Ugly Little Things

by Todd Keisling

  Frowning, I stood on my toes, trying to get a glimpse of the page’s contents, but he was just out of reach. “No one calls me Toddy—”

  “Except for your mother and your great-grandmother.”

  “Right.”

  “Right then. I’ll amend that.” He pulled a pencil out of his other pocket and scribbled a note on the page. When he was finished, he shut the book and looked down at me with an odd, light smile that made me want to laugh. Thinking back on it, I shouldn’t have laughed. No, I should’ve run away, following in the footsteps of those bullies. But I didn’t. The curiosity of an eight-year-old knows no bounds and no fears; it only knows wonder, and mine was about to get me into a lot of trouble.

  “Now, let’s get down to business,” he said, extending a pale hand. “Pleased to meet you. Can you guess my name?”

  I shrugged. Harvey came to mind. He looked like a Harvey. That was a city name. He spoke with a city accent, enunciating all his words properly, and he carried himself with a “city” demeanor I’d seen all too often on the TV. A name formed in the back of my mind, crawling out of the shadows like an animal on the hunt.

  “Harvey J. Winterbell?”

  The man blinked, seemingly amused. “That’s a new one. Harvey J. Winterbell? That will take some getting used to, child, but if that’s my name, that’s my name.” He stuck out his hand again. “Harvey J. Winterbell, at your service.”

  I reached out—but hesitated, suddenly remembering what I’d learned about talking to strangers. But what if a stranger came to my rescue? Surely he was a good guy, right? I mean, he was a professional, what with his fancy suit and speech.

  “I won’t bite,” he said, smiling. “And we’re not exactly strangers, are we? In fact, I have a feeling we could be best friends.”

  I reached out, took his cold hand, and shook. “Nice to meet you, Harvey.”

  Harvey J. Winterbell licked his thin lips, smiled, and spoke in a hushed tone. “No, child, the pleasure is all mine.”

  ***

  My new friend accompanied me on the walk back to Granny’s house. I babbled on about school, about the neighborhood, and about that time I found a dead bird next to a nest of smashed eggs.

  “They were bloody,” I told him.

  “I’m sure they were,” he said, nodding politely. I realize now he was rather gracious, listening to a kid trail on about nonsensical childish things. I suppose that was part of his ruse to win me over, and to his credit, it worked.

  Granny’s house fell into view as we turned the corner. Her home was a humble two-story with white siding. Two red storage sheds stood adjacent to the driveway, obscuring the bottom portion of a tall oak. Dew glistened in the morning grass as we walked. Harvey J. Winterbell slowed as we neared the driveway. I turned and looked up at him, smiling ear to ear.

  “Will you come in? I want you to meet Granny. When she hears what you did for me, she’ll pour you some cereal. We have Raisin Bran and Cheerios, but I ate most of the raisins.”

  Harvey smiled softly. “I would love to join you. Lead the way, young sir.” He held out his hand in an advancing gesture, but paused for a moment, regarding me with those curious blue eyes. “You don’t know me, do you?”

  “Sure I do,” I said. “You’re my friend Harvey.”

  He nodded. “I suppose I am. Well, let’s go tell your granny hello, shall we?”

  ***

  Granny sat at the kitchen table, sipping from a cup of coffee while reading the Saturday newspaper. I held open the screen door for my friend, walked to the table, and pulled out a chair.

  “Here you go, Harvey.”

  Granny lowered the paper and smiled. “Who’s Harvey?”

  “He’s my friend, Granny. Say hello!”

  She smiled and shook her hand up and down. “Pleasure to meet you, Harvey. Any friend of my Toddy is a friend of mine.”

  “He’s over here, Granny.” I laughed, moving her hand. Harvey sat upright in his seat, grinning.

  “It’s quite all right, child. She can’t see me.”

  I turned back to him, my brow furrowing in confusion. “She can’t?”

  Harvey shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I only appear to special people in their time of need, and she’s not ready to see me yet. Let’s just pretend I’m imaginary. It’ll be our little secret.”

