The Indian Ridge Stories

The Indian Ridge Stories

By

Mark Richard Luther

Copyright 2014 by Mark Richard Luther

Richard Tarbox

NO… Said Richard Tarbox awakening from a deep soundless sleep, he threw the sheets off the bed. He laid there in a tight fisted fetal position on the memory foam mattress. His hazel eyes filmed over with panic. His face pale white as if leeches had fed on his blood. The rhythm of his heart is controlled by quick short breaths. Richard’s semi-muscular body is bathed in sweat. A gray ghostlike full moon with its firefly glow piercing through the mini blinds of the bedroom window. Shapeless lights dancing with the floating dust that settles on the bare hardwood floor. Richard sat up crossing his legs in a yoga position on the queen size bed. His shaken hands searching blind for a dry side of the bed sheet, wiping the sweat from his forehead, he squints, blinks and finds it difficult to see.

Richard Tarbox has been haunted by these cold frightening nightmares since childhood. The night terror begins with a funeral in progress. Family and close friends arrive to pay their last respects; each mourner is clothed in black hooded cloaks. Their faces overshadowed by darkness, standing in a u-shape line around the coffin. The streaming misty rain splashing water droplets on top of the coffin, a dark shadow man holding a bible, opened in the middle. His lips are moving, his vocal cords produce no sound. Darken silhouettes moving in quick flashes. The coffin descends into a six foot hole. Each mourner approaches the grave, throwing a single black rose into the dark hole and ghost walks into the cold darkness.

The caretaker grips the handle of the shovel with his left hand, placing his right hand on the neck of the shovel. He bends his body, thrusting his arms forward, throwing the muddy dirt into the grave. THUMP! Rocks and sand are caked together, sticking like mud pies on top of the coffin. He throws another shovel full of the muddy dirt into the grave. Richard Tarbox feels the coldness as he stares into the lifeless darkness in front of him. His eyes adjusting to the bleakness of the dark inside the coffin, Richard hears loud noises coming from above, the sounds of rocks and sand hitting the top surface of the coffin. Richard Tarbox’s fear of being buried alive has surface to become reality. He panics, punching, kicking inside the coffin. I AM ALIVE. CAN ANYONE HEAR ME.I AM ALIVE.GODDAM IT.? He said in a loud voice. He hears a couple more thumps hit the top of the coffin.

Richard tilts his head to the side then turns his head from one side to another to look around his master bedroom to gaze at the oil paintings that he had painted many years ago, when he first started out as an artist. The paintings range from still life, landscapes, and seascapes that are hung on his bedroom walls. The paintings are framed and accented with real gold leaf.

Richard turns his head quick to the right, staring at the clock radio that’s on a wooden night stand near his bedside. The time is one thirty in the morning.

1973, that’s the year Indian Ridge, a small town located in central New York had its hottest summer on record. Richard Tarbox returns home from swimming at the lake with his friends Tommy Thompson and Bobby Burns. He swings open the screen door that closes quickly behind him, keeping the flies and bumble bees from entering the house. Richard storms through the main front door like a gangbuster. He hops and skips down the hallway.

Richard Raymond Tarbox. A skinny boy with sandy blonde hair cut in a military style. He stands at a height of four feet, one, with smiling hazel eyes that twinkle when he laughs, a small scar under his bottom lip that he had received from a car accident six months ago.

Luther, look over there! Richard said punching him in the side of the rib cage. What the freak? What was that for? Luther said pushing; punching with all the strength that he could muster from his little body. Brother Richard was thrown forward, hitting the back of the front seat, getting back up he was ready to fight once more. The two of you better knock it off or someone is going to get hurt! Their mother said looking over her shoulder at her sons. She turns back around, slamming on the brakes, stopping short to avoid hitting a cat that darted across the street. Richard Tarbox went flying forward, his front teeth went through his bottom lip. His brother Luther walked away from the accident without injury.

