From Between Worlds, Brendon Nutt [the top 100 crime novels of all time txt] 📗

evidence of ghosts. We more or less spent the last two visits hanging out and drinking in an environment that felt very much us. Plus, when you had alcohol in you, it was a lot easier to believe those creeks where the spirit of a dead psycho patient.

 

“Thanks for bringing me the buttons I asked for, by the way,” Parker said as I climbed into the truck, “glad I could get her started again.” He gave the steering wheel a couple light pats.

 

“Yeah, of course. Had no idea you could turn the keyhole...starter… thing, into a push button thing,” I’m good with cars.

 

“Push Button Thing, wonderful invention name, the PBT start system, available now in crap Ford cars everywhere!” We laughed a moment and then let the silence sit as we thought of something to say next, “So, I need to go to the gym to shower, want me to drop you off somewhere?”

 

“Actually, yes. Ninja Brad’s, told him I’d come by today, we were going to do more of that magic meditation or whatever,” I replied, starting to roll the manual window down.

 

“Really? Again? Thought those weren’t going well for you.”

 

I was able to get the window down a little bit before it seemingly got stuck, causing me to stare at the roller with an angry glare, “My mind tends to go to dark places and I got an overactive imagination, probably just some weird interpretation of a suppressed memory.

 

“Dark places is a bit of an understatement, last time I heard about one, you saw yourself as a kid getting attacked by a shadow man tentacle beast. Ninja Brad said you woke out of it in a hell of a panic.” Parker reached out a hand, bending his fingers toward himself in a ‘gimme’ gesture. I handed him a cigarette from the pack I had just pulled from my pocket.

 

“Damn him, that’s a break of student, teacher confidentiality!”

 

“That doesn’t exist and he’s not a teacher.”

 

“But you’re an asshole,” I lit my cigarette, returning the lighter to my shirt pocket to Parker’s frustration as he didn’t have a lighter and had is hand out to take it from me.

 

“Well, hopefully your next meditation doesn’t become another cliche hentai. Can you give me the lighter, please?”

 

I gave it to him with a stern look, “wasn’t that type of tentacle man.”

 

“We all got our fantasties.”

 

“Take me to Ninja Brad’s and shut the fuck up.”

The Door to the Others

 

We turned into the cul de sac, Parker having to use both hands and pull hard to get the wheel to turn. He had to do that for every turn with Trash Truck due to it not having any power steering. Made it surprising he didn’t have much sign of muscle in his arms, especially with how much he had to drive. He parked onto the street in front of the corner home, it was this run down one story home with a black tiled roof, that was missing a decent amount of its tiles and cream walls that had a nice layer of dirt on it, like everything in this town. The entire property was protected by a chain link fence with a gate that had a clear as can be “no soliciting” sign hung on it.

 

“Alright, see you tonight, Jonathan,” Parker said, pulling the parking break since the truck had a bad habit of rolling on any sort of incline.

 

“For sure, now go wash yourself, you smell homeless.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“I’m not sure I appreciate your persistence.”

 

“Get out of my car.”

 

I opened the door and did as he asked, giving a small chuckle, which he returned. I held the door open a moment, turning my head to look to Parker, “drive safe tonight, you know it is way out there and your truck ain’t exactly in the best of shape.”

 

He nodded, giving a big smile in return, “I paid for my minutes, I’ll call if Trash Truck shits herself.”

 

“With this old girl, it's only a matter of time. See yah, Parker.”

 

“Don’t bad mouth her.. See yah.”

 

I closed the door and walked to the gate as Parker started to pull away.  As I opened the gate I was able to hear clearly where Ninja Brad was, just by the sounds of a few oofs and ha’s coming from the backyard area, behind the wood fence that separated the front from the rear. I stepped onto the front lawn where a katana was stuck into the center of the lawn. I stared at it a moment, noting the decorative handle had been removed and replaced by two pieces of smooth sanded wood and wrapped in tape and black cloth. This was probably for me, but I wasn’t really interested in playing with sharp objects today.

 

I headed over to the tall wooden gate at the side of the home, stepping on a pile of neatly stacked bricks that had been there for as long as I had known him. They got bought for something, I’m sure. I was able to peek over the gate and into the well maintained backyard, primarily well maintained due to the grass having all been removed to be replaced by sand. Nothing like being surrounded by sand at home too, at least it was more practical than trying to keep up a lawn in the desert. Most people’s grass lawns had a beautiful shade of dead to them. The sand had fresh rake marks in them, something he tended to do, it was meditative or something, made it have this nice low budget zen garden aesthetic.

