by Dan Cummings
‘I come in peace.’ The cat leapt onto his arm, agile and lithe movements carrying him along the reed-thin arm and back to the wrist. Frogmore slowly stroked the fur along its delicate spine, neck to hind, as his large yellow eyes returned to the wobbly steps of the small silhouettes at the end of the street. Neil needed to learn that these phonies were not his real friends, merely stand-ins. The cat purred softly at the caress. Frogmore looked over his shoulder as the square skylight went dark, then switched back to the boy called Matt, those intense bulbous orbs ticking like clockwork and following him obsessively whilst his hands wrung the life out of the cat’s brittle neck. Realising that he had just broken the small animal’s neck, he glanced down in surprise at the creature, then pinned his eyes back on Matt who split from Neil with an inebriated stagger at the end of the street, passing behind the shadow of an elm tree and rounding the corner. He again looked down at the lifeless, slack-limbed little hunter in his massive hands and tossed it towards the slowly retreating veil of cloud. The pink whip of his tongue fired out with blinding speed to snare the meaty little snack. With one large gulp, he swallowed the cat whole.
Chapter 12
Neil wandered euphorically along the marshy perimeter of the pond. The large body of water was familiar, made real by such faithful details. The tyre swing hanging from the crooked tree arching out from the lush promontory, the grass chutes growing tall from the shimmering silver water, a composite of his memories collected across many summers. Rawlins Pond. Other faceless children giggled and shrieked manically, splashing around in the shallow depths of the water’s edge, dressed in their colourful summer clothes. But in the dream they were just names without faces, eerie representations of ghosts.
With a sense of claustrophobia, of static charged air and minor shade, the dream began to take on an alarming tint of unavoidable discomfort and fear. As the summer sky was beset by a slow sail of puffy white clouds, obscuring the sun and colour, the blue lights began their cold burn. At first there was half a dozen, then two score, quickly becoming hundreds until a sleepy snowdrift like blue fireflies were weaving above the pond. Slowly, he heard the other kids starting to play rough, the gentle horsing around and high-energy hijinks slowly tilting into something with a bit more cruel intent. Neil manoeuvred like a drunk in the topsy-turvy world, sensing his happy contentment bleed out of him. The dream skipped a beat, a disjointed blur. Yelling joyously, Neil watched with fascination as his small boy’s hands started to beat on another laughing boy, red gradually seeping into the boy’s amorphous pink undefined features, the deep dark distorted smudge of the victim’s angry, screaming mouth closing over as Neil’s hands continued to pound into the soft features, each blow driving his head into the muddy liquid of the shallows.
Even without a face his dreaming mind filled in the blanks. The boy was named Ben Simmons, the local pre-teen terrorist of Neil’s old neighbourhood. The swirl of shared insane laughter took on an edgier, inhuman slant, the other kids speeding around like electrons orbiting the nucleus of the pond’s unknowable secrets and mysterious lights. Beneath the mirrored depths of that cool water, something moved.
Neil snapped awake like the dreaming water had been doused over his sleeping head. As he gasped in a cold sweat, the world came rushing back into understanding but offered very little peace and comfort. A sense of awful foreboding clung to him like the stricken beads of salt and panic. Reaching for his phone, he checked the time. 5:42 am. Sighing, he was about to brave sleep again when his hand fumbled against something in the dark. Switching his lamp on, he found a sliver of thick glass sitting on a piece of paper. Frowning, terrified, he carefully inspected the thick shard and then inspected the note. WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?
Neil dropped the sheet, placed the piece of windshield back on the bedside unit and leaned up on one elbow. ‘Froggy?’ His voice was quiet and as empty as his room. He repeated it once more, careful not to disturb his parents down the hall. Still no answer. Shaken, he got out of bed, his flesh rising with fear when he heard the voice. From the past yet unmistakable, unforgettable, the voice made his blood run cold.
Cultured and sophisticated as the voice was, Neil would never forget it for as long as he lived. ‘Howdy, Neil. It’s been an age.’
Neil leapt up from his bed like it was a hot griddle. ‘Froggy…’ he whispered in fright.
