Johnny Gruesome Read Free

the yellow and brown house from the brick dwelling on its left, and a cherry orchard and grape vineyard sloped outward on its right.
    Eric crossed the cement walkway and mounted the wooden porch steps. At the paneled door, he noticed the black metal mailbox bulging with unopened envelopes and magazines. He knocked on the door and waited. A moment later he heard footsteps, moving closer. The door opened, and a lumpy shape emerged from the shadowy interior. Charlie Grissom squinted at him through bloodshot eyes.
    “Hi, Eric.” Charlie’s hair needed combing, and stubble speckled his thick chin.
    Swallowing, Eric raised the fruit basket. “My mom got this for you and Johnny, Mr. Grissom.”
    Grasping the basket, Charlie managed a painful smile. “That was nice of her,” he said in a monotone. “Tell her I said thanks.” He looked over his shoulder at the shadowy stairway. “Come on in.”
    Eric entered the foyer. The TV in the dark living room cast a blue glow over the furniture. Charlie closed the door, cutting off the sunlight, and Eric’s nostrils flared at the scent of something sweet and sickening. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he spotted floral arrangements stacked along the hallway leading to the kitchen. The stems had wilted, and the petals showed signs of decay.
    “I’m glad you came,” Charlie said. “Johnny needs someone to talk to.” Leaving Eric at the foot of the stairs, he retreated into the living room and collapsed into his leather easy chair. The glare of the TV glinted off a tall bottle with a black and white label.
    Eric faced the steep stairway. Reaching for the banister, he climbed the wooden stairs. At the top, he gazed at the religious paraphernalia covering the walls: a plastic Christ nailed to a cross, a velvet portrait of Jesus weeping, and rosary beads. He looked through the open door of Charlie and Helen’s bedroom. The room looked untouched—
preserved
—and reminded him of the antique bedroom sets in the village museum. He knocked on Johnny’s door.
    No answer.
    He knocked again. “Johnny? It’s me, Eric.”
    The door creaked open, and Johnny stood silhouetted in the sunlit bedroom. Eric heard a sniffle, followed by a wet breath. He slid the backpack off his shoulders. “I brought your homework.”
    Johnny turned away. “Screw that.” He flopped facedown on his bed, his back to Eric. Reflections from car windshields glided across the high ceiling.
    Eric entered the room. Posters of Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger, and Michael Myers slashed at the wallpaper. Monster models stood frozen on the shelf over the bed: the Creature from the Black Lagoon, King Kong, and one of the Mole People. He laid the textbooks on top of Johnny’s narrow dresser. “I’ll just leave them here.”
    Silence.
    “I’m sorry I missed the funeral. My folks wouldn’t let me go.”
    Into his pillow, Johnny said, “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.”
    Eric approached the bed, and a floorboard creaked beneath the worn carpet. “I wanted to be there.”
    Johnny’s back contracted, and he rubbed his face against his right forearm, the bedsprings squeaking.
    Eric didn’t know what to do. In the months he’d spent hanging out with Johnny, he’d never seen him cry.
    “Why did she have to die?”
    Eric turned to the door, wondering if he should call Charlie. “I don’t know.”
    Sitting up, Johnny faced him, ignoring the tears that streamed down his reddened cheeks. “She loved God. Why didn’t He love her?”
    Eric offered a helpless shrug.
    “Everything’s different now.” Sniffling, Johnny wiped his nose on the back of his hand. “Why do good people have to die?”
    Eric had no answer.

Chapter 1

    E merging from the brick Tudor house, Eric pulled the front door shut behind him. Icicles hung from the sloped roof like daggers. He shuffled through two inches of powdery snow to the black car waiting in the driveway, cold air filling his lungs and stark white filling his vision