Blood Looks Black In Moonlight

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The autumn moon had started to descend as the bonfire blazed high; smoke billowing into the night scenting the chilly air with the fragrance of summer's passing. The dry grass of the quad rustled in the breeze along with the few remaining dead leaves not heaped upon the flames.

Students and faculty alike shared a 'free' day from classes in exchange for raking and bundling up leaves and debris. At full dark Headmaster Reynolds had selected two lucky boys to ignite the fire and initiate Excelsior Prep's version of the harvest feast.

Kitchen staff prepared sausages and burgers on braziers, freshly pressed apple cider bubbled in cast iron pots with sticks of cinnamon dancing on the surface, and still warm pumpkin pies steamed on the serving tables.

After the celebration wound down, most of the boys had settled into groups of three or four, huddling for warmth. Faculty members still in attendance could be seen, if one was looking close enough, spiking their mulled cider from slim silver flasks.

Bruce Wayne stood just inside the tree line almost hidden by the shadows, brooding and aloof, as usual. Tall and slender, he looked as if he'd never fit in anywhere in his entire sixteen years of life.

Fourteen-year-old Lex Luthor stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and approached slowly. "I heard from one of the townies about a haunted house not too far from here."

Despite the cold, Lex refused to wear a hat, his bald head a challenge to any who dared speak of it.

Bruce gave Lex a glance. His breath visible as he spoke, "So you believe in ghosts, do you?"

Shrugging, Lex hoped the shadows hid his blush. He pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket and lit one, "Whatever, Bruce. I thought it might be something to do besides go back inside and study for mid terms."

Bruce scowled and turned his head. "Smoking doesn't make you look older or help you fit in, Lex." He turned and started to walk further in the gloom toward the school gates.

"I don't smoke to fit in or to look older," Lex snarled as he followed. "I smoke because it pisses off my father . . . and I like it." He casually dropped the cigarette and ground it with his heel. "Besides, you're my boyfriend, Bruce, not my big brother."

"Where is this alleged haunted house?" Bruce ignored the younger boy's outburst, continuing toward the gatehouse. "I don't have access to the groundskeeper's car tonight, so we're on foot."

Hurrying to catch up, Lex walked close to Bruce, "Not too far, I think. We can walk, it's not that cold." He rubbed his arm against Bruce's as they weaved between the trees, an apology offered for his childish behavior.

Leaning in a bit closer, Bruce wrapped his arm around Lex's shoulders. "All right but there will be hell to pay if you get us lost, Lex. Headmaster Reynolds knows we were off school grounds last week, even if he can't prove it. He'll be watching us close from now on."

"You, lost?" Lex snorted, "You could be blindfolded, tossed in the trunk of a car and driven to the middle of nowhere and still find your way back to this god forsaken school." Tipping his head back, Lex placed a quick kiss on Bruce's cheek, "Besides we're just going a mile or two down the road . . . I think."

"God, Lex. You're frozen to the bone." Bruce sighed in disgust and pulled a sock cap from his pocket. "Put it on and shut up. No one is going to see you except me and maybe the ghosts." He grabbed the collar of Lex's sweatshirt and jerked the hood up over the cap, cinching it tight. "Don't kiss me with those cold lips again, either. It's like kissing a dead body or something." "Thanks, Mom," the sarcasm was more for Bruce's benefit than his own. Lex knew Bruce cared but would pull away even more if Lex acknowledged his efforts. "So, aren't you going to ask about the history of the house?"

Bruce grasped the front of Lex's jacket, pulling him close for a kiss. "Shut up, Lex."

He watched for a moment then broke from the trees. They sprinted the last hundred yards in the open. Dropping to their stomachs, the boys lay on the ground long enough to make sure no one had spotted them and sounded an alert. Once they scaled the fence, Bruce led the way as they entered the tall grass alongside the road. "Stick close to me and stay off the road, Lex. If you see lights drop to the ditch, got me?" He didn't wait for Lex to answer, "So tell me the history, Lex. Who is haunting this house you're in such a hurry to take me to see?"

Lex cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back, assuming proper lecture mode. "Well, Bruce . . . you see, my dear boy." He laughed and relaxed. "The story I heard from the townie kid was that a couple named Stanton lived in this house. He worked for the town, sort of the all around guy. He drove the street sweeper and the garbage truck. He even drove the snow plows in the winter." Lex took a deep breath as he heard the sound of a car engine in the distance. As it faded he picked up the story, "Any way, this Stanton guy's wife was crazy. Always accusing him of seeing other women and hiding things from her. I guess she made the poor guy's life hell."

Bruce listened, slowing his stride for the shorter boy to keep up, "So, she finally lost what was left of her mind and killed him?"

