Dread Locks

by Neal Shusterman

  I straightened up and looked at him. “Petrified flesh ... like petrified wood?”

  “Flesh doesn’t petrify. It rots.”

  He picked up the stone hand again, along with the large magnifying glass, and held it under the bright light on the worktable. He examined the back of the hand, looking closely at the texture around the knuckles, the wrinkles in the skin. “I don’t know who the sculptor was, but this is the most lifelike work I have ever seen.”

  Then he turned the hand over and let out a low whistle. He looked at me, looked at the hand again, then to me once more. He saw something. Something major. I could tell, because his expression was hard, but also a little bit frightened.

  “Tell me about this friend of yours,” he said.

  “In a minute,” I told him. “First, tell me what you see.”

  He considered it for another moment, then said, “It’s something I have never seen in a sculpture before. I can’t even imagine how it was done—or why.”

  “What is it?” I could feel my curls begin to twitch.

  He held the hand and the magnifying glass closer to me so I could see. His arthritic fingers shook. They hadn’t been shaking before. Even though I didn’t want to look, I forced myself.

  “Do you see?” he asked, holding the lens over the tips of the stone fingers.

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  The stone hand had fingerprints.

  15

  “HERE, KITTY KITTY”

  I told the sculptor everything I knew about Tara, and everything I suspected. He took me far more seriously than I thought he would. He said he’d go do some research on his own.

  It was past eight o’clock when I got home—only I didn’t go home. I knew my parents would get on my case for being out and not letting them know where I was ... that is, if they even noticed I was gone at all. I passed my house and headed straight for Tara’s.

  All her lights were out. Either she could see in the dark, or no one was home. For all I knew she could see in the dark and had eyes in the back of her head. Anything was possible now. Anything. I didn’t like the feeling. I was used to a world where a clear line was drawn between improbable and impossible ... and losing that line was like having no guardrail on Darwin’s Curve. There was nothing to keep me from falling off the edge.

  I walked down the path to her front door, then turned the knob and let myself in. Even though the house was completely dark, I had a sense of where everything was. I didn’t need the light to move effortlessly around obstacles; I was tuned in their presence. It was weird.... No, I was weird. I had a ser beyond sight now, and I knew instinctively that my hair h some new sensory organ. They were of me, and yet not me: foreign and familiar at once, like tubular cancer growth inoperable and rooted so deep in my nervous system, there v no telling where I ended and they began.

  Tara wasn’t in the house. Instead, I found her out ba swimming laps in the moonless darkness. I stood there, root to the spot, waiting for her to acknowledge me, but she didr She knew I was there—I could sense it, but still she swam. It v like this wordless communication was taking place between that I was only dimly aware of. A part of me was speaking to b in a language I didn’t know. Yet.

  Finally, she stopped swimming, and came over to the ec where I stood. She looked straight at me, but in the darknes saw nothing but the shadows of her eye sockets. I’m sure s knew that.

  “Want to come in for a swim, Baby Baer?” she said. “The w ter’s perfect.”

  “Perfect like the Mediterranean Sea?” I asked.

  She chuckled. “The Mediterranean Sea was never perfe That’s just a myth.”

  “A myth ... like you?”

  “I was never a myth,” she said. “Although people tend to be lieve I am.”

  “And what about Perseus?” I asked. “Was he a myth?”

  She didn’t even flinch at the question. “Oh, Perseus was re all right—but he wasn’t quite the hero legends make him out to be. He didn’t cut off my head, for instance, as you’ve probably figured out. Sure, he tried, but he couldn’t resist looking into my eyes—beheving himself too powerful to be turned to stone. One look at me, and it was over. He turned to stone with his sword still in his hand. I was so angry, it took only seconds—it can happen that fast, if you’re angry enough.” Then she smiled. “He was a handsome statue. That is, until you smashed him with a baseball bat.”

  I suppressed a shiver. “You’re supposed to be ugly.”

  “More lies. Am I ugly to you?”

