Drew biked through town without a care in the world the next morning. He had forgotten all about the figure from the night before. He remembered only the excited, nervous sex—and the second round that followed at Marie’s. It was safe to say that Drew, on Marie’s borrowed bicycle, was in high spirits on his ride back to Sycamore Square.
It was sunny out, crisp and cold in contrast with the previous night. Drew’s cheeks and nose burned with the cold. Even the wet from all the concrete had already evaporated in the slanted, winter light. That was strange, Drew thought, the spinning wheels carrying him through downtown.
On his way down State Street, he swore he saw Earl Wilks. He had glanced down Holly and saw such a similarly stout and barnacle-crusted figure emerge from The Horseshoe Cafe that it couldn’t have been anyone else. Yet he wouldn’t believe his own eyes. Couldn’t be him, he told himself. Well, why not? he thought. I did meet the man. That wasn’t some figment of my imagination.
Drew still couldn’t convince himself, so he stopped the bike and leaned it against the brick pillar of the bank on the opposite side of the street, which he noticed was opposite another bank. How many banks do you need in one square block? he thought.
Drew stared down Holly at the man he was convinced was Earl Wilks. The man walked toward Railroad Avenue but each successive tree along the sidewalk blocked his face just enough to prevent confirmation. He reached the corner of Railroad and Holly and finally he was in full view. It was undoubtedly Earl Wilks.
He stood there waiting for the signal to cross, which surprised Drew. Then, Earl rustled something up from his jacket pocket: a plastic-wrapped piece of cornbread. The street was so quiet at this hour that Drew could hear the crinkling of the plastic as he unwrapped it. Like a bird, Earl pecked his big, hairy face into the block of cornbread. Drew watched him chew and taste his first few bites. Saw a look of disgust overtake Earl.
“No, no,” Earl said sadly, “Dis ain’t no good.”
He tossed the cornbread down on the ground like an unhappy toddler, keeping the plastic in his hands and balling it into a little nugget that he slid in his pocket. Pigeons swarmed the cornbread and he walked forward with the light.
Drew could just heard him say: “I gotta see Hannah now an’ get dis flavuh outta my mouth.”
Drew realized Earl was heading his way. He lifted his bike and headed on. He didn’t want another run-in. Soon Drew coasted down Boulevard and forgot all about it.
As he came down Twelfth Street everything looked normal at Sycamore Square. Exactly as he had left it. Drew was feeling so positive he even whistled as he unlocked the front door and steered the bike in with his hand on its backseat. He never whistled. It was very abnormal indeed.
Drew slid off his backpack and unloaded his bags from the bike. They make a loud thump on the ground.
Again, the building was much less intimidating in the light of day, even if that light didn’t reach in very far. Drew paced the atrium floor for awhile to steel himself for another day of changing locks. He was truly bored of the profession, but he did figure it was a hell of a lot better than being a plumber. He couldn’t imagine dealing with people’s shit.
Drew ran his fingers along the railing of the staircase. He remembered the strangeness of the afternoon and night before. He chalked it up to exhaustion. It had been a long day after driving up, being stuck alone with his dad in the shitbeater for an hour. Besides, Erich had told them the building made noises and people saw things. Though, now that he thought about it again, that was an odd thing to say on its own. Mainly about seeing things. All buildings, especially old ones, make noises. But you don’t exactly see things in them, he thought.
Drew reached the bottom of the staircase and walked past it to the back wall of the building. To the doors Erich mentioned they wouldn’t have to deal with. He did say doors, Drew thought, but there was only the one. There must be at least another behind it, he thought.
The door was solid wood, dark and stained, like all the others in the building, with the same brass hardware. He felt the knob and tried to twist it. It had no give at all.
“Yeah, that’s locked,” he said under his breath. “Professional opinion.”
Drew looked to the right of the door and noticed a plaque he hadn’t recalled, hadn’t even seen when walking up to the door. A layer of dust sat on the pressed piece of five inch by four inch brass. Running his fingers across the plaque, Drew cleared the dust and read it: Marlow Klotz & Assoc. Below was a simple outline of a stork’s head and its long, pointed bill.
The morning had passed without trouble: no noise nor sighting. The calm had strangely brought its own sense of unease to Drew. He felt like he was becoming his father and hated it. Drew had progressed quickly through what remained of the second floor. Only a few locks were left. It was no more than an hour’s work, but it was two in the afternoon and Drew could no longer ignore the gurgling from his stomach. He decided to call it and grab a quick bite at the drive-in next door.
Throughout the morning, the clouds and rain had also returned. When Drew stepped out of Sycamore Square, he stepped out into puddles. One after another. As he made the quarter block walk to the drive-in the rain poured down on him.
The drive-in was nearly empty inside and Drew ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and soda from the front counter. It was a classic looking, albeit rundown sort of spot. Drop ceiling, stained here and there, hung over a shiny and scuffed linoleum floor. Big, tan plastic booths with primary red detailing lined the wall opposite the counter, and vinyl-topped tables rimmed in ridged metal filled the space between. Drew sat at one of the empty booths along the wall, which sported big windows from the table up to the ceiling. He could keep a good, distant eye on his unsettling fortress of locks and doors from here.
