Blue Demon

by David Bernstein

  He sat there and cried, his tailbone aching. His tormentors’ laughter echoed like thunder in his ears. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see them.

  When the laughter finally died down, he waited for a blow of some kind or to be picked back up again and made to dance.

  “Pathetic,” someone said, Cal unsure of who had said it.

  He opened his eyes after hearing the sound of receding foot steps and the door opening. To his relief, the boys were leaving, Kyle the last in line.

  The head bully looked over his shoulder and held a finger to his lips, then punched his right fist into his open left palm, reiterating the threat for Cal to keep his mouth shut.

  Cal was left alone in the bathroom, listening to the echo of his sobs. He continued to cry for a while, not caring about getting to class. Finally, he told himself the bullies weren’t coming back, the abuse was over. He was okay.

  He got to his hands and knees and crawled to the first stall. He looked inside the commode and saw the left prosthetic submerged in yellow water. Reaching up, he flushed, knowing the foot was too large to be sucked into the hole. He repeated the cleansing a few more times before grabbing the foot. He did the same thing in the other stall where his right foot had been deposited.

  Returning to the sink, he washed off the prosthetics as best he could, dried them with paper towels and put them back on. He looked in the mirror and told himself, that in time, everything would be okay, and that what he’d just gone through was nothing compared to what he’d been through.

  He wiped his tear-streaked face and left the bathroom, but instead of going back to class, he walked home. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate in class, and if he was being honest with himself, he was afraid—afraid Kyle and his asshole goons would come after him again. Maybe next time, they’d pull his feet off in front of others, like in the parking lot he walked through on his way home. Maybe they’d take them next time and toss them in the river, making it impossible for him to get them before they were carried away.

  His mom was still at work when he came home, and he had no plan of telling her what had happened when she arrived. Informing her meant alerting the principal, and then all hell would break loose.

  After school let out, his friend Marcus called him and asked what happened, why he wasn’t in school. Cal thought about lying, saying he had gone home sick, but he needed to confide in someone about what had occurred.

  “Oh my God,” Marcus said after hearing Cal’s horrifying tale. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

  “They’re such pricks,” Marcus said. “Remember when they gave me that wedgie from hell? Ripped my underwear clear off and hung it in the girl’s bathroom.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “We’ve been lucky for the most part," Marcus said. "They usually don’t have us on their radar more than once or twice a year. But that shit they did to you went too far. That just wasn’t right.”

  Cal felt a kernel of warmth bloom within his gut. “I wish someone would mess with them, you know? Do to them what they do to others. Show them what it’s like.”

  “Yeah, that would be sweet.” Silence, then: “Are you going to tell on them?”

  “Should I?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Marcus said. “If you tell, you’ll be a rat. They might get suspended, but they’ll want revenge. I wouldn’t say anything unless they keep doing it.”

  “Keep doing it? As in a daily occurrence?”

  “I don’t know. Those guys are crazy. You’ll have to hope they’ve satisfied themselves with you. With your… condition. They might see you as an easy target. I mean, I don’t know what makes guys like them act like they do. They must get beat at home or something.”

  “Yeah, something.”

  They talked for a little while more before Marcus said he had to go. Cal watched television and ate dinner shortly after his mom came home, telling her his day had been routine when she asked how his day went.

  Later that night while he was in his room lying on his bed, he thought about school. He was petrified to go back. Didn’t know if he would be able to.

  But that was bullshit.

  He had to go back; school was a part of his life. It was just a matter of when. And when he did, he most certainly would never use the bathroom there again.

  He tried to think about other stuff—books he’d read, movies he’d watched, was looking forward to watching, the upcoming New York Yankees’ baseball season—but his mind always reverted to the bathroom bullying he’d endured. He couldn’t not think about it. And as time wore on, and the clock ticked closer to the next day, his anxiety level continued to rise.

