The Nintendo arced, spun, and caught the thing in the side, a meaty thwack!
Startled, the shape leapt to its right, clicking and clattering in surprise. Its massive maw, that head with no neck, bobbed and lowered, studying the broken object that had struck it. For a brief moment, as it shifted and moved, Aiden saw not two legs beneath the rags but three. Something that resembled a gnarled arm jutted out from the center of its chest. And those eyes glimmered and glistened, its head rising and scanning the yard.
Tick-tick-tick-tick! it clattered and clicked, body lowering to a defensive crouch.
“Stay away from him!” Aiden shouted, pitching a glass bottle of iced tea. The second throw wasn’t as good as the first: the shambling form sidestepped just as the bottle clattered and rolled past. The shape let out a gargle and spat something at the bottle. Then, almost like a cat, it bounced over and sniffed the bottle. A faint wheeze, then silence. It seemed to understand the object posed no further threat.
Then it snapped its head in the direction of the treehouse.
“Why did you do that?” Freddie whispered, but it was too late.
The hunched thing scanned the yard, dark eyes moving quickly.
"Why did you—"
It spotted them. The eyes shifted, a sheen of silver glistening in the black orbs as it blinked and centered on the treehouse. From fifty feet away Aiden could see those hideous pupils focus in on them.
Gweeeeeeeeee! it shrieked. Gweeeee!
And it took off toward them.
"It's coming ohmygodohmygod—" Freddie gasped.
It was coming indeed, but not like anything driven by human legs. It skittered and bounded, more of an insect than a human. The frayed clothes and rags flapped like bloody streamers behind a child's bike.
And then it was beneath the treehouse and the rope ladder shook and swayed. Freddie ran to the edge and curled up, his hands covering his face. He was gone, Aiden realized. Gone to some far off place that made sense, more sense than this. The world had turned on a dime, gone dark and sour, and poor Freddie was still back in a land where monsters didn't exist.
But Aiden wasn't. For all his faults and flaws, initiative was not one of them. He didn't want to die, he thought. Not tonight. Not in this treehouse. He ran over to the hatch, slid legs first, and peered over the edge. What he saw sent hot spikes of horror up his spine.
It moves fast, he thought. So fast.
The thing was already nearing the top of the ladder. A grey face of a thousand wrinkles and lumps, a mouth as wide as Aiden’s shoulders. It climbed the ropes quickly, wrapping long fingers around each rung as its three legs pulled a bloated body upwards.
He had seen enough; no more was necessary to infect his dreams. And with that he slammed the hatch down as hard and as fast as he could.
But not fast enough.
The thing screamed and clicked, sending a wretched protuberance inside as the hatch smashed down on top of it.
"Mommy please ohgodohgod—" Freddie cried in the corner.
"Help me!" Aiden screamed, fighting with the hatch as the limb slapped about the wood floor. "Freddie, fucking help me!"
It wasn't quite an arm that slapped about in the gap. Nor was it a tentacle. It was more of a foreleg, like something found on a praying mantis. Wet, spastic, and strong, it was multi-jointed, quick, yet terribly clumsy as it slapped about and tried to strike. Pocked skin, grey and sickly, contracted over lean muscle joints that bent in bizarre ways. Sweat glistened and dripped from pea-sized pores all up and down the obscene limb. A dozen small barbed tentacles wriggled at the tip, set above a clustered lump of black eyes, berry-like and blinking.
It sees me, Aiden realized with horror. It sees inside and it sees me.
The hatch heaved, bounced, and buckled as the monster rammed against it from below and the impossible appendage swung about.
"I can't—" Aiden groaned. "I can't hold it."
Another bounce, another buckle. The appendage curled upward, the barbed tentacles straightening out into a dozen small fingers all pointing toward Aiden.
It lashed down, a sudden slap against the wood that left a streak of wetness behind. Again it rose up, swayed, and struck out at him.
A miss, inches from his fingers. A third time, raising, aiming, ready to strike.
"What...are...you...?" Aiden grunted, pushing against the hatch. It was all he could do to keep that wretched limb from forcing itself into the treehouse.
Gweeeeeee! shrieked the thing from beneath the hatch. Gweeeeee!
