The House in the Woods - 1. Chapter 1

“How’re you doin’, Champ?” Uncle Pat said, as eight-year-old Buddy climbed into the green ’36 Ford Pickup and put his small brown valise in front of his legs.

“Uh, okay, Uncle Pat,” Buddy said, trying to find some way of sitting that wouldn’t hurt so much as his uncle pulled out into traffic. He’d told his mother that it was okay with him if he didn’t go fishing, but she wanted him out of the house since his father was on another bender.

“Well, you don’t look okay,” Uncle Pat said, pulling over to the curb. “Your mother said that dear old brother of mine got drunk last night and whipped you with his old leather belt. Let me take a look.”

Buddy stood up and pulled his pants down. He shivered when his uncle’s cold fingers touched one of the large welts across the back of his upper thigh. This had been the worst whipping his father had ever given him because his father didn’t stop when Buddy started bleeding, but continued until Mother stood up to her husband for the first time in their marriage and held his arm. Although the pain was searing a hole in his head, Buddy heard Father swear at his mother and the sharp slap when the leather belt struck her face. He turned and saw his father walk out of the bedroom, while his mother knelt on the floor sobbing from where the belt smeared his blood across her cheek. Buddy wanted to go to her, but feared his father would return and catch him touching her. The last time his father saw Buddy kiss his mother he punched her so hard the broken diamond ring on his finger cut her lip.

Buddy learned to fear his father at an early age because his father was unpredictable with his punishments. Father was just as likely to whip Buddy’s bare behind with the old, black leather belt as slap his face hard enough to make his nose bleed. Since Buddy was the oldest his punishment was always worse than Del’s, Sally’s, or Archie’s, because Father believed the ultimate responsibility for punishment was borne by the oldest child. If Father was able to relieve his anger by beating or striking Buddy, then Del was assured that he would be spared his lesser share. Sally rarely experienced Father’s wrath because she was a girl and she was never old enough before her father was sent to prison. Little Archie experienced Father at his worst only once when no one was around to take the baby’s punishment for dirtying his diaper, but Archie was too young to understand why his bottom was whipped until the skin broke open and started to bleed, causing him to scream loud enough for Buddy to hurry to see what was wrong. For his concern, Buddy was rewarded with several lashes for not being there in the first place.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand why my brother thinks this is doin’ you any good,” Uncle Pat said, pulling up Buddy’s pants. “I think we’d better go to my place. You won’t have any fun fishin’ with a butt lookin’ like that. Some of them welts are bleeding a bit and they need doctorin’.”

Buddy was so busy trying to think of how to stop the burning pain on his legs and butt; he was unable to worry about missing a fishing trip with his uncle. He knew there’d be other times because Uncle Pat seemed to like him. Since he’d been to his uncle’s house only a few times before, Buddy tried to watch where they were going even though the pain seared into his head every time the truck hit a bump or pot hole. By the time they crossed the Montlake Cut, the pain was so bad he didn’t notice when he wet his pants. All he could do was lean back and hope the jostling would end, but it only seemed to get worse.

“Who’s the kid?” Buddy heard a man say, as he began to wake into a pool of pain.

“My nephew, Buddy, you know, I was takin’ him fishin’,” Uncle Pat said, getting out of the pickup. “He got whipped pretty bad last night and he needs a little doctorin’. Can you start gettin’ the stuff out of the truck while I get him into the shower?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” the other man said.

“Uncle Pat, who’s that?” Buddy asked as his uncle picked him up with his large, muscular hands and set him down in the unmown grass beside the driveway. “I’m sorry about peeing my pants, Uncle Pat. It just hurts so bad.”

“I know, Buddy, come on in with me and we’ll see what we can do about it,” Uncle Pat said. “Vincent where’s the salve you brought from work?”

“It should be in the kitchen, maybe on top of the fridge,” Vincent said.

There were a lot of tall fir trees all around the house reminding Buddy of the story of Hansel and Gretel. Walking through the small living room with its old, worn brown sofa, overstuffed blue armchair, and big radio in the corner, Buddy followed his uncle into the bathroom. As Uncle Pat started the water, Buddy started to take off his damp clothes.

“Step under the water, Buddy, and get yourself soaked down,” Uncle Pat said, stepping away from the shower. “That’s enough. Now, step out here and I’ll lather you up.”

