The anomalous boy leaned over and reached for the golden gorilla.
His hand soon gripped a furry limb.
“You only have one arm.”
“Correct.” Hug sat up and set the golden gorilla on his lap. “But it works just fine.”
The scarred woman said nothing.
At present, the anomalous boy stroked the tacky fur of the stuffed animal. Warm memories surfaced of a chubby, redheaded caretaker who had a neat beard and soft hands.
“You probably don’t remember me from when you were here the first time,” said the scarred woman. “I worked at the front desk as the receptionist.”
“I remember a little bit.”
“Well now I’m the Mistress of the orphanage—Mistress Jennifer Kimberly, and I’m in charge of everything. You do what I say, or you’ll get in trouble.”
“I’ll behave.”
Mistress Jennifer Kimberly openly appraised Hug for a ponderous moment.
Uncomfortable, the anomalous boy swallowed spit and forced a smile to his face. “Is Georgie still here . . . ?”
The instructor stopped breathing. Fists clenched on either side of her wide hips, and her eyebrows drew together.
A cold feeling filled Hug. His red eye blinked, and he waggled his nubbin.
A rigid index finger pointed to the two deep scars that ran from Mistress Jennifer Kimberly’s right temple all the way down to her chin.
“‘Georgie’ did this to me.”
Frightened, Hug lowered his gaze.
“Don’t you dare look away from me when I’m talking to you, Hug Hannersby!”
The anomalous boy looked up at the instructor.
“I won’t. I’m sorry.”
“‘Georgie’ no longer works here. An impartial jury of ‘Georgie’s’ peers put him in jail for the next five years because he assaulted me.
“Your beloved ‘Georgie’ is a very, very bad man.”
Mistress Jennifer Kimberly stared at Hug. It seemed like she was expecting him to contradict her in some way, but he said nothing.
His nubbin waggled twice.
Mollified, the instructor nodded her head. “The other orphans will return in two hours.”
“Okay.”
“Try not to scare them.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Mistress Jennifer Kimberly appraised Hug, grimaced, and turned away. Hard boot heels smacked the concrete as she walked past bunk beds and into the hallway, where she then paused and glanced over her shoulder.
“Welcome back, monster.”
The door slammed, and a bolt snapped.
Diminishing footfalls thudded down the inner hallway.
Alone in the corner of the sleeping quarters and sitting on a bare mattress, Hug stared at the toy ape.
“Darn it.”
XIII | Other Children
Waiting in the sleeping quarters of Johnstone’s Home for the Unwanted, Hug Hannersby watched the shadows that were cast by the sun grow longer and change directions. The question of whether or not he was responsible for Doctor Hannersby’s death was in his mind as were some dim, fond recollections of Georgie. Four small, pink fingers played absently with the golden gorilla for the duration of these midday ruminations.
Something rumbled in the hallway and garnered the attention of the anomalous boy. Accompanying this sound were whispers, squeaks, and giggles.
Heavy footfalls echoed.
Hug righted his sitting posture.
The door opened.
Silhouetted in the entryway was Mistress Jennifer Kimberly. “Hug Hannersby?”
“Yes?”
“Walk over to the middle of the sleeping quarters and stand there.”
“Okay.”
The anomalous boy ambled to the exact center of the room, and the instructor returned her attention to the hallway, where the sounds of children percolated.
“Everybody stand in a single-file line,” announced Mistress Jennifer Kimberly.
A rumbling sound came from the passage.
“Take the hand of whoever is in front of you,” ordered the instructor.
A few orphans whispered and giggled.
“This is serious,” stated Mistress Jennifer Kimberly, who then lowered her gaze to a nearby child. “I’ll take your hand, Hamilton, since you’re the leader. Now everyone, close your eyes.”
Hug imagined many sets of scrunched eyelids.
“Good,” remarked the instructor, who then leaned over and took the small pale hand of the child who stood at the front of the line. “I’ll lead all of you inside.”