Lex smiled and shook his head, "No, but that is what I thought too. Evidently the husband started drinking, sort of a coping technique, I guess." He grinned and gave Bruce a sideways glance. "One night she was tearing around the house, screaming and ranting about the money he'd hidden from her. Said she knew that he pulled up a floor board and buried it. He was going to run away with all the money and some cheap whore from town and leave her penniless."

Suddenly a distant rumbling sound broke Bruce's concentration. He grabbed Lex by the shoulder and slapped a hand over his mouth. He threw the smaller boy into the ditch and fell on top of him. Bruce held his breath as a truck rumbled past hoping the driver had not seen them in his headlights. He waited until the engine whine faded before rolling off of Lex. "Look, you've got to pay attention. I know you were into your story but we're going to get caught if you don't stay sharp, Lex."

"Sorry, Bruce . . . I'm sorry." Lex was still shaken from the close call. "I'll pay attention. You won't have to tell me again." Lex stood and brushed the grass and leaves from his clothing, "Sorry."

Wrapping his arms around Lex's waist, Bruce pulled him close and kissed him. "It's okay. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not mad, Lex."

"I know, I wasn't scared of you," Lex spoke softly. His heart still hammered in his chest, his breath still coming in short pants. "I was so into the story, I didn't see that truck or hear it. When you grabbed me, I thought . . ." he laughed and pulled away, "That's what scared me."

Bruce gave Lex one of his rare smiles, "Okay. So, tell me the rest of the story. Just don't become so engrossed this time."

As they started to walk again Lex rubbed his chin, "Okay, so where was I? Oh, yeah, so this crazy wife . . . I think her name was Pat. Yeah and the husband's name was Hal. So, Pat is ripping through the house raving about whores and hidden treasure when Hal just sort of snaps. He gets up and walks into the bedroom. Pat followed him and when she opened the bedroom door, Hal had pulled a pistol out of the dresser drawer. He turned and shot her right between the eyes." Lex stopped for a moment, appalled by the image. "He told the sheriff Pat had shot herself. No one doubted Hal because everyone in town knew what a nutcase Pat was."

Bruce grew still, thinking this over seriously, "So he got away with murdering his wife?" Nodding, Lex finished the tale, "That's what the kid from town said; except he really didn't get away scot-free because Pat haunted him for the rest of his life. Hal would see her out of the corner of his eye but when he'd turn Pat wouldn't be there. He'd see her in the mirror while he was shaving in the morning, that sort of thing. He couldn't sleep at night because she'd be there in the bedroom ranting and raving or he'd hear her searching the house looking for the hidden money." Lex moved closer to Bruce, their arms touching as they walked. "It got to be too much for old Hal. He ate his revolver three years later, on the anniversary of Pat's death. When he didn't show up for work or answer the phone, the sheriff finally went out to check on him. Guess he'd been there a couple of days by then, and pretty ripe from the story I heard."

"Well, that is certainly a gruesome tale, Mr. Luthor," Bruce spoke nasally. "I think the haunting was all in Hal Stanton's mind. We can go check out the house for an hour or so but don't be disappointed if we don't see any ghosts."

"I'm not worried either way, Bruce. I'm just glad to be away from Excelsior prison for a little while, not to mention that I'm with you." Lex ducked his head, embarrassed.

Bruce grunted but said nothing further. They walked in silence until Lex pointed out an overgrown drive. "This is it. We turn here and this drive should take us straight to the Stanton place."

Bruce followed, deep in thought. "Lex how did this kid telling you the story know that Hal Stanton shot his wife? Did he leave a suicide note confessing or something?"

Cocking his head, Lex mulled the question for a moment, "I don't know, Bruce and I didn't think about it at the time. Had to be something of the sort, though, I mean if the story is even true."

Bruce shrugged and nodded, "Not that it matters, I guess. It's still a good story." He increased his pace, "I can see the house. Let's hope the ghosts are hospitable and left a door unlocked for us." They approached the dilapidated house, falling silent as they reached the porch stairs. Bruce led the way and had no difficulty forcing the door open. "It would be nice to have a flashlight but the moon is still bright. We'll open the curtains if it's too dark inside."

***

Lex's mouth was suddenly dry as he followed Bruce inside. Lex felt foolish for suggesting this trip without taking time to prepare. He hadn't even thought to bring a flashlight.

The house was so gloomy it took a few minutes to regain their night vision, not that there was too much to see. It had stood vacant for a long time, wallpaper peeling in strips, warped floor boards, water stains on the ceiling.

"I really wish we had a light," Bruce's voice startled Lex when it echoed slightly in the empty room.

Lex shrugged, "Sorry. I was just thinking the same thing." He stepped closer, still feeling jumpy. "This place is creepy enough by itself, no ghosts required."

"It's not that bad. At least there aren't any rats or other animal nests." Sometimes Bruce frightened Lex; his way of looking at things was just a little askew. Bruce Wayne was the most private person Lex had ever met, yet he turned his outcast status into something to be envied.

