Billy Hooten

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  “You still have to get those under your protection to safety,” Archebold said. “Do you think you can handle that?”

  Billy knew it wasn't likely to be easy. Archebold—at least this version of Archebold, doing his best imitation of a supervillain—was sure to have some tricks up his tuxedo sleeve.

  “Handle it?” Billy said with all the confidence he could find. “I'm just getting warmed up.”

  With those words, he dashed to the steps of the apartment building, retrieving the dummies and again placing them inside the shopping cart.

  He didn't wait to see what the goblin had in store for him, grabbing hold of the handle of the cart and starting to push toward the finish line.

  “Please keep your hands, feet and tentacles inside the cart until it comes to a complete stop,” he said as he began to pick up speed.

  Archebold's laugh echoed throughout the structure, and Billy braced himself.

  A hidden hatch in the ground ahead suddenly slid back and a long mechanical arm with twin spinning buzz-saw blades emerged, blocking his path. Billy barely had a chance to react. Pure instinct kicked in.

  This is what it must feel like, he thought, as he sank the heels of his rubber boots into the street, bringing the grocery cart to a sudden stop. What it feels like to be a hero.

  No chance getting by those, he observed. The spinning buzz-saw blades blocked his way to the safety zone.

  Billy had no choice and squatted down, grunting with exertion as he picked up the full shopping cart in his arms.

  “If I can't get past them, I'll just have to go over them,” he said, and started to run full-tilt toward the spinning blades.

  “Have you lost your mind, Billy?” Archebold asked mockingly, still in his supervillain mode. “The blades will cut you and those under your care into bacon!”

  Billy thought he knew what he was doing, running as fast as he could toward the newest deathtrap, being extra careful not to spill the citizens from the cart. He was going to need to time this just right.

  Just as the spinning blades were being thrust at him at the ends of their mechanical arms, Billy jumped with all his strength.

  Even with the additional weight of the cart, he soared over the revolving blades, landing in a stumbling run. The safety zone was even closer now, and he dropped the cart back on its rubber wheels and began pushing it toward victory.

  “Impressive,” Archebold growled. “But you're not out of the woods yet!”

  Billy pushed the shopping cart all the faster, victory so close that he could practically taste it.

  And what does victory taste like? he pondered, feeling his heart beating in his chest so hard that he was afraid it might break through his ribs and fall onto the street. Probably like a double-thick chocolate milk shake with extra whipped cream and free refills.

  And then he heard the weird buzzing sound. This can't be anything good. Billy didn't want to slow down, but curiosity got the better of him and he turned away from the looming finish line.

  At first he thought it was a swarm of bees, but as they got closer, he saw that it was worse.

  Much worse.

  He guessed they must have been some kind of winged fairies—about three inches high—and there was a whole swarm of them gaining on him pretty quickly. Within seconds, they were buzzing around his head, an angry cloud that practically blinded him with its assault.

  Billy waved his arms around, trying to disperse the nasty creatures.

  “Get out of here!” he screamed. “Can't you see I'm wicked close to winning this?” He continued to swat the air, and then he felt the first sting.

  “Yeeowch!” he cried. It was a sharp pain in the side of his neck, and his hand immediately shot to the area.

  “That hurt,” he said angrily to the tiny creatures buzzing around his face.

  The nasty fairies all started to laugh, and he saw that each of them held an elastic band.

  “You cut that out!” Billy warned, squinting through his goggles as the fairies started to fire. Even through his costume, the elastics hurt. Billy yelped as he was struck again and again.

  “Quit it!” he cried, swatting at his attackers.

  The fairies laughed harder. They had formed a large buzzing cloud in the air in front of him, forcing him back from the cart.

  Over the annoying buzz of his tiny opponents, Billy thought he heard a strange grinding sound and looked out from behind his hands. The ground in front of his shopping cart was sliding apart to reveal a bubbling pit of molten lava.

