Scratch (10 page)

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Also by Brian Keene

The Rising

City of the Dead

Earthworm Gods

Ghoul

Dead Sea

Kill Whitey

Dark Hollow

Darkness on the Edge of Town

Castaways

Urban Gothic

A Gathering of Crows

Take the Long Way Home

Jack’s Magic Beans

Tequila’s Sunrise

The Cage

Shades
(with Geoff Cooper)

Clickers II: The Next Wave
(with J.F. Gonzalez)

Clickers III: Dagon Rising
(with J.F. Gonzalez)

The Damned Highway: Fear and Loathing in Arkham
(with Nick Mamatas)

Continue reading for an excerpt from Robert Swartwood’s novella
The Man on the Bench

“I absolutely loved
The Man on the Bench
. It was wondrous, intriguing, sweet, scary, surprising ... everything a good story should be.”

—
David B. Silva

1

The summer of my first kiss was also the summer of the man on the bench.
 

It was 1922. Three years since the Treaty of Versailles was signed ending the war with Germany. Two years since a little unknown man named Adolf Hitler helped found the Nazi party in Munich. Henry Ford’s Model T was owned by over half the driving population of America, and in Paris James Joyce’s
Ulysses
was first published.
 

But all of this and everything else meant nothing to me.
 

I was nine years old, living in the backwater town of Benton, Pennsylvania. The only worries I had besides my chores were having fun and keeping out of trouble at the same time.
 

Except that all changed within the course of a few weeks.
 

A shadow fell across our tiny town.
 

First the cats disappeared.
 

Then the little girls.
 

But before that, there were Bobby, Joseph, Curtis, and Melvin. And their need to inflict pain on anyone younger than them.

2

Benton wasn’t one of your normal small towns.
 

Our general store wasn’t one of those places kids went into with wide eyes, their mouths drooling over all the candy in the jars. It was just some rundown house owned by Mr. Parker, who ordered supplies every week and had them shipped in from Harrisburg.
 

Our school had one room and was used for church on Sundays. Usually the only kids who attended were from ages six to twelve. The other kids took the three-mile hike into Providence, which was a prosperous mining town to the north. Not quite a suburb yet but getting mighty close.
 

There was no mayor, no township, and no office to elect a constable, so the one from Providence occasionally made his way into Benton to make sure everyone was keeping civil.
 

And for the most part everyone was.
 

Everyone except the children, though there were hardly many of them all told. Just enough to squeeze into that one-room school house, no more.
 

The only boys my age were William Dukes and Fred Wilson. We were best friends and closer than glue.
 

Except when Bobby and the rest of them were after us.
 

Then it was every man for himself.

3

It was a hot Thursday afternoon and we were down by the creek on the other side of Miller Road. It was a narrow thing, not much good for fishing and such, but at least the water was cool and came up to our knees when we stepped in. There were usually frogs in there along with crawfish and we’d try our best to find them, to try to get ourselves a new pet to play with.
 

We were doing just that when Bobby and the others showed up. They were all older than us, Bobby the oldest at fourteen. It seemed they never really had much to do except chase after us.
 

In Benton, there really wasn’t much else to do.
 

“Well, well,” Bobby said, grinning his crooked ugly grin. “What do we have here?”
 

It was enough for us. We darted out of the water towards the road, leaving our shoes and shirts behind. They weren’t worth getting anyway, and besides, it was a safe bet we’d find them eventually. Even if they would be hanging from a tree.
 

Though we weren’t a gang or anything, William was our leader. He was the strongest, the smartest, and we always listened to whatever it was he had to say. We’d follow him over a cliff if he led us. He was that kind of guy.
 

Now he was leading us up the road through the high grass. Behind us we heard Bobby and the rest as they splashed through the creek and shouted after us.
 

Across the road were the woods, which weren’t really woods at all but only a couple of acres of trees, with an opening in the middle with a small pond and field. Through the woods was Harris Road that led to most of the houses in Benton, ours included.
 

The obvious choice was to head through the woods and try to lose them there. Bobby and the others probably knew this, as did William, so maybe that was why William shouted, “Down the road!” and swerved that way.
 

Fred was right behind him, following without hesitation.
 

But I hesitated. I didn’t understand. Going through the woods would be the better choice.
 

Behind me, the shouting was getting closer.
 

I second-guessed myself and kept going straight.
 

I glanced over my shoulder just once as I broke into the shade and dashed through the trees. Bobby shouted something to Joseph, Curtis, and Melvin, and they took off down the road after William and Fred. Bobby kept going straight for me.
 

I never really understood why Bobby hated me so much. As he was the leader of the pack he roamed with, it would only make sense he’d go after the leader of our pack. Instead he always came after me.
 

Always made sure he had more punches for me than anyone else. But the beatings were never too bad. Not bad enough that my mother would notice. At least Bobby and the rest of them were smart on that end, because they knew none of us would say anything. Because we were nine and telling on them would mean we were babies and we were nine and we were
not
babies.
 

