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Paying the Piper |
by |
J.Q. Starmer |
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The dead man stood a short distance away, staring up at the full moon. Graham recognized him
immediately. The suit the man wore had once belonged to Graham’s father. The design of the fabric,
light threads woven into dark, was one Graham remembered well. He had not seen that suit for almost
two years.
Moments before the ghost turned in his direction, Graham thought of fleeing, but didn’t.
As lifeless eyes fell upon his face, he whispered, “Uncle Mack.”
“Graham.” The voice was soft
and familiar. Graham felt a rush of sadness at its sound.
Losing Mack had been the worst experience
of Graham’s young life. Never one to take unnecessary chances, his uncle had somehow managed to fall
to his death on a bright and sunny Saturday afternoon, while trimming the treetop branches of a tall
oak.
Up until that day, Mack had been an invariable part of Graham’s life. Fishing trips, camping
trips, daily visits between Graham’s house, where Mack’s face was a regular sight at the family dinner
table, and Mack’s log cabin by the lake; the two had been like brothers.
Mack slowly turned his
dead stare in the direction of Graham’s house, where the light from the long front porch could be seen,
spilling its glow out into the autumn night. “Tell Darcy it’s time to pay the piper.”
Graham
shivered at the words. “Mack,” he began, but the apparition was gone. A cool draft of air swept past
him, and for a moment, a brief moment, Graham could smell his uncle’s favorite after-shave.
The
next afternoon, Graham stepped off the school bus and walked the short distance to the white cinderblock
building that housed Darcy Mullins’ place of business. Darcy came strolling out of the doorway. He
had no smile or friendly hello for Graham. There was no love loss between them.
Darcy and Mack
had started the company together, a tree care service, along with landscaping on the side whenever the
tree business was slow. Mack had been the brains behind the whole thing. Since his death, Darcy had
barely managed to keep the small corporation running. Even the cinderblock building was developing a
rundown look, along with Darcy.
“What’ya want, kid?” Darcy didn’t bother making eye contact.
“I’m a busy man.”
Graham took a deep breath. “I have a message for you from Uncle Mack. He says
it’s time to pay the piper.”
Not until he said them, did Graham realize just how ridiculous those
words sounded. The very idea, a message from a dead man. Graham figured Darcy would be falling to his
knees any second in a fit of laughter. Instead, Darcy stomped up to Graham and put his grizzled face
close, quite close, to Graham’s startled one. The brim of Darcy’s sweat-stained baseball cap poked Graham
in the forehead.
“I don’t like your line of jokes,” snarled Darcy.
“It’s no joke.” Graham
could hear the lack of conviction in his voice. His knees suddenly felt weak and unreliable. Darcy’s
cap poked him again. “I saw Mack last night. That’s what he told me to tell you,” finished Graham nervously.
Darcy nodded with a smirk, causing the cap’s brim to rake the bridge of Graham’s nose. “Well, now
you’ve told me. Get off my property!”
On the way home, Graham pondered for the hundredth time
why his uncle’s ghost had appeared and given him such a strange message to deliver to Darcy. It was
no secret the two men had never been the best of friends. Darcy had not attended the funeral.
The following day, Graham was surprised and more than a bit anxious to find Darcy waiting for him as
he descended the steps of the school bus. “I want to talk to you,” Darcy growled, getting out of his
faded red pickup and slamming its door with a squeaky bang.
As the bus pulled away, Graham glanced
around uneasily. His parents were still at work, as were the neighbors. Graham longingly watched the
dusty rear of the bus move down the hill and out of sight. He could hear its loud engine slow to a quiet
idle as the vehicle stopped at Gina Carey’s house. Graham looked back at Darcy.
“I want to hear
your story about seeing Mack,” he commanded, stepping closer as though he thought Graham might try and
make a run for it. Darcy knew Graham was afraid of him. Graham hated that.
“Two nights ago, on
my way home, I saw Mack standing near the road,” said Graham, again hearing the nervousness in his voice.
“He called my name and told me to tell you it’s time to pay the piper. That’s all.”
Darcy gazed
off in the direction the school bus had taken and said nothing. Graham noticed a salt-and-pepper look
to the man’s hair and unshaved face that hadn’t been there six months ago. “What did he mean?” Graham
managed to ask. Darcy’s answer was a hateful glare.
