The boy always seemed to be searching for something with an intensity that matched Simon’s own. And his affinity for the graveyard confused Simon. Sometimes, as the sun set, he watched from the safety of his crypt as Elliot ran about the graveyard with a sense of mysterious purpose. Did he know about the Button Man?
* * *
In the graveyard, Elliot was looking for 1971. His quest was interrupted by the arrival of Shawn Wells. Shawn was years older than Elliot, and lived three houses away. He’d spied his neighbor entering the cemetery three days ago, and now casually looked that way whenever he was in the kitchen, on the off chance his victim had returned. And while Shawn had always been an equal-opportunity bully, the more withdrawn Elliot grew, the more Shawn seemed fascinated with Elliot’s behavior. No amount of physical or verbal abuse seemed to deter the boy from his collecting or his counting. It soon became a challenge.
This time, Shawn didn’t say anything. He just slouched lazily across one of the headstones and watched Elliot scurrying about the cemetery. Elliot kept glancing up nervously, and soon abandoned his search. Shawn grinned triumphantly as the smaller boy retreated through the gate.
“That’s what I thought!”
* * *
Elliot gloomily returned home. He went to the rear of the house, but his mother had already finished and gone inside. Simon followed his trudging footsteps as he clambered up the back porch, noting that he softly counted each step. The footsteps stopped, briefly, directly above him. Simon stared straight up, breathing in, exhaling. Repeat. He started counting the breaths to himself.
Finally, the steps continued on into the house. Simon continued counting each individual breath, and sleep claimed him. The Button Man stayed away for hours.
This time in the dark dream, Simon himself felt the Button Man’s blade, and it startled him awake. One hand clutched at his chest, and the things within him pushed outward against his chest, reassuringly, like the beat of a chorus of hearts.
He slowly moved out from under the porch into the night air. He reached into the pocket of his ragged pants and felt the weight of the buttons therein. He cinched the rope that held the pants up a little tighter. The button that had previously done the work had been one of the first added to his collection.
He’d never been away from the cemetery tunnel this long. It made him slightly nervous. As he prepared to slink across the yard, he glanced back to make sure the home’s occupants were asleep, or at least not anywhere they could see him.
His eyes fell on a single dark button lying in the center of the porch.
Simon stopped breathing. There was no question, it had been left for him. Was it a trap? Countless years of mistrust and words of warning told him it had to be. On the heels of the nightmare, he even pondered if it could have been set by the Button Man.
Paranoia was soon replaced by a stronger sense of conviction, though. The boy’s footsteps had stopped overhead. He had come back while Simon slumbered. It wasn’t a trap. It was a gift.
Simon stepped carefully onto the porch. He picked up the button and put it in the pocket opposite the rest of his collection. The mystery button could not mingle, and potentially taint, the rest. Not yet. He would somehow find a way to vet the button.
One of the porch windows was half open, and another button lay on the sill. It had clearly come from the same article of clothing. It quickly joined the first button in his pocket, and he stood in front of the window. Another button lay in sight on the hardwood floor of the dining room.
Simon’s lips pursed, and his pale skin blackened as the ephemeral black shapes within him rushed to his face. Without even finding it necessary to compact his frame, Simon climbed into the house and advanced on the third button. Three buttons later, he stood in front of Elliot’s door. He hesitated, took a long, deep breath, and then pushed the door open.
Elliot was awake in bed, knees pulled up to his chin. Waiting. Anticipating. Simon slowly walked into the room. He could hear the woman breathing noisily down the hall, and so he gently pulled the boy’s door shut behind him.
One last button sat at the end of the bed. Simon crawled onto the bed, his slight form barely making an impression. He sat cross-legged and picked the button up, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.
Elliot stared at the boyish creature before him. His feet were bare, and his toes were slightly elongated, just like his fingers. In the dark, his skin almost seemed to glow. Dark shapes moved under the skin, swimming up and down his forearms. His eyes were shiny orbs of black, glistening curiously at the human boy in front of him.
