Hug Chickenpenny: The Panegyric of an Anomalous Child: The Panegyric of an Anomalous Child

by S. Craig Zahler

  “Go have fun,” said Abigail.

  “I will.”

  “Come on!” exclaimed Rex.

  The anomalous boy nodded and followed the scrappy youth from the room.

  ———

  Fiddles, odiferous smoke, and laughter enlivened the atmosphere of The Dapper Pig. Sitting in a wood booth in the crowded barbecue joint were Abigail Westinghouse and Sandy. A pile of pork ribs that had been picked clean, a half-filled pitcher of beer, and the remnants of some sloppy side dishes of macaroni and cheese, potato salad, and collard greens lay between the pair.

  At present, the mother leaned back and patted her belly, which felt like it was currently filled with iron. She did not know if she had eaten too much because she was nervous or if she had done so because the food was so delicious, but she knew that she had definitely overindulged.

  “If you need to lie down on that bench, I won’t object,” remarked Sandy. “Not in the least.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  A stout, red-faced person who wore a fraternity jacket walked past the table.

  “I saw that fella at a college baseball game nine years ago,” said the handsome man. “He was rootin’ for the losing team the whole damn time. Loudly.”

  “He looks like the type.”

  The handsome man pointed out an elderly Mexican fellow who was wiping a table in the back. “Fourteen years ago, he washed cars at Averson’s.”

  “You’re either a good improviser or you really do have a photographic memory.”

  A beer was applied to an uncommonly white grin and then removed. “Option two.”

  “So what was it about my face that set it apart from the thousands of others that you’ve stored in your memory banks?”

  The handsome man smirked. “Well, that’s an interesting way to ask for a compliment.”

  “I didn’t mean for it to come off that way.”

  “I’m happy to oblige your request, whatever the reason.

  “You’re foxy, but more specifically, you have the exact kind of features that handle age gracefully—you’re always gonna look good, even when you’ve got a walker. And in my view, attraction is no more and no less than half of what makes a romance work.

  “So there’s that.

  “Also, I could tell from your eyes that you were very intelligent and uncommonly direct. It’s hard for men and women to communicate, and smarts and directness make things a whole lot easier for everyone.”

  Ruminating, Sandy scratched his mustache and nodded his head. “That’s what I thought when I first saw you, and years later, after eating too much barbecue and talking to you for a couple of hours, I’m still thinking the same exact thing.”

  Blushing, Abigail stared at some macaroni. “Well . . .

  now I’m really embarrassed . . .”

  The handsome man walked around the table, sat down beside the mother, and took her left hand. “Hey. Abby. Look at me.”

  Abigail looked up at Sandy.

  This confident and self-aware fellow was different in almost every way from her deceased husband, who had been a cerebral and shy painter, yet there was no point in denying the attraction that she currently felt.

  The luminous grin disappeared.

  A thick blond mustache proceeded toward a mouth from which barbecue sauce and lipstick had recently been removed.

  There was a moment of hesitation.

  Mouths pressed together.

  Somewhere in the restaurant, somebody clapped.

  Abigail shoved aside any embarrassment that she felt and buried herself more deeply in Sandy, the handsome cowboy who had boldly walked into her life. The fellow turned out to be a very good kisser.

  Unnoticed by the pair, some fraternity guys hooted, and a check fell on the table.

  ———

  “Let’s get off of this godforsaken planet, pronto!” shouted the new actor who played Douglas Starchaser. A team of military spacemen who wore fishbowls over their heads and rubber gloves scrambled across sparkling, lime green rock.

  Lying atop a cheetah-skin rug and watching this program were Hug Chickenpenny and Rex.

  Fearful astronauts boarded The Spacecutter, which closed its doors, shook, and rumbled. The ship shot up, and credits rolled in the opposite direction.

  “That was a good adventure,” remarked Hug. “Those aliens really deserved what they—”

  “Quiet,” whispered Rex.

  Confused, the anomalous boy eyed the scrappy youth, who then got up, walked over to the television, and lowered the volume. A variety show filled the screen, but made no noise.

