Harry could taste the man’s foul, pungent breath, could feel its heat on his face as the man positively towered over him. The man’s skin felt like parchment, dry and stretched taut across his bulging, knobby bones. His blood boiled like fire. It felt as though Harry’s hand was being held directly above a campfire.
Raising Harry’s hand up past shoulder level, the man leaned forward and kissed it, right in the center of the palm.
Harry dropped to his knees in pain; his face clenching tightly as tears spurted from his squinting eyes. His teeth bared as he fought back a scream. Gripping his left hand tightly in his right, he breathed as though going into labor, struggling to climb to his feet without using his hands.
The man was already through the entranceway and descending the stairs at the edge of the porch.
Crawling on the floor, using his right elbow to propel himself, Harry got to the front door and used the wall for leverage to get to his feet. Breathing heavily, his hand curled into a ball against his chest, he shuffled onto the porch, fighting back the swell of unconsciousness that tried to rip free from within, pain and shock threatening to sweep him beneath the dark swell of blackness.
The man glided across the white field, the snow swirling around him like a cyclone, heading for the edge of the trees.
“Hey!” Harry shouted through his tightly clenched teeth, but the man didn’t even turn around as he entered the wall of evergreens, disappearing behind the mass of needles.
Harry fell to his knees on the porch, the searing pain in his hand more than he could bear. Toppling onto his side, Harry’s last conscious image was of the row of foliage where the man had disappeared. A large stag with an enormous rack of antlers walked through the open field, standing at the edge of the tree line, turning to stare directly at him, its gaze lingering. Its eyes glowed beneath the thin moonlight.
Darkness rose from the depths of his soul and swept Harry beneath a black wave, the snow falling damply atop his unmoving body.
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THE BLOODSPAWN
Michael McBride
© 2004 Michael McBride. All rights reserved.
PART TWO
II
Thursday, November 11th
3:10 p.m.
Matthew Parker climbed down the two tall stairs of the long yellow school bus and stepped into the nearly foot-deep snow on the shoulder of the road. The flashing red lights from the stop sign on the side of the bus blinked across the white sheet of groundcover in front of him. He could hear the heavy thud of footsteps from behind him, thundering down the stairs of the bus as he quickly began to walk up the steep culdesac, shifting his heavy blue backpack onto his right shoulder, tugging the sleeve of his jacket back over his wrist.
He turned the black cap with the Atlanta Falcons logo atop his head around, tipping his chin so that the brim shielded his eyes from the enormous flakes of snow that fell straight down. The back of his dark blonde hair was long, falling just over his shoulders in front, his hazel eyes peering up from beneath the lowered brim.
Muffled voices chatted in excited whispers behind him, causing him to quicken his pace, walking faster to create some sort of separation. There was a whistling in his right ear as an object flew only inches from his head, landing in the snow in front of him and bouncing up the street. Before he knew what it was, there was another, coming straight over his head and landing in the street, bouncing into the air before disappearing beneath the slush. This time he got a good look at it.
It was a rock.
His teeth tattered the inside of his lip as his ire rose, his legs threatening to go limp. Shoving his trembling hands into his pockets, he stared straight ahead at the end of the culdesac, eyeing the gap between the houses at the end, where he would slip through onto the street beyond. It was another good half-mile walk to his house, as he rode a bus on a route that was not his own. The constant bullying and torment of the other kids on his bus had made the twenty minute ride so insufferable that he had been forced to find an alternate way to get to school. Sure, at seventeen he was of legal age to drive, but in order to do that, he needed to have permission to drive to school, but that was a concession his parents were unwilling to make since he had been caught skipping class.
Another rock tagged him squarely in the back, echoing through the street as it hammered the books in the pack.
“Don’t turn around,” he whispered to himself beneath his breath.
“Come on, faggot!” a voice shouted from behind him. “What are you going to do about it?”
Keeping his head down, he walked as fast as his legs would take him to the side of a tan two-story, trudging through the thick snow on the lawn to the short, twin-rail fence at the back of the yard. Scaling it, another rock nailed him in the left shoulder, knocking him face first into snow-covered buffalo grass of the field behind the house. His shoulder stung as though his scapula had cracked, and he was forced to use just his right arm to scramble to his feet. He brushed the cold mat of ice from his face and hurried on, consciously trying to keep himself from running.
Another rock zinged past his right hip, skipping off the asphalt beneath the accumulation in front of him at the end of the barren, dead-end street. Ahead, there was a deserted intersection. To the left, the steep hill that led up to his house, to the right the large grass field behind the elementary school. Once he made that turn, there was really no reason for them to follow him any longer.
Their names were John Allen and Devin Larkin, and he knew that they both lived in the block to the right, just across from the field. They had played soccer and basketball together growing up, but apparently Matt was the only one that remembered. They had never been close friends or anything like that, but had always gotten along well enough, at least until the start of last school year, Matt’s junior year.
