Billy Hooten (6 page)

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

B
illy 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 separated 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.

He had actually been a hero last night. Why should he be running from a game? Real heroes didn't run from anything.

Especially a dodgeball!

“Well, would ya look at this,” he heard Randy say as he paced back and forth, tossing the bloodred rubber ball from hand to hand. “All that's left is the Owlboy.”

His teammates laughed.

“Finish him off, Killer,” Mitchell Spivey cheered, and then laughed hysterically.

There's something really wrong with that kid,
Billy thought.

He had never been in this situation, always having been knocked out way before the end of the game, and he found that he didn't really care for it.
Is this what it's like to be a hero?
he wondered, watching as Randy …
Killer
prepared his next throw.

Standing alone against the forces of evil.

Billy tensed, watching intently as the ball left his enemy's hand.
It would be so easy,
he thought,
to just turn slightly and let the ball graze me.

Out. End of story.

Any other day and he was sure that would have been perfectly fine, but not today … not after Monstros.

Billy planted both his feet as the ball rocketed toward him. Reaching out, he brought his hands together, catching the ball between them. He stumbled back from the force of the throw, the palms of his hands tingling, but he'd caught it. He'd actually caught a ball thrown by Killer Kulkowski.

You could've heard a fish fart in the gym, it was so quiet, and Billy looked around to see everybody watching him.

His friends, as well as other classmates who had once made up his team, stared at him in awe. Danny Ashwell's mouth was open so wide that he'd actually started to drool.

Very attractive, Danny, thanks,
Billy thought.

“So what now, Hooten?” asked the voice of evil.

Randy just stood there, waiting. If he was as shocked about Billy's catching the ball as Billy was, he didn't show it.

Mitchell Spivey cackled like a nutjob as Billy eyed them all. Randy stood out in front, the obvious target, silently daring him to throw the ball. Billy knew he didn't have a chance. His throw would be nothing more than a spitball to the troll disguised as a grade-schooler.

“C'mon, Owlboy,” Randy taunted, motioning for him to throw the ball.

The gym was quiet except for Mitchell's insane laughter, and Billy knew exactly what he was going to do.

His eyes narrowed as he fixed his target in his sights. He wasn't sure if it was going to work, but he'd never know until he tried. Pulling back, Billy let the ball fly.

Randy was ready, tensed and waiting as he watched the ball sail right past him to hit Mitchell Spivey.

Billy wished he had a camera as the ball ricocheted off the laughing boy's forehead to hit a startled Randy in the back. It didn't hit him hard, but it hit him just the same.

Billy's friends immediately started to clap. He looked over at them, a smile on his face. He knew that aiming for Randy would have been nothing but a
waste, so he'd figured he might as well go for the most annoying of his archnemesis's crew and hope for the ricochet.

After his success in Monstros, maybe things were starting to look up, he thought, waving to his cheering classmates.

But Billy should have been paying attention to what was going on with the opposing team. Reggie's eyes suddenly bugged from his head, and he screamed, pointing across the gym.

Billy turned just as Randy let fly with the ball.

He didn't even have time to think about how much it was going to hurt.

It was a little scary, but Billy was convinced now, more than ever, that he
could
be a hero.

Never had he been the subject of so much attention—well, there was that time with the projectile vomiting at the Patriots game—but that wasn't the kind of attention anybody wanted. It seemed that since he'd stood up to Randy Kulkowski and his crew that morning in gym class, the kids and even some of the teachers were looking at him differently.

For the rest of the day he heard their comments.
“Way to go, Billy!” “Hear I missed a good game this morning,
wish I coulda been there.” “Whaddya got, a death wish?” “Didn't know you had it in ya, Hooten!”

Neither did he.

Ears still ringing, Billy stood on the sidewalk in front of Connery Elementary, trying to convince his mother that it was okay for him to go to the comic book store on a school day. He was more determined than ever to make this Owlboy thing work.