  Finally, he’d had enough and slammed his hands on the mattress. “Damn it,” he said. It wasn’t fair that he should be afraid to return to school. It wasn’t fair that he was afraid of those boys. It wasn’t fair that he didn’t have a dad. It wasn’t fair that he had fake feet. Nothing was fair. Everything sucked.

  He wanted to scream, but knew doing so would get his mother’s attention. She’d want to know what was wrong, and her intuition was too honed for him to lie. She’d pester him until he told her. So he let out his frustration physically by picking up his backpack—the first thing he saw—and hurling it across his room.

  As soon as he let go, he regretted his actions. The bag collided with the shelving along the wall where Blue Demon stood watch over the room. The action figure wobbled, then fell forward as if taking a swan dive.

  Cal bolted into action and lunged, managing to catch the blue-colored figure just before it hit the floor. He breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was to break the final thing his father had gotten for him. Besides that, it was the only expensive collectible he owned.

  “I’m sorry, Blue Demon,” he said. “I shouldn’t let myself get out of control.” As part of his therapy, he’d learned that emotions needed to be explored, felt and kept in check.

  He stared at the action figure, wondering what had made him talk to it. He wasn’t a little kid anymore. Didn’t believe such things were real and that they came to life when he was asleep.

  But for some reason, he felt a need to talk to it. The plastic figure was inanimate, like a rock or pen, but it had a face and seemed to listen.

  Cal took a seat on his bed and held the action figure in front of him.

  “I’m afraid to go to school,” he said. “What if they come after me again? What if next time is worse? What if they take my feet and hide them?

  “They need to be taught a lesson. You know? Like, someone needs to beat them up. I wish I knew martial arts. Was stronger. Then I’d show them. Make them beg for mercy. Do it in front of the whole school.”

  His own words hit him like a punch to the gut.

  What if they bragged to their friends about what they had done to him? What if the entire school found out? Everyone would laugh at him. He’d be called Piss Feet or Toilet Boy or some other degrading name.

  He couldn’t let that happen, but what could he do about it? Telling would surely allow the story to get out, so that was out of the question. He couldn’t fight them. He couldn’t avoid school forever either, maybe a day or two, but that was it.

  The only thing he could do was nothing. Go about his days and live in fear, hoping they left him alone. Every time he passed them in the hallway or chanced going to the bathroom, he’d worry. He just had to hope they’d leave him alone. And every day they didn’t bully him was a day closer to when they would again, he knew. Because they would bully him again. He would have to spend the rest of his school days anticipating the worst. Every day would be hell. He was scarred. Forever? Maybe. Would he fear entering a bathroom for the rest of his life, regardless of it being at school?

  Completely discouraged, he carried Blue Demon back to the shelf. “Good night, old friend,” he said, then returned to his bed, where he curled up and cried himself to sleep.

  That night, Cal tossed and turned. Nightmar
es plagued his slumber. He’d woken a few times drenched in sweat. All the dreams had taken place at school. In them, he found himself running from Kyle and his goons. They always caught him in the empty hallways or the bathroom—why he ran there he did not know.

  They punched him, kicked him and threatened him, and in the end, always took his feet. He woke after each attack, wondering how his mind was able to dream the same type of thing over and over. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to sleep after the first few, but each time he laid his head down, he dozed.

  The dreams grew worse, the bullying and violence intensifying. The boys used knives and saws to remove his feet. But the last nightmare had been the worst. They’d bullied him in front of the entire school and used a chainsaw to cut off his feet. Everyone was pointing and laughing as his blood splattered his face, his tormentors’ and the surrounding crowd’s. He woke up screaming. His mother had come in and asked him what was wrong. He told her that he’d just had a bad dream.

  The last nightmare had started out terrible, the bullies chasing him with a jar of flesh-eating beetles, a chainsaw and a sickle. They were going to take his arms and legs this time. He ran to the bathroom—again, not sure why he’d done such a thing—and found himself cornered. The boys slowly stepped toward him, their weapons raised. The beetles scurried over one another, their eyes glowing red. He could tell how starved the insects were.

