Page 27 of The Reformatory

“Don’t talk about that,” Redbone said.

Robert whispered. “But do they?”

“Some try it,” Blue said. “Sneak out right before dark, break into the mill, try to hide in the peanuts. That’s only a couple miles down the road, so that’s where they go—”

“Hush,” Redbone said.

“—but it don’t work. All these cracker farmers round here, they get fifty dollars if they snitch. Fifty. This place is full of snitches too. Plus they catch you, you get fifty lashes. Or you end up at Boot Hill.”

“What’s Boot Hill?”

“The graveyard,” Blue said. “That’s where they bury you.”

The rest of the room had lost all of its sound; no laughter, talking, silverware clanking. Troy and Eddie, sensing trouble, rose to clear their plates back in the kitchen. Robert glanced over at Crutcher again; his head was bent over his food as he sopped gravy with his roll.

But Cleo was watching. Really watching. Had he heard all the way across the room? Redbone kicked Blue under the table. “Shut up,” he said from behind his teeth.

Blue shrugged. “Nobody else heard.”

But he was wrong. Robert knew it, and so did Redbone. Robert pushed his plate away. He didn’t know which was worse: that Cleo might have overheard them, or that boys from the Reformatory got buried in a graveyard with its own name. He’d rather be sitting at dinner with the ghost with a knife in his back. Robert felt dizzy again.

Blue rose from the table, making a loud clatter as he jostled Redbone’s plate and fork, as if to bring attention to them on purpose. He sneered at Redbone over his shoulder as he followed the other boys to the kitchen.

Cleo’s eyes, thankfully, had returned to his friends.

Robert wanted to stop asking questions, but he couldn’t. “You ever… know anybody who got buried at Boot Hill?”

“Sure did,” Redbone said. He shoved mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Fat kid named Garrick. What business a fat kid got trying to run? We all helped pitch dirt to bury him.”

Cleaning up after dinner was a race. No talking, just scrubbing and closing jars and putting away food wrapped in foil in the massive refrigerator in case the staff got hungry later. Curfew at the dorm was seven thirty, and no one wanted to be late. Robert noticed that Crutcher and the other guards were gone, and noticing it worried him—both because Cleo might come and jump him again and because he did not want to be tempted to run. So soon after hearing about Boot Hill, it scared him to be wondering how long he would be left without adults watching him in the kitchen each night.

It would be dark outside soon. Could he find his way to the peanut mill like Blue had said? Could he get past the tall fences, or would he get lost in pockets of fires and screaming? His thoughts felt too loud, as if Blue and Redbone could hear.

“I’m going back,” Blue said, and the unwanted part of Robert’s mind took note that Blue would walk to the dorm on his own. No one guarding him. “I wanna hear the radio show.”

“He got a clock in his head,” Redbone whispered to Robert.

“Be late if you want,” Blue said, and left through a rear door only strides from where Robert had seen the ghost pass through the wall. The gleaming metallic vat winked.

“We’re gonna be late?” Robert said.

Redbone waved his hand. “Nah. We got time. Wanna see what nobody else sees?”

Troy lingered close, eager, wiping his hands on a tattered dishrag. “In the back?”

“Yeah, let’s just show ’im real quick,” Redbone said.

Robert hesitated. He liked Redbone fine, but he didn’t know anything about Troy. And he didn’t like the easy way Redbone had talked about burying a kid, like he hadn’t felt sorry. He’d have sounded sadder about burying a dog, probably. No one stays nice, Blue had said.

“You not gon’ b’lieve yo’ eyes,” Troy said. And Robert was following him, curious despite his better sense. Redbone and Troy jostled for the lead while they led Robert through stacks of boxes and swollen burlap bags in the long, wide pantry behind the kitchen. The temperature was cooler by at least ten degrees. In a few strides, they had walked from summer to fall. At the rear of the pantry, they came to a metallic door twice the width of a normal door, with a long iron arm barring it shut.

“What’s that?” Robert said. “The fridge?”

“Better,” Redbone said.

Redbone tugged at the bar on the door, lifting it high. Troy helped him pull the door open. The door fought as if someone were trying to keep it shut from the other side. Once it was open, fog flew out in a thick cloud. Cold air washed over Robert’s face and bare arms.

“What is it?” Robert said.