He was using the cell phone that she had given him for emergencies only. He wasn't sure if wanting to stop at the Hero's Hovel before going home was considered an emergency, but he decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

Mrs. Hooten actually seemed relieved to hear that nothing bad was happening, and that was probably why she agreed to let him go to the comic shop—as long as he was home in time for supper.

The Hero's Hovel was a good half hour's walk from school, but Billy didn't mind; it would give him time to really think about what he was going to do.

His parents had always said he could be anything he wanted to be in life; if he really wanted it and worked really hard, anything was possible.

Billy wondered if being a superhero was one of those things.

First things first, though. He had to learn more
about Owlboy. He needed to become familiar with the costumed hero and the world he protected, and what better way to do that than to read more of his adventures?

And there was only one place in town where he could get his hands on that information—the Hero's Hovel.

The Hovel was in downtown Bradbury, between Barbara's Beauty Salon and Uncle Sal's Hotdog Emporium. A bell chimed cheerily as he pushed open the door and entered his favorite place.

Billy did what he always did when entering the Hovel: he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. There was something strangely comforting about the smell of the store. It was kind of a musty smell, one that could only be found among old comic books. To Billy, there wasn't a better smell in the world. It was an exciting smell, a hint of the adventure and excitement to be found inside the thousands of old and new comics.

The store's owner was named Cole. He was a big guy, probably around Mr. Hooten's age, with long gray hair, really thick glasses and, always, a Hawaiian shirt. Although he didn't seem to be completely blind, he was always in the company of his Seeing Eye dog, Claudius.

Today, Cole sat on a high stool behind a large glass
counter, his German shepherd lying faithfully beside the chair. The owner was bagging and pricing back issues, using a special guide that told him how valuable the comics were. He had to hold the guide very close to his face to see the listings.

He grunted something that could've been “Howzit going?” as he glanced in Billy's direction and then back to his work. Claudius woofed his own greeting, as he always did. Cole wasn't the friendliest of people. He was perfectly content to sit behind the counter, marking comics and listening to rock and roll music from the eighties, the same kind of music that Billy's parents liked.

The store was a good size, laid out in multiple aisles, each row filled with boxes and boxes of comics. On the walls were hung even more books: special issues, valuable because of their age, or because they contained the first appearance of a popular character, or even because they were drawn by a particularly famous artist. Billy could never afford the wall books, but he always scoped them out just in case he ever found himself with some extra cash.

He didn't know where to start, so he wandered up and down the aisles, taking it all in, trying to figure out where the Owlboy comics might be. He didn't think the company that used to put out the comic
book was even around anymore, and the book was so old that there probably wouldn't be a special bin for it.

Finally, Billy realized that he had to ask Cole about the Owlboy comics, but he didn't want to disturb the store owner. He remembered a time a few weeks ago when Cole had actually yelled at a kid for asking him a question about Captain Mighty's powers. It really was a stupid question, though. Everybody knew that Captain Mighty's X-ray eyes couldn't see through lead. Even still, the idea that Billy might suffer the wrath of Cole was almost enough to make him forget about it.

Aw, suck it up,
he told himself, and slowly made his way toward the glass counter.
If you're going to be a superhero, talking to scary store owners is going to be the least of your worries.

Billy stopped in front of the counter and waited to be noticed, but Cole just continued to work. Claudius, however, had risen to his four feet, eyeing Billy over the top of the glass. The dog knew he was standing there, but what about Cole? Maybe he just didn't see Billy.

The man continued to work, holding comic book after comic book up to his face, looking up their value, then slipping them into snug plastic sleeves and marking them with a price sticker.

Finally, Billy cleared his throat.

Claudius looked nervously at his master and back at Billy, who was seriously considering backing slowly toward the door when the man spoke.

“Got a question?” he asked, sliding an issue of
Tales Too Disturbing to Tell
—a comic that Billy's mother refused to let him read because it was too disturbing— into a protective bag.

“Yes, sir,” Billy answered, his voice coming out in a nervous squeak.