  I nodded, listening intently. Everything he said made sense, and I spied Granny from the corner of my eye. She watched in amusement. I turned back to her and shrugged.

  “Harvey says you can’t see him yet, but that’s okay. He’s just my imaginary friend anyway.”

  “I’ll declare, your imagination is something else.” Granny brushed her hand through my hair. “So what did you and Harvey do this morning?”

  “We met just a little while ago, and he helped keep those bullies—”

  I paused, my cheeks flushed with heat. I’d forgotten that my encounter with Gerald and Brent had taken place in an area of the neighborhood that was strictly off limits. Granny’s eyes narrowed, a funny, knowing smirk hanging low on her face.

  “Toddy, I told you not to play with those boys. They’re pure meanness.” She looked down at my jeans. “I see you managed to get your new clothes dirty, too.”

  I lowered my head, ashamed. “I’m sorry, Granny.”

  Harvey leaned forward in his seat, his blue eyes shimmering even in the bright kitchen light.

  “Tell her you won’t do it again. Tell her you’ll pray for forgiveness. She’ll eat that right up.”

  I spoke Harvey’s words, turning on the charm as best I could, giving her the pouting doe-eyed face that she fell for every single time. She pulled me close and kissed me on the forehead.

  “You’re such a good boy. I know you won’t do it again. Why don’t you run on into the living room so I can finish the paper? I bet your cartoons are still on.”

  “Oh, right!” My chubby face beamed. I took Harvey’s hand. “Come on, Harvey. Let’s go watch cartoons!”

  Harvey rose from his seat, but he did not follow me to watch cartoons. Instead, he walked toward the door, peering outside for a moment before turning back to me. “I’m afraid I need to get going, kiddo. But don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

  “No fair,” I said. “The day was just getting fun.”

  “No pouting, child.” He knelt before me, just behind Granny’s chair. “Tell you what. I’ll give you this. You won’t be able to see it, but it will follow you wherever you go, and wherever you go, there I’ll be—even when I’m not. Give me your hand.”

  I did as he asked. He took my hand and traced one black claw in a star pattern along the backside. The long talon burned a little, but I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The pattern itself didn’t leave any mark, but I felt it there even after he was done. My hand was hot to the touch.

  “There. Now we’ll never be apart.”

  “Okay,” I said, rubbing the back of my hand. “Thanks, Harvey. Will I see you later? Maybe tomorrow?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe the day after. Say, what’s that?”

  He pointed toward the dining room, and I turned but didn’t see anything. When I spun back around, Harvey was gone. Granny finished her coffee, set down her cup, and sniffed the air.

  “I think the eggs are starting to go bad,” she mumbled. “I only just bought them, too.”

  ***

  I don’t remember much else about that Saturday, except that when I slept that night, I had terrible dreams. I remember being chased by dark, monstrous things lurking in the shadows of a tunnel that stretched on forever. There were creatures hanging above me, watching, laughing as I struggled to get away.

  One creature was a dead dog the size of a school bus, its maggot-filled ears flopping in the air as it bounded after me. Black ooze gushed from its snout in thick, bubbling strings. Large stars burned in its dead blue eyes, and a voice echoed from the shadows: I know a lot of names, kiddo. I speak a language of them, but right now, yours is my only tongue. />
  I woke with a start, my heart racing in my tiny chest. I heard my mom stir in her bed, and after a moment, she flicked on her bedside lamp. Dim light filled the room we shared.

  “Are you okay, honey?”

  I looked over. Mom sat up in bed with the blankets bunched around her. She looked worried.

  “I’m okay, Mommy.”

  “Go back to sleep, sweetie. Church tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I said, rolling over. I pulled the blanket up to my chin, absently rubbing at the back of my hand where Harvey had traced his mark. My skin felt sunburned in that invisible pattern, and I nodded off while tracing its outline along the back of my hand. Harvey’s words followed me back down into my dreams, but the dog was gone, left to rot back in Mr. Fuson’s old kennel, food for a new generation of flies.