‘Surprised to see me? Because I’m surprised to see you. Delighted even.’ The dingy lamp light provided little clarity to the squat, heavy form sitting atop his desk, legs dangling merrily like he didn’t have a care in the world.
‘How are you back?’
The talking amphibian tilted his head, blinking happily and continuing to kick his webbed feet. With one hand he doffed his flat cap. ‘From the torment you spurned me with?’ The bulging eyes seemed lifeless and plastic, an aspect which had gone largely unnoticed in Neil’s carefree youth. Like black lily pads floating on bodies of dank, yellow water, the eyes watched him fondly. ‘I honestly have no idea. But I’m not prepared to look a gift horse in the mouth. I even forgive you. I understand I scared you last time.’
Neil swallowed a rock-sized lump. ‘Forgive me?’ he almost gagged on his outrage.
‘You know I had your best interests at heart, dear friend. Always had. But your little intervention was…difficult for me. I was locked out. Between both worlds but belonging to neither.’ Neil forced his eyes shut, hoping the action could somehow seal off his ears too, deport Frogmore back to wherever he had been all this time. Frogmore started to sing out his name playfully, ‘N-e-e-il. I know you can hear me.’
Neil wanted to play dumb, feeling like his mind was swirling down a black hole, but knew all too well that it would accomplish nothing. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Froggy. But what choice did you leave me?’
‘To be honest, I am just so relieved to be back that I am long past forgiving you. I just want us to move on from that past ugliness. That’s what friends do, right?’
Neil felt his legs weaken, forcing him to take a seat on his rumpled sheets, ‘This…this can’t start up again. You need to stay away from me, or I’ll have to go back to Dr Bernhardt. Medicate.’
Frogmore tensed, his swinging legs coming to a stop. ‘I know you need me, Neil. It’s been years judging from how mature you’ve become, but I still sense your fear like a distress beacon. And I know it’s not from me.’
Neil pulled a pillow over his head, hoping it would magically solve this most troubling predicament. In that dark swell of fabric creases and ignorance all he could hear was his pounding heartbeat. Has he gone? Peeling the pillow away from his eyes, he came face to face with Frogmore, standing right next to him with a glint in his eyes. At his full height he levelled out at roughly three and half feet, including his Victorian urchin-style cap.
‘I used to love hide and seek, but I know this isn’t the time nor place.’ Those bulbous, glistening eyes blinked once, his mouth hanging open slightly like a giant hand puppet’s mouth. Neil tried to scurry across the bed away from his old playmate but only managed to bundle up the sheets with his heels and hands. ‘It’s those mean boys in school, isn’t it? The ones with that big mean car.’
Throwing himself off the bed, the lingering alcohol unbalancing his coordination, he made a wonky dash for the door and the sanity beyond. A cool draught caressed his horrified face as his bedroom door slammed shut in a white blur, slowing only at the last second to close discreetly and quietly against the jamb. Expecting to find resistance, Neil wrenched the door open with too much force, almost falling over. With a miserable gasp he saw the squatting form waiting for him at the top of the dark stairs, weak light from the foyer reflecting off damp, swampy flesh. Staring down at the handle, he saw how the rubbery, prehensile tongue was attached to it. The pink, adhesive muscle pulled back faster than Neil’s eyes could follow. Hectically throwing the door shut again, he pointlessly placed his back against the wood and turned around in blind panic. Frogmore was waiting by his bed patiently,
his head tilted and imploring.
Trying to catch his breath, Neil’s voice was on the edge of hysteria. ‘What do you want?’ He flinched at his own volume, scared his parents might hear him talking to himself.
‘I know you have new friends—’ the stoop-shouldered amphibian looked bereft, his membranous eyelids blinking gently, ‘—and that’s wonderful. Maybe I could be their friend too.’
Neil didn’t know how to explain the subtleties of social maturity and interpersonal relationships. ‘I’m not a little kid anymore. People my age can’t have imaginary friends.’
Frogmore held onto his tweed lapels like a pond muck lord, amusement twinkling in his eyes. ‘Now we both know I’m far from imaginary, Neil.’
Neil swallowed a lump. ‘You’re dangerous. We can’t—’ flustered, ‘—this can’t happen again. Please, you need to leave me alone. Just stay away.’
