macho.
“Tell me you got no more than a ‘C’ on that science test,
today,” Calvin demanded.
I flipped my hair back. “Hey, how should I know?” I said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, the teacher hasn’t graded our papers
yet. Now move it!”
Calvin just stood there, arms folded across his chest. I raised my voice and shouted, “Did you hear me, mush
brain! Get out of my way!”
Lumpskin wobbled his head from side to side. “Make me,”
he said.
Okay, that’s when I lost it. I hauled back and socked the jerk
right in the chest.
What happened next was something out of a nightmare. A
thick, spiked tail shot out ofCalvin’s chest and grabbed my arm! The sudden pain stunned me. But when the tail began
twisting itself around my arm, I couldn’t hold back my screams. “Awch-hha!!” Long boney spears tore right through my
jacket and into my flesh. My knees buckled and I began to black out.
In the far recesses of my tortured mind, I wondered why not a single
head in the entire establishment was even turned in my direction.
Did nobody hear me? Did nobody see what was happening? I tried to tear the spikes away with my other hand but the
hideous tentacle gripped even tighter. Lights began flashing in front
of my eyes and panic gripped my throat. I jerked my head up to
shout at Lumpskin—and froze.
Calvin Lumpskin was not there. Instead, mere inches from
my nose, a grisly beast stood drooling over me.
CHAPTER 2: SHOCK AND SHAKE
“Life sometimes takes a drastic change of direction. In these watershed moments, nothing is ever the same again.” ~Martin Moonglow Slivers of ice crackled through my veins and my breath came in short gulps. Where’s Lumpskin? How did this monster get here? Parts of Calvin were still visible. His arms dangled uselessly like thick noodles and his legs looked like fat pegs glued to the floor. The only thing that moved was that wicked tail cranking its bony spines into my arm.
I stared up at the brute. Eyes full of hate glared down at me from under haystack eyebrows. Its head was an oversized blob, misshapen and lumpy with a pus-colored scalp that looked moist but scabby. Bits of frizzled hair dotted the crusty skull like sagebrush on the Mojave Desert. A scummy, orange tongue hung across jagged teeth. It’s lips, dried and split were curled into a menacing sneer. Most disgusting of all was the smelly slime dripping onto my face.
Then high-pitched shrieks split the air. New heads, smaller versions of the large one, burst from the shoulders of the creature. The yowling skulls lunged forward on their skinny necks trying to get at me. Even worse, every mouth vomited maggots! They wriggled like live spaghetti. Gag! They smelled like a sewer. Then squirming worm clumps began dropping onto my chest. I screamed in horror, still trying to tear away the spiked tail.
All of a sudden the monster roared, “This brat’s not one of ours! Look! He’s so scared you’d think he could see us. We can really mess with this one.” At first, my knees turned to water. Then something inside me exploded.
“Yee-AW!” I shouted—and jerked my trapped arm at the same time. Caught off guard, the creature let go. I was free! Without a backward glance, I tore out of the arcade flinging maggots as I went. I dashed down the hall, rammed open the mall doors, and raced for my bike. Fumbling for the padlock, I tried to open it twice.
No-o-o! Not now, Barry! You can’t forget the combination now . . . !
At last the lock yielded and I scrambled onto my bike. I slammed down on the pedals so hard that the wheels spit gravel for three feet.
“I’m a stark . . . raving . . . schizo!” I wheezed, plowing my bike ahead with frenzied concentration. My chest heaved and sweat poured into my eyes. Every few moments I glanced back. Was it following me? I shuddered. I could still feel grubs crawling all over my body. Powering at full throttle, I blew through red light after red light and zigzagged through the traffic. Angry drivers, forced to step on their brakes, shouted at me above screeching tires and honking horns. I didn’t care. I had only one thought. I gotta get away. I gotta get away from that. . . that . . . that THING!
Up ahead I saw a park. Jumping the curb, I scrambled off my bike and let it clatter to the ground. I tried to walk but instead, I stumbled to the ground with a muffled cry.
There I lay for the longest time, wanting to scream, but too traumatized to make a sound. Over and over, the scene at the arcade played in my mind like a never-ending horror movie. Am I trippin’? Why didn’t anybody come to my rescue? Surely any clown with eyeballs should have seen what I saw.
