[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
59
douglas clegg
that eats, and you got to feed god so's it won't eat
you first."
I could smell his bad breath, just like he'd been vom-
iting candy all morning: sweet and sticky and warm. I
just couldn't bring myself to look back at the dark open-
ing of the crate. Sumter's eyes rolled up a little, so I
could only see their whites, and he gave out with a little
gasp like someone had surprised him — he was making
some motion with one hand over the other. He had
used the metal edge of the soda-pop tab and sliced
down on the flesh that ran between thumb and forefin-
ger of his left hand. He used his other hand to milk the
blood out of it — a few droplets of red hit the edge of
the crate. Something smelled funny, and I noticed he
had a growing wet stain down around his zipper.
More drippy blood spat from his hand to the
opening in the crate.
He let out a long sigh just the way Grammy Weenie
did in her sleep when I thought she was giving up the
ghost, and then his eyes rolled down into their nor-
mal places.
I had goose bumps just about everywhere on my
body I could admit to, and I heard the thing move in
the crate as it came toward the few drops of blood
he'd squeezed out.
Someone said, "Good, good."
I looked at Sumter again: had he just said that?
I didn't want to look back in the crate and take the
chance of seeing that gross face, but I did, and there
60
neverland
was nothing like it within a mile: in the crate was what
I thought I had seen at first.
A horseshoe crab.
Only now it was different.
Now, it was alive.
Its helmet-back dull and dusty, its dozen legs
scraping and clacking against the splintery wood, its
spiny tail rising and falling. The thing seemed big-
ger than life, larger than Sumter's hands put
together as he hefted it up out of the crate, its tail
whiffling through the air, its tiny claw legs slicing
across one another.
"You feed it blood? Jesus, you feed it blood?" I took a
step back and practically tripped on a clay pot. "Jesus,
it's alive, you . . . blood . . . feed . . . "
"Yeth," he lisped, inhaling deeply, and he did
something then that seemed so horrifying to me,
more than the blood on the edge of the crab's shell,
more than my growing sense that there was some-
thing else, something almost human in the shack with
us. He brought the crab up to his face and pressed its
underside to his lips. The spiny tail flicked straight
up and down, and its legs clung to his cheeks, and a
noise came out of my cousin like I'd never heard, a
wheezing noise like Grampa Lee made on his
deathbed, like Grammy Weenie when she was snor-
ing away, but mostly like Sumter was feeling a kind of
pleasure I had never seen another human being feel.
Like an expiring sigh.
61
douglas clegg
"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" I screamed and leapt forward
and grabbed the crab off his face; I heard a sound
like a sheet ripping in two.
As I pulled the creature from his face, his skin
came with it.
His face was just a mass of black dripping muscle
and lumpy fat and bone, and in my hands — the
other side of his skin, a perfect mask of Sumter.
"Good, good," someone said, and it was Sumter's
skin stuck to the crab, flattened like a pancake, torn
lips smacking.
My hands were shaking so much that the horse-
shoe crab rattled, but I could feel it trying to pull my
hands, and it, toward my own face, and I felt a calm
the way they say drowning people feel, and even I
wanted to bring that crab with the flapping human
skin to my face and feel the pleasure Sumter felt.
"Good," the faceskin smacked.
As hard as I could, I smashed the crab down on
the edge of the wheelbarrow, and when it hit the
ground I stomped my bare foot hard on it, again and
again and again.
When I was sure it had been completely destroyed, and
my feet were cut and bleeding from where they'd cracked
the shell, I felt his hand on my shoulder and jumped at his
touch as if I'd just been given an electric shock.
Sumter was whole; his face was intact. I couldn't
believe it; I kept half expecting the skin to be ripped
away again, but it remained.
62
neverland
He was mad as hell.
"You fool," he snarled, "it was a trick, it wasn't real,
goddamn you, that wasn't even god, you moron, I was
just testing you, and you failed, Beau, you failed big-
time. Get out of my clubhouse and don't you ever
come back here, ever. You just think you're so smart,
but I just showed you, didn't I? I just showed you!
Don't you ever dare come back here again!"
4
I wandered the bluffs for hours, confused by what I'd
just seen. It hadn't been like any dream I'd ever had: I
really believed that I had seen his face ripped off, and
had no desire to ever set foot back in that shack
again. I heard the blood pumping through my body,
and the sun felt good on my face and neck. I am alive,
nothing happened. Just scared. The world seemed like it
had been just polished; I noticed the bark on trees,
and the birds in them, chattering away; the sea air
almost took my breath away, it was so strong and
thick. Just scared. I decided then and there that I
would not play with Sumter at all anymore, that he
was too weird, and his Neverland was just an awful
bad place. I would never go back inside there as long
as I lived, and he could just go and sell his soul to the
Devil for all I cared, but I was well out of it.
But as I passed the shack, on the way home in
the afternoon, I picked up its scent, like just-turned
63
douglas clegg
earth in a garden, and I told myself that it had been
my imagination, or a trick, like Sumter had said.
How had he done that? I don't care, he's just perverse,
and I'm not gonna be part of it. Maybe he'd used a
Halloween mask. It must've been a pretty neat one,
too. It looked real, but maybe if I hadn't been so
scared (you're a fool) I would've seen the seams, or
the wires, or where it didn't fit over his face right.