They were both silent until Elliot slowly asked, “Seven?”
“Seven,” came the reply.
* * *
Two days later, Elliot was crawling through a small hole in the back wall of the mausoleum. The dirt tunnel led away into a large chamber inside the cemetery’s hill. In the center of the chamber, low flat stones ringed a black hole that dove deeper into the earth. Simon had not tried to search anywhere past the central chamber. Whatever Breed had lived there in the distant past, the dust and disuse in the central chamber proved they were long gone. No one else fleeing Midian had come upon the refuge.
Elliot was soon sitting in the dirt, moving buttons back and forth, counting diligently by the light of a single lantern. Simon had been busy. There were two small bags from the previous towns he had visited, and his newest buttons were in small, discrete piles on the stone floor. Over the last two days, Elliot had begun arranging them in various geometric shapes from one end of the room to the other. Simon was pleased.
Simon chewed thoughtfully at the roast-beef sandwich that the boy had presented him with. Each time he swallowed, dark shapes moved up and down his throat, ferrying bits of food to unknown locations hidden by his dirty T-shirt. Elliot was fascinated by the process, and having a difficult time splitting his attention between the button collection and dinner.
Simon noticed the boy intently watching him. “What is it?”
Elliot felt his face redden as he was caught staring. He fumbled mentally, and then finally asked, “Why the buttons?”
The crypt dweller answered by firing back, “Why do you count?”
“It makes everything quiet.”
Simon nodded. It made sense to him. Ever since he had begun observing Elliot’s behavior, the nightmares were getting better. The counting instituted some order in the mad chaos of the memories of Midian’s end.
“Was there a time before buttons?”
“Yes. Why? Was there a time before counting?”
“Yes.”
Simon thought of his brother. His insides writhed in sympathetic sadness. “Was it a happier time?”
“I guess. Maybe.” Elliot sighed. “Not really.”
Simon made an apologetic sound.
Elliot began segregating buttons by color. “I count everything, though. Everything. It makes my mom nuts.” His face fell. “It makes everyone nuts. Why just buttons for you?”
Simon’s eyes narrowed as he thought of the Button Man. “I’m looking for the right button.”
“How will you know?”
“I’ve seen these two buttons before.”
“What happens when you find them?”
What would happen when he found them, after he killed the Button Man? Or killed him again, maybe, if the rumors contained half truths. What then? Would he try to find the other Breed? Would there be another refuge? Or had Midian taught them a lesson. Was it better to live on the fringes, alone?
Simon finally shrugged as the thought of the confrontation caused the small black organs to race back and forth under his skin angrily. Elliot began to impulsively count the shapes running up and down his friend’s left ankle.
“The nightmares stop.”
* * *
Days passed. Both Elliot and Simon found themselves looking forward to their visits. On a particularly gloomy day, though, Elliot crawled into their sanctum and immediately put his back to his friend. S
imon crawled across the floor, eventually pointing to Elliot’s face.
“What happened?”
His lower lip was split and puffy. Elliot gingerly reached up, fingertips coming away slightly bloody.
“Nothing.”
“Did someone … hurt … you?”
“This bigger kid named Shawn. He was just fooling around. He’s always … fooling around.”
Elliot ground his teeth and suddenly flipped the button he was holding into the well in the center of the chamber. Both of them reached out, but it was much too late. The button had vanished soundlessly.
“Sorry,” Elliot mumbled.
Simon leaned in, staring at the blood welling up and trailing down the boy’s chin. He slowly reached up, two fingers extended. As they approached Elliot’s skin, the fingers blackened, and Simon felt himself trembling. The things inside him all rushed forward. His digits became engorged, and the blackness started to ooze right from his pores. Simon gently poked Elliot’s lip, and some of the dark liquid moved into the boy, suffusing across his ruddy face. Likewise, some of Elliot’s blood soaked into Simon’s fingertips.