Excited squeaks and whispers sounded in the passage.
Into the sleeping quarters, Mistress Jennifer Kimberly led a procession of twelve linked orphans whose eyes were tightly closed.
“Do not look until I give you permission to do so. Peeking is an infraction and punishable.”
The instructor led the children toward the anomalous boy who currently stood like a statue in the exact middle of the room.
Anxious, Hug waggled his nubbin.
“Halt,” ordered Mistress Jennifer Kimberly.
The twelve orphans stopped walking. Some of them looked as if they were excited, while others appeared to be fearful.
The anomalous boy looked at the instructor. “What do I do?”
A girl shrieked.
“What was that?” inquired a boy who had dark skin.
“Everybody stand still and be quiet,” ordered Mistress Jennifer Kimberly.
Hug silently mouthed the word, “Understood.”
“All right everyone . . . open your eyes.”
Twenty-four eyes looked at the anomalous boy.
Gasps, yelps, and screams echoed throughout the sleeping quarters. Two children fainted. Three boys ran to the farthest bed and climbed up to the top bunk, while a couple of others hid underneath small blankets. A freckled girl ran for the window and pounded on the glass with her closed fists. The wary remainder backed slowly away.
“Children,” Mistress Jennifer Kimberly said, “come back here at once.”
Frightened orphans remained at the perimeters of the room.
Hug knew that he was anomalous (and of great teratological interest), but he did not understand why the other children had run away from him. “I’m not scary.”
A hidden boy yipped.
“Dessert will be cancelled for an entire week unless you behave yourselves,” said the instructor. “Come back here right now and look at the new resident.”
Wary orphans who favored desserts approached Hug. Their steps were not hasty.
The anomalous boy surveyed the other children. Although each one was different in some way—some were tall and some were dark and some were girls—every single one of them had a round head, a protuberant nose, and matching sets of eyes, arms, and legs.
“Now that you’ve seen him,” Mistress Jennifer Kimberly stated, “you may go to your bunks for naptime.”
Relieved, the orphans dispersed. Bed springs squeaked as these symmetrical children climbed into their bunks.
At the age of five, Hug finally realized what it really meant to be anomalous. His nubbin waggled minutely.
“What’s wrong with me?”
XIV | Cold Coffee and Old Obituaries
Alone in a black-and-white kitchenette and sitting at a clear table was Abigail Westinghouse, who wore a maroon bathrobe and a matching slip. Her elbows, five Chinese food containers, and several art magazines crowded the large glass surface that took up half of the room.
At present, she scanned the obituary page of a local newspaper that had been lying around for no less than three weeks. Abigail and Meredith had occasionally read the more interesting death notices to each during their years as college roommates, regardless of the fact that this hobby was perceived by some to be morbid.
An obese cat thudded on the table. Three chopsticks arced into the air and clattered on the floor.
Irked, the brunette eyed the feline. “Oboe! You�
�ve made quite a mess.”
Oboe surveyed the disorganized apartment and looked at Abigail.
There was some sarcasm in this gaze.
“Don’t get sassy—I’ve intentions to clean up. Serious intentions.”
The cat had doubts.
“Now—with your permission—I’m going to continue reading about dead people.”
The obese feline did not object.
At present, the brunette returned her attention to the obituary page.
Papers rustled. Circumventing a pile of takeout containers, Oboe stepped on a packet of hot sauce.
Red fluid squirted onto Abigail’s left hand and the newspaper. “Crap.”
The cat fled, and the brunette got up, washed the condiment from her person, and returned to the dinner table. Hot sauce had highlighted one of the obituaries.
The reddened entry read: “Doctor Chauncey Hartfordshire Hannersby, 68, died yesterday after eating two mushrooms that were later determined to be toxic. The doctor of teratology is survived by his adoptive son, Hug Hannersby, 5, who will be returned to Johnstone’s Home for the Unwanted immediately following the funeral service this Saturday.