Drew looked at the receipt he had been given. Number 47. As he stared at the number he felt very tired, began to doze sitting upright. Earl Wilks’ booming voice came from over his shoulder and woke him: “Ya seen ‘em ain’t ya?”
“Jesus,” Drew said lurching forward, his heart racing.
“Oh I ain’t meant ta scare ya,” Earl said. “I apologize. D’you remember me from last night?”
“Yes,” Drew said. “Just don’t pop out of nowhere like that.”
“Ya right, ya right,” he said. “Mind if I?”
Earl pointed to the seat across from Drew and, before he could answer, hopped out of his own booth and nestled into the ill-fitting seat, the top of his belly curling over the bolted-down table.
“So ya seem ‘em, huh?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drew said.
“Dem babies,” Earl said with a straight-faced.
“The what?”
“Babies.”
“You’re asking if I’ve seen babies.”
“Ghost babies.”
Drew stifled a laugh. “Ghost babies?”
“You don’t gotta act coy, sir. I know ya seen ’em. Remember I told ya. What was comin’ next.”
Drew sighed and his eyes darted around the room. “I’ve seen…something,” he said.
“A’right, a’right. Dat’s progress! We’re on the steps.”
The steps? Drew wondered, confused.
“What ya seen,” Earl continued, “was dem ghost babies up dere in dat place.” Earl pointed shakily at Sycamore Square with his strange, crusted finger.
Drew sighed again. “I’ve seen something weird, but I don’t know about any—”
“I do,” Earl interrupted. “Y’see about a hunderd’n thirty years ago dat buildin’ came to be’n our town. An’ it’s been nothin’ but trouble since.”
“It’s from the 1800s?” Drew was surprised. He had considered it before, but, living in the northwest and being of his vintage, things from before the twentieth century seemed rare and quaint to him.
“Jus’ barely. From den enough to be a brothel,” Earl said. “Y’see, back’n dem days, Bellingham was a lumber, coal, ’n cannin’ town. Not t’even mention the sailors’n traders. All a dem hardworkin’ men, disrep’table many, wanted a way t’unwind. Dat’s where Sycamore Square came into the picture, along with the Helena’n the Hotel Laube over’n downtown. Dere’s a port here in Fairhaven too y’know, an’ dem boys also wanted some relief. An’ it was either whiskey, girls, or both.
“The third floor an’ sometimes da secont in the busy season were all for prostitutin’. In da busy seasons dey’d turn john after john, sometimes a hunderd, hunderd-fifty a day with fifteen, twenty girls. Yessir I see ya face. It’s nasty. I’m a card carryin’ right-to-chooser with a flyin’ freak flag but I’ll tell ya that jus’ don’t sound so pleasant to me, if I’m bein’ hones’. No it do not. But sometimes it ain’t about t’pleasures in life, is it? Dey call it work for a reason. It’s about the moneys’n settin’ up a better life for you’n yer kin down the way. Now—”
“Number forty-seven,” the proprietor called.
“You better get that,” Earl said. “Dem burgers’re good. Better’n Hannah’s cornbread? Nah. But very good.”
“You’ve got a real hard on for that cornbread,” Drew said.
“A real what? Never—go get dat food’a yers you little weirdo.”
Drew smirked as he stood up. He took his time getting his burger, slowly picking over the bin of condiments by the counter even though there were only four options. Drew returned with his tray and looked up at Earl.
“Don’t mind me,” Earl said. “I’ll jus’a keep on blatherin’ while you enjoy dat.”
“All right,” Drew said.
Drew picked at the fries and dipped them in ketchup as Earl launched back into his tale.
“Now it warn’t all so rosy—”
“That was supposed to be rosy?”
“In comparison, boy,” Earl said. “In comparison. Now. To make all dis possible, y’had to prevent the one thing’d pull a girl off the bed: gettin’ wit child. Well of course all dem STDs too as we call ‘em now. You get in an awful lotta trouble with the town, an’ a fella’s wife, if you spread one’a dem. If he had one. Most of ‘em didn’t. Anyway.
“So what did a madam have her girls do? Condoms of course. But dey was expensive. An’ sometimes a john ain’t so keen or the little rubber broke or a girl knew she’d make a little more if she agreed to forego it. So dey’d resort to the ole lysol trick to get the chil’ out if it took. Worse, the coat hanger.”
“You know I’m eating, right?” Drew took another bite from his burger.
Throughout Earl’s talking, the rain had really picked up outside and the storm drains were flooded again. People crossed the streets back and forth in ankle deep water. Drew watched them, was distracted by them. Wanted to be distracted by them. He really wasn’t sure why Earl was so keen to talk to him.