And then it shrieked a different kind of sound. Whatever personal jail Freddie had locked himself away in had opened its cells and the lanky boy was, for the moment, free. He crashed down on the hatch next to Aiden, slamming wood against the limb with all his strength.
"Get out!" he screamed. "You're not real! Get out! Get out getoutgetoutGETOUT!"
The limb thrashed, the full weight of the two children slamming upon it again and again. There was muscle and bone within that wretched thing. Some of it tore and ripped, and perhaps some even broke, for the thing beneath them screamed an unmistakable scream.
It was, they realized, the scream of pain. Large or small, every creature made such a sound when its own flesh was torn and crushed.
The limb thrashed and came down on Freddie, striking his hand and squeezing. Freddie screamed as the barbed tentacles tightened around his wrist. For one horrible instant Aiden thought it would tear the lanky boy’s limb right out of his socket, or simply pull him screaming, down through the crack and into the darkness.
Neither happened. In an instant the wet arm was gone and the hatch collapsed onto the ropes, leaving only an inch wide gap. There was a loud clatter, the sound of flesh and bone hitting the ground a few dozen feet below, a bellowing screech and frantic clicking.
It had fallen, Aiden realized. The terrible thing had fallen.
"The ladder," he said. "Hold the hatch, I'll get the ladder."
Freddie pulled the hatch open. Aiden was sure the creature had fallen, or as close to sure as he could ever be. Still, if he was wrong he didn't want to push his face out into the monster's maw. Instead he peeked out an inch at a time.
"It fell," Aiden said. Sure enough, the monster lay on the ground at the base of the tree, wriggling and thrashing about like a flipped turtle.
"What is that thing?" Freddie cried out. "Aiden, what is it?"
"I don't..." Aiden found himself almost unable to answer. “I don’t know.”
Every glimpse of the thing that shrieked and scurried contradicted the last. Three legs, swollen and disjointed, like something on an insect, thrashed about helplessly. That single arm flapping and curling, and its slimy fingers set in the center of a fat, frog-like body. A mouth packed full of crooked teeth, gnashing and bellowing. And those black eyes, child-like, blinking and flickering like wet pebbles. Even the clothes it wore were all wrong, as if they had been wrapped around it ages ago, collected, tattered pieces tied off in weird parts, perhaps holding it all together like some botched operation.
"I don't know what it is," was the closest thing he could say to an answer. "But we've got to get the ladder up before it comes back.”
Aiden tugged at a rope and Freddie grabbed the other one. The rungs clattered as the ladder rose. Higher, higher.
Below, the wriggling thing pushed off the tree trunk and righted itself. It jumped, feet propelling it ten feet up. Its arm made a mad grab for the rope but missed.
“Keep pulling!”
The thing crouched, squealed, and made a second leap. Still, it came no closer. The rope ladder was out of reach.
“It scratched me,” Freddie said, pulling the rope between his hands. He held out his right hand, a plum, sticky webbing around his wrist and spattered on the rungs of the ladder. He wiped it on the hatch, leaving rotten, purple streaks. “It smells like dog shit.”
“Gah, that’s awful,” Aiden agreed, pulling the final bit of rope into the treehouse. Thirty feet of rope an
d wood lay in a pile on the treehouse floor, several sections spattered with that same filth and muck. “Dude, open a window.”
Freddie didn’t need to be told twice. He slid open another window, and waved the smell away. Aiden slammed the hatch shut, but not before looking down one last time. Only a patch of dampness at the base of the redwood, an indentation in the soil.
“It’s gone,” Aiden said. “Where’d it go?”
“There,” Freddie said. “Back by Brian.”
“What’s it doing?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I want to know.”
The backyard was dark, covered in shadows. Out there on the lawn, between the safety of the treehouse and the kitchen, lay their fallen friend. Brian hadn't moved, not once in those long minutes that felt like a lifetime. His body was awkward, a plump lump with legs twisted sideways as if his lower half had been wrenched around the wrong way. His face was stained, a violet mask of the creature's secretions, or Brian's own blood. An eye, a single eye, lay open and unmoving, a lone spot of white among a world of shadow and grime.