It had all started one day, a warm and dry September morning early in the school year. Matt had met his best friend, Scott Ramsey, at the bus stop, which he could remember surprised him considering Scott lived close to a mile away and rode a different bus. They had decided that it was far too nice of a day to spend it in school, and had opted instead to go over to Scott’s dad’s townhouse, as they knew that he would be at work all day.
Scott’s parents had divorced years earlier, and he lived with his mom the majority of the time, but he still carried a key to his dad’s place. After spending the better part of the morning hanging out at Safeway, eating chocolate-covered peanuts and sour balls from the bulk bins, they had walked down to the taco place to play some video games in the lobby before heading up to Scott’s dad’s condo.
They hadn’t even been there that long. He couldn’t remember what they had been watching on TV at the time, but they were only halfway into it, sitting back on the couch smoking cigars and swilling some of his dad’s bourbon, when they heard the key hit the lock. Instinctively, they ran, darting through his father’s bedroom and into the bathroom, crouching in the bottom of the shower stall, the opaque glass door closed tightly. Holding their breath, they could hear the front door swing inward.
“I know you’re in here!” his dad shouted, slamming the door behind him. “Get out here right now!”
Matt and Scott stared helplessly at one another, holding their breath tightly for fear of the slightest noise betraying them. Both of their faces had faded to a pale white, their hearts hammering in their ears.
They could hear the heavy padding of footsteps marching all around the townhouse, and the silencing of the television with a click.
“We’re as good as caught,” Matt whispered. “We should just get out.”
“Not yet,” Scott whispered back, his eyes wide.
It was then that the door to the shower stall flung back, slamming loudly against the wall. Its hinges nearly snapped. A large hand
reached right past Matt and grabbed Scott by the front of the shirt, heaving him into the air. Matt dare not even look up.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Scott’s dad bellowed, dragging him out of the bathroom.
Matt slowly rose from the floor of the ivory-tiled shower and stepped into the bathroom, crossing the floor at a snail’s pace, following the sounds of their voices. He could hear the words, but there was no comprehension within his head. He began to slip into what he liked to call his “quiet place,” deep within his head. It was a world where he could live out his existence without the stress that always seemed to track him down wherever he went. Granted, he brought a large chunk of trouble upon himself through either stupid or thoughtless actions, but there had been so much in his life outside of his direct control that he had found the place early on in his childhood.
A loud banging at the door shocked him out of his trance, his shoulders jumping as he heard his mother’s voice outside of the door.
“Matthew Thomas Parker!” she shouted. He could see the expression on her face even though they were separated by solid oak. He had seen it far too many times in recent memory, her lips curled tightly over her front teeth, her blue eyes wild and furious. “Come out here right now!”
He could hear the front door open as he rounded the corner from the bedroom and into the living room. The muffled voices of his mom talking with Scott’s father filled his ears. He stood out in the open now, watching, horrified, as the two spoke, glancing over their shoulders at he and Scott.
Matt never even turned to look at Scott, as he knew exactly what Scott was thinking.
The conference over, Matt’s mom swept across the room and ushered him through the front door by the shoulder of his shirt, dragging him down the front steps and to her car. Climbing into the gold minivan, he stared straight through the side window from the passenger seat as the onslaught of yelling commenced.
He’d been caught, what more could he say. The situation seemed fairly self-explanatory. He’d skipped school and gotten busted, end of story. But still, his mother demanded an explanation. Matt knew full well that anything he said would be completely unacceptable as his mom had been forced to leave her classes unattended at school to come and track him down.
So he just sat there silently, staring at the passing trees as they drove onto the Air Force Academy grounds, where his public high school was located. They had parked right in front of the school and she had dragged him through the front doors to the attendance office. Throwing wide the door and leading him to the high counter where an older woman with graying hair and thin-rimmed glasses looked down on him from up high.
“Busted,” the woman said, smirking.
Matt just shook his head, suppressing the urge to either sock her in the nose or give her the finger.
The door swung open behind them, and Matt turned to look as his mother checked him in. Scott’s dad ushered Scott through the door, and stepped into line behind Matt’s mother. Matt just looked at Scott, who shrugged his shoulders.
“Go to class,” Matt’s mom said, walking out the door of the office. “We’ll decide your punishment when you get home.”
Matt walked out into the hall and waited as Scott’s dad had to make his closing comments as well before ordering him off to class.
The two walked silently towards the cafeteria as the bell was about to ring to end fifth period, and it was going to be time for their lunch anyway. Walking into the large room, the sun from the wall of glass burned into their eyes. They sat at one of the tables and waited for the room to fill up.
Neither felt particularly hungry, as they had spent the morning beefing up on junk food. Besides, they had blown their lunch money on the video games and cigars.
The bell rang. Matt sighed loudly, knowing he might as well just try to enjoy the rest of the school day and make it last as long as possible since he was going to have a very long night once he got home. Kids filled the halls from every direction, many with books beneath their arms as they shuffled off to their next class, having a different lunch hour, while others carried in brown paper sacks or headed toward the line for the food bar.
That was when his life had irrevocably changed. When his everyday life had turned to an inexhaustible hell.
And it had all begun so simply.
