"The Ballad of Mr. Budokai" - Horror Hill

Erik Peabody (0:00)

He seemed like the gentlest of creatures, almost like a cartoon mouse or an Asian Charlie Chaplin, complete with black bowler and cane. His gait was a little awkward, kind of a stutter step on the verge of severe drunkenness, with the cane saving him from the pavement at every curb or crosswalk. You would see this tiny fellow around town plomping about, minding his own, always with a big smile, which always overshadowed his pencil-thin mustache. He was just one of those characters, the ones whose histories were created for them on the lips of bemused children or bored housewives. I had no issue with him, but my friends, they did.

You know how kids are, especially kids in a group. They called us the Three Musketeers around town, as we were never seen alone. The group consisted of yours truly, Charlie, Ricky and Dom, which was short for Dominic. Amongst the group, however, Dom was referred to as Dum instead, which was funny because he was the smartest of the group. Kind of a nerd, really. I guess it's like calling a big fat motherfucker tiny or something like that. Dum was also skinny as hell and had the reddest hair you could imagine. He always said he was Italian, but I don't know too many Italians with flaming red hair and freckles. The other kids would pick on him constantly, but Ricky and I always had his back. Ricky, on the other hand, he was dumb for real. He was held back in kindergarten and struggled ever since, but the girls loved him and always followed him around school. They always said he was a cutie and sometimes we would catch him at school in the code room making out with some starry-eyed little girl. He just had those good genetics. Jet black hair, tan skin and a little muscle to him too.

As far as good old Charlie goes, well, I was pretty much a nobody. No looks, no smarts, no talent, nothing. Dry as a popcorn fart and visible as the plague.

It was that one particular summer, the summer of 88, when everything started to change. Me and my buddies, we were all 12 That weird puberty shit was kicking in and we were all getting moody as fuck. Every day felt like a thousand degrees outside and boredom was always the enemy. Unfortunately, in an attempt to ease their testosterone-fueled frustrations, my friends began to turn their attention to the town mystery, Mr. Budokai.

It started innocently enough, with Ricky and Dumb making noises towards the man or flipping him off as we passed, but it progressed as the heat of the summer intensified. I was never one to pick on a person. It just didn't feel right. But as they say, peer pressure is a bitch. So, I followed, as a lamb to the slaughter.

The act that pushed things over the edge took place at the fruit market downtown. We saw Mr. Budokai there nearly every Saturday, and Ricky told me they had a plan. I didn't like the sound of it one bit, and I tried to get them to go with me to see the new Freddy Krueger movie instead, but they just wouldn't have it. I tried to make up excuses why I couldn't go, but my friends knew me too well. Oh, come on, Chuck. Why do you got to be such a pussy about it? You got a heart on for this weirdo or something? Ricky had such a way with words. God love him. I was stuck.

The night before the plan was supposed to take place, I thought at length about this mysterious fellow and all of the stories I'd heard about him. There were so many possibilities floating around. That he was retarded, that he was an ex-ninja, that he had bodies buried in his backyard, or that he might even be some sort of war hero from his native country. Oh, bullshit, I was sure. But I just wished my friends hadn't taken an interest in harassing this person that we really knew nothing about. I even asked my parents what his deal was, and neither of them had the slightest clue. It seemed Mr. Budokai was a puzzle no one could solve.

That Saturday started out with a lump in my throat because I was nervous as hell. I didn't know what was going to happen. My only hope was that Budokai would simply not show. Unlikely, but not impossible. My friends and I made it to the market around noon, and to my relief, our target was nowhere to be seen. I tried to speed up the process and suggested other dastardly things to do on such a beautiful sunny day, but Dumm just replied, Don't worry, he'll be here. He's always here. So we waited and watched.