Blood Beast (2 page)

While we’re trying to come to terms with a world where Misery Mauch is a sex god, Reni and Shannon saunter up, arm in arm, laughing at some private joke.

“I was just telling the boys,” Mary says, “how sexy Mr. Mauch is.”

“William?” Reni says, nodding thoughtfully. “He’s a hottie.”

“William?”
Loch barks at his sister.

“That’s what he told me to call him.”

“I didn’t know you’d been seeing the counselor,” Loch growls.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Reni says mysteriously, then raises an eyebrow at Shannon. “William Mauch — dull or dreamy?”

“Deliciously dreamy,” Shannon says seriously — then laughs. “I’m sorry! Your faces!”

“Cows,” Leon snaps as the other girls squeal along with Shannon. “That wasn’t funny.”

“It was hilarious,” Reni counters, crying with laughter. “You guys are so easy to wind up. Imagine Misery Mauch as eye candy!” She laughs even harder.

“Here,” I say, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to Reni.

Reni smiles sweetly and dabs at her cheeks with the hankie. Four sets of lips immediately purse — wolf whistles galore.

“Grubbs and Reni sitting in a tree . . .” sings Frank.

“Screw you,” I grunt, and coolly retrieve my handkerchief from Reni — cue more whistles.

Lunch flies by as it usually does. So much to talk about — friends, teachers, homework, TV, movies, computer games, music, wrestling, the size of brains. Robbie McCarthy joins us halfway through. He’s not a regular member of the gang, but he’s been cuddling up to Mary recently, so he’s had to spend time with the rest of us.

I joke around with Reni a lot. The handkerchief was especially for her. One of Dervish’s. I use tissues, like everybody else who isn’t living in the Middle Ages. I’ve been carrying it around for a week, waiting for a chance to present it to her. Corny, and done as a joke — but half serious too. A chance to share a smile and a sweet look.

Reni knows I like her. And I think she’s hot for the Grubbster. But I haven’t had much experience in things like this. There’s every chance I’ve read the signals wrong. I won’t know for sure until I find the guts to put an arm around her and try for a kiss, but I think the odds are in my favor.

Loch’s cool with it. I’ve seen how he is with other guys who put the moves on Reni — he puffs himself out to look even bigger than he already is and growls like a bear, scaring them away. If Reni was keen on any of them, she’d tell him to back off. But most of the time she lets him play the protective big brother and even encourages it.

It’s important to have Loch’s approval. He’s my best friend. You don’t try to date your best friend’s sister without his permission. It just isn’t done.

Towards the end of lunch, a small, chubby boy with a lazy left eye shuffles over and I feel a stab of guilt, much stronger than the pang I felt in Misery Mauch’s office.

“Hi, Grubbs,” Bill-E says, smiling hopefully.

“Hi,” I grunt.

“Hey, Bill-E! How’s my man?” Loch exclaims, and sticks his hand out. Bill-E extends his own hand automatically, but Loch whips his away, puts his thumb on his nose, sticks his tongue out, and wiggles his fingers. “Sucker!”

Bill-E flushes but manages a sick grin and lowers his hand sheepishly.

“Very mature,” Reni says drily, rolling her eyes at her brother.

“The shrimp doesn’t mind, do you, Spleen?” Loch chortles, grabbing Bill-E’s head in a wrestling lock.

“No,” Bill-E says, voice muffled. Loch releases Bill-E and ruffles his hair. Bill-E’s still smiling but the smile’s
very
strained and his face is fire engine red. “How you doing, Grubbs?”

“Not bad. You?”

“OK.”

We smile awkwardly at each other. The rest of the group stare at us for a second. Then normal conversation resumes, only we’re cut out of it.

“Doing anything this weekend?” Bill-E asks.

“Not a lot. Maybe practicing some wrestling moves with Loch.”

“Oh. I was thinking of coming over to watch some movies. . . if that’s OK. . . .”

“Hell, you don’t have to ask.” I laugh uneasily. “You can drop in any time you want. It’s your house as much as mine.”

“Coolio!” Bill-E’s smile resumes its normal shape. “You want to watch a movie with me?”

“Maybe. But I might have to go over to Loch’s and practice. You know.”

“Yeah,” Bill-E says quietly. “I know.”

