Free Before You Go by James Preller Page A

a low, neatly manicured hedge set off a few feet from the front of the house. At a casual glance, it looked about as scary as a cucumber sandwich.
    They had all been there before, even though the drive to Amityville was more than half an hour. There was something magnetic about the place. The house was famous for its ghostly legends, and the second-rate Hollywood movie that was based on all the weird stuff that happened after the DeFeo murders back in 1974, scaring the living daylights out of the next family that moved in until, one night, they fled the house and never returned. No one would ever know what really happened.
    Lee turned around in his seat to once again retell the tale, his voice hushed and mysterious, drawing out the words to build suspense. “So after the murders, the Lutz family moved in,” Lee began.
    The boys had all heard it before, about as much as Green Eggs and Ham , but no one tried to shut Lee up. After all, it was his car and they were a long way from home.
    “I guess they got a bargain price,” Jude opined.
    “Yeah, but after they moved in, all this sick shit started happening,” Lee said. “Like, swarms of flies were everywhere, even in the winter. The father of the family used to wake up in a cold sweat every night at three fifteen—the exact same time of the murders. Green slime oozed from the walls. And one night they saw a demon’s face in the flames of the fireplace.”
    “I’m calling bullshit,” Canino said. “It was a hoax.”
    “Cheesy movie though,” Jude said appreciatively.
    “Hold that thought,” Corey said. “I’ve got to take a leak.” He climbed out of the car, forfeiting shotgun, and wandered off into some nearby bushes.
    A minute later Corey scrambled into the backseat, laughing and gasping and still zipping up his jeans. “Go, go, go!” he shouted.
    “What the hell?” Lee asked.
    A fist pounded against the side window. It was a white-haired geezer who appeared like a vengeful ghost out of nowhere, sputtering and ranting at the boys, telling them to go away, they had no business here, blah blah blah. He was pretty excited for a grandpa. Stallion gave him the finger, and Lee hit the gas—four guys racing in the streets, a little buzzed and laughing, speeding into the heart of Saturday night and the start of Jude Fox’s sixteenth summer on the planet.

 
    TWELVE
    Operation Becka swung into full effect. With Corey acting as Jude’s spiritual adviser—“Go for it, Jude dude,” was the sum of Corey’s advice—Jude spent many hours deep in thought, meditating on Her Beckaness. At work Jude took every opportunity to make small talk, joke around, and take breaks with Becka. He even went so far as burning CDs for her, a lovesick act if ever there was one. He painstakingly selected each song for maximum meaning and full effect. The music would reveal to her his secret soul, his beating heart, his unspoken depths and innate goodness. They were, in other words, a bunch of really sad songs, one after another. All strummed in a minor key. Jude pushed the CDs into Becka’s long thin fingers and jabbered about these really great tunes she absolutely had to hear.
    And Becka, for her part, seemed to enjoy Jude’s fumbling attention. She listened to the music, commented favorably on some of it, and threw pieces of stale pretzels at the seagulls. They often chatted during lunch breaks in the shade of a breezeway, a concrete passageway that connected the main concession building to the women’s bathrooms and shower facilities. It was actually nicer than that sounds. Things with Becka usually were.
    “What about your family?” she asked. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
    “No, just me,” Jude said. But that wasn’t exactly true. So he clarified, told how he used to have a little sister, Lily, but she died, like, six years ago.
    “I’m so sorry,” Becka said. She reached out, put an open hand on his upper arm.
    “Yeah, no, it’s fine,” Jude said.