Jillybean's First Adventure

by Peter Meredith

  They waited on the porch, both smiling with insincere happiness. From inside, a TV went low and they heard footsteps approaching.

  "Who is it?" a muffled voice asked.

  “Hey, Mattie. It's Karen Wyatt.” Odd hadn't expected her mom to mention that she was there too. As always, she was only an afterthought.

  "Yeah?" The single word held deep suspicion.

  The faux-happy look didn't last as Karen's lips pursed. “Well, I want to say hello. Is my brother home?"

  Before the door opened they could hear the chain being slid into place. If ever there was an ill omen, that sound was it.

  "You want to see your brother?" Matilda Wyatt asked in a high voice. She was a small woman with dark hair and eyes that flashed from out of deep pouches. She seemed strangely outraged in Odd's opinion. "You are simply amazing, Karen," Odd's aunt seethed.

  Before the door had opened, Karen had re-applied her fake smile and now it struggled to stay in place. "I know it's been a few years," she replied, “but we can let bygones be bygones. If you just let me talk to my brother, he would..."

  Mattie interrupted, shaking her head in astonishment. "Your brother's been dead for two years. So if you want to see him, you'll have to go out to the cemetery on Third Avenue."

  Odd could only remember having met her uncle once; even so the news of his death impacted her more than it did her mother. Karen had been far more upset the day before when she had thrown herself down on the couch and had accidentally squashed a pack of cigarettes.

  "Dead? Two years...hmmm," Karen said, clearly thinking how this was going to affect her. Behind the chain Mattie rolled her eyes and Odd went a shade pink at her mom's calculating tone.

  As well as feeling embarrassment, the little girl also felt decidedly queer. Even though she was only ten she had seen her share of death. It was the consequence of living as one of the dregs of society. Death was a part of life in the back-alley slums and the seven dollar a night motel rooms in which the little girl had been raised.

  Yet this one death out of all the others was different. It twirled a strange sensation through her guts. John Wyatt had been family. As far as Odd knew, her only family—other than her mother.

  "Did he happen to mention me?" Karen asked, almost coming across in an offhand way.

  Mattie's eyebrows locked together. "Mention you? He was shot in the head. A burglar killed him. He died instantly."

  "No, I meant in the will. You know, in that way."

  At this Mattie looked up at her ceiling and began laughing tiredly. Ashamed, Odd glanced away and saw a face looking at her from behind a set of blue curtains that hung across the large front window. The face was bone white and not human. Where the eyes should've been were two deep holes, hollow and black; the thing's nose was long, pointing down over a pit of a mouth that was rimmed with huge triangular-shaped teeth. There were more of these teeth, running in rings down the creature's throat. Though its skin was the color of alabaster, it ran with golden cracks like the seams of a strange puzzle

  Odd screamed at the vision and stumbled back, falling down the steps of the porch. The fall jarred her spine and there were pebbles embedded in her palms. When she looked back at the window the dreadful face was gone and another was in its place, that of an aging cocker spaniel. The dog stared out at Odd with innocent round eyes.

  Irritated, Karen stared down at her daughter. "What the hell's wrong with you?" The question had barely passed her lips when her eyes came open in alarm. She hurried down the stairs and knelt down next to Odd. She didn’t care whether Odd had been hurt, the only thing that mattered to her was that Odd's sunglasses had fallen off and her red eyes gleamed in the half-light. "Get these back on," she whispered handing over the glasses.

  Straightening, Karen turned back to her sister-in-law. "I think she might have tripped on your stairs, and I'm pretty sure she sprained an ankle. Can we come in?"

  Mattie turned to the dog in the window and commanded, "Dayton, get down!" It disappeared with a rustle of blue curtain.

  When it did, Odd blinked away the horrific image she had seen. It hadn’t been real. They never were. She saw these things because her eyes were broken. If she turned her head too quickly doors would appear to bend, sidewalks would curl like strands of DNA, and faces would contort as though they were looking out of fun-house mirrors at her. This one image just happened to be a little worse than usual.

