There's Blood on the Moon Tonight (21 page)

Bud slapped the table in approval. “I say yes as well! What say you, Big Red?”

Josie O’Hara winked at Rusty. “I say Ralphie is
a
Cree
p
. A natural bor
n
Cree
p
. Now let’s get out of here. I’m parched, and unless that nasty old fridge in there is working, and you’ve stocked it with some Fresca, I’m for something cold and wet.”

“Amen to that,” Rusty said, heaving himself out of the chair. “Let’s pick up our newest member and head on over to Moon Man’s for a Root Beer Float. My treat!”

“Sounds good to me,” said Bud. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and peered into its empty depths, half expecting a moth to flutter out. “I’ve been broke for so long I can’t even remember what a dollar bill looks like. It’s got a picture of Boris Karloff on it, right?” 

             
            *******

Tubby Tolson finished off the last bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He peered morosely into his Spiderman lunch box. Except for a bag of carrot sticks (his mother might as well have packed
real
sticks), there was nothing left to eat. He knew he shouldn’t still be hungry after eating two sandwiches, two bags of corn chips, two boiled eggs, and a twin-pack of Hostess Twinkies, but doggone if he wasn’t.

             
He burped and shoved the plastic Baggies back into the lunchbox. His mother got sore if he threw them away. The same sandwich bags must’ve carried countless PB&J’s, over God knew how many years. His parents could squeeze a penny till old Abe farted.

             
He saved his Yoo-Hoo for last.

             
Tubby unscrewed the cap from his Thermos and chug-a-lugged the whole thing. “That hit the spot and rubbed ‘er out,” he said, smacking his lips.”

He replaced the thermos and latched up his beloved red and white lunch-pail. When he’d started high school the year before in Atlanta, Tubby had been dismayed to learn nobody there carried lunchboxes. They all brown-bagged it. Or did the cafeteria thing. For a time, he did the same, toting his lunch in a brown ice cream bag his mother had picked up at the Piggly Wiggly. After a week of eating alone in the schoolyard, he had to ask himself:
Why do I care what anyone thinks? No one will sit with me anyway.

Since then he’d used the Spiderman lunchbox, and ignored the smirks and comments it invariably provoked, in Atlanta and now here on Moon Island. In a way, Tubby thought the lunchbox defined him. His lonely individuality. His parents said he was too old to carry it around anymore; that it was time to put away “Childish Things.” But Tubby had stayed true to himself, refusing to part with his trusted talisman. Spiderman, like the monster models he still built and collected, was just something that got him “Worked Up,” as Bud had put it. Got his juices flowing. Heck, made him happy! So what could possibly be wrong with that?

Tubby’s parents, especially his mother, worried he lived in a fantasy world, that he was too immature for his age. She’d been against him skipping the ninth grade and going straight to the tenth the year before. Tubby had had to make one of his rare stands to convince her otherwise. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he finished his academic career, the better. 

He loved and respected his parents, but on this issue of his maturity, Tubby felt that they were dead wrong. Unlike most kids his age, he knew
exactly
what he wanted to be. A writer. Just like Stephen King.

Some of the very things that inspired Tubby to be an author had also directed Mr. King on that path—which was why meeting those three kids today seemed so serendipitous! Th
e
Creeps validated him in a way he had never before imagined possible. He’d spent his whole life alone, accepting his lonely lot for what it was, and now that he had friendship within his grasp, he’d never felt
so
alone!

“If they don’t vote me in, I don’t know what I’ll do,” he despaired. He immediately dispatched the thought from his head. Worrying about it wasn’t going to do him any good. He wondered why he hadn’t spoken up when Josie O’Hara said she wanted to be a writer. It would have been the perfect icebreaker! Then again, it might have looked as if he was trying too hard. And to think his parents thought he had no interest in girls!

Like most parents, even good ones like Frank and Emma Tolson, those two were way off base about their child’s sexual yearnings. It wasn’t that Tubby wasn’t interested—it’s just that girls weren’t interested in
him
.

A HUGE distinction!

It had been all he could do to keep from gawking at Josie O’Hara. Staring at those titian locks, the catlike eyes, the soft and tempting lips. The even softer breasts…

They call her
Joe
. And I bet it’s
Joe
, not Jo. A boy’s name…and yet on her it sounds so very scrumptious.

Tubby sat resting underneath a rare oak tree in the pine forest, ten yards or so from the path. Dangling moss tickled his ear and he brushed it away. Once more, it surprised him just how quiet it was out here, how peaceful. Too quiet, really. He supposed it took some getting used to. Like the constant hum of traffic in the city, even in the wee hours of the morning. This woodland setting was a welcome change from the mostly urban locales he’d grown accustomed to living. He stretched out under the tree with his hands behind his head. This outing had been such a treat, in fact, that he’d nearly forgotten his earlier humiliation at the hands of Lester Noonan. Quite possibly the worst bully he’d ever encountered.

The unwelcome memory of having his shirt ripped from his flabby body made his face and ears burn red with shame. Tears welled up in his eyes, and an all too familiar worry knot began to form in the tortured recesses of his gut.
Now
why did I have to go and think about that big jerk?

He dreaded going back to school tomorrow…

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he said aloud. A smile spread across his face. Breaking apart the old worry lines. He wouldn’t have to fret about it until Monday!
And maybe by then they’ll have
forgotten all about it!

Nothing beats a weekend for making problems at school go away. At least until Sunday night rolled around.

Alas, the good feeling didn’t even last that long.

A festering growth of bamboo across from him began to rattle and shake, as if something from within was trying to rip the green and yellow bamboo poles straight from the ground. Tubby caught sight of a leering red eye, peering out at him, and then it was gone, the bamboo knocking against each other like his knees.