I guess, though, I did know the reason deep down.
 

Angela, Bobby’s sister, was almost a year younger than me. Eight years old wasn’t much, but she was pretty, that was for sure. And though I wasn’t in love with her, I did like her to some extent. But I guess she liked me even more and Bobby knew this and hated the idea of his sister liking a little brat like me.
 

I ran full out through the trees, dodging limbs and leaves. I’d been roaming through here as long as I’d been alive and knew the way pretty good. Then again, Bobby had been roaming them longer and he knew them even better.
 

I was chubbier than most kids my age, but not fat, and somehow I was able to run pretty fast for my size. But sometimes it wasn’t fast enough. I hoped it would be this time.
 

Through the trees out into the clearing towards the pond and open field. There was a wooden bench there by the pond, something that looked as if it’d been there since the beginning of time, and I wished an adult was sitting there now, because only adults made Bobby stop, made him slow down and smile and try to act like a decent young man his age.
 

But there was no one there. I was alone, just me and the huffing and puffing monster behind me, who sounded as if he was catching up.
 

I sprinted through the field, towards more trees, my bare feet smashing down the grass. I briefly wondered where William and Fred were, how far they’d gone and whether or not Joseph, Curtis, and Melvin had given them any punches yet.
 

“Come on,” Bobby shouted, eagerness in his voice, “I just want to talk!”

Heading into the trees that would take me out onto Harris Road and to the safety of houses and adults, I glanced over my shoulder only once, hoping and wishing and praying that Bobby would trip, that he would fall on his face.
 

Only it was me who tripped.
 

Right over my own stupid feet and then I was down, skidding across the grass and burning my chest.
 

Bobby was on me a second later, his knee digging into my back and his hand pressing my face into the ground.
 

“Aw, poor baby,” he said, laughing, and pressed my face even harder until I could hardly breath.
 

I did whatever I could to get him off, kicking and bucking and waving my arms, but it was no use. My eyes were squeezed so tight I couldn’t see anything but white dots in the dark and I started to cry—I started to cry just like he wanted me to and I hated myself for it.
 

Then, suddenly, his hand and knee were gone.
 

For some reason I didn’t realize this at first, and just lay there, my face pressed into the grass, still kicking and bucking and crying.
 

“Ethan, get up.”
 

It wasn’t Bobby’s voice.
 

I raised my head, tears in my eyes, and saw my Uncle Grant standing a couple yards away, putting most of his weight on his good leg. He was dressed in his work clothes and had his arms crossed, scowling at Bobby.
 

Sniffling, I stood up and wiped my face. Glanced behind me and saw Bobby standing there, his hands behind his back, like he’d just gotten there and didn’t know what was going on.
 

“Are you all right, Ethan?”
 

I looked at my uncle and nodded once.
 

“Well, Robert, what do you have to say for yourself?”
 

Bobby had nothing to say for himself. He stood with his hands behind his back and stared ahead, a slight knowing grin on his face.
 

“Well?”
 

“Well what, sir?”
 

I slowly walked towards my uncle, who continued standing there with his arms crossed.
 

“I think an apology is in order.” My uncle’s hand fell on my shoulder, and he gently turned me around to face Bobby. “Come on now, Robert, tell Ethan you’re sorry.”
 

Bobby’s eyes left my uncle’s and stared straight into mine. It wasn’t so much a stare as it was a glare. He opened his mouth and I saw his teeth gritted together.
 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice complete ice.
 

I wasn’t sure which I hated more, being beaten up by Bobby or my uncle saving me. Because now the anger in Bobby was just going to boil, and the next time we met up the beating would be even worse.
 

“Okay now. Why don’t you run along, Robert, before I feel the need to call on your parents.”
 

Bobby’s eyes shifted back to my uncle and for a moment he did nothing more than stare. Then he nodded and turned away, started back towards the pond and the trees.
 

I watched him leave and then felt my uncle’s hand pulling me away. I looked up and saw him nodding at the trees towards Harris Road.
 

We walked in silence for a while. William and Fred crossed my mind and I wondered just how far they’d gotten. Had they outrun Joseph, Curtis, and Melvin? Or had they gotten caught, were now sustaining some kind of beating, a beating that would only increase when Bobby got there and dished out whatever he felt like giving them?
 

“It was the strangest thing,” my uncle said. “I was walking along the road and thought I heard some shouting and for some reason knew you were in trouble. So I ran through the trees and yes, there you were. Are you sure you’re all right?”
 

I nodded once again without a word.
 

“What about William and Fred? Where are they?”
 

I shrugged. I didn’t feel much like talking.
 

We’d entered the trees and were now making it out onto the side of the road.
 

“What about your clothes? You know you can’t go back home without your mom asking you where the rest of your clothes went to.”