Buddy felt strange when his uncle picked him up, again, and stood him on the toilet seat cover. He shut his eyes when his uncle’s soapy hands began moving across his body, wincing as the soap burned into the sores. At home he was old enough to take his own baths and his mother let him give baths to his younger brothers and sister, but his butt and legs burned so much from the whipping he didn’t complain.

“Okay, Buddy, rinse yourself off,” Uncle Pat said, picking him up and setting him down in the shower. “Hurry up, no need wastin’ water.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Although Buddy knew Vincent had to be an adult, he seemed a lot younger than his uncle, almost boyish with barely a hint of whiskers on his creamy, white face. He was a lot taller and skinnier than Uncle Pat and his red, bony hands felt hot against his skin as he massaged more salve onto the welts. Buddy winced when Vincent’s fingers hit a sore spot.

“You awake?” Vincent said, working his fingers away from where they made Buddy hurt.

“A little, sir,” Buddy said, turning himself a little to get a better look at Vincent.

“Lie still until I can get this stuff worked in,” Vincent said, pushing down on Buddy’s shoulder. “You’re going to be a little groggy from the, uh, medicine Patrick gave you and I’m not in the mood to clean up any puke. You just relax and let me do my job. Your daddy certainly did a number on you, but I don’t think there’ll be many scars. This one across your bottom—lay still, I told you, I know that it hurts. There’re a couple spots where the skin’s broke, but if we keep it clean and covered with this salve, you should be okay.”

“I got to pee, sir,” Buddy said, suddenly aware that he didn’t have any clothes on.

“Damn, I knew you were going to say that before I got done,” Vincent said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Okay, let me do the work. You okay? No, still a little dopey, I think. Okay, stay on your stomach and back off the bed, that’s it. Slowly, or you’ll pass out on me. How do you feel?”

“I don’t have any clothes on, sir,” Buddy said, shutting his eyes to make to room stop swirling around him.

“That’s all right, ain’t nobody here but us boys,” Vincent said, gripping Buddy’s arm. “Come on, I’ll lead you to the toilet. You got the woozies bad, huh? Well, keep your eyes closed and we’ll be there soon. Oh, and, please, don’t call me sir, Vincent will do.”

When they got back to the bedroom, Vincent gave Buddy one of his old t-shirts to put on so that he didn’t have to be naked. When Buddy put it over his head, it hung down almost to his knees. He climbed back up onto the bed and lay down on his side. When Vincent picked up the deck of cards from the nightstand and began shuffling them, Buddy rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows.

“So, Buddy, how old are you?” Vincent said, continuing to shuffle the cards. “I just turned twenty-two last week.”

“I turned eight in February, uh, Vincent,” Buddy said, feeling a little more comfortable around the young man. “Is this your room?”

“No, Buddy, we keep this mostly for friends when they come to visit and drink too much to go home,” Vincent said, dealing out five cards. “Buddy, have you ever played poker?”

- - - - - - - - - -

When Buddy woke up it was dark in the room, but there was some light coming in under the door. He couldn’t see a clock so he didn’t know if he’d been asleep all night or just a few hours. However long it had been, he had to pee, again. He crawled out of bed the way Vincent taught him and was surprised when there wasn’t very much pain in his legs or butt. There was just enough light to find the door, but when he heard voices as he turned the knob, he froze for a moment. Cracking the door, Buddy saw that the hall light was on, but the living room was dark. The words were still indistinct, but he could tell it was Uncle Pat and Vincent who were talking. When he stepped into the hall, he saw that the bathroom door was closed. The voices stopped when he knocked.

“Yes?” Uncle Pat said, opening the door.

“I got to pee,” Buddy said, staring at his uncle who didn’t have any clothes on. He heard the shower start and assumed that would be Vincent.

“Okay, champ, might as well have everyone in here,” Uncle Pat said, standing aside.

“Whatever you do, don’t flush,” Vincent said from inside the shower.

“How’s your butt feelin’?” Uncle Pat said after Buddy finished and turned toward the door. “Let’s take a look at those welts.”

Buddy pulled off the t-shirt Vincent gave him to wear; and, before he could think what to do next, Uncle Pat picked him up and stood him on the toilet seat cover, again. Whatever embarrassment he may have experienced because he was naked was quickly fading when he realized everyone in the bathroom didn’t have any clothes on. Just as Vincent turned off the shower, Uncle Pat muttered a barely audible “aw shit” and left the bathroom. Buddy turned around on the toilet seat cover and saw Vincent standing in front of him.