Tubby sat upright and stared walleyed at the stand of bamboo, straining to catch a glimpse again of that leering red eye. The once peaceful piney woods didn’t seem so benign to him anymore. Wild things lived within these woods. Things with hungry red eyes. And sometimes, wild things liked to bite.
To feed…

             
Feeling vulnerable, sitting down like he was, Tubby struggled to his feet, holding his lunchbox tight against his thumping chest. He kept his eyes on the bamboo…

All at once the rustling and knocking stopped, and then...the sound of breathing. No. Not breathing.

Panting.

Tubby felt the curious eyes of another upon him…

A rabbit, minus an ear, bolted out of the bamboo patch like a brown shot, running between Tubby’s legs. Tubby stood there, too shocked to jump out of the way.

He turned and watched the bloodied animal disappear down the path in an instant, wondering if it was the same one he’d seen earlier. “I’d hate to see the rabbit that could do
that
…”

A low growl rumbled from within the deep thicket.

“That’s no bunny wabbit,” Tubby said, backing up towards the path. The path was his connection to civilization. If only he could get back to the
path
, everything might be…

A huge gray dog stepped out of the bamboo patch, its black lips curled back to reveal the largest teeth Tubby had ever seen on any dog. The breed was indeterminate. A cross between a Wolfhound and a Great Dane if he was forced to guess. Despite its size, and the fact it was well fed, Tubby thought that the animal, a female quite possibly, looked unwell. Her medium-length gray coat was matted and filthy, the stench something wretched, and her eyes…

Her bloodshot eyes appeared to flicker and glow.

No,
Tubby decided.
That’s just the light playing tricks.
Besides, her eyes, glowing or not, were the least of his troubles. Black tears trailed down the Gray’s face, adding to the layers of sickly discharge around her worrisome eyes and muzzle. Gnats buzzed about this gluey mess like bees to nectar. Dirty foam dripped from her agitated jaws; the sight of which flicked on all sorts of red flashing lights within Tubby’s head.

Sirens whooped and wailed, as a primal memory disinterred itself from the depths of his sleepy gray matter.

Without warning, the red-eyed bitch started snapping at the air, startling Tubby so much he screamed.

With every snarling snap, the foaming saliva seemed to explode in the air, adhering to the trees and bushes and ground, where it steamed and bubbled, like some living, hungry organism.

Despite all the internal alarms, Tubby still didn’t understand why this dog was so agitated. He’d run across territorial canines before, but
nothing
like this! Those other animals had just been trying to get a point across, to scare him away. He never believed any of them would have actually attacked him. This dog was different. This dog meant him bodily harm.
Maybe even to kill me.

Then and there, Tubby realized he had never before that moment been truly afraid. Bullies didn’t
really
scare him—they caused him great anxiety, sure.

But fear? No. Not really.

Right Here. Right Now.
THIS IS
FEAR
.

Fear was the implicit knowledge that the world would go right on turning without him. Fear was knowing he might die all alone out in these woods; his guts ripped open, eaten alive by this slavering hound, while his mother hummed merrily unaware in their kitchen. Preparing him a snack he would never see, much less eat.

His legs felt frozen to the earth, his body apart from him. He opened his mouth to scream but no sound emerged. His mind begged him to run, to cry out, fling his lunchbox at the dog, say the pledge of allegiance. Anything! Just do something, you dolt!

Somehow he got his legs moving backwards. The muscles in his thighs and calves felt like wet noodles, ready to buckle. His eyes blinked incessantly as he backed up; too afraid to turn his back on the animal; too afraid even to look to either side. His eyes remained focused on the angry gray dog. She advanced with him, step for step, as if trying to keep the exact distance between them. He paused with one foot in the air; she paused with one paw in the air. He picked up the pace; she picked up the pace.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she’s toying with me.
He reached the path, and here Tubby paused once more. The furious dog looked on expectantly, cocking her head to one side.

Which way to go…

To the right, not so far away, lay the lake. Calm and blue. Its deep waters a possible haven. To the left lay the long trek home. Tubby knew he couldn’t walk backwards all the way to the main road—that had to be at least five miles away! But maybe he could make it back to the lake before this crazy cur made her final charge.

He had to try. At the very least maybe Bud Brown would save his butt again. He hated the thought of bringing this mad…mad…
mad
…oh, God.
MAD!!!

The realization hit Tubby like a hard grounder to the gonads.
MAD! RABIES! OH SWEET SONNY JESUS! THIS DOG HAS
RABIES
!!! JUST LIKE CUJO AND OLD YELLER! AND IF SHE BITES ME…

The sudden insight made his stomach heave, and it was only through the grace of God he didn’t vomit right on top of his Nikes. Something told Tubby that if he stopped to throw up, the crazy bitch would be all over him before he could wipe the remains of his lunch from his chin.

He unconsciously picked up the pace, the dog keeping up every step of the way. Toying with him, really.

Her red eyes rolled loosely in their gummy sockets, and suddenly she was snapping viciously again at the air, shredding the hand of some invisible specter.

The saliva glopped on Tubby’s bare arm this time. Hot and alive. He stared in horror at the bubbling splotch. It looked like soapsuds but it burned like acid. Or maybe that was just in his head. Frantic, he wiped it off with the tail of his new shirt. He was well aware of the source of the disease.
In the saliva!
In the saliva! In the saliva!

The dog, satisfied she had chased the specter away, turned her attention back to the fat interloper.

Back, to her victim…

Tubby noticed that the dog’s legs were shaking, and he wondered if he might be able to outrun the sick animal. She cocked her head to the side as if reading Tubby’s thoughts. She began to advance on him in earnest now, her trembling legs shaking even more violently than before.