  Rex pointed to the far side of the room, and Hug swiveled his head all the way around.

  Leaning back on the sofa and snoring was Edmund, the old babysitter.

  “Now we can go do whatever we want,” whispered the scrappy youth, whose blue eyes shone with mischief. “Absolutely anything.”

  “But he might wake up and catch us,” said the anomalous boy, who spoke just as quietly.

  “He won’t.” Rex pointed out the empty drinking glass that rested in Edmund’s lap. “I put two of my dad’s sleeping pills in his prune juice.”

  Hug did not think that this was an appropriate thing to do, but at least the old babysitter looked like he was comfortable. “How long will he remain unconscious?”

  “Plenty long.”

  “He won’t tell your dad what happened?”

  “He isn’t gonna tell him that he fell asleep when he was supposed to be watching us.”

  A loud snore emerged from the human chimney.

  Hug waggled his stump and looked at Rex. “So what do we do now?”

  The scrappy youth reached under a recliner chair and withdrew a pointy metal star, which he gave to his anomalous guest, and the pellet rifle, which he retained. “The hunt calls.”

  Armed and unsupervised, the pair crept from the den and down a carpeted hallway. Soon they reached the faux jungle, where Rex donned a camouflage jacket that had twelve pockets and helped Hug into his asymmetrical parka.

  “It’s not camouflage,” the scrappy youth observed, “but at least it’s dark.”

  The anomalous boy nodded, realizing at that moment that the hunt would take place outdoors. “A lot of my clothing is dark.”

  “That’s good. Though try to get your mom to buy you some camouflage for next time.”

  “Okay.”

  Rex pointed to the far hallway. “Quickly!”

  Clothed, armed, and unsupervised, the pair stole down the indicated corridor. At the far end of this hall, the scrappy youth unlocked a sliding glass door, which he then shoved aside on its runners.

  “Quickly!”

  Hug ambled through the opening and onto a wooden deck. Cold air stung his skin. Overhead hung the moon and some raggedy clouds.

  Rex stepped outside and closed the door. “You know how to throw a shuriken?”

  Hug raised the pointy metal star. “This?”

  “Yep.”

  The anomalous boy fingered the weapon. “I can hypothesize.”

  “I’ll show you later—once we’re in the blind.”

  “Okay.”

  “Quickly!”

  The scrappy youth led the anomalous boy around a heated, kidney bean-shaped swimming pool and off of the wooden deck. Rubber soles squeaked on damp grass as the pair hastened toward their destination.

  This was the first time that Hug had been out in the dark without an adult since the night that Doctor Hannersby had eaten the poisonous mushrooms. It was scary but also exciting.

  “Quickly!”

  “What are we hunting?” asked Hug, between breaths.

  A grin that Rex had inherited from his father flashed across the night. “Automobiles.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the hunters prostrated themselves within the blind, which resembled (and was) a thicket of roadside bushes.

  Distant lights shone upon the serpentine street that the pair monitored.

  Rex raised
his pellet rifle.

  Hug felt his heart hammer in quick groups of three. From his pocket, he removed the shuriken.

  A beige, four-door sedan sped toward the blind.

  The scrappy youth pulled the trigger, and the rifle popped.

  A pellet clanked against the car’s bumper.

  “Goddammit and hell!” muttered Rex, who was good at using bad words.

  Hug raised his shuriken.

  “It’s out of range,” said the more experienced automobile hunter.

  Oblivious of the attack, the vehicle sped off down the road.

  “I need to throw the shuriken ahead of time, don’t I?” asked the anomalous boy. “So that it gets there in time.”

  “Yeah. And aim for a tire—that’s why Orientals invented them in the first place.”

  “To give flat tires?”

  “Right.”

  Rex cracked the rifle barrel, slotted another pellet, sealed the chamber, cocked the weapon, and aimed. Hug fingered the shuriken.

  For five minutes, the hunters waited in a predacious silence.

  A distant light twinkled.

  “There,” said the anomalous boy.

  “This buck’s mine.”

