Full MoonCity (25 page)

“Stop it! All of you!” I scream at the top of my lungs, and somehow, like my hearing and my sense of smell, my voice has become something it didn’t used to be, and the whole house shakes with the sound of it, and they all stop and turn toward me, their eyes still blazing, fangs gleaming.

Quickly I reach into one of the few surviving pieces of furniture, a little sideboard cabinet, and take out two of the long silver nails I had carefully placed there when we opened my parents’ coffins for the first time.

It’s trite, I know, and not what you’d expect from someone of my background, but I actually hold up the two long nails like a
cross
as I say, “Now everybody back off.”

They do, equally recoiling from the silver nails.

“Mom, Dad… is that you, Heinrich?” The Big Hairy Thing nods, breathing heavily. “Mom, Dad, you have to learn to let go. I’m grown-up now. You have your life-or unlife or whatever it is-and I have mine. I’m not a
minion.
I’m your
daughter.
I ask you to respect that. Do you think you actually can? Do you?”

The fire fades from their eyes, and their fangs retract. Heinrich, a.k.a. the Hairy Thing, just stands there, panting.

Before anyone can say anything, I continue.

“Mom, Dad, I’ve got an announcement to make. I’m not the same as I once was. I’ve been…
bitten.”

For an instant I can see Momma’s eyes beam with pride, in the sense of
our little girl has grown up,
but then she seems just confused, because she knows it isn’t what she thought.

I turn to show her the bruise on my neck, which I’ve had for a month now. “That ain’t a hickey, Momma.”

She just looks stupefied.

“Momma, I want you to meet Heinrich. I love him.”

The Hairy Thing leans over, as if to lick my face the way a dog would, but then whines and draws away from the silver.

That is when I realize my hands are smoking and the silver nails are burning
me.
I let them drop to the floor, and before anyone can react, I rush over to the window, tear aside the drapes, and let the light of the
full moon
flood what is left of the dining room.

I begin to change then. Fur grows on my arms and legs. I feel my whole body melting, falling down, hardening into something else. My senses are much sharper than they’ve ever been before. It’s as if I can hear a cloud passing across the face of the moon, like silk wiped across glass, and I can hear every sound of the night. I can see in ways that I’ve never seen before,
through
things, sensing heat and
life.
Were I so inclined I could tell Max where every bug in the whole damn house is hiding.

But I am not so inclined. Heinrich nuzzles me behind the ear. We play. I try to say something more to my parents, and I think I actually do manage to say, “His middle name is Wolfgang.”

And my mother sputters, “But he’s
not Jewish
!” and she is sobbing in Poppa’s arms. “We’ve lost our daughter!”

“No,” Poppa says, “It’ll be all right, Honey Love, as long as the… er… cubs are brought up Jewish.”

Howling, Heinrich Wolfgang Schroeder and I leap through the window, out into the night.

What beautiful music we make.

S
ometimes when it was night and Uncle Bob and Mom were fighting, Jake would go to the park and sit on the swings, listening to the rush of traffic on Franklin Boulevard and enjoying the dark. Everyone said the park was dangerous at night, but Jake had never had any trouble there, in spite of all the rumors of bad things happening. Jake thought it was far more dangerous to remain at home when the adults were fighting: Uncle Bob was using his fists and Mom was throwing things. Just last week she’d smashed his PlayStation by accident; Uncle Bob thought it was funny.

Uncle Bob wasn’t Jake’s real uncle, or so his mother had explained a year or so ago. “But, Jake, he’s like family. He takes care of us, not like the rest of our relatives; you know what they’re like…” She stopped and went on in a more subdued but injured tone, “Since your father died…”

Jake couldn’t remember his father, not really: the man had vanished when he was four, and that was more than half his lifetime ago. He relied on his mother to keep his father’s memory alive, but the things Mom said about his father changed over time; Jake could still remember when Mom had said it was a good thing he wasn’t alive anymore-that was shortly before she met Bob. “I get it that you want to have a guy around.” He shifted awkwardly in his slightly-too-large running shoes. Jake was small for his age and was often mistaken for being younger than nine, and it didn’t help that, being undersized, his clothes made him look like a kid since he wore younger children’s apparel because it fit, a constant reminder about how dissimilar he was to his classmates; he hated the teasing he endured. Along with that, he also hated it when his mom got down on one knee to look him in the eye, and he knew from Mom’s voice what was coming next. “But does it have to be him? Uncle Bob?”

She dropped down on one knee, so that she had to look up into his face. “Listen, Jake, you’re almost ten, and you can understand things very well. You’re really mature for your age, and you’ve always been a bastion for me. I couldn’t have made it this far without you.” She often called him a bastion when she was about to ask him to do something unpleasant. “If you can just try to get along with him. Just a little.”

“I do try. He’s the one who picks the fights.” He rarely let himself be dragged into Uncle Bob’s ranting, but for the last six months, the verbal barrage had increased and had been punctuated with vigorous slaps which Uncle Bob justified by blaming Jake for making him angry. Jake’s mom always tried to make Jake understand that Uncle Bob didn’t mean it-it was just that work was so hard and he thought it was unfair to be denied another promotion, or that he had had a bad week at poker, or that he was really tired and didn’t want anything noisy around him.