  Just as the boys were about to attack, the bathroom door burst open and Blue Demon came inside. The bullies turned and faced him. Johnny came at him first, sickle held high. Blue Demon knocked the weed-slicing tool away with a single swipe of his clawed hand, then grabbed the boy around his neck and lifted him off the ground. Blue Demon then jerked his hand. There was a snapping sound, like a branch breaking, and Johnny went limp. Blue Demon threw him into the stall where his dead body crumpled to the floor.

  The living action figure growled at the other two bullies, his sharp-teeth lined mouth seemingly larger than it looked.

  Kenny dropped the beetles. The jar broke at his feet. The insects scurried up his legs and under his clothes. He danced wildly and screamed as they devoured his flesh. It took seconds before he was a sack of clothing and bones. Blue Demon inhaled and sucked in all the beetles, vanquishing them.

  Kyle dropped the chainsaw and got on his knees. He assumed a prayer formation and begged for his life. “Please, don’t hurt me. I’m sorry. I’ll be better.”

  Blue Demon stepped forward and put a giant hand on his head. His claws sunk into Kyle’s scalp. Rivulets of blood flowed down over his shoulders and back, and onto the floor. Blue Demon roared, then tore Kyle’s head from his body, taking the entire spine with it. He tossed the head over his shoulder where it landed with a thud in the sink, the spine hanging over the edge like a skeletal tail.

  Cal knew he should’ve been frightened, knew he should’ve tried to run when the attacks were happening, but for some reason, he wasn’t afraid of the beast. He actually felt safe.

  Blue Demon gave him a slight nod, then turned around and walked out of the bathroom.

  Cal woke a moment later, feeling more positive. His fear of going to school was gone. But it was only temporary. He lay there, remembering the dream and how awful, but cool, it was. Seeing Kyle scared and begging was great.

  But it was only a dream.

  He looked at his clock radio and saw that the alarm was going to go off in a few minutes. He went to shut it when his door opened and his mom entered.

  “Hey,” she said, “I just heard some awful news on the radio. It’s about your school.”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “You’re going to hear it anyway, but it looks like some kids were murdered.”

  Cal felt as if he’d been struck. “Murdered?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but school is cancelled. I have to get ready for work. Mrs. Newers will be coming over to check on you today.”

  She left the room and closed his door.

  Cal couldn’t believe it. He glanced up at the shelf where Blue Demon was supposed to be, the action figure not there.

  He got out of bed and looked on the floor, figuring it had fallen. But the thing was nowhere to be found. He remembered his time at the hospital and how Blue Demon vanished after Dr. Stetson’s attack. Now another attack and Blue Demon was gone again. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it, except for the fact that he’d had the dream of the bullies getting killed at school.

  Cal donned his feet, then ran out of his room and up to the attic. He stood before the box labeled Cal’s Stuff. With a shaky hand, he pulled back the cardboard flaps and opened the box. He staggered back as the breath rushed from his lungs. Blue Demon was resting on the top of his belongings.

  Chapter Eleven

  After finding out that Kyle, Johnny and Kenny had been the victims at his school, Cal could no longer take a chance that Blue Demon had been involved. Yes, they had deserved to be punished, suspended, even beat up, but not viciously slaughtered.

  It was crazy, he knew, but something within him screamed he was right to part with the figure—at least for a while. It didn’t make sense, didn’t seem possible. Maybe it was a coincidence how the people who had wronged him wound up maimed or dead. A coincidence how Blue Demon vanished afterward, only to appear among his things in the attic. Regardless, he left the blue-colored action figure in the box of Cal’s Stuff. He didn't dare touch it for fear his doing so would bring it to life again, and then it could maim or kill whoever wronged him next.

  He’d thought about throwing it away, too, but he just couldn’t. There were a number of reasons, such as he could simply be nuts. Believing the toy was responsible for killing people was truly ridiculous.

