Billy Hooten

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  Billy reached for the comic, but Randy—being closer to ape and all—was faster and snatched it up from the table.

  “Be careful with that, it's old!” Billy yelled.

  The lunch table gasped.

  “Owlboy,” Randy read, studying the comic. “That's my idea,” he complained. “I think I should sue, what d'you think, Hooten?”

  “You can't sue anybody, Randy, that's twice as old as you are,” Billy said, reaching for his comic even as he wished he'd learn to keep his mouth shut.

  Randy pulled the book away, and his pack of goons snickered behind him. “What did you just say?” he asked.

  “I said … I said, I think you should sue, you'll probably make a million dollars.” Billy reached for the comic again, and again Randy moved it away.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sneer. “That's what I thought you said.”

  And then Randy attempted the unthinkable—he tried to rip the old comic in half. Billy nearly jumped out of his skin, until he realized that for some reason, Randy couldn't do it.

  Randy grunted, tiny veins bulging on the sides of his large head as he strained to tear the book into pieces. Again his sidekicks snickered.

  “What're you laughin’ at?” he barked, turning toward them. They quickly fell silent.

  “Could I, maybe, have that back?” Billy asked as nicely as possible.

  Randy snarled, looking down at the old comic book and then at Billy. “Don't you know this stuff will rot your brain?” He crumpled the comic into a ball and tossed it into a nearby trash barrel.

  Randy roared with laughter, pushing Billy backward into his chair before leaving the cafeteria with his friends. “See ya around, Owlboy,” he said, and they all started to make hooting sounds as they left.

  Billy sat, looking down at the floor. He could feel his friends’ eyes upon him.

  One by one, they got up and left, not knowing what to say. They had all been on the receiving end of Randy Kulkowski's pranks before; it wasn't fun at all.

  “Sorry about your comic,” Reggie said, just as the bell rang signaling that it was time for everyone to return to class.

  Billy stayed at the table awhile longer, waiting for the cafeteria to empty before he finally got up. Slowly, he reached into the large plastic barrel to retrieve his comic book, more than a little afraid of what the fragile old pages would look like now.

  He gasped as he pulled the comic from the trash.

  It was exactly as it had been before Randy had touched it.

  CHAPTER 4

  Now he was really confused.

  Billy had convinced himself that he was no superhero, but after talking to his friends, he couldn't help thinking that his own wimpiness might have prevented him from taking advantage of an amazing opportunity.

  “I'm home!” he called as he opened the back door and stepped into the kitchen. He set his book bag on the table and took off his coat, draping it over the back of a chair.

  “Hey there, kiddo. How was your day?” Mrs. Hooten asked, coming out of the family room.

  Billy noticed that his mother had a cookbook in her hand, another yard-sale find, and he remembered with horror the last meal she'd prepared with the help of such a book. He shuddered as he thought of what she'd called tuna-noodle surprise—boy, had it ever been one.

  “It was okay,” he said, unzipping his bag and pulling out the Owlboy comic. He began to flip through the pages, picturing himself defeating the bad guys and saving Monstros City.

  “Oh, this sounds yummy,” said his mom, her attention already back on her own book. She paused for a moment, tapping her chin with a finger. “But I don't think I have any blood sausage.”

  Billy just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Slinging his book bag over his arm, he started toward the stairs. “I'll be in my room, Mom,” he told her. “I've got a lot of work to do tonight.”

  “Good luck,” she called after him. “Oh, hey, wait a minute.”

  Billy stopped halfway up the stairs.

  “Don't forget to do your homework.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” he said, knowing it would be easier just to agree.

  He was continuing up the stairs when she called to him again.

  “Hey, Billy!”

  “Yes, Mother,” he answered, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

  “This came for you a little while ago.” Mrs. Hooten appeared at the foot of the stairs holding up a cardboard box.

  “What is it?” He came down the steps and took it from her.

  “Haven't a clue,” she replied. “There was a knock at the back door and there it was. Didn't even see the delivery truck drive away.”

  The box was addressed to Billy in a handwriting he didn't recognize, and he eagerly tore into it to see if there was a card inside. There was indeed an envelope. He set the box at his feet and opened it, his breath catching as he read the words scrawled on the card.

  Just in case.

  He knew exactly who had sent the package.

  Archebold.

  “Who's it from?” his mother asked, craning her neck to see.

  “Just a friend,” Billy answered, looking down into the box. “A friend from school.”

  Mrs. Hooten nodded. “What is it?”