“What are you staring at?” Vincent said.

“I, uh, I, um,” Buddy mumbled. He’d seen his uncle without clothes a couple of times when they’d gone camping, but Vincent was a lot different from Uncle Pat who was shorter, with more muscles and more hair. Vincent had hardly any hair on his legs and none on his chest; but Buddy’s attention was drawn to Vincent’s penis, which was very different from his or Uncle Pat’s. It was a lot longer for one thing, but the tip was strange because it didn’t have any skin covering it. And, unlike Uncle Pat, Vincent didn’t have any hair around his penis. It looked like it had been shaved.

“Patrick! Get in here!” Vincent yelled. “Buddy will you just turn back around. You’re making me nervous.”

“What’s wrong?” Uncle Pat said, opening the door.

Buddy looked toward his uncle for support, but Uncle Pat shook his head. He had the can of salve in one hand and a couple of towels under his arm.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Uncle Pat said, putting the towels down on the hamper. “Don’t tell me, Buddy was admiring your equipment. Buddy, didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not nice to stare?”

- - - - - - - - - -

Sunlight filled the room when Buddy woke up, again. It took a few moments for him to realize he wasn’t in his bed and a few more to remember he was at his Uncle Pat’s house. When he rolled over to get out of bed, the pain from his bottom and thighs quickly reminded him of the whipping his father gave him Friday night. The burning was so bad he wanted to cry out, but held himself lest his uncle think he was a baby and couldn’t handle a little pain.

“Hey, champ, you awake, yet?” Uncle Pat said, opening the door. Although he was wearing a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans, Buddy noticed he was barefoot. “The mornin’s gettin’ on and you’re still lyin’ there. Come on, Buddy, get up and I’ll fix you a couple of eggs. How do you like them?”

“Mother cooks them scrambled,” Buddy said, easing out of the bed, trying to avoid irritating the welts anymore. He winced a little when the skin pulled against the worst one across his bottom.

“As long as you’ve got yourself bent over, let me take a quick look at those sores,” Uncle Pat said, pulling up the t-shirt. “That big one still looks bad, but the rest seem to be getting better. Okay, champ, come let’s get some food into you.”

“When can I put some real clothes on?” Buddy said, standing up and letting the t-shirt fall back down.

“Well, Vincent said he’d bring some bandages home from work tonight. That bad one looks like it might give us trouble if we don’t keep it protected, so maybe tonight, but probably not until tomorrow.”

“But, I have to go to school tomorrow,” Buddy whined, following his uncle out of the bedroom. Uncle Pat headed toward the living room, but Buddy turned toward the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind him, he pulled off the t-shirt and tried to look at his behind in the mirror on the door. The welts looked worse than he’d thought; and, he could see why Uncle Pat and Vincent seemed to be concerned about the big one. Running some water to wash the sleep out of his eyes, he thought he’d better use the toilet first. He stood in front of it and raised the cover. He had to sit down, but was afraid of the pain that would certainly occur if he did. The more he thought about sitting in pain, the less he wanted to do what had to happen. Turning around, he shut his eyes against certain agony and leaned back against the seat. . . .

“Buddy? What’s wrong, champ?” Uncle Pat said, opening the bathroom door.

Buddy stood sobbing in the back of the shower afraid of the beating that was certain to come. Blood from his bottom was spread across the toilet seat, the floor, and was now trickling down his legs onto the shower’s floor. Unable to control his bowels because of the pain searing across his body, shit was smeared down his bloody legs. He held up his arm, knowing that his uncle was certain to slap him like his father always did when he didn’t do things the right way.

“Oh, Buddy, why didn’t you say somethin’,” Uncle Pat said, kneeling down on the floor, pulling Buddy into his embrace. “Champ, you have to trust me. I’m not your father. He may be my brother, but I’m not anythin’ like him. Let me see how bad it is. Come on turn around. Oh, shit! Uh, okay, uh, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Buddy continued to sob from embarrassment and pain as his uncle started the shower. This time his uncle took off his clothes and got into the shower with him. Very gently, completely unlike his father, Uncle Pat washed the shit and blood off his butt and legs, careful to thoroughly clean the open sores. After he turned the water off, his uncle dried him and then pressed two wads of cotton gauze against the sores that continued to seep blood. After a few minutes, the bleeding stopped enough for Uncle Pat to take Buddy back to the bedroom.

