Billy Hooten

by Tom Sniegoski

  Canned Zamm. The only meat product that bites back!

  Doc Corpuscle's Instant Blood. Just like the real thing!

  Glabrous Appendage Cream. For dry and chapped tentacles.

  Stopping at a corner display for Frizzies Bone Chips and Salsa, Billy peered around to the front of the store and almost let out a squeal of shock.

  He slapped a hand over his mouth. He had thought pig-men and goblins were bad, but now skeletons, three of them, wearing plastic masks of human faces, were terrorizing a guy who must be the store's owner. The shop guy wasn't any more normal than the three skeletons. He was short and fat, with bright red skin. And, oh yes, his head was on fire.

  Billy closed his eyes tight, then opened them again.

  Nope, his eyes weren't deceiving him. Instead of hair on the shopkeeper's round head, there were flames shooting out of it, and when Billy listened really close—over the sounds of the skeletons demanding all the money in the cash register—he could actually hear it crackling.

  The shopkeeper had opened the cash register and was handing over the money to one of the skeletons. “Here, take it. It's all I have,” he said, placing the small pile of paper and change in the skeleton's bony hand.

  The change fell through the bones and clattered to the countertop.

  “That's it?” the skeleton asked angrily, his gravelly voice muffled by the plastic mask that covered his face. He showed what little money he had to his companions.

  “I think he's holding out on us,” the second skeleton said.

  “Yeah,” agreed the third. “Maybe we should give his head a few squirts and then ask him again.”

  Billy had believed that the three skeleton robbers were carrying guns, but now he realized that they were actually water pistols.

  The shopkeeper backed away from the counter, covering the flames of his burning head. “Please … I'm telling the truth, that's all I have. Please don't put me out.”

  They might only have been squirt guns, but it was obvious that they still terrified the poor guy. And that was just wrong.

  Billy's anger took over. He remembered all the times Randy Kulkowski had picked on him while his friends sat quietly, hoping Randy wouldn't notice them.

  “Leave him alone,” Billy said, stepping out of the aisle, not exactly sure what he planned to do, and wishing his mouth wouldn't always get the better of his brain.

  The skeletons spun toward the sound of his voice, pointing their water pistols at him menacingly.

  “Who the heck are you?” one of them asked Billy.

  “Who the heck is he?” another asked the storekeeper.

  Flamehead looked just as confused, shrugging in an I don't have a clue gesture.

  The skeletons grouped together, water guns still aimed at Billy.

  “Stick 'em up,” one of the three barked, jabbing the gun in Billy's direction, “and you won't get hurt.”

  At first, Billy was sort of scared, but then it hit him and he started to chuckle. “You're gonna hurt me with that?” he asked. “I don't think so.”

  The skeletons looked startled.

  “Did he just laugh at us, Tibia?” one of the skeletal criminals asked.

  “I think he did, Fibula,” Tibia replied.

  The third skeleton was looking at his water-filled weapon as he stroked his mask-covered chin with a bony hand. “He's got a point, though. These water pistols ain't gonna do nothing to him.”

  “Then what do you suggest, Patella?” Fibula asked.

  Patella tossed the squirt gun over his shoulder. “I suggest we use our hands.” The skeleton flexed his segmented fingers menacingly.

  Fibula and Tibia disposed of their water weapons in the same fashion. “Sounds like a plan,” they said in unison, joining Patella to creep toward Billy.

  You've done it now, Hooten, Billy scolded himself, watching in horror as the skeletons advanced. They were almost upon him, their bony hands reaching to grab him, when he instinctively reacted.

  He leaped back, out of their reach, but instead of jumping a few feet to avoid the skeletons’ clutches, he found himself airborne, flying backward, bouncing off the ceiling and into the next aisle over.

  “Whoa!” he exclaimed, landing in a crouch and falling on his butt. “How the heck did I do that?”

  “Hey, where'd the kid go?” he heard one of the skeletons ask.