Elliot rubbed at his face. “It itches.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said sheepishly. “I think they like you, though.”
“What are they?”
“I don’t know, but they’ve always been with me. With me and my brother.”
“You have a brother?”
Simon was silent.
“Oh.”
Simon picked up a button and sent it into the well. This time, neither of them reached out after it.
Elliot cleared his throat nervously, and then asked, “What did you wish for?”
“What?”
“When you throw a penny in a well, you get to make a wish. I figured this was close enough.”
Simon stared into the hole in the ground, and then whispered, “Monsters don’t get wishes.”
He sat down, and it was his turn to face away. The two sat silently, lost in their own thoughts. There was no counting. There were no buttons.
* * *
It was three days later when Kathryn Miller’s mind finally broke.
There are many things that a mother always hopes to never walk in on her son doing. As she stood in the open door and stared at her son staring up at her, a pile of buttons to one side, a pile of ruined clothing to the other, she vaguely wished that it were any of those other things.
Elliot looked fearfully up at her, but she just slowly knelt down next to him. In the last few seconds, she had officially become incapable of caring.
“What are you going to do with all of these buttons?”
Was this a trick? No yelling? No tears? He decided to be honest with her. “They’re for my friend.”
She began to pull all of the clothes he’d destroyed to her. “Oh? That’s a relief. ’Cause if they were for you … Well, that would just be crazy, right?”
“Right,” he replied, uncertainly.
“Why’s your friend need all of our buttons?”
“He’s going to stop the Button Man.”
“Do you mean the Bogey Man?”
Elliot looked at her sternly. “The Bogey Man’s not real, Momma.”
She stood up and looked down at the earnest sincerity on her son’s face. Nervous laughter spilled out as she walked away, dragging one of her dresses. “Of course he’s not.”
* * *
The next day, Elliot presented Simon with his grand haul. The two of them eagerly began to count and sort through the newest additions, as well as the ones that Simon had gathered from across town the night before.
Elliot stopped at one point, looking down at his hands and the buttons they clutched. “I think there’s something wrong with my mom. She’s acting really weird.”
A voice spoke from across the chamber, near the tunnel to the crypt. “Of course she’s acting weird, she knows she has a freak for a son.”
It was Shawn.
Shawn had watched Elliot make his customary pilgrimage to the cemetery, and had followed him. He had hesitated in the mausoleum, at first because he overlooked the small tunnel entrance, and then because he was unsure if he really wanted to crawl into a small dark hole in a cemetery.
Curiosity won out, though, especially when he realized that nobody knew what either of them were doing.
Nobody would know.
Shawn soon made his way into the central chamber. He was initially disappointed at the spectacle before him. He didn’t know what he would find, but Elliot ruling over a kingdom of buttons in the dark was not it.
“Shawn,” Elliot whispered with dread. He turned to where Simon had been sitting, but there was only flickering light playing across the wall.
“Holy shit, kid.” Shawn kicked his way across the room, scattering piles of buttons. Somewhere in the darkness, Elliot heard Simon hiss angrily, but Shawn could not hear over the miniature carnage he was creating.
“Everyone knows you’ve got issues, but man, this is just fucking nuts.”
Elliot was shaking. He should have made sure nobody followed him. What was he going to do? And where was Simon? He dropped down and impulsively began to move buttons around, quietly counting them.
“Knock it off!”
Shawn pulled Elliot to his feet. Elliot reached out and started grabbing at the small metal snap buttons on the older boy’s varsity jacket.
“Jesus, what’s with you and buttons?!”
Elliot clung to the jacket, and Shawn spun him around. His feet entangled, Elliot suddenly found himself tripping over the low stone wall around the well-like hole that dominated the chamber. He gasped in fright before tumbling over the side. He frantically grabbed at the stones, breaking his fall before plunging into the darkness.