  “Okay.”

  A yellow sports car sped up the street, rounded the nearest corner, and came into range. Lights glared upon the road and cast scary black shadows in all directions.

  Hug squinted.

  Exhaling, Rex squeezed the trigger.

  The rifle popped.

  A headlight shattered on the front of the yellow vehicle, and the woman behind the wheel yelped in surprise. The vehicle rounded the next bend and disappeared.

  “Bullseye,” stated the scrappy youth.

  “Splendid,” whispered the anomalous boy. Although the night was cold, he felt hot and tingly all over.

  Rex slotted a new pellet, cocked the rifle three times, and offered the weapon to Hug. “Here.”

  Warily, the anomalous boy eyed the gun.

  “Take it,” said the scrappy youth. “Aim for the headlights—it’s good practice for when we get older and go on safaris.”

  “My mommy said that I wasn’t allowed to—”

  “She won’t know unless you tattle.”

  “I won’t tattle. I never did—even when they were mean to me at the orphanage, I never tattled.”

  Rex eyed Hug for a moment and then nodded his head. “I believe you.”

  The grumble of a distant car engine precluded further debate.

  “Give me the rifle,” said the anomalous boy.

  Grinning, the scrappy youth extended the weapon.

  Hug dropped the shuriken, took the rifle stock in his hand, and balanced the barrel across his nubbin. Prone, he closed his red eye and aligned the little vertical notch with the approaching vehicle.

  The grumbling sound of the engine grew louder.

  Tense, the anomalous boy waited for his target to come into range.

  His mottled index finger curled around the trigger, but did not squeeze. Every heartbeat thudded, gurgled, and a thumped in his throat.

  Headlights burst around the corner of the winding road. Rocks and shrubbery were thrown into bas-relief. A blue station wagon that contained a driver and no passengers appeared.

  Squinting, Hug jerked the trigger.

  The rifle popped.

  A front tire exploded. The blue car swerved and skidded.

  Terrified, the anomalous boy gasped.

  The station wagon veered off of the road, smashed through a mass of crackling bushes, and pounded into a huge rock. Glass shattered, and hissing steam rose from the hood.

  Hug gaped at Rex. “Should we go see if he’s—”

  Something clicked, startling the anomalous boy, who then eyed the wreckage, which was thirty yards away and on the opposite side of the road.

  The driver’s door swung open and out of the vehicle stepped an angry man who wore a jogging suit and sandals. Held in his right hand was a metal baseball bat.

  “Run!” hissed the scrappy youth. “Quickly!”

  Scrambling, the hunters departed from the blind and disappeared into the woods.

  Hug followed Rex, who dodged rocks, tree limbs, and animal burrows until he reached the main trail. Upon this path and behind the scrappy youth, the anomalous boy hobbled. Cold air burned his little lung, which had to work twice as hard as the big one, but he did not ask his fellow hunter to slow the pace, since their lives were at stake.

  No words were said by either of them as they careened through the dark for ten minutes.

  At present, Rex reached the hidden tunnel that he had dug underneath a tall wire fence that circumscribed the Huntsman ranch.

  “You first. Quickly!”

  Hug dropped into the hole, crawled to the other side, and ascended. Rex followed after and covered up the tunnel entrance with a wood plank. Upon this surface, both hunters kicked a blanket of dirt.

  The anomalous boy looked back through the fence and scanned the woods, but saw no sign of the man who carried the metal baseball bat.

  “Quickly!”

  Shoes squeaked as the hunters tore across the field.

  Hug felt the physical strain of his flight. His mismatched lungs burned, and his heart beat so quickly that each triplet felt like one single violent pulsation.

  Rex glanced over his shoulder, stopped, and bent forward. “Get on my back—I can carry you.”

  “No—I’m seven . . . and a half.”

  “Okay.”

  At a slower pace, the hunters crossed the remainder of the field, mounted the wooden deck, and circumvented the kidney-shaped pool.

  Rex shoved aside the sliding door. “Quickly!”