“Doctor Hannersby’s estate was willed to the Society for the Advancement of the Greater Eccentric Sciences, of which he was the founding member.”
The intervening years had lessened the feelings of guilt that arose whenever Abigail thought of Meredith’s child, but even now, those emotions had not fully faded. Perhaps some lingering misgivings regarding the orphan would haunt her always.
The brunette turned the page and claimed a chipped coffee mug from the edge of the table. Avoiding the cracked part of the rim, she drank.
Cold fluid that might have been liquefied dirt trespassed her anatomy.
“That was better two days ago.”
XV | Clandestine Crafts
Fluorescent lights illuminated the Arts & Crafts room, where long benches stood on either side of a main table that had paste jars, stacks of construction paper, and fat crayon boxes. Seated here were Hamilton, who still had blond curls upon his pristine head, Egg Roll, who was now a bit plump, Cocoa, who wore pig-tails and denim overalls, the freckled girl (who was named Cinnamon), and eight other children who drew somewhat recognizable pictures of houses, cars, and horses.
Alone in the far corner of the room and hunched in an orange plastic chair at a table of the same color was the six-and-a-half-year-old anomaly, Hug Hannersby. His nubbin had grown three inches during the previous eighteen months, and a mane of untamed white hair sprouted from his lumpy head.
At present, the anomalous boy stooped protectively over his newest work, which was possibly the greatest of his many secret projects.
“Hug!” Hamilton shouted across the room. “All week you’ve been hiding what you’re working on from us.”
The anomalous boy did not respond to this solicitation. Clandestinely, four fingers and nubbin shaped hidden materials.
“You drawing a blueprint for another rocket ship?” inquired the blond antagonist. “So you can go back to wherever you came from?”
“He can’t help how weird he is,” defended Cocoa.
“He’s Hugly!” shouted Egg Roll. “Very Hugly!”
“Stop pesterin’ him like that,” said Cinnamon, who talked funny because she was from the South, but was nicer than all of the other children for possibly the same reason.
“He shouldn’t hide things from us,” remarked an older girl. “This’s a democracy.”
In the corner, Hug huddled over his secret project and silently continued his work.
Hamilton pounded his right fist against the main table. Toppled crayon boxes spilled lines of color.
“Uh-oh,” said Cocoa, who then shook her pigtails.
The blond antagonist rose to his feet. “Hug! Show us what you’re working on.”
“No,” replied the anomalous boy. “It’s private.”
Hamilton walked around the central table and over to Hug. “Show us right now.”
The anomalous boy hunched over his secret project and turned his head. His brown eye blinked, followed by the red one, which had gotten a little milky since his arrival at the orphanage. Three fangs protruded from his lower gums.
Disgusted, Hamilton stepped away from Hug.
“Please leave me alone,” requested the anomalous boy, who then hid his secret project inside of his desk.
The blond antagonist stepped forward.
“Show me, or I’ll take it.”
“It’s private.”
Hamilton grabbed Hug, who then flung himself bodily from his seat.
The ground slammed into the entangled orphans, and the orange plastic chair skipped across the linoleum. A pair of pale hands squeezed the mottled neck of the anomalous boy. Mismatched knees were flung.
Hoots and cheers emerged from the watching children.
Hug coughed and wriggled, twisting to the left and to the right, but Hamilton would not release his neck. Fluorescent lights glared in the eyes of the anomalous boy, who was suddenly gasping for air.
“Be nice,” rasped Hug. “Be…nice!”
Frantically, his nubbin waggled.
Heavy footfalls sounded, and a shadow covered the combatants.
“Stop fighting at once!” barked Mistress Jennifer Kimberly.
Hamilton released Hug and stepped away.
Wheezing and seeing nonexistent lights, the anomalous boy stood.
The instructor put her hands on her hips and eyed the combatants.
“What happened here?”
“Hug attacked me,” said Hamilton. “He stole the—the—the thing I was working on and put it in his desk. He won’t give it back to me.”