“This is like over-the-topwhacko,” I moaned. “Stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life.”
It couldn’t be true, could it? Dad always said, “Remember, son, there is always a logical explanation for everything.”
I groaned. It had to be a psychotrip. But even Chad’s scariest video game paled next to this. How could this happen? Maybe my apple juice at lunch was tainted. Maybe somebody slipped a mind bender into my chili. Maybe the strobe lights at the arcade weirded me out.
A new thought struck me.
Hey! MaybeI’m home in bed having a nightmare, and pretty soon I’ll awake up.
I sat up with a jerk, damp leaves still clinging to my shirt.
A terrible pain shot up my arm.
“Oo-ooh! Awyeee!” I howled and fell back onto the grass, hysteria rising in my throat. I forced myself to look down at my arm.
“No! Impossible!”
The sleeve of my coat was ripped and hanging in shreds. Through the gashes I could see my arm, gouged and bleeding. Even worse were the worms crawled in and out of the lacerations. My stomach lurched. Cringing I tried to pick them off one by one and fling them into nearby bushes.
Then it hit me. “That devil attack, the spiked tail—they’re real! I have the wounds to prove it. I’m not crazy . . . or am I?”
Then I knew I was going to hurl. I jumped to my feet and rushed behind a hedge, hit by violent heaves. When my coughing and sputtering let up, I tried to stand but dizziness knocked me to the ground.
Get a grip, Barry. Use your smarts. Yeah, duh. I feel about a smart as a hairball right now.
I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. The grass under me was real enough, still wet from a recent watering. I could smell the damp earth; I could run my fingers through the wet autumn leaves around me. A squirrel scampered across the lawn and up a tree, chattering at a blue jay hanging from a branch above it. A very real cold November wind seeped through my soggy pants and set me to shivering.
But the pain in my arm was real, too. How I wished I was having a nightmare. Then I could chalk this up to “dreams I never want to repeat”–emphasis on NEVER.
But somehow I knew that this was no nightmare. Why, I couldn’t say. I just knew this was different. I knew this was real life in real time.
I need to talk to somebody—anybody.
“Darn you, Chaddo,” I muttered. “Taking off to Hawaii just when I need you the most.” But then I stopped and ran my good hand across my nose.
What’s the use? Think Barry. The truth is, youcan’t talk to anybody. A monster with a spiny tush? Worms oozing out of its mouth? Like, duh-hh. Who’s gonna buy that fairytale? Even Chad would toss that back in my face. As for my arm, he’d just say I wiped out on my bikeor something. He’d accuse me of trying to milk a little sympathy. He’d call me a wimp.
As for my family —I rolled my eyes. Can’t talk to Mom. Mom would go manic if she thought I was anywhere near the video arcade. And Jenny? I felt my lip curl. Jenny was a died-in-the-wool informer. I wouldn’t tell her I had a toothache.
Maybe I should talk to my pastor. Nope. Bad idea. Pastor Peters would call the cops. I dug my fists into my eyes. Ugh! That was the last thing I needed, a roomful of people asking questions
.
I slammed my open palm ontothe muddy grass. “No! No questions!” I shouted to an empty park. “Not until I can get some answers of my own.”
Then I saw the sun setting behind the trees and scrambled to my feet.
“Mom! I’d better get home before she misses me.”
CHAPTER 3: THE SPHINX THAT SCREAMED
In times of confusion, we latch onto habits to steer us, habits that have served us well in the past.
~Martin Moonglow I tried to ride home with great care but my brain was so elsewhere. My bike kept finding potholes. One time I nearly did a looper right over the handle bars. I thought my teeth would fall out! But my poor arm took the brunt of it. The jolt had me in tears. Finally, I got home and hid my bike behind the house. I crept up the porch steps, inched open the back door, and listened. Silence.
I sniffed. Hm-m. Smells like roast beef. Mom must be in the kitchen. I took off my shoes and, easing the door shut behind me, I padded into the hallway. Then I peeked into the kitchen.
Woo-hoo. Mom’s not here. Now I can zip up to my room before she knows I’m home.
Gym shoes in hand, I began tiptoeing up the stairs. Out of nowhere my mother’s voice blasted my left ear.
“Barrington Arthur!”
My hair spiked all by itself. Dang! Where was she hiding? The broom closet?