  "I'm ok," she said to her mother. Karen glared at her in response—shaking her head in tiny back and forth movements that Mattie wasn't supposed to see. It took a second for Odd to catch on and then she said, "Except my...my ankle. I think, maybe I twisted it?"

  Karen gave her a little nod and then went back up to the porch. "Yeah, I think she might have turned it. Can we come in and get some ice for it and maybe..."

  "No, you may not," Mattie said, cutting across her. "Take your scams somewhere else."

  "Look, Mattie, I'm not trying to scam you or anything," Karen said in a pleading tone. "We're just really hurting—financially. Do you think we could maybe stay for the night?"

  "No."

  "Oh, ok." Karen dropped her head in a display of despair. From her vantage on the ground, Odd could see her mom's eyes going back and forth, a clear sign of more scheming. "I guess we have to go...wait, you never answered me about John? Did he leave anything? For me? In the will? Any insurance money?"

  Mattie's face twisted into a sneer. “You are such a ghoul! You're nothing but a grave robber. Whatever John left, he left for me. He hated you. Don't you remember that? I bet he's rolling over in his grave at the thought of you back in town begging at his door. Now get off my porch!" Mattie slammed the door in Karen's face.

  Karen clenched her fists and Odd thought that she was about to explode, but then she leaned up against the door, looking weary, but not yet defeated. "What about for Audrey? She's never hurt you. Can't you help her out? She hasn't had a decent meal in days."

  This at least was true. Her mother's drinking took precedence over everything including food. Odd's malnourishment was one of the reasons she could pass as a second grader.

  At first Mattie seemed unmoved by the statement and no sound came from beyond the door. After a long minute of standing there, Karen let her shoulders droop. She tromped, one step at a time, off the porch. Each of those thudding steps was like a countdown and when she got to the last, standing over Odd, Karen had a nasty look for her daughter.

  "This is all your fault," she hissed. "All you had to do was stand there and try not to be a freak. You couldn't even do that. Come on." She grabber her daughter by the arm, only just then Mattie's door opened a smidge and a small rain of green was thrown out.

  "That's all I have and that's all I'm going to give," Mattie said. "I don't want to see either one of you ever again." The door shut a second time with a bang and the lock sliding into place was clear in the last of the afternoon light.

  "Eighty-four dollars," Karen said, thumbing through the bills a minute later. "What a bitch. But at least this keeps us out of the shelter for a while. Come on, let's go back to that bar, the one with the pretzels. You're going to get us some drinks and this time, no pouting. You ruin everything when you start in."

  The drinks would be all for Karen. Only rarely did Odd ever get a Coke out of the deal. The little girl hung her head, letting her blonde hair fall across her glasses. "I don't like it when you make me look like a freak.”

  "There you go pouting already!" Karen huffed. "You want to go back to the shelter then? Is that it? We can do that if you want. We can go and sit among all those stinky people and get preached to...or we can go find someone who'll take care of us. We're not going to find a man at the shelter, believe me."

  Odd let out a long breath. "I don't want to go to a bar or the shelter. The people at the bar aren't much better than them over at the shelter. They're all so...so skanky. We don't belong there."

  Her mother started walking, her thumb jutting out even before she hit
the street. "Come on," she said. "We're going to the bar. When we get there you had better take a good look at all them people you think are no good. Take a hard look and then you look in the mirror...without your glasses and then you tell me who doesn't belong.”

  A shiver raced up Odd’s spine at the thought. Unless her mom forced her to, she never looked into a mirror without her glasses on. When she did, a demon was always looking back at her and no amount of blinking would ever get it to go away.

  Chapter 2

  Five days later, Odd sat on the stained cover of a motel bed with fear squirreling around in her belly as she squinted at a note her mother had left. Unfortunately the note was written in cursive. Her eyes weren't good for cursive—really they weren't good for any sort of reading, but cursive was the worst. The letters slithered atop each other like snakes.