And that thing. Whatever it was doing involved rapid movements and undulations. The tattered form circled around the fallen fat kid, dipping down, rubbing against Brian's shadowed body. One thing was clear: it wasn’t eating their friend. At least, not yet.
It let out a grunt and wiggled that massive arm beneath their fallen friend. Then, with a squeal, it flipped the kid over. It made the same motion, rubbing its face against the fat kid like a dog on a scent it liked. That wet clicking echoed across the dark yard, like some horrible insect buzzing in the night.
“Get away from our friend!” Freddie screamed. “Get away!”
The thing paid no attention, no matter how loud Freddie shouted. And why should it? They were safe, up in the tree, and it was down below with its catch. Clicking, clattering, rubbing, and circling. It tugged at the fallen kid's hoodie, that massive maw nibbling along the sleeve like teeth on a hangnail.
"What's it doing?" Freddie asked. "What the hell is it doing to Brian?"
Aiden tried to answer, but words failed him.
"It's..." he said, studying the scene on the lawn fifty feet away. The creature gripped Brian's hoodie with its arm, digging a claw into the cotton fabric. Then, like a lion stripping flesh from carcass, it bit and tossed back its head. A strip of fabric tore free. It gripped the torn cloth with a leg and, like a doctor tying off an arm to draw blood, it wound the fabric around its own leg.
It flexed its protuberance, stretched. Small tentacles glistened in the darkness.
“What is it doing?” Freddie mumbled.
Then it shoved that wet limb deep into the fallen boy's mouth.
Aiden coughed, gagged, felt the bitter taste of something sour in the back of his throat. Freddie covered his mouth and grimaced. “Why’s it doing that?”
Brian’s body convulsed, shook, and shivered as the creature pushed that limb deeper into his throat. His chest fluttered, neck swelled, and his lips disappeared inward as one joint after another sunk deeper into his mouth. The creature tugged, twisted, up to its shoulder in the fat boy's throat like some wretched mechanic fishing for something deep within. It bobbed about, convulsed.
Then it let out out a squeal—Gweeeeeee—and the entire limb retracted in a heartbeat, leaving Brian's mouth wet and wide open. A silent, violated gasp on a face as still as stone. And that eye, that single eye stared back.
It hadn't shut, Aiden realized. And if it hadn't shut for that, it probably never would.
“Your phone,” Freddie gasped. “Where is it? We have to call the police!”
His phone! Somehow, all the horror had come at once and Aiden had forgotten about his phone. He reached for it, hand dipping into his pocket but finding only emptiness.
“It’s in the house,” Aiden said with horror. “It’s still charging.”
“What? Why?!” Freddie snapped. “Why’d you leave it there?!”
“I don’t know, I thought we’d go back! I didn’t think I’d need it.”
“Didn’t think you’d need your phone? What’s wrong with you?!”
“I told you earlier! I said I forgot it.”
“I’m not your mom! Why didn’t you go get it then?!”
“All I do is play Angry Birds on it. And what about you?! You don’t even have a phone!”
“Yeah," Freddie fumed. "But if I did I’d remember to bring it.”
Aiden felt the anger rise up, a warmth that made his words heavy, cumbersome. He wanted to shout at Freddie, to scream: “You don’t have a phone because your parents are too poor to buy you a new one!"
But he didn't. "Just lay off okay? Jeez," was all he could come up with. "I didn't think any of this would happen."
Freddie paced, eyes darting about. A long silence passed, punctuated only by that vile clicking below.
"What about his phone?"
"Brian's?"
"Of course," Freddie snapped, starting to rummage through their fallen friend's possessions. "Maybe he left it."
Freddie unzipped the big kid's backpack, poured out its contents. Candy, gum, some Bang-Snaps, and a few loose Nintendo cartridges all clattered to the floor. A box of crushed crackers, some Jolly Ranchers. Nothing of any use.
Aiden rummaged through the sleeping bag, the pillowcase, even the iPad bag that sat where the big kid had left it. "Nothing," he said. "It's probably in his pocket."
"What about that?" Freddie asked. "Does it get WiFi?"
That, Aiden realized, was Brian's iPad. The greasy screen, the scratched case covered in stickers. It was a lifeline, and Aiden was on it in an instant.