“Well, Jake, I need you to try harder. If you aren’t willing to help improve the family, then I think you may need an extra two hours in your room.” It was her usual threat, one she never actually followed through on: Jake would have loved more time in his room, even if it wasn’t very big and at the opposite end of the L-shaped house from the bathroom. At least his room was quiet, and it had two windows, either of which he could leave through if he wanted to.

“That would be okay with me,” said Jake, disheartened to have his mother take Uncle Bob’s side again. “I can do homework, and read.”

Esther Sparges frowned. “Don’t you have anyone you’d like to study with? You have friends at school-everyone does. Wouldn’t one of your friends like to have you over to play games or work on projects together?” She had that wheedling note in her voice, as if she were offering him a treat rather than trying to get rid of him.

“Not really,” he said, not wanting to admit that he had no friends at school, just a couple of geeks he hung around with occasionally, who had the same taste as he did for spooky video games; he was especially fond of
Shape Shifter
.

Shaking her head, Esther got to her feet and began to pace. “I wish I knew what to do with you, Jacob Edwin Sparges, I really do. You’re a good kid, but you get up Bob’s nose every time you open your mouth. I hate being put in the middle of you two.” She clutched her elbows, her hands working. “It’s never easy when you have to blend a family. I wish you could make just a little more effort.”

Only we aren’t a family, thought Jake, and we aren’t blending. “Yeah.”

“If I could work something out with your Aunt Judy, but she believes everything Denny and Jennine tell her. They’re all against him, my whole family, and won’t give him a break,” Esther said aloud to herself. “Judy’s very closed-minded; she just doesn’t listen to reason about Bob.”

Jake went very still. “What do you mean?” He tried not to hope.

“Well, if you could stay with her for a while, until Bob and I work a few things out, it would be a lot easier on all of us, and that means for you as well as Bob and me. You’ve been one of her favorites, and it isn’t as if she has kids of her own.” She flung her arms wide in exasperation, then grabbed her elbows again. “You’d like to spend time with her, wouldn’t you?”

“Prob’ly,” Jake said, not wanting to sound too willing.

“But she says she won’t help me until I get rid of Bob. She says Bob’s bad for me-as if she knows.” She touched the livid smudge on her jaw and scowled. “It’s not as if men grow on trees.”

“Sure, Mom,” said Jake, wishing he had some excuse to get out of the dining room and have some time for himself, so that he could think.

There was a sound of the front door opening. Esther said, “Run along and do your homework. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

Glad for this opportunity, Jake bolted from the dining room and headed to his own place where he could read in peace.

Later that night, when Mom and Uncle Bob were starting to shout again, Jake slipped out the window and hurried off to the park. It was chilly so he had put on his anorak and pulled up the hood, but he wasn’t really warm as he sat on the swing, not moving, and stared out into the darkness beyond the lights on the four tall poles around the playground, casting more glare than illumination. He figured he would remain for another hour and then head home; the yelling should have stopped, and the two of them would be in their bedroom, making up for all the bad things they’d said. At least his homework was done and he would probably be able to get some sleep before he had to be up again. It felt better here alone than it felt in his bedroom right now. He had been scratching in the sand with a long, thin branch, making patterns at his feet when he noticed shining eyes at the edge of the light.

“Who’s there?” he called out. His question was met with silence. Jake felt a moment of fear, but then he realized it wasn’t a person looking at him; it was a big, black dog, with a long muzzle and a thick coat. As Jake stared at the creature, it gave a tentative wave of its tail. Jake got off the swing and started toward it, going slowly so as not to frighten the animal.

The black dog sat down and waited for the boy.

“Hey, fella,” said Jake, coming up to the side of the dog and holding out his hand to be sniffed, all the while being careful not to do anything sudden or to look the dog directly in the eyes. “You’re a big guy, aren’t you?” He noticed the dog was well-groomed, but lacked a collar and instead had a peculiar kind of cloth with strange marks on it knotted around his neck, which seemed unusual. There was no license, no tags, nothing on the cloth. “You have a chip, boy? So they can find you if you get lost?”

The long head nudged Jake’s hand, its black nose deep in Jake’s palm.

Jake closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This little gesture of friendship nearly overwhelmed him and he felt his throat tighten. Most of the time he didn’t think about being lonely, but now it was all he could do to keep from crying. He bent his head to the dog’s ruff and felt the soft fur touch his face, and waited until he could speak without sounding like a little kid. “I wish I could take you home with me, fella, but I can’t. Mom would have a fit, and Uncle Bob would probably go through the roof.” He couldn’t stand the thought of this splendid dog getting hurt, especially if Uncle Bob did the hurting. “I’m sorry. I’d like to take you home, I really would.” It would be great to have someone at home who was on his side, even if it were only a dog.

The dog nuzzled Jake’s face, then gave him a swipe with his long, red tongue.

Jake laughed to keep from sobbing. “It isn’t fair, fella,” he stated. “If you want to come with me, and I want you to come with me, there shouldn’t be any problem about it. But there is.”