Removing his tweed cap, Froggy rubbed his green, mottled scalp, refitted his hat and spoke with resignation. ‘You remember the rules about my kind, Neil? What I told you? This friendship can’t end. Well, I actually thought it had for a good, loooong while there but look at this—’ his big green flippers paddled back and forth between them, ‘—no distance of air, sea, land or pharmaceuticals can keep us apart. Friends reunited. And friends help each other. I know you’re in danger. I can make that danger go away. My distraction helped you and your friends yesterday at school.’
‘Froggy…please. I can’t do this right now. I’m trying to get my shit together. You can’t understand, the world changes as you grow older. This—’ he unconsciously mimicked Frogmore’s hand actions, his finger wagging between the both of them, ‘—isn’t healthy. If you’re my friend you’ll let me go.’
‘I know you miss playing with me. I can play any role you want me to.’ His bonhomie attitude made light of his horrific past actions. ‘Cowboy, Spaceman…confidant?’
Neil felt his knees starting to wobble, his eyes unable to break away from those dark lily pad pupils. ‘I was thirteen, Froggy. We never played cowboys or spacemen.’ No, nothing quite as innocent.
‘Still, you can tell old Frogmore your darkest secrets and I’ll never judge you. Can you do that with your other friends?’ Frogmore dropped from his bipedal stance into a crouch and pounced a little closer. ‘Something is clearly making you uncomfortable. Do those thugs need to be taught a lesson? A prank.’
Neil almost yelled out his perplexity, catching himself at the last second. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘Did you learn nothing? That’s why I tried to get rid of you. Why the fuck—’
‘You misunderstand me. I know I crossed a line last time, but right now, I sincerely do just mean a jest. A way to knock them down a peg, maybe take the heat off you.’
Neil was still practically gouging his eyes out. ‘I’m comfortable with my discomfort.’ When he moved his fingers his eyes were rimmed red. ‘And I can deal with my own problems.’
Frogmore assessed him for a moment, sniffing at the comment in haughty fashion and stood up straight again, his flippers carrying him to the centre of the room. ‘As you wish. I’ll be around if you need me. It’s good to be back, Neil. See you soon.’ With a small, peppy wave Frogmore hopped into the air, vanishing in a small series of ripples, the atmosphere and reality just another pond for him to swim through.
A pang of nausea rolled in Neil’s stomach. Frogmore was no figment of a damaged mind, he knew this well, but how was he going to deal with him without scaring his parents again? Because he sure as hell couldn’t allow Frogmore back into his life. Revisiting that twisted relationship had one of two possible outcomes; either he’d need a lifetime prescription of old Doc Bernhardt’s pills to avoid the people with butterfly nets, or something awful would happen to someone else. Something bloody and permanent.
He strode over to the desk and seized the sliver of Firebird windshield glass, about to bundle it into his wastebasket but for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he pulled open a drawer and dropped it inside, slamming it closed before throwing himself back onto his bed. Sleep would be impossible. Frustrated, he got up and threw open his curtains, waiting for the pale day to break over the neighbours’ yards. With his face in his hands he mumbled, ‘Happy Halloween.’
Chapter 13
‘What do you think?’ Matt dragged the blue changing booth curtain back, modelling his baseball outfit for the similarly dressed gang members. ‘Should look pretty tight when we stick the make-up on.’
Neil was distracted, his attention hovering all about the bustling costume store where creatures and movie icons of all stripes milled about the racks, chattering away to each other and checking their new personas in the mirrors. When Sam found these costumes the night before, he had initially overlooked the obvious benefits of one of the character’s major features. Leaning into Matt, dropping his voice a notch, he asked, ‘You still got those bats you took from the gym?’
Matt returned a lazy smirk, reminiscing fondly. ‘You’re really getting into the spirit of things. Not bad for a weird kid who thinks this holiday is shit.’
Sam looked pale and queasy, scratching his elbow distractedly, he almost seemed as guarded as Neil. ‘This holiday is shit. But I was more thinking along the lines of carrying one for self-defence.’