  “No ... but what you do ... turning people to stone—it’s impossible....”

  She pulled herself out of the water, grabbed her robe, and wrapped herself in it. Her hair, I noticed, didn’t even appear wet. “Is it so impossible? If you put a person in the ground, they turn to dirt. If you put them in a fire, they turn to ash.”

  “That’s different....”

  “Not really. I simply do it in a different way than nature does. I harden their hearts; I harden their minds. Their flesh has no choice but to turn to stone as well.”

  I stood there, trying to keep the world from spinning as I spoke to her. Nothing seemed real anymore. In the darkness nothing even seemed solid. “Why?” I asked. “Why would you want to turn people to stone? What purpose could it possibly serve?”

  She looked at me as if she didn’t understand the question. “It’s just ... what I do.”

  “You mean to say you just do it because you can?”

  “No! I do it because I must. Humans must breathe; humans must eat or they die. And I must turn flesh to stone. Every time someone hardens—every time someone’s skin goes cold and solid from my gaze, I grow stronger,” she said, with a grin that I could feel more than see.

  “Why here? Why our town?”

  “Do you really have to ask? Look at your school—look at all of your rich friends. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that wealth hardens people. Turning them to stone is easy—they’re already halfway there before I start.”

  She was right. If love of money is the root of all evil, then having money is the root of all boredom. When you can have everything, you find there’s nothing you really want. When you can do anything, you find there’s nothing you really care to do. You become lazy. Life feels like a boulder you don’t want to lift. How much would it have taken to turn me to stone, if Tara had wanted to when she first met me? Halfway there. I knew exactly what she meant.

  Tara looked at me. Even though I couldn’t see her eyes, I could feel her looking deep, deep into the very center of my being. I felt myself being examined, and probed, and weighed.

  “I know all this is hard for you, but it will soon get easier. I think you’re ready.”

  I didn’t want to ask the question, but I had to. Even though I already knew the answer, I had to hear it from her lips.

  “Ready for what?”

  And, as usual, her answer surprised me. “I’m lonely, Parker. You have no idea how lonely. I’ve been around the world twelve dozen times, and I’ve blended into any culture I chose. Yet in all that time, in all those places, no matter how many people surrounded me, I’ve always been alone.”

  “What about your sisters?”

  She laughed. It was an ugly sound. “Typical dysfunctional family. I can’t stand them.”

  I had to let out a sick little chuckle myself. Three flesh-turning Gorgon sisters. What could be more dysfunctional than that?

  “I was alone by choice,” she continued. “The people around me meant nothing to me. Looking at them was like looking at ... food. I never realized what I was missing, until I met you.”

  I didn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified. “What’s so special about me?”

  She shrugged. “I guess you were just in the right place at the right time. I was ready for a true friend, and you were there.” Then she giggled. “Or maybe I just like your eyes.”

  “My eyes don’t turn people to stone,” I told her.

  She whispered, �
�... They could if you let them.” She stood there a moment longer, then she turned and went inside without looking back.

  “But ... but why would I want to? Why would I ever want to?” She gave no answer. Instead, she closed the door, leaving me alone in the dark yard.

  Another sleepless night. I suspected I was no longer a creature that needed sleep. I was so much like her already. I hated it; I loved it. I felt strong, but I felt powerless. What was I? Who I now? Tara had given me the gift and curse of being like h immortal—but at what price? Would I now be a predator, her?

  I tried to reason with myself, rationalizing to make all easier to swallow. Perhaps I didn’t have to be like her. Perl there were other ways to satisfy a medusan hunger. The n moved on ever slower, until I lost patience with it, and sudd I felt myself PUSHING time, making it move at a pace pleased me, until dawn finally broke.

  My decision was made now. I knew I was already past point of turning back, because Tara had already changed n but I would not live like her, growing strong by turning hun to stone.