The bell rings and everyone files back to class. Hundreds of kids groaning, shouting, laughing. Bill-E heads off in his own direction. He doesn’t say goodbye. I watch him walk alone and lonely in the crowd and I feel twisted and vile, like something a maggot would crawl out of its way to avoid.

Bill-E Spleen was my best friend before Loch Gossel hit the scene. When I moved here after my parents’ death and my trip to the nuthouse, he made me feel like I wasn’t all by myself in the world. He helped me establish a life again. Settled me in at school, kept me company during lunch when everybody else was wary of me. Fought by my side on the
Slawter
film set — and it wasn’t fire we had to contend with. Tried to help when my nightmares kicked back in hard not long afterwards, even though his own mind was in turmoil.

How do I repay him? By abandoning him for the friendship of Loch, Reni, and our little group. Cutting him loose. Being a Judas.

It’s wrong, but it’s the way things go. When an old friend doesn’t fit in with your new pals, you cut him loose. It’s the law of school. I’ve dumped other friends in the past, and several have done it to me. The difference here is that Bill-E’s my half brother. Even though he doesn’t know it.

Chemistry. I usually find it interesting, but this afternoon I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about Bill-E. I didn’t mean to give him the big brush-off. When I first met Loch, I had time for Bill-E. I’d only see Loch occasionally after school. I still hung out with Bill-E a lot.

That gradually changed. Loch began inviting me around to his house and coming over to mine. Through Loch I became friends with Frank Martin, Charlie Rall, and Leon Penn. And through them I got to know Shannon Campbell and Mary Hayes — and, of course, Reni.

Reni makes me forget about Bill-E for a few minutes. Daydreaming about her shoulder-length auburn hair, long eyelashes, light brown eyes, her curves. . . She’s not perfect by any means — big and sturdy like her brother, with a ski-slope of a nose — but everybody thinks she’s one of the hottest girls in our school.

I shake my head to stop thinking about Reni and my thoughts drift back to Bill-E. All those new friends made demands. It was exciting to be accepted by them, included in their conversation, treated as an equal. It had been a long time since I was part of a crowd. I hadn’t realized how much that mattered to me, or how much I’d missed it.

I wanted Bill-E to hang out with us but he just didn’t fit in. I’m not sure why. He’s younger than most of us — he started school a year early — but Leon isn’t a lot older than him. He’s small, but Frank’s no giant either. He uses corny words like “Coolio!” but Robbie’s favorite exclamation is the seriously uncool “Radical!” He has a lazy eye, but Charlie has buckteeth, Shannon has an ugly facial mole, I’m built like the Hulk. . . .We’re all a bit weird, one way or another.

Bill-E is smart, funny, a much better talker than me. But he never found a niche at school. I didn’t realize it when I first started. Bill-E seemed like the most normal kid around. I knew he didn’t have a lot of friends, but I was sure he fit in better than I did.

After a while I began to notice things. Like how Bill-E never went to anybody’s house after school. How people made jokes about him and aped him when he said things like “Coolio!” How he was bullied by boys like Loch Gossel.

I’m not blind to how Loch treats Bill-E. He teases him all the time, like with the fake handshake and headlock today. It’s different from the way he treats Charlie. Nastier. He embarrasses Bill-E in front of others, makes him feel small and unwanted.

I often thought of challenging Loch and the others who pick on Bill-E. If any of them hurt him, I’d have definitely taken them on. But teasing is harder to deal with. You can’t punch a guy for being sarcastic to somebody. . . can you?

I’d have worsened the situation if I’d interfered, made Bill-E look like a weakling who couldn’t stand up for himself. Besides, it wasn’t so bad. His life wasn’t a walking misery. And he always had
me
to cheer him up.

Class ends. English next. I walk to it by myself, quiet, thoughtful.

I feel ashamed. I should go up to Bill-E this afternoon. Invite him back to my place. Free the weekend up to hang out with him. Watch movies, eat popcorn, go searching for Lord Sheftree’s buried treasure. Like we used to.

But I won’t. Instead I’ll just put up with the guilt, wait for it to pass, then let things go on as they have been. Lousy, yeah, but that’s the way it is. Misery Mauch wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain, but I’m sure anyone else in the school — or any school in the world — would.

Nightmares

O
F course I have nightmares — who doesn’t?”