Matt nodded, all business, knowing his friend was still keyed up over a potential run-in with the school villains. ‘Fair point. But ya know, once our faces are painted up we should be able to blend in.’ His optimism did little to assuage the tension which had Sam stiff-limbed and edgy.
‘Do you think Staubach or Noakes know where we live?’ Sam blurted out, twitchy as an addict missing his fix.
For some reason, Matt didn’t attribute it to Sam currently having a lower THC content in his blood. ‘Why?’
The mention of their very own rogues’ gallery reaffirmed Neil’s own scattered focus. ‘Something happened?’ His voice was a little sharper than he intended. The thought of Frogmore bringing trouble to his doorstep was like a bucket of ice over his head.
Sam went to chew on a fingernail but decided against it, it was already down to the quick. ‘My dad found Ollie’s body on the porch this morning.’ His voice trembled for a moment. ‘He was…damp,’ Sam looked revolted, giving a miniscule shrug, ‘looked like he had been burned with acid or something.’
‘Christ,’ Matt muttered, ‘Sam, I’m sorry, man.’
Neil remained silent, trying to find something to say. ‘I don’t—’ his words sounded as doubtful as he looked, ‘—I don’t think they’d do that?’
Sam looked at him like he claimed to be half Inuit. ‘You kidding? They’ve done much worse than that.’
Neil conceded the point. ‘Okay, but let’s not jump to conclusions here. There’s a pretty big leap between wanting to kick our ass and killing pets.’
‘I’m not talking about idle threats. You’ve heard some of the stories about Staubach. Stuff he’s done to wannabe tough guys.’ Sam leaned in close, his voice low and clipped. ‘He carries a knife. And Noakes, we all know he’s connected.’
‘Look, if you’re not up to going tonight—’
‘No, I’m going,’ Sam interrupted sharply. ‘I need to keep busy or I’m just going to be sitting in my room wishing I was stoned. So I’m going, I just want a baseball bat in my hand. Just in case.’
Neil itched; he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was being watched. No second guesses needed for who that might be. Chewing his bottom lip, fists tight, he played through the scenario of contacting Dr Bernhardt again, dredging up that dark summer and the ensuing counselling sessions, his worried parents and of course those little amber pill bottles. At the time, his family and the good psychiatrist believed Frogmore to be a component of an adolescent’s wounded psyche, one of many following that incident, but nevertheless, the medication had somehow managed to banish his bad influence for what seemed like forever.
No such luck.
Life was definitely playing a sick joke wh
en he couldn’t decide whether the security of his mental faculties was good news or bad. His goddamn magical former BFF was back in town and could be running rampant. Presuming Bernhardt was still practising, could Neil get a quick refill of Risperdal from him and keep the news from his parents? It would be a nightmare to drag them through another prolonged period of anxiety. The irony of his situation suddenly dawned on his stressed mind. It was Risperdal, medication prescribed to treat bipolar disorder, schizophrenia and certain behavioural problems which had blotted out a being who genuinely wasn’t a product of a chemical imbalance in the brain. Were there any over-the counter-medicines which might have similar ingredients and such unexpected effects? He would have to do a little research later.
He honed in on Sam and Matt, catching the former continually badgering the latter about the procurement of baseball bats. Neil was starting to feel woozy from the stuffy shop air which stunk of thick fabrics, his palms were sweaty and he very much just wanted to get outside. He faked his composure. ‘C’mon, let’s pay up then. Sam, you want us to help you dig a plot for Ollie?’
Sam’s head gave a soft shake. ‘My dad’s taking the body to the vet’s for disposal after work. I don’t want to sound heartless but I’m just glad we didn’t have a dog.’
Matt revisited his own personal experience on this subject, the family Labrador having succumbed to Lyme disease several years ago. ‘Yeah, mutts really do become one of the family. Fucking sucks losing them,’ he said fondly. ‘Anyway, enough of this grim shit. We should be getting lively.’ Matt was preparing to head back into the changing room to change into his own clothes. ‘Let’s get something to eat and have some pre-game beers.’ He closed the curtain, leaving Neil and Sam to slowly trudge back into their own booths, the only two people in fancy dress who looked so crushingly dispirited.