  As I walked down the stairs, I could feel a tingly lift in step. I felt more alive than I had ever felt in my life. I was co pletely tuned in to my surroundings. I felt like I belonged exa where I was, doing exactly what I was doing. It was a feeli had never experienced in my life. It comes from accepting what are, I heard a voice say in my head. Accepting what you’ve becom could tell you it was Tara’s voice in my head, but I’d be lying, cause I knew the voice was my own.

  I walked to the kitchen, my tightly curled locks picking up vibrations of everything around me. Walls were flat and feat less waves; the upholstered chairs were soft hills in the plane steel-and-glass coffee table was a sharp, angular spike.

  The houseplants, though, were different. They were aliv could feel the life force coming from them. I moved closer inhaled it, drank it in. It was delicious, but empty. It was like smelling a grilled steak, but not being able to eat it. Only now did I realize how hungry I was, but it wasn’t food I was hungry for.

  I knew at once that no one was home. Other than the plants, I could feel no other life force in the house.... No, that wasn’t true.... In a distant room, near the back of the house, under Katrina’s bed, I was aware of a small life.

  Nasdaq.

  I wanted the cat to come to me, but I wondered if he would. Would he sense that I had changed? Would he hiss at me, the hair on his back standing on end? Would he recognize me for what I was?

  “Nasdaq ...” I said softly.

  He heard—even from so far away, he heard. I knew he would. I felt him stretch and stand up. The day before yesterday, I knew, he would never have been able to hear me, and even if he had, he would have ignored me. But not today.

  I could feel Nasdaq approaching, down the hall. I was becoming irresistible. Like Tara.

  “Here, kitty kitty,” I said, snickering at the old line. Nasdaq padded around the corner and slinked into the room, rubbing the side of his body against my leg. He purred, delighted, longing to be closer to me. To be enfolded in my arms.

  I obliged. I leaned over and put my hands under his stomach and chest, supporting him as I lifted him to my lap. “Hi, Nasdaq,” I said pleasantly, looking at him. “You like me like this? Yes, you do. I can see it. I can see it in your eyes.”

  I was looking directly into his eyes now, and he didn’t look away. I could feel his muscles stiffen slightly, but he didn’t resist.

  I could feel the moment that I triggered the change. It was like flicking a switch deep within the cat’s brain. It would take time for his entire body to be transformed, but the damage was already done. There was no stopping it now.

  I found that my vision had gone dark, and as it came back, I became aware of the hardening body of the cat in my lap. A stiffening of bone, then ligaments. A seizing of flesh. Nasdaq turned to stone while I held him, from the center out. He didn’t seem to care. Neither did I. I felt neither pity nor guilt for what I had done. And the decision to do it—was it a decision at all? The desire to turn him to stone had been as irresistible as a sneeze, or scratching an overwhelming itch. Having done it, I felt stronger now ... but only a little. It was the slightest taste of power, and gave me an appetite for more. I put the stone cat down beside the fireplace, already knowing that my hunger wouldn’t stop there. The stone-turning urge had grabbed me now, and as much as I tried to deny it, something as tiny as a cat was not nearly enough to satisfy it.

  I put on my shades before I left the house. Not the cruddy ones Dante had given me—those had broken in the fall from Darwin’s Curve. I had a new pair now—sleek and expensive.

  I walked to school that morning, cutting through the woods, rather than following the road. I caught sight of every creature I could on the way. Stone crows plunged from tree limbs. Geckos—dozens of geckos—solidified on the rocks on which they perched. Just like the one Tara had given me. A skunk turned so quickly, it didn’t have the chance to spray. The urge still raged. Each creature turned to stone was a kernel feeding the hunger. Like a single cereal flake in an empty bowl. How many flakes would it take until my stone-turning urge was satisfied? Would this be my life now? Foraging forests for small animals? There was only one thing I could do. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t see any way around it.

  I had to find bigger animals.