  ***

  Woodbine Baptist Church seemed like a million miles away from home, and the ride there was dreadful if only because of the anticipation of boredom. The church itself was picturesque in some ways, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting—a white, medium-sized building standing alone atop a hill, its steeple painted black and poking the sky.

  I remember the pastor as an older man wearing wire-framed glasses, his balding head adorned with strange brown spots and a permanent glow of reflection from the lights above. I once asked Granny why his head glowed like that.

  She smiled at my innocence. “That’s his halo, honey. He’s a good man.”

  I remember thinking I didn’t want my head to glow like that when I got older.

  We shook hands. The pastor—I think his name was Thurmond—bent down and smiled at me.

  “And how are we this morning, Mister Todd?”

  “Sleepy.”

  “Sleepy?” He laughed and tousled my hair. “We’ll have to wake you up with the Spirit!”

  I didn’t understand what he meant, so I just smiled and moved on after Granny into the church. We took our seats in a pew, Mom gave me a piece of peppermint candy, and several minutes later the service began. Once the singing was over, Pastor Thurmond took his place behind the lectern and called for a prayer. Everyone bowed their heads except me, and Mom tugged on my sleeve.

  “It’s time to pray.”

  “I don’t know how,” I told her.

  “Just bow your head, close your eyes, and think about God.”

  So I closed my eyes and bowed my head and thought about God, but all that really came to mind was the darkness behind my eyelids, and for the next two minutes while the pastor asked the Lord to give everyone a fruitful day, I watched as colors swirled and danced in the dark.

  They moved in odd, erratic patterns, blinking and streaking across that black expanse behind my eyes. Soon, strange shapes began to take form, and at first, I didn’t think anything of them, but then I saw a dog limping across the darkness, with a weird red swirl pouring out of its ear. Behind the maimed animal was a tall man, vacant but for a thin, red outline and two sapphire eyes.

  You don’t really know me, he said, grinning with red swirling teeth. But you will, kiddo. You will, and when we meet again, you’ll understand what I am.

  “Amen.”

  My eyes snapped open, startled by the abrupt movement stirring within the congregation while my heart raced a marathon. Granny looked down at me, frowning.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head. “I think I had a nightmare.”

  “You’re okay now. Come on, honey,” Granny said. “It’s time for Sunday School.”

  ***

  Granny and I took our seats at the back of a small classroom, and after the other kids found their way into the room, class began. We learned about the Devil’s temptation of Christ in the desert. Something about the scenario depicted in one of the Bible’s more famous scenes piqued my curiosity, if only because the Devil just seemed like he wanted to help.

  I ruminated on that dilemma for the duration of the class, and when we went back upstairs for the morning service I took the problem with me. While Pastor Thurmond worked his way up into a holy crescendo, decrying the wages of sin and warning of eternal damnation wrought in hellfire, I rolled the conundrum over in my head. The Devil was the bad guy, but he was trying to help Jesus in the desert, right? Wouldn’t that make him a good guy instead?

  Pastor Thurmond gave his cue for the choir to start singing “Just As I Am” while he called for sinners to repent at the pulpit, but I didn’t pay him much attention. I was too busy trying to unravel the conundrum that had knotted itself in my brain. I carried that dilemma through the remainder of the service and back to Granny’s car. My mom had some errands to run and agreed to meet us back at Granny’s house for lunch. I was okay with that.

  We were on our way home when I asked Granny about the Devil and Jesus.

  “Granny,” I began, “you know lots about the Bible, don’t you?”

  She brought the car to a stop at a red light and glanced at me, smiling. “I guess so. I guess I should—I’ve been reading it for most of my life, and I still read it, in fact.” She did, too. Just about every evening before going to bed.

  “So . . . what we learned in Sunday School today, about the Devil suggesting Jesus turn the rocks to bread so he wouldn’t starve, I don’t get why that’s bad.”

  “Because the Devil tempts, honey. He tries to make men lose their way. Jesus went into the desert to pray and understand his purpose, and the Devil tried to tempt him away from his purpose.”

  I thought about that for a while, staring out the window as the countryside gave way to Corbin’s Main Street storefronts. At the next stop light, Granny looked over at me, watching as I worked everything out in my head.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  “Still thinking about the Devil.”

