The Broken Promise

The countdown to summer has ended, and now it is time for freedom and fun with my best friend, Christopher Johnson. This is the first summer when Chris’ parents aren’t hiring someone to watch him and his 14-year-old sister, Elizabeth. It’s about time. Chris and I just finished sixth grade. My mom hasn’t hired a sitter for me for two years, and I’m an only child. In her defense, she couldn’t afford it as a single mom. Besides, I spend so much time with the Johnsons, I feel like an honorary son. Chris is the most responsible kid I know. He does extra credit, he holds doors open for strangers, and one time, he saw $20 fall out of a lady’s pocket, and instead of keeping it, he gave it back. I would call him book smart, whereas I am street smart. We complement each other well.

We are biking to our favorite swimming spot on Phantom Lake. Chris says, “Last one there has to do a belly flop off the platform, and he takes off before he finishes the sentence. Dang, he’s got quite a lead. Oh well, I’d probably do one anyway.

By the time I drop my bike in the grass, Chris is already up to his waist. I wade in, and the water is cold, but it feels great on my feet after the bike ride. I notice the only other people around are a young couple with a toddler, building a sandcastle near the shore.

Chris yells, “Hurry up, Jared. It’s belly-floppin’ time.”

I dive under, and the cold water makes me flinch. I swim to the wooden platform. After my “flop,” we jump and dive for dozens, if not hundreds of times, both from the lower platform and the high dive platform up the metal ladder. We finally rest with our feet dangling in the water.

“Hey,” Chris smacks my arm, “I forgot to tell you that our farmhouse is up. It’s not finished inside, but mom and dad said we can each invite one friend to spend the night Saturday. You’ll come, right?”

“You kidding?” I smack him back. “What else am I gonna do? Spend the night with my boring mom? All she does is read and watch documentaries and love movies. Yuck. Besides, maybe we can finally find out if the old barn is haunted.”

“Mmmmaybe,” Chris drones. He wiggles his feet in the water. “My parents don’t want us in there. It’s going to get demolished.”

I roll my eyes and then slap my forehead. “All the more reason to find the ghosts Saturday night.”

Chris doesn’t seem convinced. “We’ll see. Anyway, I think you and I get a tent. The farmhouse is smaller than one of those tiny houses. The girls get the loft, and my parents get the downstairs room.”

I lean back on the platform, watching the few puffy clouds above. “I’m fine with a tent. It will be easier to sneak out.”

Before Chris can respond, I jump up and do a cannonball right in front of him. As I come up, I’m pleased to see that I really soaked him.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” he shrieks, jumping in next to me and pushing my head under. I swim beneath the platform. It smells musty, but I like hiding out down here. Occasionally, I hear some juicy gossip through the floorboards about someone in our small town.

Chris joins me, but I know he doesn’t like it under here, so I suggest, “Let’s go get ice cream. Last one to the bikes buys the other a soda.” This time, I get the jump on him. No doubt, I’ll be buying him a soda the next time. We always end up sharing anyway. That’s the way we roll - fair and square.

By the time we get back, Phantom Lake is swarming with people of all ages, so we head to Chris’ house to play video games. It is a fun first day of summer, made all the sweeter by the fact that our moms gives me permission to stay for dinner, and Mr. Johnson orders pizza.

Saturday, my mom drives me to the Johnson’s so that my bike won’t be left in their yard overnight.

As we load the van, Chris’ sister and her friend, Ann, insist on the back seat, so we are stuck in the middle. The Johnson farm, purchased as a get-away investment, is about two hours away.

The girls are eating trail mix and putting the raisins in our hair, until Chris hollers, “Eeeliiiiizaaaabeth!” and their mom puts a stop to it. Elizabeth sticks her tongue out at us. I grin. I’m glad that I’m an only child so I don’t have a sister.

Once we get there, Chris and I run around the farmhouse, which has been painted dark gray.

Then, we climb into the loft. Everything inside is bare wood. It smells wonderful.

I call down as Mr. Johnson walks in, “This is great! Maybe you should leave it just like this.”

Mr. Johnson runs his hand through his hair. “Thanks, Chris, but we’re going to paint it, because Mrs. Johnson doesn’t want more wood splinters. Now, why don’t you guys set up your tent? If you need help, let me know.”

“Okay,” Chris hastens down the wooden ladder.

We put the tent halfway to the barn. As soon as our sleeping bags are spread out, we ask if we can go to the creek. It’s too shallow for swimming, and we can step right over it in spots, but it’s fun to throw sticks in and watch them float away, and to look for frogs and minnows.

Dinner is hotdogs cooked over a bonfire, carrots and cucumbers, followed by S’mores. I like my marshmallows crispy, and Chris likes his lightly warmed.