  “This hero business doesn't get any easier,” he muttered, trying to fight his way toward the cart, but the fairies let even more eleastic bands fly, driving him back.

  “You were so close,” Archebold mocked. “But close doesn't cut it when you want to be Owlboy. Too many are depending on you for you to be second best.”

  “I'm not second best!” Billy yelled, his body stinging from each new elastic strike. “I almost did it!”

  “But almost isn't good enough, is it, Billy?” the goblin asked. “Almost doesn't make you Owlboy.”

  Billy lowered his hands to fix his gaze on the tiny attackers.

  “No, it doesn't,” he said.

  The fairies were pulling back on the latest volley of elastic bands as the shopping cart slowly started to roll toward the open pit. They were clumped in the air together, their insect wings fluttering so fast that they were practically invisible.

  Take them out of the air—problem solved, Billy thought, reaching up to fumble at his throat and undoing the clasp that held his cape on.

  Before the fairies could figure out what he was doing, Billy had removed his cape and thrown it over the flying mass. The fairies fell to the street, weighted down by the cape, screaming out in panic.

  Billy was proud of his quick thinking, but there was no time for congratulations. The shopping cart full of citizens was teetering at the edge of the opening in the street, about to plunge into the molten lava.

  Billy dove at the cart, catching one of the rubber wheels and yanking it away from the edge just as it was about to spill over. Then he picked up the cart again and sprinted toward the safety zone.

  Billy didn't know what to expect. He half suspected that Archebold would have something else equally dangerous waiting for him there. But he passed beneath the finish line with no further problems, dropping the cart to the ground and falling to his knees as he breathed a sigh of relief.

  Panting like a tired dog on a hot summer's day, Billy suddenly heard the sound of clapping. He looked up to see a smiling Archebold strolling toward him.

  “Good job,” the goblin said, removing the #1 Villain hat and tossing it aside. “I knew you could do it.”

  “So what now?” Billy asked, gulping mouthfuls of air. “More tests?”

  Archebold turned, marching off toward an open doorway. “We're done with tests,” he said, turning around with a grin and a twinkle in his beady eyes as he was about to leave the room.

  “Now it's time for snacks.”

  Billy sat in the snack room, waiting.

  It was a nice room, painted a light shade of blue, the walls covered with framed portraits of the various Owlboys throughout the years. If Billy wasn't mistaken, each of them was holding a plate displaying a dessert.

  He got up from his chair for a closer look.

  Archebold had brought him to the room right after his Owlboy exam, telling him to relax and that he'd be back with some refreshments. Looking more closely at the items on the portrait plates, Billy wasn't sure if he was all that interested in what passed for snacks in Monstros City.

  Is that piece of pie covered in furry red mold? he asked himself, stepping closer to one of the portraits and squinting behind his glasses and goggles.

  “Through the ages, the various Owlboys had one thing in common. They all loved their snacks,” Archebold said, entering the room holding a serving tray loaded with all kinds of stuff. “From what I understand, that particular Owlboy loved
his bloodberry pie.”

  “Bloodberry pie?” Billy said, wrinkling his nose with disgust. “That doesn't sound too appetizing.”

  “No,” Archebold said, setting the tray down on a table positioned between the room's two seats. “It really isn't. Give me hecklefruit pie any day.”

  The goblin pointed to a particular dessert on a plate. It looked sort of like a piece of apple pie, but there was an odd color about it, as if it had gone bad.

  “That's hecklefruit?” Billy asked.

  Archebold picked up the plate and held it out for him to examine. “Do you want to try a piece?” he asked, eyes wide as he licked his lips.

  Billy shook his head. “That's all right, I'll try something else. You can have it.”

  “Really?” Archebold asked excitedly, grabbing a fork. “I hope it's fresh.” He poked the snack with the fork's tines.

  “Hey, is that your face or are you minding it for a monkey?” asked a tiny voice.

  Billy looked around the room. “Did you hear that?”

  “I've seen better heads on a mug of root beer,” said the small voice again.