They always advertised masks like that in the back [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
59
douglas clegg
that eats, and you got to feed god so's it won't eat
you first."
I could smell his bad breath, just like he'd been vom-
iting candy all morning: sweet and sticky and warm. I
just couldn't bring myself to look back at the dark open-
ing of the crate. Sumter's eyes rolled up a little, so I
could only see their whites, and he gave out with a little
gasp like someone had surprised him — he was making
some motion with one hand over the other. He had
used the metal edge of the soda-pop tab and sliced
down on the flesh that ran between thumb and forefin-
ger of his left hand. He used his other hand to milk the
blood out of it — a few droplets of red hit the edge of
the crate. Something smelled funny, and I noticed he
had a growing wet stain down around his zipper.
More drippy blood spat from his hand to the
opening in the crate.
He let out a long sigh just the way Grammy Weenie
did in her sleep when I thought she was giving up the
ghost, and then his eyes rolled down into their nor-
mal places.
I had goose bumps just about everywhere on my
body I could admit to, and I heard the thing move in
the crate as it came toward the few drops of blood
he'd squeezed out.
Someone said, "Good, good."
I looked at Sumter again: had he just said that?
I didn't want to look back in the crate and take the
chance of seeing that gross face, but I did, and there
60
neverland
was nothing like it within a mile: in the crate was what
I thought I had seen at first.
A horseshoe crab.
Only now it was different.
Now, it was alive.
Its helmet-back dull and dusty, its dozen legs
scraping and clacking against the splintery wood, its
spiny tail rising and falling. The thing seemed big-
ger than life, larger than Sumter's hands put
together as he hefted it up out of the crate, its tail
whiffling through the air, its tiny claw legs slicing
across one another.
"You feed it blood? Jesus, you feed it blood?" I took a
step back and practically tripped on a clay pot. "Jesus,
it's alive, you . . . blood . . . feed . . . "
"Yeth," he lisped, inhaling deeply, and he did
something then that seemed so horrifying to me,
more than the blood on the edge of the crab's shell,
more than my growing sense that there was some-
thing else, something almost human in the shack with
us. He brought the crab up to his face and pressed its
underside to his lips. The spiny tail flicked straight
up and down, and its legs clung to his cheeks, and a
noise came out of my cousin like I'd never heard, a
wheezing noise like Grampa Lee made on his
deathbed, like Grammy Weenie when she was snor-
ing away, but mostly like Sumter was feeling a kind of
pleasure I had never seen another human being feel.
Like an expiring sigh.
61
douglas clegg
"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!" I screamed and leapt forward
and grabbed the crab off his face; I heard a sound
like a sheet ripping in two.
As I pulled the creature from his face, his skin
came with it.
His face was just a mass of black dripping muscle
and lumpy fat and bone, and in my hands — the
other side of his skin, a perfect mask of Sumter.
"Good, good," someone said, and it was Sumter's
skin stuck to the crab, flattened like a pancake, torn
lips smacking.
My hands were shaking so much that the horse-
shoe crab rattled, but I could feel it trying to pull my
hands, and it, toward my own face, and I felt a calm
the way they say drowning people feel, and even I
wanted to bring that crab with the flapping human
skin to my face and feel the pleasure Sumter felt.
"Good," the faceskin smacked.
As hard as I could, I smashed the crab down on
the edge of the wheelbarrow, and when it hit the
ground I stomped my bare foot hard on it, again and
again and again.
When I was sure it had been completely destroyed, and
my feet were cut and bleeding from where they'd cracked
the shell, I felt his hand on my shoulder and jumped at his
touch as if I'd just been given an electric shock.
Sumter was whole; his face was intact. I couldn't
believe it; I kept half expecting the skin to be ripped
away again, but it remained.
62
neverland
He was mad as hell.
"You fool," he snarled, "it was a trick, it wasn't real,
goddamn you, that wasn't even god, you moron, I was
just testing you, and you failed, Beau, you failed big-
time. Get out of my clubhouse and don't you ever
come back here, ever. You just think you're so smart,
but I just showed you, didn't I? I just showed you!
Don't you ever dare come back here again!"
4
I wandered the bluffs for hours, confused by what I'd
just seen. It hadn't been like any dream I'd ever had: I
really believed that I had seen his face ripped off, and
had no desire to ever set foot back in that shack
again. I heard the blood pumping through my body,
and the sun felt good on my face and neck. I am alive,
nothing happened. Just scared. The world seemed like it
had been just polished; I noticed the bark on trees,
and the birds in them, chattering away; the sea air
almost took my breath away, it was so strong and
thick. Just scared. I decided then and there that I
would not play with Sumter at all anymore, that he
was too weird, and his Neverland was just an awful
bad place. I would never go back inside there as long
as I lived, and he could just go and sell his soul to the
Devil for all I cared, but I was well out of it.
But as I passed the shack, on the way home in
the afternoon, I picked up its scent, like just-turned
63
douglas clegg
earth in a garden, and I told myself that it had been
my imagination, or a trick, like Sumter had said.
How had he done that? I don't care, he's just perverse,
and I'm not gonna be part of it. Maybe he'd used a
Halloween mask. It must've been a pretty neat one,
too. It looked real, but maybe if I hadn't been so
scared (you're a fool) I would've seen the seams, or
the wires, or where it didn't fit over his face right.
They always advertised masks like that in the back [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]