  “He made like a hop-frog and jumped over into the next aisle.”

  “He ain't gonna get away from us that easy,” the third growled.

  Billy could hear their bony feet clicking and clacking on the grocery store floor as they hurried to get him. Quickly, he got to his feet.

  The skeletons came around the corner. “There's the little creep!” Fibula shrieked.

  Tensing his legs, Billy jumped again and found himself hurtling through the air across the length of the store. If I wasn't being chased by skeletons who want to beat me within an inch of my life, this would probably be fun, he thought, getting ready to land in what looked like the produce department.

  Billy touched down with little difficulty this time, and actually had to wait a while for the skeletons to catch up. While he waited, he took a closer look at the bizarre fruits and vegetables that were for sale.

  “These look interesting,” he muttered, standing beside a display of bowling-ball-sized fruit that looked like giant eyeballs. According to a handwritten sign, they were called PEEPER MELONS.

  “There he is!” Patella cried, leading the skeleton gang as they came around the cleaning supply aisle in hot pursuit of Billy.

  Billy grabbed one of the peeper melons, took aim and tossed the fruit at his closest attacker. “Catch!” he yelled.

  The melon flew as if shot from a cannon, striking Patella dead center and with such force that it caused the skeleton to explode into pieces.

  “Did I do that?” Billy asked aloud, staring at his hands in disbelief. It was almost as if he had … superpowers.

  “Hey, fellas, help me out here!” Patella's skull begged from the floor.

  Fibula and Tibia were ignoring their fractured friend, slowly backing along the aisle they had come from.

  “This is too cool,” Billy said, grabbing another peeper melon and hefting it in his hands like the world's weirdest bowling ball.

  “Take it easy, pal,” Fibula cautioned. “Let's not do anything hasty.”

  “He's gonna throw another!” Tibia shrieked, turning to run up the aisle.

  “Age before beauty!” Fibula said, pushing past his partner.

  “I always thought you were better-looking than me!” Tibia cried, desperate to escape.

  Billy took careful aim and let the fruit fly. Holding his breath, he watched the melon bounce down the center of the aisle, connecting explosively with Tibia before sending pieces of Fibula flying into the air.

  “Strike!” Billy yelled, pumping his fist in victory.

  “Hey, guys!” Patella's disembodied skull called from the floor. “I'd really appreciate some help here.”

  “You'd like some help?” Tibia's skull replied indignantly from the floor of the cleaning products aisle. “What about us?”

  Billy took a minute to catch his breath, the enormity of what he had just done washing over him like a tidal wave.

  I did it, he thought proudly. I actually managed to save the day.

  Billy Hooten saved the day.

  The shopkeeper with the fiery head came running down the cleaning products aisle, push broom in hand. “Thank you!” he hollered excitedly. “Thank you oh so much!”

  He reached the piles of Tibia and Fibula's bones and immediately started to sweep them into one large heap.

  “Hey, knock it off!” Fibula protested. “You'll mix our parts up!”

  “I don't want his leg bones, he's got leg bones that are twice as fat as mine!” moaned Tibia.

  The shopkeeper kept right on sweeping. “Quiet, you two, I've got a mind to throw you in the trash and forget about you.” His head burned
a darker red now. “Calling the cops is too good for ya!”

  Billy was stunned. He'd never seen anything like this before.

  “Pssst! Hey, kid!” Patella's skull was trying to get his attention, and Billy looked his way. “Help me put myself back together and I'll make you a deal,” the bony criminal whispered. “Twenty-five percent of whatever I bring down.”

  Billy gave the skull his you've got to be kidding face and called for the store owner. “Hey, don't forget this one over here!” he said, pointing out the skull.

  The monster with the fiery head pushed the big pile of protesting bones up the aisle toward the pile of Patella.

  “No! How could ya, kid? I thought we had something here—I thought we had a deal!”

  “Well, at least we're together,” Tibia said.

