by Hunter Shea
He kept praying Star Wars would fade away and finally get pulled from the theater, but so far, God wasn’t listening. Or if He was, He was taking great delight in Blackstone’s suffering.
Brian and Noel were huddled together, making Luke and Vader have a lightsaber fight. The boys looked so much alike, it was scary. Same black hair, same bowl cut, both small for their age with knobby knees. No wonder they’d become inseparable.
“Okay, guys, time for Noel to head on home.”
The boys groaned, but he only smiled, shrugging as if to say, Don’t blame me, I didn’t make the rules on this one.
The Schaefers had definitely mellowed him a bit.
“Can’t he stay for another half hour?” Brian said.
Blackstone tapped his watch. “Your mother promised he’d be home at ten. Come on, time’s ticking.”
Tonight’s episode of Vega$ was a rerun, so he didn’t mind missing it. He could always catch the tail end of the CBS movie and zone out before heading up to bed.
“Fine,” Brian said, chin on his chest.
Noel, who was always a chipper kid, said, “You want to see what I got for Brian, Mr. Blackstone?”
“Sure, but only if it doesn’t take long.”
“It won’t.” The boys pushed the toys and comics on the floor around, searching. Noel uncovered a pair of black glasses and handed then to him.
“Glasses?”
Noel’s perpetual smiled widened. “More than that. They’re X-ray glasses. I ordered them from a comic book weeks ago. They just came in the mail today. I got one for me and one for Brian.”
The cheap plastic glasses were as light as a feather. Blackstone expected to see the usual red spiral painted on the lens to give the illusion of something strange and mysterious happening to the wearer. These lenses were clear and dark, like sunglasses.
Brian said, “Yeah, but they don’t really work. It kind of gave me a headache.”
“That’s because you have to get used to them. The manual said that the more you wear them, the deeper you’ll see.”
Blackstone chuckled. “Or more likely, you’ll go cross-eyed. How much did they cost?”
“A dollar each.”
He flipped the glasses onto the ruffled bed. “Well, at least you’re not out a lot of money.”
Noel got into his coat, tucking his own glasses into his pocket. “It kinda hurt my head, too, but I’m going to stick with it.”
“You know what they say, no pain no gain.” Before he left the room, he said to Brian, “Clean up this mess before your mother gets up here. She’ll have a fit.”
“I know.”
Yeah, he knows. The kid spent half his life punished because he didn’t do all the things he knew he should be doing. Blackstone just shook his head, leading Noel down the stairs.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Blackstone.”
Andrea looked up from her baby blanket. “Good night, Noel. Thanks for cheering Brian up.”
The walk to Noel’s house was bitterly cold. The first snow of winter was coming soon. Blackstone could smell it. He dropped the kid off, exchanged a few pleasantries with Noel’s father, who was a health food store manager in the next town over, and headed back home. He took his time, sipping the beer along the way. Before he went inside, he dropped the beer can in the metal garbage pail outside. He didn’t want Andrea riding his ass over his not being able to walk a single block without a beer.
She didn’t understand. She had a pretty cushy life. Andrea didn’t need a few beers to settle down so she could sleep.
As he walked in the door, she was coming down the stairs.
“He’s already asleep. Guess he’s not ready for prime time yet.”
“Guess not. Well, he has four more days to get ready.”
“You never had chicken pox, did you?”
He shook his head. “Chicken pox is afraid of me.”
Andrea gathered her blanket and yarn and needles in a canvas bag, got up and kissed the top of his balding head. “I’m going up. Don’t stay up too late. You don’t get to stay home from school tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m just gonna watch a little bit of the news.”
He watched her leave in her baggy sweatpants and oversized shirt. He missed the days of lingerie or, even better, birthday suits. Having a kid had a way of changing all that.
Another Schaefer would have been nice, but he made it a point to not drink a full sixer on weeknights. It helped make the weekend special. There was nothing good on TV, so he flipped through Reader’s Digest until the eleven o’clock news. It started out with the latest namby-pamby nonsense being spewed by the president. Hearing anything about Jimmy Carter set his teeth on edge, so he decided to call it a night.
He peeked in on Brian, nestled so deep under his Fantastic Four comforter that only the top of his head was visible. His X-ray glasses were on the floor. Blackstone picked them up and put them on. He’d always wanted a pair when he was a kid but his parents refused to get them.
The room darkened and it felt as if his eyes were being stretched. That was the only way he could describe it. A headache instantly bloomed around his forehead.
“Now that’s a look,” Natalie said, shuffling down the hall to the bathroom in her puffy pink robe.
“X-ray specs,” Blackstone said. “Noel bought a pair for Brian.”
“They look like sunglasses, not X-ray glasses.”
“Not that there’s any such thing as X-ray glasses.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, they make you look kind of... cool. Like back when you used to wear those Wayfarers when we were dating.”
The pain in his forehead skittered to his temples. Still, he kept them on. He couldn’t remember the last time Andrea had said he looked cool.
“You want to cruise around in my Mustang?”
“I’ll settle for our Buick.”
She laughed, slipping into the bathroom.
But before she disappeared from view, Blackstone thought he saw something that shouldn’t be.
He could have sworn he caught a glimpse of her ratty pajamas under her closed robe.
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Hunter Shea is the product of a misspent childhood watching scary movies, reading forbidden books, and wishing Bigfoot would walk past his house. He doesn’t just write about the paranormal—he actively seeks out the things that scare the hell out of people and experiences them for himself. Hunter’s novels can even be found on display at the International Cryptozoology Museum. The Montauk Monster was named one of the best reads of the summer by Publishers Weekly. Not since Dr. Frankenstein has anyone been so dedicated to making monsters. Hunter Shea has penned such titles as The Jersey Devil, Tortures of the Damned, They Rise, Swamp Monster Massacre and The Dover Demon. Living with his wonderful family and two cats, he’s happy to be close enough to New York City to gobble down Gray’s Papaya hot dogs when the craving hits. You can follow his madness at www.huntershea.com.