  “Hear what?” Archebold asked, casually looking up from his dessert.

  “That voice … the one insulting you.”

  “You're so dumb, I bet you think a pigpen is something you write with.”

  “That,” Billy said. “Did you hear it?”

  “What, my pie?” Archebold asked, holding up his plate.

  “When they were passing out brains, you thought they said pillows and asked for a soft one,” said the dessert.

  “Your pie … your pie is talking?” Billy asked in amazement.

  “Of course it's talking,” Archebold said happily, using his fork to break off a piece of the dessert and popping it into his mouth. “It's heckleberry.”

  “You're so dumb, you bought a donut and brought it back 'cause it had a hole in it,” Billy heard coming from the inside of the goblin's mouth as he chewed.

  Archebold held out what was left of the treat. “Are you sure you don't want to try it?” he asked. “It's fresh.”

  “You were so ugly when you were born, your mother said, ‘What a treasure,’ and then your father said, ‘Yeah, let's bury it.’

  “No, I think I'll pass,” Billy said politely.

  “Suit yourself,” the goblin said, devouring the last bite of the heckleberry pie, and the room was suddenly much quieter.

  “Delicious,” Archebold said, smacking his lips and placing the empty plate back on the tray. “Aren't you going to try anything?”

  Billy saw what looked like a tray of cookies. “These look harmless enough,” he said, reaching for one. “What are they—oatmeal raisin?”

  He brought the cookie up to his mouth, ready to take a bite.

  “No, cockroach chunk,” the goblin said casually,looking over the tray to see what he was going to have next. “They're usually quite good.”

  At first Billy eyed the cookie with disgust, then suspicion, but finally he decided that if he was ever going to be the full-fledged hero of Monstros City, he'd better get acquainted with its food. Without further thought, he took a big bite of the cookie and started to chew.

  “What do you think?” Archebold asked, helping himself to a handful of candies that looked like tiny eyeballs. “Pretty tasty, eh?”

  Billy tried not to taste it, but a tiny crumb tickled the back of his throat, making him cough, and the full flavor of the cookie flooded his mouth.

  He was shocked at how good it tasted.

  “Not bad,” he said, smacking his lips before eagerly taking another bite. “Not bad at all.”

  Feeling daring, he helped himself to two more cookies and then bravely decided to try some of the other strange treats. He had a little bit of everything: a bite of a demon donut, a taste of devil's food cake made from real devils, and something that looked, and tasted, an awful lot like cotton candy. Archebold explained that it had been spun by some of Monstros City's finest spider-chefs.

  Finally, feeling stuffed, Billy sat back in his chair, re-examining the paintings on the wall.

  “So these are all the Owlboys who came before me?” he asked.

  Archebold wiped his mouth with a napkin before answering. “The first right up until the last,” he said.

  Looking at the paintings, Billy noticed the changes in the costume design throughout the ages, going from very old-fashioned to not too different from what he was now wearing.

  “How did they get to be Owlboy?” he asked, suddenly wondering if they'd gone through a process similar to what he'd endured. “How were they chosen?”

  The goblin poured them each a glass of something he called poltergeist potion. It made the glass tremble and skitter across the surface of the table. Billy snatched up the glass before it danced off the edge. The thick steam rising from the warm drink fogged his goggles as he took a sip. It was quite tasty.

  “The mantle of Owlboy is passed on from one to the next, and that has been the case going back to the very first Owlboy, who came to Monstros from the shadow passage in the Sprylock mausoleum many, many years ago. But when the last Owlboy disappeared, the title was never passed on, and Monstros was without a protector.”

  The goblin smiled, starting to tidy up. “Until now.”

  “You came to the Sprylock mausoleum—to where the first Owlboy came from—hoping to find the next?”

  Archebold nodded, stacking the dirty dishes. “Monstros was falling into lawlessness, the bad squeezing the life from the good. My family had served the Owlboys through the ages, and I took it upon myself to find the one who was destined to return Monstros to the way it used to be—when good triumphed over evil.”