Usually Buddy never liked going to the doctor and today’s visit was about a bad as any he could remember. Not having any more clothes than the old t-shirt was enough to keep him embarrassed all the way to the clinic, but the pain wouldn’t go away and he started bleeding, again, before they got inside. Uncle Pat thanked the doctor for coming in on Sunday and carried Buddy all the way from the truck to the examination table. After the doctor bandaged him, and gave him two shots, they were able to go back home.

Buddy wanted to ask why doctors always needed to stick needles in little kids, but the doctor gave him a lollipop and a 1955 calendar that had a painting of an Irish setter chasing ducks. He thanked the doctor for helping him and Uncle Pat went to the drive-up window at Bob’s Burger Barn for ice cream. The best part of the whole trip was being able to put his pajamas on when they got back to the house.

- - - - - - - - - -

“I’ll see your three and raise you two,” Buddy said, looking that the three tens in his hand. He tossed five matchsticks onto the carpet between him and Vincent.

“Call, how many cards?” Vincent said, tossing in two more.

“Uh, two, I guess, yeah, two,” Buddy said, pulling out the eight of hearts and jack of diamonds.

“Buddy, if you want to talk to your mother, you’d better get in here,” Uncle Pat yelled from the kitchen.

“Mother?” Buddy said, trying to get up as fast as he could without causing too much pain. He dropped the cards and was, finally, able to stand up.

“You’d better hurry, this is costin’ me money,” Uncle Pat yelled.

“I’m coming,” Buddy said, waddling as fast as he could. The tape across his butt pulled when he tried to walk normal, forcing him into little steps that, even he knew, looked very funny. He took the big, black handset from Uncle Pat and held it to his ear.

“Buddy, is that you?” His mother’s voice dripped into his ear like warm honey.

“Mother?” Buddy said, unable to think of anything to say.

“How are you, Buddy?”

“Okay, but I want to come home,” Buddy said, trying to keep the tears back where they belonged.

“Buddy, I’m sorry, but that’s not possible right now. We lost our home, Buddy.”

“But, I, I,” Buddy said, feeling a tear roll down his cheek.

“Buddy, listen to me, please. Your father is in jail and I don’t know when he’ll get out. And, because of what he did Friday night, I got kicked out the apartment. Del and Sally are staying with your Uncle Bud and Aunt Norma; and, Archie and I are staying with Grampa Niles and Grammy May.”

“And, I’m staying with Uncle Pat?” Buddy said, looking up at his uncle, who knelt down and put his arm around him. “How long will they keep Father this time?”

“I told you, Buddy, I don’t know.”

“I hope they keep him forever,” Buddy said, thinking how nice it would be to go fishing.

“Buddy! That’s not nice. Your father loves you.”

“But, Mother, he hits me too hard. Uncle Pat had to take me to the doctor because I bled all over when I tried to poop. Mother, I’m sorry, but I’m beginning to hurt again. I have to go lie down,” Buddy said, handing the phone back to his uncle.

“I’m sorry, Jean, but Ted really did a number on him this time,” Uncle Pat said into the phone. Buddy looked at his uncle and turned to waddle back to the living room.

Vincent had cleaned up the matchsticks and cards and was sitting on the sofa reading the Sunday paper. Buddy climbed up beside him and lay down on his side using Vincent’s thigh as a pillow. He shut his eyes and let the tears wash his sadness away.

- - - - - - - - - -

A few hours later, after Buddy had been asleep for only a short time he awoke suddenly with a full bladder demanding immediate attention. He eased himself off the bed being careful not to pull the tape on his bandages. The pain pill Vincent gave him earlier made him lightheaded, but not enough to overcome the pressure down there. He had to pee. Now!

He opened his door and the living room and hall were dark, but he kind of knew his way around now. It wasn’t that big of a house with only two bedrooms and one bathroom that didn’t even have a bathtub. Putting his hand on the left wall, he slowly waddled along feeling for the door. Just when he reached it, he heard unusual groaning and moaning coming from Uncle Pat’s bedroom where a tiny bit of light was leaking under the door and reflecting off of the hardwood floor onto the hall rug.