At the sound of an approaching car, Darcy
grabbed Graham by the arm and hauled him over to his truck. Darcy didn’t speak again until Mr. Lance
had driven past in his old white station wagon. Darcy barely acknowledged the older man’s wave with
a curt nod.
“Who else have you told about this?” asked Darcy, releasing his hold. Graham could
still feel the viselike grip of Darcy’s hand pressing into his skin.
“No one.”
Darcy searched
Graham’s face for several long agonizing moments. “Good,” he finally replied. “I’d strongly suggest
you don’t.”
The next morning, as Graham and his parents were sitting down to breakfast, the front
doorbell rang. Graham’s father answered it and returned to the kitchen with Sheriff Broderick. “You’re
up early, Frank,” commented Graham’s mother, setting another place at the table. “Is everything all
right?”
“Yes and no, “ answered the sheriff, easing his large bulk into one of the kitchen chairs.
Mrs. Foster heaped a stack of pancakes on his plate and handed him the syrup. “I have some news I thought
you folks would want to hear. It’s about Mack.”
Suddenly, Graham wasn’t hungry.
Sheriff
Broderick sipped his coffee and focused on my mother, who’d sat back down at her place at the table when
her brother’s name was mentioned. “I had a strange visit from Darcy Mullins last night, Maggie. He
burst into my office as though the hounds of hell were at his heels. Said he needed to tell me something
important: that he was responsible for Mack’s death.” Graham’s mother gasped and covered her mouth with
one hand. His father quickly reached for the other and held it tight.
“Darcy told me Mack was
using faulty equipment the day he died. There was a weak spot on his security belt; a clasp that didn’t
close properly. Mack thought the clasp had been fixed, because Darcy told him the belt was fine. The
truth of the matter was Darcy hadn’t gotten around to having the clasp repaired.”
“That belt was
checked out thoroughly,” said Graham’s father. “It was in perfect working order.”
Sheriff Broderick
nodded. “Yes, but remember, Darcy was the first on the scene after the accident. He says he panicked
when he realized what had happened and switched the broken belt with his own.”
They all sat in
silence for several moments. Graham watched the tears well up in his mother’s eyes. “What made him
confess?” asked his father. The sheriff could only shake his head. Maggie Foster excused herself from
the table. Breakfast had ended.
Graham followed the two men out onto the front porch. “What happens
now?” his father wanted to know.
“There will be another investigation. Darcy will be charged and
tried for what he did. It will depend on a judge’s decision or a juries’ as to what becomes of him.”
Graham’s father nodded and sipped absently at the cold contents of his coffee cup. “I’d still like
to know what made him confess,” he said. “Why now?”
“Time to pay the piper.” Graham said it before
he realized he was talking out loud.
Sheriff Broderick was quick to turn and look at him. “Those
were Darcy’s words, as well.”
“No kidding.” Graham sat down on the steps with his back to the
two men. Sal, the family dog, strolled over and scooted his huge head up under Graham’s hand. Graham
could feel Sheriff Broderick staring at him from behind.
After several moments of silence, the
sheriff continued. “Darcy insisted on being put into one of the jail cells last night. Vowed he wouldn’t
go home until justice was served.” Graham glanced back over his shoulder. Sheriff Broderick was still
staring. “He wouldn’t even leave the office to go back outside and turn off his truck lights.”
Sheriff Broderick’s gaze slowly shifted away from Graham as he remarked, “You know, Walt, Darcy was
genuinely spooked about something. He was as nervous as a turkey on Thanksgiving.” The sheriff chuckled
quietly and added, “He even made me a little jumpy.” Another small chuckle. “When I stepped out to
take care of Darcy’s headlights, I could have sworn somebody was sitting in the cab of his truck on the
passenger’s side. Of course, when I checked, it was empty. Your mind can sure play tricks on you sometimes.”
From the road, a light breeze approached the porch, disturbing a few dry leaves in its wake. Sal
lifted his big black nose as he recognized an old familiar scent. An invisible hand softly touched Graham’s
shoulder. An instant later, it was gone, along with the breeze, and the faint smell of after-shave.
THE END
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Paying the Piper first appeared in February 1998, published by Crossroads, a horror magazine.
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