  It was valuable to him, priceless, in fact. It reminded him of spending time with his dad. The man had also wanted him to have it, and had been willing to spend a lot on the thing.

  And lastly, if he was being honest with himself, he was afraid if he threw the toy away, it would be angry with him. So he closed the box, got packaging tape from downstairs and sealed it.

  The next four years moved quickly, Cal’s life turning out much better than he’d originally anticipated. It took two instances of getting picked on to realize the choice he’d made about Blue Demon had been the right one. One incident involved a kid on the football team who threatened Cal after he started tutoring the jock’s girlfriend. “You better make sure she gets an A or I’m going to kick your ass,” the kid said. When the girl got a C on her test, her boyfriend came up to Cal and gave him a dead-arm, wailing on his shoulder hard enough so he couldn’t move it without pain for the next four days. He then pinned Cal against the wall and made Cal eat the test. “You’re lucky she passed, or you’d be a dead man.”

  Cal considered his beef with the player finished after a couple days went by and the kid hadn’t bothered him, even when he passed him in the hallway.

  Then there was another incident when Cal was at the pizza shop in town with Marcus. Four local punks started with them and wound up stealing their food when they walked outside, both of them having planned on eating at the bench across the street. They’d gone back in and ordered more food, this time eating indoors, but the punks had followed them on their way home, stopping them as they entered the trail that led to Marcus’ house.

  “We felt bad for taking your food,” the punk with long spiked hair that resembled the Statue of Liberty’s crown, said.

  “So we saved a half for each of you,” another punk said, this one with tattoos of skulls around his neck and wearing a cut-off denim jacket with chains hanging from the pockets.

  Each of the four tormentors passed the half-slices to each other and deposited a wad of thick phlegm onto the food, the scene like some deranged slow-moving game of hot potato. They then held the slices out and threatened to beat the shit out of Cal and Marcus if they didn’t eat the food.

  “Screw you, assholes,” Marcus said. “I ain’t—”

  Marcus d
idn’t get to finish his sentence when the kid with the tattoos on his neck punched him in the stomach, sending him to the ground.

  The punk with the spiked hair said to Cal, “How about you, little man? Going to eat and watch while we kick the shit out of your friend, or are you going to join him in the beating?”

  Cal and Marcus wound up going home with busted lips, blackened eyes and aches throughout their bodies, but they had no broken bones or ruptured organs. Cal was grateful he hadn’t gotten his feet taken, too.

  That night, he feared he’d wake up to find a story about some punk kids who’d been slaughtered. But after searching the news channels and reading the paper, he found nothing of the sort. He’d spent the next few days looking for a story involving the troubled youths, but came across nothing of the sort, and realized Blue Demon was not going to show himself and not going to slaughter anyone. Leaving the action figure alone had kept it away from the world.

  A week later, when he was driving through town with his mom, he spotted the punks outside the pizzeria. He was wracked with a mixture of emotions. His mouth went dry and his heart pounded. He took a deep breath, realizing he was safe. Still, seeing them turned his stomach. They didn’t know how lucky they were. He had the power to hurt them. He wished he could let them know how close they’d come to death. Maybe that would make them change. But there was no way he could do that. He could try asking Blue Demon only to scare them, but he had no way of knowing what would happen. The action figure might only know vengeance in the way of bloodshed. Whatever the case, he was grateful they were alive.

  He wound up seeing the punks from time to time, but made sure to stay away from them. He would walk the other way, duck into a store, or hide behind a tree until they passed by.

  Life went on. Cal dated, hung out with friends, went to parties and never felt out-of-place, pitied or different. It had only been during warm weather that his feet were noticeable—from wearing shorts—and it was from strangers, like when he was at the mall or the park. He’d get looks, but had learned to expect them. A couple of times children said things like “Mommy, look at his feet” or “Is he a robot?”, but he’d learned to laugh at their astonishment.