Friends had crowded around them, sitting down at the table beside them or hovering over the table to either side.
“What happened to you guys?” Brian had asked.
“Got caught ditching school,” Scott answered.
“Whoa, dude. What happened?”
They had regaled the group around them with the stories of their morning of decadence right up to the point where they were finally apprehended, hiding on the floor of the shower.
Over the course of the following week, the story had played off many lips. “Did you hear Matt and Scott got caught skipping school?” turned into “Did you hear Matt and Scott got caught in the shower together?”
Matt could remember the first time he had heard that particular variation. He had been hiding out in the bathroom in the middle of class, taking his time on a bathroom break. He had been sitting on top of one of the sinks, waiting just a few more minutes before heading back to class to avoid the teacher having a fit. Jim Yates had walked in and faced one of the urinals.
“So I hear you got caught,” he said, zipping down his zipper.
“Yeah,” Matt said, consciously looking the other direction.
Finishing his business, Jim zipped back up his zipper and walked right past Matt.
“Fucking faggot,” he said, spitting on Matt’s leg.
The whole thing had come as such a shock; there was no way that he could have ever really been prepared for that to happen. He just sat there, staring at the damp, dark blue patch on his jeans. The world spun around him.
From there, each day had gotten progressively worse. He would walk down the halls between classes being shoved from all sides by passersby, as they would whisper about him… and those were the kind ones. There were others who would shove him, trip him, knock his books from his arms, staring down at him, calling him a “fucking faggot.” It got to the point where he was no longer able to make eye contact with anyone, staring down at his feet wherever he went. Slouching down in his seat in class to avoid the stares, so as not to see their lips moving as they berated him, quite often in front of the whole class.
It was to the point where he couldn’t get any girls at his own school to talk to him, let alone go out on a date. He had actually even had a girlfriend at the time, Tricia, but she dumped him because all of the stress was starting to get to her. Get to her?!
Matt began walking to class around the outside of the building, even through the snow, so as to encounter as few people as possible. The parking lot monitors cut him some slack, most likely because he had become so meek and pathetic looking, allowing him to sit out in the parking lots smoking between periods.
And the torment didn’t stay at school. People called his house, day and night, waiting for him to answer, and then shouting “Faggot!” into the phone, or just calling to verbally berate him. It followed him home on the bus. Kids he had known all of his life throwing trash at him, yanking the back of his hair, and his personal favorite, the chant of “Faggot! Faggot!”
That was why he had begun waking up half an hour earlier to walk to the next bus route. But they were all the same, as was evidenced by this afternoon’s rock episode.
Life had become insufferable. There was no joy to be found in even the most remote corner of his existence. He lived to sleep, knowing that was the only time when the torment stopped, and fearing every day that he would wake up to find that nothing had changed, as he did every morning.
He couldn’t comprehend how it had gotten to this point. What could he have done differently?
And that had been more than a year ago.
Every day was better than the next.
There was a s
udden, sharp stinging in the back of his head. Matt felt his body become weightless, tumbling forward towards the ground. Red flashed behind his closed eyelids as he slammed into the curb at the base of his hill. His right hand trembling, he opened his eyes and dabbed at the immediate swelling beneath his left eye. It was already puffy and resonated with pain from his cheekbone through his nose. He could feel his eye slowly closing, the swelling pressing the lids together.
He rubbed the back of his head, from where the rock had struck him right at the base of his skull. His hair was matted damply together. Patting at it, he pulled his hand around to where he could see it, staring at the crimson fluid that covered his fingertips.
This time, he did look back over his shoulder. John and Devin were standing side by side laughing riotously. Devin made a fake falling down gesture, and the two laughed even harder, if that were even possible.
Matt just stared at them, his jaw falling slack.
“What are you going to do about it, Faggot?” John shouted, throwing his arms out to his sides.
Slowly closing his eyes, Matt turned and began his trek up the steep hill to his house, hoping that they weren’t going to follow him any further. There was something like this every day, maybe not to this extreme, but the emotional havoc had taken its toll. His whole body seemed to function in slow motion, his breathing slow and deliberate, his mind only capable of normal functioning when he was alone in his room, away from the judgmental stares and taunts.
The laughter faded behind him, but there would always be tomorrow and the day after that…
Glancing to his right, he crossed the snow-blown street at the top of the hill and turned down his culdesac. Large, rounded pines lined the sides of the street, the houses hidden from the road behind them. He walked right down the middle of the road. The majority of the houses on the street were owned by older retirees, a well-rounded mixture of those who spent their springs tending to their immaculate gardens surrounded by electric fences to keep the deer out, and those who peered out from behind barely-drawn drapes, watching the world deteriorate around them. Unfortunately, neither type particularly cared for him, the long-haired representation of the irresponsibility of an undisciplined youth. Sure, he got along with his next door neighbors, his retired pediatrician and a nice young family with two kids in elementary school. But the rest merely stared down their noses at him, shuffling back into their houses and slamming the door, somehow amplifying the sound of the engaging deadbolt to let him know where he stood.
The Bloodspawn Page 5