Richard’s nose is small and slender. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, handmade blue jeans shorts and wearing white sneakers without socks. He hears crying and sobbing coming from the kitchen. He enters the kitchen from the hallway. He sees his Mother sitting on a chair, hunched over the table, her face buried within folding arms. Her long auburn hairs are spread out like a Chinese fan covering her arms. The breakfast dishes haven’t been removed from the kitchen table. Richard hurried over to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. Mom, why are you crying? Richard said in a whisper. His mother moved her head up slow, opening her watery red eyes. She scans the length of the kitchen, until she saw her son’s familiar face. She gazes at him than she gives him a smile.

Her name is Stella Janine Tarbox. A thirty year old beauty, she stands at a height of five feet, four. Soft spoken, a voice that’s soothing like a hot bath. Stella straightens herself up in the kitchen chair, wiping the tears from her eyes with the palms of her hands. Mom is everything okay? Richard said leaning his head down to see his mother’s face. Her mascara had been smeared from wiping the tears away. Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Richard said again with his voice cracking as he spoke. Stella composed herself, running her hands through her auburn hair getting it out of her face. Stella cleared her throat. She puts one arm around her son’s shoulder, leaning into the side of Richard, squeezing him tighter with her one hand. Well Richard I have something to tell you. I am trying to find the right words and the words are not coming easy to me. Stella said grunting with a sigh of anguish. Mom just come out and tell me already. Richard said getting impatient with her. All right…… all right……. I will. She said removing her arm from his shoulders. Stella Tarbox runs her hands through her hair once more. She began rubbing the front of her legs with both hands. Richard Tarbox heard his mother clear her throat once again, she takes a deep breath. I have some bad news about your grandfather. What about gramps? Richard said his eyes widen, letting the tears slide down his cheeks. He stared with a blank gaze at her. Your grandfather died in his sleep last night. I am sorry Richard. I know how much you loved him. His mother said in a quivering voice. She tried to back the tears. I don’t understand, I talked to him yesterday he was fine. Did anyone tell Luther? Richard said looking down at the kitchen that hasn’t been mopped in two days. He hid his face in his hands. Yes your aunt Annabel has told him. Richard, we can’t predict the things that happen in our lives. Stella said pushing the chair away from the kitchen table. She stood straight up, turning in the direction of her son; Richard Tarbox has disappeared from the kitchen. Richard, honey where are you? I know you are upset, we all are, and he’s my father. Stella said looking inside the pantry and glanced into two large storage closets. She left the kitchen to continue her search throughout the rest of the house. Richard if you are here, please answer me! Stella said like a mad woman. Richard heard his mother calling; from the sound of her voice he knew that she’s upset. Richard stepped out from his hiding place. I am here upstairs in my room. He said. His eyes rolled down to see the hardwood floor. Richard honey what kind of emotions are you feeling about the death of your gramps? Stella said with a hoarse voice. I don’t know what I am feeling, I just don’t know mother. Richard said speaking in a loud voice from his bedroom, standing inside the entrance of the doorway. I feel the same way but I think it’s more shock than anything else. Stella said walking into the living room where the shades are drawn keeping the summer’s heat at bay.

Richard Tarbox had taken a seat at his desk when he was overcome by an emotional tidal wave that rushed through his entire body. Tears streaming down his cheeks, his nose became congested, using the bottom part of his white T-shirt as a tissue. Richard puts his elbows on the desk; he lifted himself up from the chair. He placed his feet against the seat of the chair, pushing it away from the desk. He straightens himself up, turning his entire body in the direction of his bed. Richard Tarbox takes a running leap, landing on his unmade single bed, burying his face into the pillows. He begins to cry until sleep over takes him.

Stella sits at the edge of the sofa leafing through a photo album that’s resting on her lap. The old black and white photographs of her and her father taken when she was a little girl growing up in Indian Ridge, each photo she stares at brings tears to her eyes, gliding her fingertips across the semi faded photos that have started to turn yellow with age as she closes the photo album, removing it from her lap, placing it on the coffee table. Stella rises up from the sofa; she sees a shadowy figure run quick flash towards the kitchen. Her mind begins to play tricks.

Richard Tarbox sleeps, his head resting on two pillows that lay against the headboard. He’s lying there, face up, he begins to dream. His gramps is smiling and waving his hands from side to side. Don’t leave me gramps! Please come back! Richard said sobbing, walking to where his is