Breathing hard, Shawn stepped over and looked down. The lantern did nothing to light the black maw. It could have ended inches below Elliot’s scrabbling sneakers, or it could be bottomless. He had no idea.
But he could find out.
Shawn leered down as Elliot made mewling sounds of protest, trying to pull himself up.
“So you like to count, huh?”
He reached down and grabbed one of the boy’s fingers, wrenching it up and away from the stone. Elliot howled in pain as Shawn called out, “One!”
Shawn stood up, and howled into the darkness. “Man, you’re right, that’s good stuff! Now count with me!”
Elliot gritted his teeth, choking back sobs.
“Fucking count with me or I’m just going to drop a rock on your retarded head, kid.”
“One,” Elliot muttered.
Shawn went for another finger. There was a tiny snap, followed by, “Two!”
Elliot was crying now. He couldn’t say the number. He wanted to be brave and strong, and to protect his friend. His fingers hurt so much, though. As Shawn leaned in again, Elliot called out for Simon.
“Simon? Who’s Simon?”
The light in the chamber dimmed briefly as the lantern was lifted off the ground, and then dashed across the floor. Shawn spun around as flames began to claim button and bag.
Simon stood in the glow, black eyes wide, gray teeth showing in a rictus grin, hands reaching out for Shawn.
“What the fuck are you?!”
Buttons were melting and burning around him. His collection was destroyed, his sanctuary ruined, but Simon could only think of the horrible night that had claimed his brother. In the glow of the fire, Shawn’s metal buttons gleamed, taunting. They flashed as Shawn twisted to run, a metallic sheen like the cruel knife of the Button Man.
Simon’s finger bones pushed outward, rushing to join the black ephemera. Bones elongated and poked through the skin, forming long talons. Simon’s hissing grew louder, and he raked at his dirty T-shirt with his claws. The tattered cloth fell away, and his chest was a dizzying mass of zigzagging blackness and skeletal protrusions. Fountains of bone welled up against the skin, capped with large, organic buttons. Each button had four holes,
with tiny knots of sinew that held them in place. As they broke free from his skin, dark ichor spewed outward. These were the buttons that haunted Simon’s dreams, the impassive face of the Button Man that had taken his people from him.
“Kill the Button Man,” Simon growled.
“Keep away!”
Somewhere in his frenzied mind, the shreds of Simon’s rationality argued for mercy. This was not the Button Man. Cruel, yes. Human, yes. But deserving of his vengeance? No. He couldn’t kill this boy. He knew the old tales. Killing a human would bring other humans. Lylesburg had always been clear on this point. Better to flee. Save the boy, and run away.
Shawn was frozen, a terrified expression on his face. He batted feebly at the black liquid sloughing off his jacket. The black, gnarled claws were inches from his vitals.
As Simon warred internally, his body outwardly reflected the battle. The black organs began to grow lazier as he calmed down, though, dark bones pulling back inside of him where they generally belonged.
Yes, it was time to run. He would begin again, in another town. This fire would bring the humans. His buttons were lost. And his new friend, he was lost to him, too.
There was a guttural scream from behind Shawn, and then the older teen’s eyes widened in surprise. Blood exploded from the top of his head and cascaded down his forehead and into his eyes, his mouth.
Elliot had pulled himself from the hole and hefted one of the large flat stones, moving silently up behind his adversary.
His eyes were wild as Shawn turned around, hands reaching up reflexively to ward off a second blow.
“Two!” Elliot screamed. Shawn was slow, stunned. The rock deftly maneuvered between his hands and caught him in the face. Teeth joined the buttons scattered across the floor.
Shawn crumpled to the ground. The rock went up and down, and Elliot continued to count out above the meaty smacking sounds.
“… Eleven! Twelve!”
Chest heaving, he dropped the rock onto the teen’s corpse. Simon stared down at the body, and then up at his friend.
Midian Unmade Page 9