  “Shut yer yap,” Patella barked as all three skeletons were pushed into one heaping bone pile.

  The shopkeeper wiped beads of flaming sweat from his brow and leaned against his broom. “Maybe this will teach you not to mess with my store,” he said to the fragmented criminals.

  He turned his attention to Billy, dropping the broom to the floor and coming toward him. “How can I ever thank you?” he said, reaching out to take his hand, pumping it furiously. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

  “Sure,” Billy said, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “No problem.”

  “Those miserable bone jockeys have been robbing my store for years,” the shopkeeper said, still shaking Billy's hand. “But tonight somebody stopped them … you stopped them.”

  “I really didn't do that much,” Billy said, becoming more uncomfortable. “Jumped around, threw some fruit—no big deal, really.”

  The shopkeeper stepped back, a shocked expression on his round face. “No big deal? Do you know how long it's been since I've felt safe in my own store? Well, tonight I feel safe. You're a hero … you're my hero.” The creature smiled, the flames on his head burning a cheery yellow.

  Billy swelled with pride. Wow, he thought. Somebody just called me a hero. Me. Billy Hooten. Unbelievable.

  “Who are you?” the shopkeeper asked. “I've never seen you around here before … have I?”

  Billy shook his head as the kindly monster stepped closer.

  “Those things over your eyes … those goggles,” he said. And then his eyes grew wide. “I know who you are.”

  Billy had forgotten that he was still wearing the goggles.

  “No, I really don't think—” he started to explain, but it was too late.

  “You're him!” the shopkeeper screamed. “You've come back!”

  “No. No, I'm not him,” Billy said quickly. “I think there's been a terrible mistake and—”

  “Owlboy has come back!” the shopkeeper bellowed at the top of his lungs.

  And that was when Billy decided that he'd had enough. It was most definitely time to go home.

  He jumped up into the air, soaring across the store, landing not far from the door that would take him back into the storeroom, and from there to the entrance of the pitch-black tunnel.

  The goggles helped him find his stuff—the box containing the Owlboy costume, as well as his flashlight— and he headed to the staircase, peering up into a darkness so thick that not even the Owlboy night-vision goggles could penetrate it.

  Eager to get home, Billy started to climb. He was careful to watch his footing on the eerily dark stairway, and just when he thought he might have to sit down and rest for a bit, he felt a cool, gentle breeze on his face and the smoky smell of fall air in his nose. Soon after, he saw a white light in the distance above him and knew he was close to home.

  The white light became the opening to the Sprylock crypt, and Billy climbed from the stone coffin into the mausoleum. He had never been so glad to get home. The evening's bizarre and exciting events were still bouncing around inside his brain, very much the way he had in the monster grocery store.

  He'd been gone far longer than he had expected. He darted from the mausoleum out into the cemetery, running as fast as he could in the direction of the wall that separated his yard from the resting place of the dead. If his parents had checked on him before going to bed, he was going to be in some serious trouble. He started to formulate his story, leaving out all the parts about the mausoleum, falling into a stone coffin and ending up in another world, where he fought a gang of skeletons and then was mistaken for Owlboy.

  I'll tell them I was sleepwalking, he decided. That should do it.

  He tossed the costume box over the wall into his yard and followed it. He composed himself, removing the Owlboy goggles and shoving them in his back pocket before climbing the steps onto the porch.

  I wonder if I should be crying? he thought.

  He was gearing up for an award-winning sobbing spell as he turned the doorknob and entered the kitchen.

  Billy was stunned to find the room empty. This is odd, he thought, closing the door behind him. Taking off his coat, he listened to the sound of the television coming from the family room. They should have gone to bed hours ago.

  And then he glanced at the clock above the sink, feeling his breath catch in his throat. The clock said it was less than an hour from when he'd snuck out. But that was impossible. He had to have been gone for at least twice that time.

  Billy had to sit down before he fell down. This was all getting to be a bit too much.