But, he needed to pee. Bad!

Satisfying his need, Buddy went back into the hall and the moaning noises were still coming from Uncle Pat’s bedroom. Plus, there was a new sound; a rhythmical soft thud that sounded kind of familiar from back at home, but why was he hearing it here? He went to the door, which wasn’t fully closed, and pushed it open slightly. He couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing in the dim light of the bed lamp.

Uncle Pat was kind of kneeling and bent over Vincent, who was on his back with his legs pulled up; the young man’s muscular arms were rubbing Uncle Pat’s bare back. Both were naked! Uncle Pat was making his hips move and that was making the thumping sound coming from the bed. Vincent seemed to be the one who was doing most of the moaning.

Buddy didn’t know what to make of it. Were they wrestling, but why was Uncle Pat pushing his hips like that? And, why was Vincent moaning as if he was enjoying whatever Uncle Pat was doing to him. Just when Buddy was about to leave, more confused than ever, Vincent’s eyes met his. Buddy froze. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t move. His legs didn’t want to work.

“Pat! Somebody’s spying on us,” Vincent said loudly.

Uncle Pat turned his head toward the door and Buddy still couldn’t move. Then he saw something that didn’t make any sense at all. When Uncle Pat pulled away from Vincent, for a brief moment, Buddy saw his uncle’s penis as he’d never seen it before. It was long and stiff looking, stiff like his got when he rubbed it sometimes. He just couldn’t understand why Uncle Pat’s looked different this time, but suddenly he could move and hurried as fast at his taped butt allowed straight back to his bedroom and climbed up into the bed.

Fearing he’d done something naughty, Buddy turned on his side and pulled the covers over his head. They were doing something he shouldn’t have seen, adult kind of things, maybe even fucking. He kind of knew of fucking because there were those kinds of boys in school, who talked about fucking girls, but Buddy wasn’t clear on exactly what fucking entailed and no one was willing to tell him. “Well, if you don’t know, don’t expect me to tell you,” whoever he asked usually said, or words to that effect. Yet, he kind of suspected Uncle Pat was, in fact, fucking Vincent, but what he couldn’t figure out was how. Fucking was something a boy did with a girl. How could two men fuck? His door opened and someone sat on his bed.

“You okay, Buddy?” Vincent asked.

“I’m sorry I watched,” Buddy said, “but I heard noises and your door was open and I kind of saw what Uncle Pat was doing to you and you seemed to like what he was doing to you and I couldn’t leave. I wanted to, but I couldn’t move. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t want to cry because that’s what little boys did, but he knew he was going to get hit for this. This was being naughty big time. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Your Uncle Pat and I are very much in love and to express that love we do things, adult things,” Vincent said, caressing the boy’s shoulder. “What you saw is one of the things lovers do. I don’t want you to feel you did anything bad because one of us should’ve closed the door, which we will from now on. Okay?”

“Uh, huh,” Buddy whispered.

“Closed door means don’t come in,” Vincent said. “You can knock if you need us, but don’t come in.”

“Uncle Pat’s penis looked strange,” Buddy said, pulling the cover from his head. He turned over onto his stomach and saw that Vincent was only wearing his briefs.

“Oh, well, it’s a little late for a sex-ed class, but that’s what happens when a man makes love to someone,” Vincent said, matter-of-factly.

“But, sometimes at night in bed when I’m alone I rub my penis and I get a boner,” Buddy said with a frown, “but Mother said little boys shouldn’t do that to themselves. She said it is naughty. And, well, when I give Del and Archie baths sometimes they get boners, too.”

“Well, okay, so you know when you touch your own or your brothers’ penises they get stiff,” Vincent said. “When you get older, touching your penis is going to be something different and when you become a man and you start making love with someone, you’ll get stiff just by thinking sexy thoughts.”

“Oh, okay, I guess,” Buddy said.

“If you have any more questions, I’m sure Pat will be more than happy to answer them,” Vincent said before leaning down and kissing Buddy’s forehead.

“Were you two fucking?” Buddy asked with a faint whisper.

“Yes, but it’s called making love,” Vincent said. “I’m sure your mother’s told you fucking is a bad word. It certainly is around here.”

“Okay, I was wondering,” Buddy said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Buddy.”