The 40th reunion of Hellman High School’s Class of ’84 was well into its third hour when the band took a break after performing Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian.” Many of the well-lubricated guests then headed to the cash bar for a refill, or outside for a cigarette.
“There’s where I did the deed,” said Daryl Bailey, lighting his Marlboro just outside the gymnasium’s red EXIT sign and glancing toward the baseball field as a handful of other smokers joined him.
The round, red brick gymnasium had held up relatively well over the years, although it was now a community center instead of home to the Hellman Purple Demons basketball and volleyball teams.
The school itself had moved to nice, modern digs a few blocks away, yet the old gym and main building remained – as well as the baseball field.
And it was the baseball field that made Hellman High a cause célèbre back in 1983. Oh, it had nothing to do with the team … they rarely put together winning seasons. But the gate that led to the field – and specifically the latch to the gate – gave rise to the “Hanging Meat of Hellman High” legend.
On a late spring Monday morning, members of a freshman gym class were heading to the baseball field while some upperclassmen were walking off. It was routine for the frosh to run through the open gate of the chain-link fence, take a lap around the field, and then line up for jumping jacks and pushups.
But Lonnie Stone never made it to the field.
Hardly a fast runner, he was bringing up the rear while his classmates charged toward the diamond. Just as he was about to enter, the right side of the gate swung violently in his direction, and his upper right leg hit the fork latch at full force.
The latch ripped a trench in his flesh, peeling it back like an accordion as the youngster screamed in agony.
A combination of excruciating pain – and blood loss – caused Lonnie to faint, and even after paramedics arrived, there was some question as to whether or not he’d survive.
But as they put him on a stretcher and sped away to the hospital, a part of him was left behind.
Roughly six inches of flesh hung from the fork latch, creating a gruesome scene. It was so sickening, in fact, no one wanted to go near it – not even the Hellman High coaching staff.
For days the shredded piece of Lonnie’s leg dangled from the latch, alternately eliciting giggles and gasps from kids who dared move in for a closer look.
By Friday it was still there, although at that point it had baked in the sun so long it resembled beef jerky.
And then – the following Monday – it was gone.
The gate was closed and the latch clean, presumably the work of the school’s janitorial staff.
But some of the more creative members of the Hellman High student body decided the incident was too bizarre to just let go, so they didn’t. They claimed that the hanging meat of Hellman High hadn’t been cleaned up at all – it had actually wandered off into the woods behind the field. Lonnie’s pain had manifested itself into an evil, troll-like creature – “Meaty” they called it – and it kept a watchful eye on everyone who dared run past the gate and onto the field.
It was said that late at night, you could sometimes see Meaty’s glowing red eyes staring out from the woods – occasionally releasing a guttural scream mimicking that of Lonnie’s.
It made for a nice campfire-style story, especially since Lonnie never returned to Hellman High; he moved to another state after his father got a new job, and his accident occurred during the final week of his freshman year.
Thing is, it wasn’t an accident.
Large gates like the one at the baseball field don’t just swing by themselves – they need a push.
And if not for Daryl, Lonnie wouldn’t have the gash in his leg, and Hellman High wouldn’t have its legend.
Bailey was a bully, and during his high school days took great pleasure in causing pain to kids who were younger and smaller than him.
As he saw Lonnie trundle toward the field, the junior thought it’d be funny if the freshman met the gate face first. So, he grabbed it with both hands and pushed as hard as he could.
Unfortunately for Lonnie, the timing was a bit off and instead of crashing into the gate – which would’ve been painful enough – his leg was caught by the gash.
Although several students saw Daryl do it, they didn’t dare report him. And while the legend grew during his senior year, anyone who told the tale made sure to leave his name out of it for fear of retaliation.
“I kinda felt bad about it,” he said to no one on particular. “I mean, I thought it’d be funny as hell to see his stupid face slam into that gate, but I didn’t mean to send him to the hospital. I wonder if the kids at the school still talk about the hanging meat at Hellman High? I hope so … it means I’m still famous.”
Feeling nostalgic – and a little bit buzzed – Daryl stomped his cigarette out and wandered toward the gate. All but one of the others headed back in as the band cranked up 38 Special’s “Back Where You Belong.”
Daryl stared off into the woods and – even though he figured it was probably just his imagination – felt like he was being watched.
In fact, he was.
“Hey.”
Daryl was startled by the voice, and as he turned around, he saw a small, slight man standing just a few feet away. He’d seen him during the course of the evening, although Daryl had no real idea who he was.
“It’s me, Daryl … Lonnie … Lonnie Stone,” he said. “I heard about the Class of 84’s reunion and thought I might be able to find you here. Turns out anybody can buy a ticket to one of these things – I didn’t even have to use my real name. Anyway, I just want you know that I forgive you for what you did to me.”
Lonnie then pointed toward the gate.
Daryl turned slowly and froze; a hideous creature with glowing red eyes was glaring at him.
“Unfortunately,” Lonnie said. “Even though I forgive you, Meaty doesn’t. You took a pound of flesh from me, and now he’s here to take yours.”