  Odd didn't need to read the note to know she was in trouble, because sitting next to it were nine dollars bills and fourteen pennies. The only other time Karen Wyatt had ever left money lying around there had been a note as well.

  That had been the year before when they had stopped for a while in Toledo. Karen had hooked up with some sort of salesman who took her on a week long tour of the mid-west. He sold his wares and she...she did that thing she does to get men to pay for her meals. That time Odd had been left twenty-four dollars. It had been the most miserable lonely week of her life.

  Odd took the note to the window and held it at an angle. It didn't help. Pocketing the cash, she went to look for someone to read the note for her—someone trustworthy. This ruled out everyone at the motel and most of the people on the streets. But she knew where to go. She went to a nearby park where old men spent their days sitting on benches, playing chess or checkers.

  She had gone to the park every day since the two of them had been abandoned in the city by one of her mother's boyfriends a couple of weeks before. He had pulled over to get gas and when the two of them had gone to the lady’s room he had simply driven away taking all their meager belongings with him. Karen had blamed Odd, as did Odd. No one could stand being around her very long—once they knew her secret.

  "Hey, it's Stevie Wonder!" one of the old men called out as she came and sat at her usual bench. This was greeted with laughter, but it wasn't cruel or mocking so she smiled in response.

  "Mr. McCew, what's that mean?" Odd asked the man she always sat nearest to. They were all old, frizzy-haired black men and she had chosen Mr. McCew because he had the warmest smile, the loudest laugh, and talked the most. "Who's Stevie Wonder?" she asked him.

  "Who's Stevie Wonder?" he asked right back, causing everyone to laugh again. "He's a Ray Charles wannabe." This brought out even more laughter, but only confused Odd all the more. Mr. McCew saw this and smiled broad. "He's a blind singer. Jonny B over there just called you that cuz you wearing them glasses all the time."

  "Oh...I just think they're cool looking." Odd never mentioned her eye problem to anyone unless she had to.

  "Ole Jonny B didn't mean nothing by it," Mr. McCew said with a last smile before returning his gaze to the checkerboard. Odd liked it better when he played chess. Compared to checkers, chess progressed at a glacial pace, making it easier for her to follow.

  Because of her eyes she couldn't watch TV or read. Sitting in the park, watching the old men and listening to them take jabs at one another was her favorite form of entertainment. She was learning chess quickly—Mr. McCew would talk out every move he'd make before making it.

  Checkers was a different story.

  "You see that, Odd?" Mr. McCew asked pointing at the board. For a second, the straight grid on the board twisted and she thought the pieces would all slide off. Before she could blink away the illusion, what looked like a half-dozen hands jumped around snatching the little round discs. "He's just giving me the game," Mr McCew added with a laugh.

  Odd smiled her encouragement, not knowing what was going on. The action was just too quick for eyes to catch up with. Her old black friend must have been right however, as the game ended soon after.

  "No good, bad luck cracker," Mr. McCew's opponent snarled getting up from his side of the bench and storming away.

  "Don't be like that, Earl," Mr. McCew hollered after him, patting Odd's leg. "She's a good luck cracker! You're just jealous cuz she's my good luck cracker." He turned his muddy brown eyes to her. "Don't fret none about the 'cracker' talk. No one means nothin about it."

  "Ok," Odd said. She would fret anyway. When Mr. McCew said it, she knew it was just his way of joking, but the way the other man had said it struck a warning note within her. She would have to steer clear of him from then on.

  "Who's up next?" her friend said, rubbing his hands against the cold.

  He played another game and then another. Odd bundled her heavy coat tighter around her and watched and waited. She was patient for a ten-year-old. Eventually, the cold caught up to the men and they began drifting away. When a game was on the line Mr. McCew ignored the elements and with trembling hands he finished off his last opponent. Laughing out little puffs of grey breath, he started to get up.

  "Excuse me, Mr. McCew can I ask a little favor?” She pulled out the note.