“That’s a fib!” cried Hug. “An outrageous fib! It’s my—”
“Let me see what you’re hiding in that desk,” interjected Mistress Jennifer Kimberly.
“But it’s private. I don’t want to show anyone until it’s ready.”
The instructor glared at the anomalous boy. “Show it to me right now or there’ll be no desserts for anyone all week.”
“Show her!” shouted Egg Roll, the older girl, and five other children.
“Can I show you outside, in private?” asked Hug.
“Speak correctly. Say, ‘May I show you outside, in private?’”
“Okay—I’m sorry. May I show you outside, in private?”
“Absolutely not,” stated Mistress Jennifer Kimberly. “Show me right now in front of everybody.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The anomalous boy hobbled toward his desk. His curved leg was able to support his weight at this time, but his hitching gait was very lopsided.
A look of distaste played upon the instructor’s face as she watched him move.
Hug arrived at his desk, reached inside, and withdrew his secret project. Brought into the public eye and made out of papier mâché and wire was a sixteen-inch cylinder that was one fourth as big in diameter and bent in the middle. One end of this object was hollow, and the other end was a prehensile sculpture that had five curled digits.
Into the opening, the anomalous boy slid his nubbin.
Hug looked around the room and waggled the fake arm. “See? It’s just like a real one.”
“Why were you hiding this from everybody?” asked Mistress Jennifer Kimberly.
“I wanted to put it on at night . . . so that everyone would think it grew there by itself.”
Several boys laughed.
Pleased by this reaction, Hug waggled the papier mâché prosthesis.
A couple of other children giggled.
“It isn’t yet complete,” stated the anomalous boy. “I need to color the skin so that it’ll appear more lifelike.”
Cinnamon clapped. “It looks real good.”
Mistress Jennifer Kimberly leaned over and jerked the faux arm off of Hug.
“Ouch.”
The anomalous boy looked at his nubbin, which had been scratched by the brus
que removal of the fake arm.
“You can’t have this,” proclaimed the instructor.
“Why? I made it.”
“It’s too dangerous. You’ve already hurt yourself.”
“You did that. You pulled it off incorrectly.”
“Don’t contradict me.”
The anomalous boy swallowed the complaints that were in his mouth.
“You might use it to hurt someone else,” added Mistress Jennifer Kimberly. “I can’t allow you to have it.”
Hug shook his head. “I won’t hurt anybody—I promise that I won’t. Please . . . I worked on it for two weeks.”
Coolly, the instructor dropped the prosthesis on the ground and raised her right leg.
The anomalous boy felt his stomach knot. “Don’t.”
A thick boot heel stomped curled, papier mâché fingers.
Hug felt sick.
Mistress Jennifer Kimberly raised her right boot from the flattened hand. A second brutal stomp crushed the elbow and forearm.
Stunned, the anomalous boy stared at his destroyed creation.
“All right children,” Mistress Jennifer Kimberly said, “return to your assigned seats and resume your activities.”
Orphans dispersed and arranged their rumps upon the benches of the main table.
Mismatched eyes blinked and stung. A shadow fell, and Hug raised his watery gaze.
There stood Mistress Jennifer Kimberly. “You should draw pictures of houses like the other children.”
“Okay,” replied the anomalous boy, who had very little interest in houses.
“No more fake arms and spaceships.”
Hug was unable to verbalize the expected response. Instead, he simply nodded an affirmation.
“Even though you’re deformed, you should try to act properly.”
“Okay.”
The anomalous boy wiped his eyes and walked toward his private table. Something clanged inside of the metal garbage can, but he did not look back to verify whether or not this something had been his trampled creation.
Greenish-blue moonbeams slid through the window of the sleeping quarters. It was three minutes after eleven o’clock and all but one of the orphans that occupied this room were unconscious. This unsleeping individual lay upon a top bunk and wore a girl’s nightgown, which fit his anomalous shape better than did any of the boy’s pajamas.
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