Mrs. Johnson licks marshmallow off her fingers and says, “Now, I want you two boys to promise not to go into that old barn tonight. It’s not safe.”

Chris says, “Yes, Mom.”

I mumble, “Yeah, Mrs. Johnson.”

We wait for a long time after being sent off to the tent. Finally, I say, “Let’s go.”

Chris says, “I don’t know about this. We promised.”

“No,” I said, “Technically, we just agreed. We never said, ‘I promise.’”

“Wow, Jared,” Chris says, dripping with sarcasm, “you will make a good lawyer someday.”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me in the dark. “You won’t catch me in no monkey suit. Now, let’s go ghost hunting. This is gonna be great!” I turn on my flashlight and Chris follows suit.

The barn seems bigger and scarier in the dark, but I lead on, and we creep through the broken boards we had scoped out during the daylight since opening a door would have made too much noise. We spooked some birds, which squawked and flew through the broken boards in the roof. Chris would have bolted if I hadn’t had a death grip on his shirt. He whispers, “I don’t like this.”

I whisper back, “Tough it out. This place is amazing!” There’s an old tractor in one corner. As we check it out, I say, “Maybe your dad will let us tinker with this tomorrow.” We shine our flashlights all around. I sigh, “No ghosts down here. Let’s head for the hayloft. I’ll lead. Keep your light on the ladder.” I turn off my flashlight and tuck it into the cargo pocket on my pants. The ladder is old and splintery, but it holds my weight easily. I report, “There’s one rung to avoid. You’ll see that it’s broken in the middle.” I counted. “Fourth from the top. Your turn. I’ll shine the light for you.”

Soon, Chris joins me in the hay loft. It smells awful, but there is some interesting equipment in a corner, perhaps something for handling the hay that used to be stored here. We walk toward the pile of rusty metal, Chris holding onto my shoulder.

He says, “Let’s go back now. If there were ever any ghosts, they’re long gone.”

I say, “Let’s just check out this stuff first.” I turn around and flash my light in Chris’ eyes. “Unless you’re chicken.”

He steps backward and trips over something. His grip on my shirt slips and he falls, seemingly in slow motion. As he lands, there’s a giant crack and Chris falls through the floor, disappearing into the dark.

I yell, “Oh my God, Chris, are you okay?” I rush to the ladder, put my flashlight in my mouth and hurry down, careful to avoid the fourth rung. Chris’ flashlight must have broken because there is no other light. I call, “Chris, no playing around. Tell me where you are.” I frantically aim my flashlight around the barn. I find him laying face up with vacant eyes open and rush to him. I shake his shoulder, tears streaming down my face. “Chris, don’t die on me.” Deep down, I know it’s too late.

I run to the farmhouse and pound on the door. I yell, my voice sounding distant, “Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, there’s been an accident. It’s Chris. He’s…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

As I hear feet hit the floor, I back away from the door just in time for it to come crashing open. Mr. Johnson looks both angry and concerned. “Where is he?” he yells. When I don’t answer immediately, he grabs my shoulders and shakes me, yelling even more loudly, “WHERE IS HE?”

“In the barn,” I croak. He grabs my flashlight and makes a run for it. Mrs. Johnson appears with another flashlight, following. I don’t want to go back, but I feel I must. When we enter through the barn door, which is wide open, letting in the sparse moonlight, I see Mr. Johnson hugging the lifeless body of his son, rocking him, and mumbling incoherently. Mrs. Johnson screams, “NOOO!” and runs to them.

Elizabeth and Ann come rushing from behind. Elizabeth says, “My God, Jared, what did you do to him?”

I stutter, “N-no, he f-fell. I d-didn’t want…” I stand there, stunned into silence, knowing this is all my fault.

Mr. Johnson turns and points a shaky finger, “YOU!” he shrieks. “You promised not to come in here, and now my son is gone.”

I can’t look at the scene anymore. I run for it, falling several times in the dark, but finally finding the road which leads to the highway.

I’m tired and scared, but mostly, I am sorry. I'm sorry for breaking a promise, sorry for all the harsh words I've ever spoken, and sorry that my best friend is gone. The guilt is suffocating. My breaths are shallow and strained. I keep walking, barely seeing the dark road through my tears. After what seems like an eternity, a car comes from behind, then pulls alongside.

Mrs. Johnson jumps out and says, “Jared,” She grabs me into a hug. “I know you feel badly about this, but it isn’t your fault. Even if you asked Chris to go, he didn’t have to. I don’t want you to spend your life haunted by this. You are now the closest thing we have to a son.” Her voice breaks and now we’re both sobbing, hugging on the side of the road.

Her words help, though I know I’ll have nightmares of what happened in the barn for the rest of my life, all of which started with a broken promise.