  Hug remembered something, and his stomach knotted. “Darn it!” He stopped ambling toward the doorway and shook his head. “Double . . . darn!”

  “Get inside,” said Rex. “We’re almost in the clear.”

  “I can’t—I left . . . the shuriken . . . in the blind.”

  “Forget about it. I have five others.”

  “It has our . . . fingerprints . . . on it. I need to go back . . . before the police . . . find it. I can’t . . . let you get in trouble.”

  Hug turned around and hobbled across the wood deck.

  “Don’t go!” cried Rex, who sounded like he was too scared to follow.

  “I have to.”

  Lopsidedly, Hug tore across the moonlit grass.

  His lungs burned, especially the little one, and his heart felt like three hot needles, but he proceeded apace. Memories of the terrible night that he had gotten lost while trying to save the teratologist entered his mind but were discarded. Something like that could happen to an incompetent five year old, but not a mature (and advanced) young man of seven and a half.

  The anomalous boy uncovered the secret entrance to the tunnel, crawled under the fence, and hobbled into the forest, which was comprised of slabs of darkness, hunks of moonlight, trees that looked like people, bushes that looked like animals, and holes that looked like mouths.

  At present, he found and followed the trail. Sweat dripped from his white hair and stung his eyes.

  “Darn it.”

  Hug wiped his face and tripped on a root. The ground slammed into his chest, but his thick parka softened the impact.

  “Double . . . darn.”

  The anomalous boy sat upright and convulsed. There was a cold, tingling sensation in his neck as his insides constricted a second time. Violently, he coughed.

  Glittering purple dust sprayed from his mouth into the air.

  Doubled over, Hug convulsed again. His body ached, and violently, he coughed.

  Something scraped the insides of his throat, passed into his mouth, and rattled against his teeth.

  The anomalous boy spat this something into his hand.

  Lying in his palm was a sparkling, purple stone that was no larger than a pea.

  Nothing like this crystalline object nor the glittering dust had ever before emer
ged from any part of him, but he knew that now was not a good time for him to ponder teratological wonders.

  Hug discarded the purple stone and continued toward his destination. The similarly colored pustules that grew upon his neck itched, but he ignored them.

  Ahead of him, the trail ended.

  The anomalous boy plunged into the brush and reached a hill, on the far side of which lay the blind. Quietly, he ascended to the top.

  “Right there!” yelled an angry man.

  Terrified, Hug froze. His skin tingled, and his heart raced.

  “Right there—d’you see?”

  The anomalous boy looked toward the speaker.

  Across the street and thirty yards to the south, the driver aimed his metal baseball bat at the trailer hitch that jutted from the rear of his station wagon.

  “That’s usually where they’re located,” said a burly fellow who was pulling a large metal hook from the back of a tow truck.

  Hug crawled into the blind, reclaimed the shuriken, and quietly disappeared into the night. His actions had ensured that the identities of the two young hunters would never be discovered.

  Twenty minutes later, the anomalous boy and the scrappy youth disinterestedly watched the den television, which did not better entertain the snoring babysitter.

  A studio audience applauded, and a happy man who wore a sequin-encrusted white suit played an accordion while riding a unicycle in tiny circles.

  Hug was unable to pay any attention to these silly antics after his night of peril. Automobile hunting was dangerous sport for both the hunters and the hunted, and he had no intention of looking for any more four-wheeled game ever again.

  “Don’t tell anyone what happened,” whispered the anomalous boy.

  “I won’t. I swear to God I won’t. It’s our special secret.”

  Nodding in agreement, Hug smiled.

  “You have fangs.”

  “Seven. And an eighth one is starting to come in.”

  “I wish I had fangs.”

  XXI | Brotherhood

  Snow fell upon the ranch.

  Prone in the den, Hug Chickenpenny and Rex drew pictures of futuristic weaponry, while on television the original black-and-white Douglas Starchaser pistol-whipped a nine-eyed alien.

  The anomalous boy scratched the two purple pustules that had grown on his left cheek during the previous year and rubbed his cloudy red eye, which was now half blind.