Brian had always been protective of his toys, especially his iPad. It had been bought with his Hanukkah money and a few months’ worth of allowance. He hadn't trusted Freddie with it, but when it was just the two of them he let Aiden use it. Aiden had had enough time on the dead boy's iPad to know where to go. In a few flicks he was on the Settings screen, searching for all open wireless networks.
Nothing.
Not a single one.
"God dammit!" Freddie screamed.
Gweeeeeeee! answered the distant voice. Gweeeeeee!
Of the three friends, Freddie had always been the fastest to blow a fuse. Freak Out Freddie, the kids in his class called him behind his back. Last year he'd thrown Brian's Xbox controller across the room after losing a round of Street Fighter. In March he'd flipped a desk for failing a math test. Once, he knocked a kid to the floor in gym class for calling him a fag. Even this summer's adventures had always been charged, as if Freddie was one bad comment away from tossing his bike aside and taking a swing at his friends.
Tonight, it was that thing in the yard below that was pushing him, scratching at his sanity.
"Go away!" Freddie screamed and threw a glass candle at the creature below.
It missed by a good twenty feet. The second one missed by ten. The third candle rolled past the creature, which gave it a sidelong glance, no more than a passing curiosity. Perhaps they could have spent the whole night sitting there, throwing things at that shape, but their choices were growing slim. Only a few valuable objects remained; Freddie's iPad, their Nintendos, flashlights, and their sleeping bags.
"Go away!" Freddie screamed again and again, his voice cracking.
How long had he been at the window? Aiden wondered. How long had he screamed? Minutes it seemed, each one longer than the last. At some point "Go away!" had changed into screams of "Help!" and Aiden found himself joining in.
"Help us!" they screamed into the night, into the dark yard and that warm house beyond, over the thing that was tugging at the corpse of their friend.
"Fucking help us!" Freddie cursed.
"Dad! Julie! Someone!" Aiden pleaded. "Anyone, please!"
But no one answered. No shadows moved within the house. No lights appeared nor disappeared. Only the cold darkness answered back, the taunting dark patch of the vast grass lawn between their treehouse and the war
mth of safety of that lit kitchen half a football field away.
"Where are your parents?" Freddie asked, begging almost. "Why aren't they coming?"
Finally, they could scream no more. Aiden simply gave up, and Freddie collapsed to the floor, the boards creaking and groaning.
“Tell me I’m dreaming,” Freddie begged. “Aiden, please, I have to be dreaming. Tell me I’m dreaming.”
“I don’t think this is a dream,” Aiden answered, watching the thing clatter and click below. It had stripped Brian's hoodie completely, and the fat boy lay shirtless and awkward in the grass and shadows. His stomach, pale and fat, was a pathetic sight. On any other night it might have made them laugh. But tonight it only underscored how helpless Brian had always been, and how strong he was to deflect their taunts.
How strong he used to be, Aiden thought.
“It’s a nightmare,” Freddie said. "It's got to be."
"I don't know what it is," Aiden answered. "I don't know."
Behind Freddie's eyes a thousand calculations were going on, a thousand possibilities were being worked out. Then, all at once, those paths led back to the same fact: that the two boys were stuck in a treehouse, trapped by a shambling creature below.
A grotesque.
A monster.
And at this realization Freddie's eyes turned to liquid, his battle posture folded in on itself, and the lanky boy collapsed to the ground.
It was not the first time Aiden had seen Freddie cry. That had been last year, when his dog Bruno had died during the height of the summer heat in August. They had found the bulldog outside, swarmed by flies and stiff, still tied to the run that had given him no shade to lie in. Yet on that day Freddie had shed only a few tears. Then he had gone inward, silent and brooding for days, until Kenny Baumbach had made a wayward diss at sports camp and found himself beneath a half dozen haymakers and Freak Out Freddie's wrath.
Now, in the dark treehouse lit only by their flashlight and candles, Freddie cried harder than Aiden knew possible. Clutching his scratched hand, that strong boy, always ready to pick a fight, whimpered, sobbed, and curled into a ball on the cold wood floor.
A Hollow Dream of Summer's End Page 5