My family was foolish to move to Clinton. That big house just scared me so.
We moved there in the spring of 1994, when I was just 12 years old. The Real Estate agent told us that the home was in a good neighbourhood; excellent even. I suspected they were lying. But there was no evidence otherwise. It LOOKED...friendly.
The children, all about my age would always get together to play baseball, street hockey and four-square. The sun was always shinning, and everyone smiled. You'd never suspected it to be bad. "Joseph Street" was such a tranquil name.
Two weeks after 26 Joseph St. became my new home, I was outside mowing the lawn. It was kind of eerie really, the lawn was so much different than the grass in the city. It was...yellow. But I thought nothing of it.
Soon I was interrupted by two girls, slightly older than me passing by.
They looked at me, giggled and then began to speak to me. I turned off the lawn mower just out of curiosity.
"Hey, kid," they said, "Did your parents tell you this
is a good neighbourhood?"
I nodded and walked closer.
"Well, they lied. Why do you think the others moved out?"
I shrugged in response, I had no idea.
"They felt
threatened," they said quietly as if no one was to know and allowed me some response time.
"By what?" I asked, not taking them seriously.
"Everything. Everything and anything...We too, moved
here unaware. However, ten years ago,...when we moved here,
things were...calmer. And when things got really bad...we
decided to leave. When word got around that we were
leaving...we found things...gross things. They spit on our
doorstep, put holes in our lawn, and left notes written in
ketchup, telling us not to leave, never to leave.
Then...THEY KILLED MY DOG! It wasn't even a normal killing
either, an evil, cruel one. First they coaxed him out of
his doghouse with a steak. And then...this is the worst
part...they didn't give it to him! They made him stand on
the road. The burning, sun drenched road. His poor feet.
And when he couldn't walk, they...they...they took a...a...a
knife and...and CUT HIS LEASH OFF! He got so scared...he
yelped. So to stop his yelping they ripped...ripped a cloth
and tied it around his neck. Then they did the most
disgusting thing anyone could ever do. They gave him a
bath! And..and...combed his fur. Ohhhhh! I hope you don't
have a pet because..because...they then untied the cloth,
gave him a bone and...he choked on it. Ahhhhhh! But after
the death...we still packed our belongings. They resulted
to other ways of stopping us.
"Every night, when we are all in bed, they come and...and ...knock! BANG! BANG! BANG! They make hideous noises and laugh afterwards. The worst laugh. WEHAAA! WEHAAA! It's enough to make someone crazy. And it does.
Our youngest sister was sent to a loonie bin. But we are staying strong. Even though, everyday the boys down the street go out and beat each other with sticks. And down the street, see that telephone pole that is being held up by a rope? Those crazy boys tried to push it down. They are so violent. Even their dogs are violent. They howl and howl and howl all night long. We can only get 2 hours of sleep a night. They set off fire crackers and do things in shifts so that they can get enough sleep to torture us during the day.
"Get out while you can! And never...ever mention to anyone you're leaving. The message will get to them, somehow, someway. And you will have a life like ours. You will be afraid to leave your own house. For eternity you will live in fear and lonliness. Go! Now!" Then they continued on their way.
My sister came out shortly after and asked me about those two girls. "Oh, just...girls. Nothing more, nothing less." I was lying through my teeth. I didn't want to scare her. It would be too much.
That night, I heard scratching at the window, screaming off in the distance and howling. I didn't sleep a wink.
Mom sent me to buy some milk the next morning.
Becker's was on the other side of town.
"At least I'll get
awau from Joseph St." I thought. But on my way back...as I
walked up Joseph Street, I met up with a group of boys
playing hockey, or not. They were beating each other, just
like the girls said. And laughing as the blood gushed out
of their sores.
I passed them in horror. They didn't say anything to me, but smiled. I heard the sound of feet hitting the pavement. It sounded like I was being followed. But, I knew it was just my imagination.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. My right shoulder. I turned slowly to see a figure, all black, except for the white hockey mask he was wearing.
I heard the boys call, "Jason, Jason, come back here!" Jason, I thought about another Jason that came to my mind.
Jason-hockey mask-no chainsaw though. But he raised his hockey stick high over my head. My heart was beating faster, faster, faster, faster, faster, faster, faster and faster. I could only think of one thing to do. I screamed. I ran, ran, ran, ran, ran, ran back to my house. I didn't go out for days, months.
But then I got a phone call. I recognized the voice. And the laughter...sounded like the laughter described by the girls. Probably because it was one of the girls. Laughing, laughing, laughing, laughing.
"Don't mind Jason," she said. "He just wanted to hand you a stick so you could play. And forget that stuff I told you. Just a way of saying 'hi'. The truth is: we don't like new people unless they prove themselves worthy. And you passing by those hockey players without freaking was a true display of bravery. Welcome to Joseph Street."
I was shocked. A lie. It was all a lie. I hung up the phone. Those sounds I heard one night. I wondered what they were...
I looked out the window to my backyard. The house that was back there had a man standing by it. I fetched my binoculars and looked. A man, wearing a hockey mask was cutting down a tree with a chainsaw. I studied the tree.
There were kids in it, screaming.
"No." I said aloud, "I'm leaving." And I escaped.
Massed Murders weren't reported in Clinton until... well, no one knows.
Barabara Peur