  His reaction wasn't what Odd had expected. He drew back with narrowed eyes. "Depends, don't it? What sort of favor?"

  "I can't read this note my mom wrote me. I have dyslexia." Odd didn't have dyslexia, but people knew that word—most people that is. Odd didn't know what it meant, not really. It was just what her mother told her to say when she was forced to explain why she couldn't read.

  Mr. McCew looked down his nose at the girl in the sunglasses. "Dyslexia? That's meaning you can't read?" She nodded which made him scowl. "Then why the hell did your mom write you a note? That doesn't make any sense."

  "She knew I'd find someone to read it for me," Odd answered in a little voice. She hadn't expected this reaction at all.

  The old man's brown eyes smoldered for a moment before he reached out and took the note. He read in a slow, deep voice:

  Odd,

  A really good chance has come up for the both of us. Last night I met this guy, Jared. He really likes me and has a good job. He's a trucker who does runs out to California and back. He says he's not into kids, but I think that by the time we get back, I'll have changed his mind. I've paid for the room till Sunday. Don't spend all the money right away, make it last or you'll be hungry.

  Mom

  Once Mr. McCew finished reading it out loud, his eyes went back to the page a second time, while his lips formed nearly silent words. He shook his head as he reread the note.

  "Your mom left you to drive around the country with some guy she met last night?" he asked in an outrage. What could Odd say? She only shrugged in response. The old man reached out and grabbed her hand. "Come with me. We'll call my daughter-in-law. She's a social worker. You'll love her. She can cook like nobody's business."

  Odd snatched her hand away and backed away quickly. “No, thank you, Mr. McCew. I don't need a social worker. I'll be ok. You read the note. I have a place to stay and...and some money."

  “Some money” was a stretch. Even she knew that nine dollars wasn’t a lot of money.

  He made a face, pursing his lips. "Look at you, all skin and bones. You're practically starving already." He stepped toward her and Odd skipped further back. Mr. McCew stamped his foot like a toddler not getting his way. "You know this ain't right. You don't need to protect your mom!"

  "I'm not protecting my mom," Odd answered truthfully. She was protecting herself. A social worker meant only one thing: foster-care. She had been in foster-care before. It had been a disaster. Three different homes in five weeks. In all of them the other kids had mercilessly picked on her and the parents had trouble looking her in the face. She'd been passed on like a hot potato and everyday had been torture. Being alone was bad, but foster-care was worse.

  "I'll be ok, Mr. McCew. Don't worry about me." She started to walk away and then remembered she had one othe
r question. “I meant to ask you what day is this?"

  "You don't even know what day it is and you expect me to believe that you'll be alright?" he asked. She shrugged, still backing away. "It's Tuesday," he yelled.

  Odd's mind did a quick spin over the number of days till Sunday—six and the amount of money she had—nine dollars. Slowly, she worked out the math: she would have a dollar and fifty-two cents a day to spend on food. The amount seemed impossibly small and so she did the math again.

  "Oh boy," she said, a knot forming in her chest. Waving a last good-bye to Mr. McCew she headed off to the nearest supermarket, afraid that her money wasn't going to last and doubly afraid what would happen to her when it ran out…

  Fictional works by Peter Meredith:

  A Perfect America

  Infinite Reality: Daggerland Online Novel 1

  Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2

  Generation Z

  Generation Z: The Queen of the Dead

  The Sacrificial Daughter

  The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead: Day One

  The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead: Day Two

  The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead Day Three

  The Apocalypse Crusade War of the Undead Day Four

  The Horror of the Shade: Trilogy of the Void 1

  An Illusion of Hell: Trilogy of the Void 2

  Hell Blade: Trilogy of the Void 3

  The Punished

  Sprite

  The Blood Lure The Hidden Land Novel 1

  The King’s Trap The Hidden Land Novel 2

  To Ensnare a Queen The Hidden Land Novel 3

  The Apocalypse: The Undead World Novel 1

  The Apocalypse Survivors: The Undead World Novel 2