Whispers: An anthology of Fantasy and Horror

DARK WINNER by William F. Nolan

NOTE: The following is an edited transcript of a taped conversation between Mrs. Franklin Evans, resident of Woodland Hills, California, and Lieutenant Harry W. Lyle of the Kansas City Police Department.

Transcript is dated July 12, 1975, K.C., Missouri.

LYLE: . . . and if you want us to help you, we’ll have to know everything. When did you arrive here, Mrs. Evans?

MRS. EVANS: We just got in this morning. A stopover on our trip from New York back to California. We were at the airport when Frank suddenly got this idea about his past.

LYLE: What idea?

MRS. E: About visiting his old neighborhood . . . the school he went to . . . the house where he grew up . . . He hadn’t been back here in twenty-five years.

LYLE: So you and your husband planned this . . . nostalgic tour?

MRS. E: Not planned. It was very abrupt . . . Frank seemed . . . suddenly . . . possessed by the idea.

LYLE: So what happened?

MRS. E: We took a cab out to Flora Avenue . . . to Thirty-first . . . and we visited his old grade school. St. Vincent’s Academy. The neighborhood is . . . well, I guess you know it’s a slum area now . . . and the school is closed down, locked. But Frank found an open window . . . climbed inside . . .

LYLE: While you waited?

MRS. E: Yes—in the cab. When Frank came out he was all . . . upset . . . Said that he . . . Well, this sounds . . .

LYLE: Go on, please.

MRS. E: He said he felt . . . very close to his childhood while he was in there. He was ashen-faced. His hands were trembling.

LYLE: What did you do then?

MRS. E: We had the cab take us up Thirty-first to the Isis Theater. The movie house at Thirty-first and Troost where Frank used to attend those Saturday horror shows they had for kids. Each week a new one . . . Frankenstein . . . Dracula . . . you know the kind I mean.

LYLE: I know.

MRS. E: It’s a porno place now . . . but Frank bought a ticket anyway . . . went inside alone. Said he wanted to go into the balcony, find his old seat . . . see if things had changed . . .

LYLE: And?

MRS. E: He came out looking very shaken . . . saying it had happened again.

LYLE: What had happened again?

MRS. E: The feeling about being close to his past . . . to his childhood . . . As if he could—

LYLE: Could what, Mrs. Evans?

MRS. E: . . . step over the line dividing past and present . . . step back into his childhood. That’s the feeling he said he had.

LYLE: Where did you go from the Isis?

MRS. E: Frank paid off the cab . . . said he wanted to walk to his old block . . . the one he grew up on . . . Thirty-third and Forest. So we walked down Troost to Thirty-third . . . past strip joints and hamburger stands . . . I was nervous . . . we didn’t . . . belong here . . . Anyway, we got to Thirty-third and walked down the hill from Troost to Forest . . . and on the way Frank told me how much he’d hated being small, being a child . . . that he could hardly wait to grow up . . . that, to him, childhood was a nightmare . . .

LYLE: Then why all the nostalgia?

MRS. E: It wasn’t that . . . it was . . . like an exorcism . . . Frank said he’d been haunted by his childhood all the years we’d lived in California . . . This was an attempt to get rid of it . . .by facing it . . . seeing that it was really gone . . . that it no longer had any reality . . .

LYLE: What happened on Forest?

MRS. E: We walked down the street to his old address . . . which was just past the middle of the block . . . 3337 it was . . . a small, sagging wooden house . . . in terrible condition . . . but then, all the houses were . . . their screens full of holes . . . windows broken, trash in the yards . . . Frank stood in front of his house staring at it for a long time . . . and then he began repeating something . . . over and over.

LYLE: And what was that?

MRS. E: He said it . . . like a litany . . . over and over . . . “I hate you! . . . I hate you! . . . I hate you!”

LYLE: You mean, he was saying that to you?

MRS. E: Oh, no. Not to me . . . I asked him what he meant . . . and . . . he said he hated the child he once was, the child who had lived in that house.

LYLE: I see. Go on, Mrs. Evans.

MRS. E: Then he said he was going inside . . . that he had to go inside the house . . . but that he was afraid.

LYLE: Of what?

MRS. E: He didn’t say of what. He just told me to wait out there on the walk . . . Then he went up onto the small wooden porch . . . knocked on the door. No one answered. Then Frank tried the knob . . . The door was unlocked . . .