“Just where have you been, young man?” my mother demanded. “Here dinner’s almost ready, and you look like you just took a mud bath.”
Very good, milady. Thou art most perceptive.
“Oh, uh . . . hhi, Mom!” I stuttered. I stutter when I’m nervous. I shoved my injured arm behind my back. “I see the garage is still a mess and . . . .” Mom paused. “Why are you carrying your shoes?”
“Oh, um . . . they were muddy,” I said. “Didn’t want to get the floor dirty,”
“Uh-huh,” said my mother in her infamous Idon’t-believe-aword you’re-saying tone of voice. “Well we need to discuss why you went over to Chad’s and didn’t come home right after school,” she said.
Uh-oh. Mom’s lips are goin’ tight. I’m in deep doo-doo. I stared at her, unable to say a thing.
“Well, just don’t stand there. Get yourself cleaned up. Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes.”
“Okay. Uh . . . er, it’ll just take me a few minutes, Mom.” I turned away and sprinted up the stairs before she could say anything more.
I was almost at the top when Jenny brushed past me. She stopped and turned around.
“Barry. . . ?”
I pulled up short and looked down at her. “Yeah?” I said.
Jenny sniffed and squinted her eyes. “You . . . .” Then she frowned and said, “Oh nothing,” and continued down the stairs.
I ducked into the bathroom next to my room.
“Aw-wch! My arm is killing me.”
I stripped my torn jacket sleeve off but I had trouble getting out of my pullover. Caked blood had glued it to my arm. It finally came off but I felt pieces of my skin peeling off with it.
“Ee-yaw!”
I groaned and locked my jaw. It was so NOT fun. I tried running cool water over my arm. Might as well have been hot needles. Then I found another worm and gagged. I flushed the beastie down the sink. Somehow I managed to wash the gouges and puncture wounds, dry them, and daub them with antibiotic cream but I was dancing a jig the whole time. I finally fixed up a bandage of gauze and tape. As I cleared away my mess, I almost tossed my bloody jacket and shirt into the wastebasket. Wah-hoh! Mom would go mental if she found those. I set them on the counter instead.
Then I surveyed my handiwork. Oh, criminy. How was I going to hide those thick bandages? I snapped my fingers. I had a super-large plaid shirt in my closet. The sleeves always dangled to my knuckles. That would work.
Now I had to dispose of the evidence: one ripped-to-shreds bloody jacket plus one blood-stained shirt with the left sleeve hanging by threads. I crept down the stairs with said items tucked behind me checking to make sure I was alone. Grabbing an empty grocery sack, I tossed everything inside, slipped out the back door, and threw the bag into our large dumpster. Only then could I draw in a lung full of air. I must have been holding my breath. My hands were so clammy I had to rub them on my jeans. But, tossing my hair out of my eyes, I cracked my knuckles and strolled back inside. Man, I need a breather—big time.
As I sat down to dinner, I crossed my fingers. I knew my mother believed in pleasant conversation at meal times but, when dinner went off without a hitch, I had to pinch myself. I mean, I kept my sore arm with the puffy sleeve below the table, asked for the salt and pepper, and plied Mom with questions about her day. She rambled on about all the challenges of her job—she’s the new network manager at a local bank—and I pretended to give her my undivided attention.
Don’t forget to compliment her on her cooking.
“You make the best roast beef dinner, Mom,” I said. She smiled and pushed more potatoes and gravy in my direction. I grinned. Oh yeah. Way ta go, Barry Boy. Tapped into her motherly heartwith that one, didn’t ya? Maybe, just maybe, I had softened her mood for the evening.
However, when the conversation lagged, something struck me as odd. It was Jenny. She hadn’t spoken two words the whole meal. Weird. Jenny usually talks the hind legs off an elephant. Even Mom noticed. “Jenny, you’ve been so quiet tonight. Are you feeling okay?” She put a hand on my sister’s forehead. Jenny shrugged. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. “Just had a big ‘put down’ today by somebody I thought was a friend. He had his reasons, I suppose.” Then she gave me a sober look. At first I nearly lost it. She knows about me! Then I heaved a deep breath and smirked to myself. Nah. When Jenny knows anything juicy about me, she always blabs it the minute Mom walks in the door. But I had to admit that something about my little sister was out of whack. I decided to keep an eye on her. I started making covert sweeps around the table. It was during one of those sweeps that a bell went off in my head. Whoa. What’s this? Jenny’s not sitting in her regular seat? Okay, that’s crazy. She’s always totally Looney Tunes about getting “her” seat.