I brushed Misery off with that line, but it followed me home from school like a stray dog. I live a couple of miles outside Carcery Vale, in a massive old house, three floors high, filled with antiques and mystical knickknacks. It was once the property of a tyrant named Lord Sheftree, a charming guy who enjoyed chopping up babies into little pieces and feeding them to his pet piranha. But these days it belongs to my uncle, Dervish Grady — as rich as Lord Shef-tree, and much more powerful, but without any of the nasty habits.

Dervish is munching on a sandwich in the kitchen when I get home. “Good day at school?” he asks, handing me half of the sandwich.

“So-so,” I reply, taking a bite. Chicken and bacon. Yum!

Dervish looks much the same as when I first met him. Thin, tall, bald on top, grey around the sides. A tight grey beard that he shaved off a year or so ago but has grown back.

Piercing blue eyes. Dressed all in denim. The only real difference is his expression. His face is more lined than it used to be, and he has the look of a man still recovering from a haunting. Which he is.

“Bill-E said he might come over this weekend,” I tell him.

Dervish nods and goes on chewing. He knows things aren’t the same between Bill-E and me but he’s never said anything. I guess he doesn’t think there’s any point — nothing he says could fix the situation. It’s best for adults to keep out of things like this. It’s widely accepted that we can’t solve their problems, so I’ll never understand why so many of them think they can solve ours.

I tell Dervish about my session with Misery. He’s only mildly interested. “Mauch is a nice guy,” he says, “but not too bright. If he gets too inquisitive, let me know and I’ll speak to him.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I can’t handle the likes of Misery Mauch myself,” I snort.

“Oh, Grubbs, you’re so manly!” Dervish gushes, fluttering his eyelids.

“Get stuffed!” I grunt.

We laugh and finish the sandwich.

“Of course I have nightmares — who doesn’t?”

I can’t get the damn line out of my head! All the way through doing my homework, while watching TV, then listening to CDs and flicking through a wrestling magazine of Loch’s.

Everyone has nightmares, sure, but I doubt if many people have nightmares like
mine.
Delirious dreams of demons, wholesale slaughter, a universe of webs and comet-sized monsters. All based on firsthand experience.

I go to bed about 11:30, fairly normal for me, but sleep doesn’t come easily. And when it does. . .

I’m in my bedroom at home — my first home. Blood seeps from the eyes of the soccer players in the posters on my walls, but that doesn’t bother me. Gret walks in. She’s been split in two down the back. Guts trail behind her. A demon with a dog’s body and a crocodile’s head is chewing on her entrails.

“Dad wants you,” Gret says.

“Am I in trouble?” I ask.

“Not as much as me.” She sighs.

Down the hall to Mom and Dad’s room. I’ve walked this a thousand times in my nightmares, always feeling the heat and fear. A few tears trickle down my cheeks as my hand rests on the doorknob, the way they always do. I know what I’m going to find inside — my parents, dead, and a wickedly smug Lord Loss. I don’t want to open the door, but of course I do, and everything happens the way it did that night when my world first fell apart.

The scene shifts and I’m in the insane asylum. Arms bound, howling at the walls, seeing imaginary demons everywhere I look. Then one of the walls fades away. It turns into a barrier of webs. Dervish picks his way through them. “I know demons are real,” he says. “I can help you.”

“Help me escape?” I sob.

“No.” He holds up a mirror, and I see that I’ve turned into a werewolf. “Help you die,” he snarls, and swings at my neck with an axe.

I kick the covers off and roll out of bed. I hit the floor hard and scramble a few yards across it, fleeing my axe-wielding uncle. Then my vision clears and I realize that I’m awake. Groaning, I push myself to my feet and check my clock. Nearly one in the morning. Looks like I won’t be getting any decent sleep tonight either.

My T-shirt and boxers are soaked through with sweat. I change, go into the bathroom, splash cold water over my face, then go to walk around the mansion. I often stroll when I can’t sleep, exploring the warren of hallways and rooms, safe here, knowing no harm can befall me. This house is protected by powerful spells.

Creeping through the old, restored part of the mansion, feet cold from the stone floors, too lazy to go back and get my slippers. I find myself in the newer section, an eyesore that was tacked on to the original shell when it was uninhabitable. Dervish keeps talking about demolishing the extension, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet.

I return to the ornate, overblown majesty of the older building and wind up in the hall of portraits, as I usually do on sleepless nights like this. Dozens of paintings and photographs, all of dead family members. Many are of young people, cut down long before their natural time — like my sister, Gret.