As he rested his jaw on Jake’s shoulder, the dog made a musical kind of whine.

“I know, fella, I know,” said Jake, ruffling the fur behind his ears. “You got to belong to someone, anyway, I guess, so you have an owner. You’re too neat and well-fed to be a stray.”

The dog made a groaning sound and flattened his ears in pleasure as Jake continued to scratch around the base of his ears; he took another swipe at Jake with his tongue.

“I like you, too, fella,” Jake said, and thought as he stroked the dense, soft fur,
But sometimes things don’t work out the way we’d like
. He was quoting Mom now, and he sighed. “Looks like we both have people at home. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He thought of the many warnings Mom had given him about strange animals and the many dangers they represented. He decided she was wrong about this dog, cloth collar or not.

The dog gave a soft yip followed by an energetic yawn.

“I sure hope you’re all grown-up, fella, because you got really big feet. If you get much larger, you’ll need a barn for a doghouse.” He examined the large paw, and was rewarded as the dog lifted his foot into his hand. “Really big paw, fella.” He sat down next to the dog, trying not to think about all the things his mom would be upset about if she could see him now. “You gotta have a name of some kind. Fella sounds really dumb. Maybe I can’t keep you, but I can call you something better than fella.” He leaned against the dog’s shoulder and thought. “Why not Ben?” he said after a long pause. “Like for Franklin Boulevard. Sure beats calling you Diogenes I. Vlamos for the park. Ben’s better.”

The dog lay down, head raised, paws stretched out in front of him, alert and content at once.

Jake draped his arm over the dog and pretended, just for a little while, that Ben was his dog and that they were out for Ben’s night-time walk and just taking a break from their rambles. After about ten minutes, the dog noticed something approaching, and a low, rumbling growl grew in his chest. “What is it?” Jake asked, trying to figure out what Ben had smelled, because it had to be an odor, since Jake couldn’t discern any reason for this change.

A guy in a county park ranger’s uniform came into the playground light, a flashlight in his hand. As the light flickered over the big black dog and the youngster beside him, the ranger said something under his breath. Aware that Jake and the dog were watching him, the ranger’s attempt to smile failed utterly because his face was lit from beneath by the flashlight, making him appear sinister. “Kind of late for you to be out, isn’t it, son?” He had a nice voice-deep but not booming; it kind of made up for the weird light on his face.

“Ben’s gotta be walked,” said Jake, scrambling to his feet. Next to him Ben stood up.

“Yes, he does, but it’s a little late for walking a dog.” He saw the set look in Jake’s face and tried to soften his remarks. “He’s a real handsome dog-that ruff makes him look wolfish.”

“I think so, too,” said Jake, realizing it was true.

“Still, it’s after ten. There’s a ten o’clock curfew for youngsters like you.”

“My mom had to work late, and somebody’s gotta walk Ben,” said Jake, making a big show of shrugging.

“Without a leash?” the ranger inquired.

“He’s easier to handle if I just hold his collar. That’s why it’s cloth,” Jake improvised. “When I’m taller, I’ll get to use a leash.”

“How old are you, son?” The ranger had taken a notebook out of his pocket.

“Nine. I’ll be ten in two months.”

“What grade are you in?”

The black dog whined a little and looked as if he wanted to move on.

“Fourth, at Burbank,” Jake said. “Look, I gotta get going. Ben’s hungry.”

“Next time don’t wait so long to take him out. This isn’t a safe place for a kid after dark, and the curfew is real, you know.” The ranger bent down to make sure Jake could see his concern; Jake longed to hit him. “You should be home in bed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Jake in the same tone he used with Mom when she lectured him about Uncle Bob’s problems.

“Are you sure you can get home okay?” the ranger asked as Jake and Ben went to the paved walkway leading out of the park.

“Yeah. We know the way, don’t we, Ben?”

The big dog gave a merry little croon.

The ranger looked displeased but he said nothing more; he scribbled something in his notebook and waved to Jake before continuing on his rounds.

Jake and Ben walked together for about half a mile, as far as West Sycamore; Jake had spent most of the time trying to figure out how he could keep Ben without Mom or Uncle Bob finding out about him. At the intersection, Jake turned right and headed for the last quarter mile between him and home, but Ben halted, refusing to go farther. Jake pulled on the cloth around Ben’s neck, but to no avail. He let go of the collar and pointed down West Sycamore.

“It’s not a long way, Ben. Three blocks down and turn into Barrington Court. It’s the rear unit of number twenty-two,” said Jake, trying not to plead. “Come on. It’s not hard to find.”

Ben moved away from the boy; he was now out of reach and putting more distance between them by moving sideways. As Jake came toward him, he threw back his head and howled, a sound so eerie and forlorn that Jake stopped still. Ben wagged his tail, turned, and hastened off into the night, Jake trying to follow him.

Two blocks later, Jake gave up and turned around, his head down and a feeling of tremendous loss weighing heavily upon him.

The middle-aged woman in the boxy tweed suit at the door had to call out twice to be heard over the vacuum cleaner; when Esther turned the machine off, she gave Jake’s mother a tentative smile through the worn screen. “Missus Sparges?” she repeated. “Missus Esther Sparges?”