"Leave it to you to find the romantic aspect of any situation, Bruce." Lex smiled, wrapping an arm around Bruce's waist and squeezed him even closer. "Let's find a ghost, okay?"

Bruce peered at his watch, holding his arm up awkwardly trying to see by the moonlight shining through the dusty window, "We have an hour. I don't want to risk getting back too late."

"Not a problem," Lex whispered and slowly walked deeper into the house. Periodically he would realize he was holding his breath. He had frightened himself with the story, more than he'd realized.

Bruce walked into the kitchen, barely making a sound. Lex turned and followed without comment, not sure why they were being so quiet. Bruce carefully opened drawers and cabinet doors until he discovered what he was looking for. "A ha, candles." He turned to Lex with a smile. "You have a lighter, right Lex?"

Lex grinned and fished the Bic from his jeans pocket, "You're my hero." He lit the candles and Bruce handed one to him.

"Let there be light." Bruce turned and started back toward the front room, his shadow dancing eerily on the wall from the light of the flickering flame.

This is how it always was, Bruce led and Lex followed. It came naturally with Bruce, although Lex never took a backseat to anyone else, not even adults when he could get away with it. He found Bruce standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing. "Bruce, is something wrong?"

"Haven't you noticed how nothing in this house seems to move until you look away and then you just . . . catch something out of the corner of your eye?" He turned to face me with this strange expression on his face.

"What?" Lex stepped closer more frightened than before, "Did you see something move, Bruce?"

Lex watched as he gave himself sort of a mental shake, blinked and then shrugged, "No, never mind, Lex. It's just a line from an old movie. Alfred thinks any film made before the advent of Technicolor is a classic."

Lex nodded and smiled having absolutely no idea how to reply. He walked past Bruce toward the bedroom door. "This is where it all took place, I guess." He stopped in the doorway not ready to enter the scene of the crime just yet.

Bruce came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Lex's waist pulling him close. Lex could feel him getting hard, Bruce's crotch pressing against the small of his back. "This is pretty exciting, huh?"

Resting the back of his head against Bruce's shoulder, Lex sighed, "Mmmm . . . whatever, Bruce." Suddenly he pulled away, "Hey, look". He bent his knees as he walked almost kneeling by the time he reached a large discoloration on the wooden floor of the bedroom. Holding his candle down to the boards, "Look, Bruce, do you think this is a blood stain?"

Bruce knelt beside him, holding his candle close to the floor, "It could be, Lex. I can't imagine why no one bothered to clean it up when they came for the furniture." He reached down, his fingertips hovering just above the stain, eyes closed, features slack. "The blood looked so black in the moonlight . . ." He shook himself, and stood quickly. "Sorry."

Before Lex could reply they heard a crashing noise in the front room. His eyes grew round, "What the hell was that?"

Bruce stepped between Lex and the door, placing the younger boy behind his back. "Stay here. I'll check." He walked slowly, holding his candle high in front of him. Yet, there was nothing see. The room was still as empty as when they entered.

As soon as they cleared the bedroom door they heard drawers and cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen. Lex stared at the darkened doorway, his mouth hanging open.

Bruce's eyes gleamed in the glow of the candle, "We have to go in there, Lex. Come on, before we lose . . . the trail." He grasped Lex's jacket sleeve and hurried toward the kitchen.

They stopped dead in the doorway Lex rubbed his eyes and blinked. "Bruce?"

"I see it too, Lex. Just shut up and let it show us what it wants us to see," Bruce's voice was a tight whisper, quavering with excitement. "It's Pat Stanton, isn't it?"

Lex nodded unable to form coherent thought. There in the kitchen was the transparent form of a woman. Her mouth moved but no sounds could be heard. She ripped open cabinet doors and drawers, throwing things left and right.

The spectre wore a baggy housecoat and slippers. That she was irate was easily recognized despite the lack of volume.

Bruce reached for Lex's arm pulling him to one side as ghostly Patricia Stanton turned to exit the kitchen into the living room. "You're shaking, Lex," he whispered, "Just relax, she can't hurt you. It's like watching a movie, we can see what happened but we're not a part of it. She probably has no idea we're even here."

Lex moved closer to Bruce, still silent his eyes never leaving the phantom. Pat proceeded to rip the cushions from the sofa that had not been in the front room seconds ago. She continued to rail and rant, waving her arms in the air when she wasn't ransacking one piece of recently materialized furniture or another.

A noise from the bedroom caught the boys' attention and they reluctantly turned away from Mrs. Stanton's ghost.

Hal Stanton sat on the bed, speaking to someone on the telephone. He smiled and laughed occasionally, holding the receiver between his chin and shoulder. His hands were otherwise occupied loading an old fashioned revolver. He placed the gun on the nightstand and opened a drawer to withdraw a stack of bills at least three inches thick. He fanned them with his thumb holding the money next to the handset.

