick her in the shoulder and she’d fall down, crying. But it was too much of a hassle, he figured. He scoffed and backed down, “Come on,” he said, “let’s get out of here.”

Ollie got up, brushed off his pants and said, “we’re going home.”

“Suit yourself,” Davy said, “I’m gonna go home and shoot my bee bee gun.”

They parted company, resembling the scarecrows across the street, two to one side of the field, one to the opposite side. Ollie marched with his sister in tow.

“Ollie,” she said, weakly, “I feel funny.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay,” he said, “we’re only twenty minutes from home.”

He continued to march through the field, expecting to hear her complain again, but it never came. He turned and she was gone. She hadn’t fallen, there were no tracks, she had vanished.

Across the street, the old man closed the blinds and walked through the kitchen, out the back door and into the shed. He took out a wooden post and carried it into the field. He had seen who was the strongest child, the one with the greatest will. Soon, he would have a new scarecrow up, and his field would no longer be lopsided.