“That’s a mighty wet storm out dere,” Earl said, looking out the window and mirroring Drew. “Reminds me of da bayou,” he said softly.
“Of the what?”
“Huh?” Earl said evasively.
“Never mind. That’s not normal, is it? I swear it’s never rained like this before.”
“No it ain’t. I ain’t seen a storm like dis in a hu—in many years,” Earl said. Then, under his breath: “Something’s afoot. It’s like da damn sky’s water done broke.”
“What was that first part?” Drew asked.
“What was what?”
“You were about to say something.”
“No I never said nothin’.”
“I heard you. You’re like two feet from me.”
“If ya heard me, what’d I say?”
“I heard you said it, not what you said.” Drew set his burger down. “This is exhausting, Earl. What’s the point of this story?”
“You iPad kids have no patience.”
“I’m not an iPad kid,” Drew said exasperatedly. “I was born in 1990. I am not an iPad kid.”
“Touched a nerve it seems.” Earl smiled.
Drew swirled his hands around in front of him in frustration. “Whatever, whatever.”
“Anywho. Da point. As you was askin’ for.” Earl cleared his throat. “Ya can’t always catch every unwanted baby with a tincture or a wire an’ so a lotta dese poor girls would need the services of a doctor if things got too far along before dey caught it. To get an uh—an uh—ah well you know da thing. So dey’d go see ole Marlow Klotz in Sycamore Square. Girls from all over town, not just here.”
The name sounded familiar to Drew. He leaned forward in his seat, eyes darting around the room as he thought. Where had he heard that name before? Then it came to him: the plaque on the locked door. No, he thought, it couldn’t be that. That made no sense. Before he could think further, Earl continued.
“So ole Marlow would perform t’operation and send da girls on dere ways ’n they thought it was all taken care of. An’ it was for dem. But Marlow ain’t so trustworthy. He din’t dispose of dem souls. The bodies, aye. But da souls—somehow Marlow knew how to keep da souls of dem babies an’ he captured ‘em n’transmogrified ‘em to his own evil doings.”
As Earl spoke he had become more and more theatrical, more and more ominous, and a glimmer of concern flickered in his eyes for Drew.
“Now I have to ask ya: I know ya heard some things, I know ya seen some things, but have ya made da unholy hanky panky up in dem rooms?”
Drew would have laughed at the phrasing if the question hadn’t been so personal.
“I’m not answering that,” Drew said. “That’s none of your business.”
The sky had grown so dark that it was practically night out, and the rain came down even harder than before. So much so that Earl eyed it with true concern now.
“It’ll do ya no good to lie to me, boy. What’s done is done.”
“I didn’t lie, I just said I’m not answering that.”
“That’s as close a lie as a lie, an’ I know well what dat answer means. I tell ya dis with great concern: do not return to dat buildin’. Get ya things an’ go. Get ya woman an’ go. Never let her near dat buildin’ again. Nothin’ good dat way lies.”
Drew was rattled, though he didn’t want to admit it. He had heard things. He had seen things. He had given Marie a very respectable and pleasurable 58 seconds. Hanky panky, as Earl called it. And now he was positive that the name Marlow Klotz was the same one he had seen on the plaque.
“I’ve got to go,” Drew said.
“Dat’s a very good idea,” Earl said, finishing up Drew’s fries as he scampered out of the restaurant.
Drew trudged through the pouring rain. The water was calf deep and his feet squelched in the water. He was soaked through by the time he got under the awning. A little pool of rain water lapped at the bottoms of the doors, but not enough to enter the building. He unlocked the doors, went inside, and closed them behind him, forgetting the keys in the outer lock.
The final few locks were the easiest of the bunch. Drew finished them quicker than any he had done before. The adrenaline didn’t hurt. With each lock he now heard the creaking, but refused to look around for fear of making the fantasy real. This old man’s gotten it in my head, he thought. I haven’t seen or heard anything that doesn’t happen in any old building. I haven’t seen or heard anything, he repeated again in his frazzled mind.
Frantically carrying his bags, Drew descended the atrium stairs. He set them by the door, beside the bike. He checked his phone. It was three-thirty.
How the hell am I going to bike through this? he thought. It looked as though the bay had risen into the town. That’s not possible. No, he thought. This place would be flooded if it were.
Drew loaded the bags onto the bike, slid on his backpack, and rolled the bike up to the doors. He felt around for his keys, but they weren’t there. The door, he thought. I left them in the outside lock. He grabbed the handle but it didn’t budge, then he pressed his face against the glass to look at the keyhole outside. There was nothing there.
“Looking for something?” a familiar voice called from behind him.
Drew turned slowly.
In the black shadows of the atrium, a tall figure stood beside a tiny one with those glowing eyes Drew had seen those couple times before. The tall figure held up a key, which glimmered in a patch of streetlight before him. The figure stepped into the patch and Drew saw his face. Erich Green? he thought.
“I’m Marlow Klotz,” the man said with a smile.
Part 3 of 4. 2024.