  Billy thought about the day when he'd first heard Archebold's cries for help, and he came to a startling realization.

  “That day in the mausoleum—that pig guy—he was trying to stop you from finding the new Owlboy!”

  Archebold picked up the tray. “Villainy has been allowed to grow for too long in Monstros. Just the thought of Owlboy's returning fills those who have evil in their hearts with fear. They tried to stop me but failed. This is how it was supposed to be. This was destiny.”

  It hit Billy like a hundred pounds of dirty laundry. This wasn't some game he could play whenever he was interested; it was much bigger than that. This was about fighting the bad guys and making people feel safe again.

  He wondered if he had what it would take.

  He was about to ask Archebold what he thought— whether the goblin believed that he could actually do the job—when a loud, hooting alarm filled the air.

  Hoot! Hoot! Hoot! Hoot!

  “What's that?” Billy asked, looking around for the source of the sound.

  Archebold stood stiffly, the tray clutched tightly in his hands.

  “It's trouble,” he said ominously. “Big trouble.”

  CHAPTER 9

  They returned to the room where Billy had first entered the Roost. The alarm continued to blare as lights flashed like a pinball machine gone wild. Right away Billy noticed that all the monitors seemed to be focused on one area in particular.

  “What's going on here?” he asked, walking over to the sets, trying to figure out exactly what he was seeing.

  Archebold moved from television to television, adjusting the picture quality on one set before moving on to the next. “Remember, this is where we keep an eye on Monstros,” he said distractedly, giving one of the old sets a solid whack on the side to get the picture to stop flipping.

  “But all the monitors seem to be looking at one place,” Billy observed.

  “Exactly,” Archebold said, stepping back to join him. “This is where a crime most horrible has been committed.”

  Billy felt his stomach jump, as if some of the crazy snacks he'd just been eating were trying to come up for a walk.

  “What kind of crime most horrible?” he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

  In the corner of the room, a machi
ne that looked to Billy like an old-fashioned typewriter, only bigger and covered in flashing lights, suddenly came to life, keys clacking noisily as something was printed.

  Archebold crossed the room, pulling the paper from the machine as it finished printing. The goblin studied the paper, making strange little clucking sounds.

  “Murder,” he said, showing Billy the paper. The word had been typed out in big black letters on the white sheet over and over again.

  “Murder?” Billy squeaked.

  “Exactly,” Archebold replied, returning to the printer as it spat out another piece of information. “For the last two weeks, Monstros has been plagued with a series of murder-robberies.” He studied the printout. “And from the looks of it, we've got another.”

  The goblin walked toward Billy, reaching out to hand him the two pieces of paper. Billy recoiled as if he were being handed a rattlesnake.

  “No, thanks,” Billy said. “I don't think I want anything to do with murder right now.”

  “And that's where you're wrong,” the goblin said, shoving the papers into his hand. “This will provide us with the perfect opportunity to show Monstros City your stuff.”

  Archebold spun on his heels, marching out of the room. “C'mon, we've got work to do.”

  “Do you really think I'm ready for murder?” Billy asked, having to run to keep up with the goblin. “Don't you think it might be a little … y'know, big for me?”

  “Nonsense, you handled yourself like a real pro in the training room,” Archebold said. “Murder is just what we're looking for.”

  “How about a stolen bike … or a lost dog?” Billy suggested. “I think I could handle a lost dog.”

  Archebold spun around and looked him in the goggles. “This will be excellent publicity for you, trust me. And besides, there aren't any dogs in Monstros City. Our pets are a bit more … unusual.” Turning again, he gestured for Billy to follow. “Let's get going before the clues get cold.”

  Billy stopped short, watching as Archebold continued down the hall, chattering away. It was one thing to keep a bunch of skeletons from robbing a store, but murder was altogether different. It took a moment for the goblin to realize that Billy wasn't with him.