LYLE: House was deserted?

Illustration by Lee Brown Coye.

MRS. E: That’s right. I guess no one had lived there for a long while . . . All the windows were boarded up . . . and the driveway was filled with weeds . . . I started to move toward the porch, but Frank waved me back. Then he kicked the door all the way open with his foot, took a half step inside, turned . . . and looked back at me . . . There was . . . a terrible fear in his eyes. I got a cold, chilled feeling all through my body—and I started toward him again . . . but he suddenly turned his back and went inside . . . The door closed.

LYLE: What then?

MRS. E: Then I waited. For fifteen . . . twenty minutes . . . a half hour . . . Frank didn’t come out. So I went up to the porch and opened the door . . . called to him . . .

LYLE: Any answer?

MRS. E: No. The house was like . . . a hollow cave . . . there were echoes . . . but no answer . . . I went inside . . . walked all through the place . . . into every room . . . but he wasn’t there . . . Frank was gone.

LYLE: Out the back, maybe.

MRS. E: No. The back door was nailed shut. Rusted. It hadn’t been opened for years.

LYLE: A window then.

MRS. E: They were all boarded over. With thick dust on the sills.

LYLE: Did you check the basement?

MRS. E: Yes, I checked the basement door leading down. It was locked, and the dust hadn’t been disturbed around it.

LYLE: Then . . . just where the hell did he go?

MRS. E: I don’t know, Lieutenant! . . . That’s why I called you . . . why I came here . . . You’ve got to find Frank!

END FIRST TRANSCRIPT

NOTE: Lieutenant Lyle did not find Franklin Evans. The case was turned over to Missing Persons—and, a week later, Mrs. Evans returned to her home in California. The first night back she had a dream, a nightmare. It disturbed her severely. She could not eat, could not sleep properly; her nerves were shattered. Mrs. Evans then sought psychiatric help. What follows is an excerpt from a taped session with Dr. Lawrence Redding, a licensed psychiatrist with offices in Beverly Hills, California.

Transcript is dated August 3, 1975, Beverly Hills.

REDDING: And where were you . . .? In the dream, I mean.

MRS. E: My bedroom. In bed, at home. It was as if I’d just been awakened . . . I looked around me—and everything was normal . . . the room exactly as it always is . . . Except for him . . . the boy standing next to me.

REDDING: Did you recognize this boy?

MRS. E: No.

REDDING: Describe him to me.

MRS. E: He was . . . nine or ten . . . a horrible child . . . with a cold hate in his face, in his eyes . . . He had on a red sweater with holes in each elbow. And knickers . . . the kind that boys used to wear . . . and he had on black tennis shoes . . .

REDDING: Did he speak to you?

MRS. E: Not at first. He just . . . smiled at me . . . and that smile was so . . . so evil! . . . And then he said . . . that he wanted me to know he’d won at last . . .

REDDING: Won what?

MRS. E: That’s what I asked him . . . calmly, in the dream . . . I asked him what he’d won. And he said . . . oh, my God . . . he said . . .

REDDING: Go on, Mrs. Evans.

MRS. E: . . . that he’d won Frank! . . . that my husband would never be coming back . . . that he, the boy, had him now . . . forever! . . . I screamed—and woke up. And, instantly, I remembered something.

REDDING: What did you remember?

MRS. E: Before she died . . . Frank’s mother . . . sent us an album she’d saved . . . of his childhood . . . photos . . . old report cards . . . He never wanted to look at it, stuck the album away in a closet . . . After the dream, I . . . got it out, looked through it until I found . . .

REDDING: Yes . . . ?

MRS. E: A photo I’d remembered. Of Frank . . . at the age of ten . . . standing in the front yard on Forest . . . He was smiling . . . that same, awful smile . . . and . . . he wore a sweater with holes in each elbow . . . and knickers . . . black tennis shoes. It was . . . the same boy exactly—the younger self Frank had always hated . . . I know what happened in that house now.

REDDING: Then tell me.

MRS. E: The boy was . . . waiting there . . . inside that awful, rotting dead house . . . waiting for Frank to come back . . . all those years . . . waiting there to claim him—because . . . he hated the man that Frank had become as much as Frank hated the child he’d once been . . . and the boy was right.

REDDING: Right about what, Mrs. Evans?

MRS. E: About winning . . . It took all those years . . . but he won . . . and Frank lost.

END TRANSCRIPT