  16

  SOMEBODY’S BEEN SITTING IN MY CHAIR

  You can’t imagine what it’s like to see the world through a new sense. It is overpowering, thrilling, and terrifying all at once. I couldn’t catch my breath or slow the beating of my heart. Walls meant nothing, because I could feel life right through them. I felt I could walk through those walls if I wanted to, as if they were made of tissue paper. Turning Nasdaq to stone had made this new sense much stronger.

  I flipped my head to let the wind sift through my curls. They were like antennae tuning in to vibrations of everything alive. Before I really knew what I was doing, I found myself wandering up the driveway of a house a few streets away from mine. I don’t even remember having walked there. The people who lived here had left their front gate unlocked. As I stepped through the gate, I sensed a gardener behind a hedge—a bright pattern of life shone through, even though I couldn’t see him. I felt hungry, but I steered clear of him, not wanting to be caught.

  The idea of personal property is a myth!

  That’s what Tara had said—but that’s not what she meant. Now I understood what she meant. There’s no such thing as other people’s property, because right now I felt like everything was mine. And so it felt perfectly natural to turn the knob of the front door and walk in.

  I knew exactly where everyone in the house was. I didn’t have to hear them; I sensed them, so staying out of their path was easy. I went into the kitchen. There was a cherry pie cooling on the counter. I dug my hand into it, taking a big juicy scoop. It was like I had no sense of remorse or responsibility. I would never have done something so weirdly selfish before, but suddenly old rules didn’t apply. I pawed the hunk of pie into my mouth like a bear scooping honey. Usually cherry pie is my favorite, but not anymore. Taste was nothing compared to this new sense. I spat the flavorless pie into the sink and wiped my hands on a dish towel.

  I went into the family room next. The TV was on. Children’s cartoons. I sensed the child exactly fourteen feet away, in the bathroom—yet a sense of life lingered in a small chair near the TV I sat in it, soaking in those traces of life the way, in an earlier time, I would have enjoyed the aroma of that cherry pie. I was too big for the chair, and the legs beneath me snapped. I left the chair in ruins on the floor. I didn’t care. These things of the world were not important to me anymore.

  I moved through the house, focusing on the traces of life I found. Bedrooms were the best, I suppose because that’s where people spend a third of their lives. I never realized how much life we leave behind. The beds had all been neatly made; this was a house of tidy people. I tested the beds. In one, the traces of life seemed hard. Old. Uncomfo
rtable. I moved on. In a second bed, it seemed that whoever had slept there was too soft and mushy on the inside. Then I found a third bedroom, and the vibrations of life I got from that bed were perfect. Just right. I could have stayed there all day, waiting until the person who belonged to this room showed up. And I could stare into his or her eyes, stealing the life from them. Turning them into stone.

  Is this what Tara had felt when she came into our house the first time?

  I left the room and went down the stairs, knowing the family was down there.

  “Daddy,” I heard a child crying. “Somebody’s been sitting in my chair. And now it’s all broked up!”

  “What happened to my pie?” I heard the mother call. “Someone’s been at my pie!”

  “Hey, who messed up the covers?” I heard someone else call upstairs. “I just made this bed! Who’s been in it?”

  They all began to move in my direction, but that was okay. I could have hidden again, but I wanted to be seen. I did have the good sense to slip on my sunglasses, though.

  The father noticed me first. Then a little girl, who hurried to him, grasping on to his pant leg. The mother came in from the kitchen, and a kid a year or two older than me stopped on the stairs when he saw me.

  “Who are you?” the father asked. “What are you doing here?”

  I just smiled at him. At all of them. “Making myself at home,” I told them. “And what a nice home, too.”

  My hunger was growing, taking me over. Turning Nasdaq and other small creatures to stone was like taking tiny tastes of a huge feast. My appetite was whetted, and now I had to have more.

  “Get out!” the mother said, but didn’t step any closer. “Get out or I’ll call the police.”

  They could sense my power. They were afraid.

  That’s when my mind began to say things. Scary things. I don’t know them, I began to tell myself. If they turn to stone, so what? Why should I care? It’s not like I’ll ever see them again. It’s not like I’ll ever get caught.