  “He’s a bad thing to think about, honey. Why not think about Jesus instead?”

  “Because Jesus was dumb.”

  “Now Toddy,” she scolded, “that’s blasphemy. Jesus is our Lord and Savior. He died for your sins because He loves you. You can’t talk about Him like that.”

  I looked at her, smiling to hide the shame burning away at my cheeks. “He went into the desert and starved himself on purpose. The Devil tried to help him, but he turned it down.”

  “You don’t understand,” Granny said. She pushed down on the gas and we sped through the intersection. “The spirit of God led Jesus into the desert to fast for forty days, and the Devil was trying to tempt Him and stop Him from doing that. He even offered to give Jesus dominion over the world if He’d only bow down to worship him.”

  “But . . . why?”

  “Why what, honey?”

  “Why would the Devil do that?”

  Granny opened her mouth to speak, stopped, started to speak again and then paused once more. She was frustrated—more so with herself than at me for not understanding the lesson. Finally, after a moment of silence, she tapped the steering wheel and spoke with pursed lips, “Because he’s the Devil. He’s a tempter, a snake, the enemy of God. Everything he does is meant to hurt mankind, even if it doesn’t seem like it. He’s evil. That’s just what he does.”

  “Okay, Granny.” I let the subject drop. I could tell I’d agitated her, and I spent the rest of the car ride staring out the window, watching the small town of Corbin drift by. I didn’t stop thinking about the Devil, though. Not for the next twenty-two years.

  ***

  A couple of fading events defined my early childhood when I still lived at Granny’s house. This was in the year following my first meeting with Harvey J. Winterbell, after he gave me his mark. The first event wasn’t really a specific happening, but an ongoing phenomenon that occurred throughout most of my young life.

  Drawing was my favorite hobby next to playing with Legos, and in fact, some of my first publications were stories I’d written and illustrated. One story, about two boys going fishing, was published by the Corbin Times-Tribune and hung from Granny’s refrigerator door for years. She also had a copy f
ramed and hung on her living room wall.

  I drew my pictures and made up stories for them. Somewhere along the way, however, Harvey J. Winterbell began appearing in those drawings. He was subtle at first—an extra shadow here, a faint outline there—but soon enough, Mom and Granny began taking notice. So did my teacher at school, and one day Mrs. Leigh sent home a note with my latest artistic endeavors. I gave it to Mom, who read it with growing concern before perusing my most recent creations. We sat at the dinner table, my artwork spread out before us. Across all of them was a tall man in a black coat, with black claws and bright, blue eyes.

  “Who’s this person here?”

  Mom pointed to the tall, dark man standing behind a tree in the background. I’d drawn a picture of Granny, Mom, and I in front of Granny’s house. Behind the oak tree was Harvey, and I told her so.

  “Who’s Harvey?” Mom asked, her brow furrowed, seemingly concerned.

  “That’s his ‘friend,’” Granny said. She gave Mom a wink. I just smiled, not catching the significance.

  “I see,” Mom said, nodding. She stared at the dark figure lurking in the background. “What about your friends at school, honey? Why aren’t they in this picture?”

  “Because it’s just us, Mommy. Us and Harvey.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about you drawing pictures of this Harvey character. You’ve been having bad nightmares as it is, and he doesn’t seem like a very nice guy here.”

  “Oh no, Mommy. He’s a good guy. He protects me.”

  “If you say so, sweetie.” She leaned down, kissed my forehead, and affixed the drawing to Granny’s refrigerator. “I’ll give Mrs. Leigh a call and have a talk with her.”

  So I drew my pictures, and Harvey would show up somewhere in them, always watching from the background, always standing and smiling with those big blue eyes. Sometimes I couldn’t remember drawing him, but there he’d be, watching me from beyond the page. Over time I came to use the drawings as a way of predicting my nightmares, because whenever Harvey didn’t appear on the page, he would show up after I went to sleep. I dreaded those nights, throwing tantrums when Mom tried to put me to bed.