Hal made kissing noises into the telephone before hanging up. He lifted the revolver and spun the cylinder, still smiling. He turned to look through Bruce and Lex and shouted. The boys could read his lips as he called his wife's name.

The boys moved aside once more for Pat to enter the bedroom. They watched in mounting horror as Hal pointed the pistol at his wife's face, a huge grin on his lips and fired.

Pat fell to the floor, body twitching and jerking for several moments before lying still. Hal never spared her another glance as he bound the stack of bills with a rubber band and placed them in a business sized envelope.

A knock on the front door caused the boys to whip around in fright. Bruce shivered and uttered a soft moan as Hal Stanton passed through him to greet his visitor.

Lex gripped Bruce's arm tightly and hissed, "Are you okay?"

Bruce nodded, rapt by the drama playing out before them, "Yes, I'm okay, I think. Just keep watching, Lex." He sighed and shuddered again, trying not to think about the fact that a ghost had just passed through his body.

They watched as Hal opened the front door to a younger woman, cheaply dressed, too much makeup and badly dyed red hair. They kissed and embraced, Hal groping the woman familiarly. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom where his wife laid dead, blood spreading in a widening puddle beneath her head.

The woman appeared unconcerned and spoke to Hal Stanton. In reply he reached into the nightstand and retrieved the envelope full of cash.

The woman snatched the envelope from him and peered at its contents. Laughing she fanned herself with her free hand and leaned in to kiss Hal once more.

The two of them sat on the bed, heads together, obviously making plans. As Hal reached to pick up the telephone the woman stood and placed the envelope in her purse.

Hal must have phoned the police because he put on quite an act as the shocked and grieving husband. As he spoke the woman covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Hal escorted her to the door as soon as he hung up the phone, kissing her passionately before closing the door.

The room went dark, as if a light had been switched off. Lex let out a shaky breath. "Bruce?" His voice trembled, tight and high.

"Yeah, Lex, you weren't imagining it, I saw the same things you did." He held Lex to him trying to stop the younger boy's trembling.

"I think we should . . ."

Before Lex could finish his thought the room glowed with light again. Hal walked through the house, angry and agitated. He picked up the phone and dialed and slammed the receiver onto the cradle and then the cycle started over again.

The house was dirty and neglected, devoid of a woman's touch. Plates and glasses littered all flat surfaces and clothing was strewn across the floor.

After viewing this scene several times, not unlike a skip in a record, finally Hal entered the bedroom. He sat on the side of the bed. He pulled the pistol from the drawer one final time and inserted it in his mouth.

Lex buried his face in Bruce's chest unwilling to watch Hal Stanton end his life. He felt Bruce jerk and knew it was over. "Let's go, Bruce. Please?" Lex licked his dry lips, tremors wracking his body as if he'd taken a chill. "I just want to leave, now."

Nodding, Bruce turned them as one toward the door. "Yeah, we really need to get back to school, any way."

Lex pulled back, a little embarrassed by his display, "Yeah. Reynolds will have our asses if we aren't back in time for bed check." He stood straighter and squared his shoulders. "That was some show, though, huh?"

"Yes, it certainly was," Bruce agreed once again wearing a bemused expression. "It would certainly simplify our judicial system if every crime scene provided a virtual reenactment, don't you agree?"

Lex didn't bother to answer, long ago realizing that most of Bruce's questions were rhetorical in nature. As they walked toward the front door, a draft or breeze snuffed their sputtering candles. Lex stumbled over something in the dark, nearly falling before catching Bruce's arm for balance.

"What the hell?" Bruce steadied Lex and peered at the floor. "Use your lighter, Lex. I want to see what tripped you."

Fumbling the Bic from his pocket, it took three tries to light. "Shit . . . okay, it's going to work now." Lex leaned down to illuminate the floor with the tiny flame. "Fuck me! Bruce, tell me that wasn't there before."

"It wasn't there before, Lex," Bruce complied, "but it's sure as fuck there now." He lifted the cheap imitation leather bag and opened the clasp. His breath left him in a rush, "Holy shit."

Lex leaned closer to peer inside, "No. Just . . . no." He held the lighter up so he could see Bruce's face. "This is some kind of trick . . . in a minute someone is going to pull a thread tied around the purse handle and jerk it out of your hand . . ."

"No trick, Lex." Bruce's voice was calm almost serene. "The purse is real and so is the envelope full of money."

The walk back to school was uneventful as was slipping into the dormitory just in time for bed check. Both boys drifted to sleep with smiles on their faces trying to imagine how pleased and surprised the director of the local shelter for battered and abused women would be when she opened the anonymous donation made in memory of Patricia Stanton.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Cathy and Connie

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