After dinner, I got even more shook up when Jenny kept avoiding me. I decided to grab the cat by the tail and get the whole matter out in the open.
“So Jen. How was your day?”
She didn’t answer.
Get this. I knew she heard me. I mean, she turned and looked me full in the face. But instead of saying anything, she made a beeline for the bathroom.
“Well, fine!” I hissed out in the hall. “Who needs to talk to you anyway?” I stomped off. Girls are such dingbats.
As luck would have it, just as the dinner dishes were cleared away, Mom got a call from her bank. The network servers had crashed. She would have to go down and see what the problem was. I tugged at the bandages on my arm and heaved a sigh of relief.
Just then, Jenny walked sober-faced into the kitchen. Dang. What was with her? She was always staring at me. I felt more uptight than a Doberman on a choke chain. Did she know about my arm? I pulled up short. Yo, Barry, cool it.
I headed for my room and shut the door determined to stay there all night. But soon I was ready to rip the book shelves off the walls. At last, I swung my door open, and headed downstairs. Jenny sat on the couch, her eyes following my every move. She’s even watching me get a glass of water. Creepy. Just what was she looking at, anyway? Did I have something painted on my forehead?
Once after raiding the refrigerator for an apple, I rounded a corner and ran smack into her. As her head thumped my chest, Jenny looked up at me in surprise. For a moment, I thought I saw a blue curtain shimmering behind her. Then it was gone.
But it was her face that had me riveted. Her eyes flew open and her hand went to her mouth.
“Ah-h-h! Ah-hh!” she screamed hopping from one foot to the next. Then she dashed for her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. I heard a snick. Jenny had locked herself in her room.
My jaw slid to the floor. No duh. I have never�
�repeat, never—heard my sister scream. Jenny, afraid? No bleepin’ way! This girl didn’t have a fear bone in her body. I mean, this was the school mini-Amazon who owned a pet snake and a tarantula, for cryin’ out loud.
Okay, so this was where my day caught up with me. What with thinking I saw my dad, maggots, monsters with nasty tails, and a sister freaking out . . . yeah. I went into a tailspin. I raced to my room, slumped down at the edge of my bed, and dropped my face into my hands.
I couldn’t figure anything out. All evening my little sister had been as silent as a sphinx. So what made her flip out all of a sudden? Jenny, the original motor mouth, was acting so “un-Jenny” like. I raked my hands through my hair and flopped back on my bed. So Jen, what gives? Why the big clam-up tonight? Why the screaming she-devil act?
Then I had a thought. What if there was a maggot on the back of my head?
I ran to the bathroom. Using Mom’s hand mirror I checked the back of my head. Nothing. What could be my sister’s motive for acting so weird? Did she want to get me in trouble? It wouldn’t be the first time. So is this your new tack, Jen? You think if you make me look bad Mom will come to the “rescue” and chew me out? Mom! I made a face. Sure glad she wasn’t home to see this. I went to bed, but sleep was a joke. The pain in my arm was intense. Whenever I needed to roll over, I had to wake myself up so I could shift my arm around.
CHAPTER 4: BACKYARD BOMBSHELL
Anger is a flaming spear seized out of the furnace with bare hands.
The one who throws it always suffers the worst burn.
~Martin Moonglow Why do I feel so cold? Sheets of water pelt my back and I shiver. I’m again standing on a riverbank, my waders sinking into the gritty mud, watching the river rage in front of me. Driven by the heavy rain, waves toss white froth into the wind. Dozens of men in boots and ponchos slog in the muck around me, but I don’t move.
Then, a shout comes from out on the water. A diver breaks the surface, waves his arms and hollers, “I found it!”
A engine roars to life right behind me. I jump and duck just in time as a massive hook swoops right overhead. It is so close I feel the whoosh of air. A crane with a tall boom swings it out over the river. The diver lunges for the hook, grabs it, and disappears into the swirling waves. Then, seconds later, he reappears and gestures a thumbs-up to the crane operator.
The Blood Jewel (The Shomara Diaries Book 1) Page 2