 

Ninja Brad stood in the center of the backyard, just behind the house, a pillar sort of blocking my view of him. I could tell he was wearing his iconic outfit, because of course a guy we called Ninja Brad had an iconic outfit. He had on his black gi with a black belt tied around it, it had no official logos on, just a large patch of an upright pentagram on the back. He had his katana in hand, taking two hard swipes at the air, coming down overhead with a quick follow up to one side. Every swipe causing his long brown hair to fall into his freckled and stubble covered face, making him give a shake of his head to get it out of his eyes as he re-adjusted his stance to return where he started before the downward swing. It was all rather rhythmic and strangely calming to watch.

 

“Hey, did your front lawn deserve a stabbing?” I shouted toward him, holding to the top of the fence and standing on my tiptoes to make sure my head was peeking over the tall wooden structure.

 

“It did. Did you take the blade?” Brad asked, swinging his sword down hard at an arc.

 

“I did not,” I proclaimed proudly, watching as he followed the downward swipe with a quick turn of the blade and swing to the left.

 

“Why not, Jonathan?” He shook his head to get the hair out of his face as he returned his right foot back to stand up straight.

 

“Because, I’m not a ninja.”

 

“Neither am I.”

 

“But, you’re Ninja Brad!”

 

“I didn’t give myself that name.” That was true, me and Parker started calling him that. He never referred to himself as a ninja, he actually found the name a bit childish, which is probably why we loved it, “well, either way, I guess sword training isn’t what you are here for.”

 

“Nope, the idea of getting cut doesn’t appeal to me too much.” I gave a toothy grin, knowing there wasn’t much he enjoyed more than his swords. Other than maybe, his spiritual beliefs. He turned to finally look in my direction, his face even and stern. A pretty typical expression for Mr. Ninja.

 

“Come to the front door, I’ll let you in.” He started to walk towards the rear of the home where the sliding glass door was. I stepped off the bricks and headed to where he told me to and waited for him to open up. As I waited, I found my gaze drifting towards the sword sticking out of the ground right in plain view of the street.

 

Ninja Brad is an interesting fellow, he was twenty-six, older than the rest of the group by seven to eight years. I had been introduced to him through some of those goth kids I mentioned earlier, they were training with him and talked about him from time to time. I asked to be introduced, then Drew and Parker went with me. Thinking about it, I never asked those goth kids how they met him. Either way, he became a pretty regular presence in our life after that meeting, he did a tarot reading with us, then showed us some martial arts moves and his collection of swords. All of which concluded to him being a cool sort of weird in our books.

 

I had started to try and learn kendo with him, but after taking a few shots to the hand with the wooden practice swords, I was kind of over it. However, his other big hobby, the practice of pagan magic and spirituality fascinated me. I wasn’t a believer by any means, but the fact he very much was, made me want to see what it was all about. Magic had an air of taboo to it, and much like the exploration of haunted places, taboo peaked my curiosity. Plus, Ninja Brad said I was a natural at it, which is cool to hear, even if it isn’t real. I’m really good at make believe, I’m sure Mom would be proud.

 

“Grab the sword and come on in,” said a voice that broke my train of thought. I looked at Brad as he held the door open, realizing I had been staring out at nothing.

 

“Yeah, sure…” I replied with a nod before walking over to my own personal sword in the stone. Just instead of stone, it was soft ground and anyone could pull it out. That might be an analogy for life I went for there, I’m not sure. I plucked the sword out with one hard pull, brushing off the point of the blade on my pant leg before going back to him. He held the door open and I went inside.

 

I stepped onto the wood tiled part of the floor that seperated the doorway area to a slight step up onto carpeted area.

 

“Shoes.” he said, as per tradition. I nodded and removed my shoes, kicking them into place on a small area rug he had up against the wall. After that was done, I followed him inside further. I’m not sure he was really trying to preserve his carpet any, it was more or less an adoption from a culture he followed with reverence. There wasn’t anything worth preserving with the carpet really, the light brown mess of a thing had a fair share of stains in it. One of which made for a pretty nice greeting was a large dark brown spot a few feet from the doorway, it was made by blood spilled when my buddy you all haven’t met yet, Drew, had cut his arm playing with one of the swords.

 

The house overall had an interesting appeal to it, a mixture of Japanese, Irish, and Druidic inspired decorations. It was a mix of all Ninja Brad’s greatest interests, most of which, I admit caught my interest as well, plus the place was clean. Brad was a strange guy, but he was disciplined, I’ll give him that.

 

Propped up against the wall just in front of the door was a sheath for the sword, which Brad gestured to. I obliged and slid the sword I had plucked from the ground into it and set it back against the wall.

 

“How are you feeling after last time?” Brad asked, referring to the last meditation session.

 

“Fine, mostly, it was scary in the moment but it also felt familiar, I guess. I don’t know, not as frightening as the real life horrors out there.” That was mostly