  He glanced up at the clock again, just to be sure he hadn't read it wrong, and then double-checked the time on the microwave on the counter. Nope, he'd read it just fine, and according to the clocks, the time he'd spent in the other world beneath Pine Hill Cemetery had taken no time at all.

  “How is that possible?” Billy muttered, then realized that just as his speed and strength were better in Monstros City, time must also be different. That was the only explanation that made sense.

  Needing a drink to calm his nerves, Billy went to the fridge, removed the milk and poured himself a tall glass. He finished it in two long gulps, then put his glass in the sink and grabbed the box containing the Owlboy costume. Silently, he passed the living room, looking in to see his parents as he had left them, still dozing in front of the television.

  “Good night, guys,” he whispered, and headed up to his room.

  He quickly got ready for bed, and even though he was exhausted, he had trouble falling asleep. His brain was buzzing with thoughts of Monstros City … of Owlboy.

  And of the future.

  CHAPTER 6

  Billy went to school the next morning with an extra spring in his step.

  Nothing can spoil my mood today, he thought.

  He hadn't even minded getting up extra early to finish yesterday's homework. In fact, he'd been having a hard time staying in bed, he was so excited. It reminded him of how he felt on Halloween, Christmas and new comic book day all rolled into one.

  It felt electric.

  The homeroom bell hadn't rung yet, and he saw his pals hanging out by their lockers as they usually did. Billy sauntered over, barely able to contain his excitement. “Mornin’, gents, and lady,” he said, slipping his backpack off his shoulders and starting to work the combination lock hanging from his locker.

  “Hey, Billy boy,” Kathy B said, but the others just grunted, looking as though their Xboxes had exploded.

  “What's the matter with them?” he asked her as he hung his backpack inside the locker.

  “It's Tuesday,” she said with a disgusted shake of her head.

  At first Billy didn't understand, and then it hit him. It was Tuesday—gym day.

  He started to feel that old familiar panic, but managed to get it under control. He wasn't going to let anything spoil today.

  It wasn't as if he and his buddies had anything against physical education; as a matter of fact, they enjoyed a good game of basketball or softball, and even a little volleyball from time to time. Unfortunately, Coach Pavlis thought those games were for sissies. In his mind, there was only one game that separa
ted the men from the wimps.

  Dodgeball.

  Billy was sure the game had been invented thousands of years ago by opposing tribes of cave people as a way of solving disputes without having to go to war.

  Why else would it have been created? It certainly wasn't because it's fun.

  “Maybe we'll get lucky and Coach Pavlis will be out sick today,” Billy said cheerily, taking his gym stuff down from the small locker shelf before slamming the door. “Or better yet, Randy Kulkowski.”

  They all smiled, nodding in agreement.

  The game of dodgeball was bad enough, but when Randy Kulkowski played, it became a death sport. Billy shuddered, remembering the day that Killer Kulkowski—what Randy liked to call himself when he was playing the game—threw a ball so fast and hard that when it narrowly missed his targets and bounced off the wall of the gym behind them, its impact actually made a section of bricks fall out onto the floor.

  Scary stuff.

  The homeroom bell made them all jump. With one final glance at each other, they headed to the classroom.

  “Please be out, please be out, please be out, please be out,” Reggie started to chant.

  Then they heard the voice echoing down the hallway behind them.

  “Hey, losers!”

  They all turned, almost as one.

  Randy stood at his locker at the end of the hall, late but not absent.

  “See you all in gym class,” he said with an insane cackle, pretending to throw an imaginary dodgeball in their direction.

  Billy swallowed with a gulp.

  And he'd been having such a good morning.

  Gym class was pretty much what he expected, only worse.

  Killer Kulkowski and his cronies were vicious, their aim especially good. One by one, Billy watched his buddies go down, some of them even going so far as to throw themselves in front of a shot just to get knocked out of the game. He knew that was probably the smartest thing to do, but for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He thought it might have something to do with his visit to Monstros City and what he had done there.