  “Y'know, that stuff,” Billy said, going into mom distraction mode. “Remember we were talking about the stuff I had to do something with?” He started up the stairs again.

  “That's right,” he heard his mother say, “the stuff in the package.” She headed back down the hallway to her recipe book. “Dinner should be ready in a bit, hon.”

  Billy ran the rest of the way up the stairs with his prize. Ducking inside his room, he closed the door behind him and placed the box on his bed. Carefully, he folded back the lid and stared with growing excitement at the leather helmet, goggles and neatly folded brown and green outfit.

  It can't be, he thought, reaching down to touch the fabric and then pulling his hand quickly away. Psyching himself up, he reached into the box and took hold of the outfit. He held the jumpsuit out in front of him, his entire body shaking.

  The Owlboy costume.

  He wanted to try it on—but should I? he wondered.

  After all, Billy wasn't Owlboy, but why would the goblin have sent it to him if he didn't think there was even the tiniest chance that Billy would want to put the costume on?

  Goblins were sneaky like that.

  Billy was already taking off his clothes before he fully realized what he was doing. This is going to be awesome, he thought, carefully slipping the costume on.

  And then he was in the suit, standing in the center of his room and wondering if he should be feeling any different—because he wasn't.

  The costume was scratchy and rough against his skin, but that was all right. It wasn't any more uncomfortable than most of his winter sweaters. He zipped up the front, hoping to give it a snugger fit.

  It seemed a little big.

  He quickly crossed the room and opened his closet to reveal a full-length mirror attached to the back of the door. He stood before it, and if it hadn't been his own reflection he was looking at, he might've burst out laughing.

  The costume was huge, as if it had been made for someone three times his size. He stared in horror, lifting his arms and turning first to one side and then the other. Scratchy green fabric sagged at his shoulders and elbows, pouched at his butt and pooled around his feet.

  “Oh my god, I don't look like a superhero,” he said with disgust. “I look like a superdork.”

  To make matters even worse, his door suddenly opened and his father stepped into the room. Billy immediately reacted, covering his body with his arms and bringing one leg up as if he'd been caught naked.

  His father just stood there, a look of confusion on his face.

  “Hey,” Billy said, slowly bringing his arms and leg down, preparing himself for the inevitable questions.

  “Hey,” his father said back, looking him over. “Mom says that since she doesn'
t have any blood sausage, we're going to get pizza. She wants you to come down and let us know what kind you want.” With that, he turned and left the room.

  Billy stood there, stunned. Had his father not seen how he was dressed? But I guess that's a mystery for another time, he thought. Then he quickly removed the costume, pulling on his clothes again.

  “What was I thinking?” he asked himself, folding the costume and putting it back in the box. “I could never be Owlboy; I'm too much of a dweeb.”

  Billy really didn't feel like talking after the whole costume incident, but his mother chatted away happily at the dinner table, asking him about his day at school.

  He didn't want to be rude, so he did his best to answer her questions, trying to match her cheerful tone. Even still, she seemed to get that something was bothering him, and as he helped her clear the dinner table she stopped him, placing the back of her hand on his brow, checking to be sure that he wasn't feverish.

  “I'm fine,” he said, squirming away from her. But that was really far from the case, and as soon as they had finished cleaning up, he said good night and escaped to his room.

  But Billy's night was just beginning. As soon as he had seen his ridiculous reflection in the mirror, he had known exactly what he was going to do. He had to sneak out again. The costume had to go back to Archebold so that the goblin could find the real next Owlboy.

  He sat on the end of his bed and stared at the box containing the Owlboy costume. He still felt the sting of embarrassment at how silly he had looked. Glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand, he saw that he still had some time before his parents fell asleep in front of the television.

  It was the same routine every night: they would finish supper and then head into the living room, where they would both promptly fall asleep. It was almost as if the TV gave off some weird kind of sleep ray that they couldn't fight.

  Finally, Billy decided he had waited long enough. He grabbed his flashlight from the bottom drawer of his dresser—the junk drawer—and snatched up the box in his arms. Quietly, he left his room and snuck down the stairs, avoiding the creaky third step. He had perfected the nearly silent descent last Christmas, when he'd been able to scope out all his presents before his parents even knew he was awake.

  At the foot of the stairs, he peered through the doorway into the living room. It was just as he imagined: television blaring, his mom and dad both sound asleep,their heads slumped to their chests. Neither of them would wake up until it was time to turn off the set and go up to bed.

  I've got at least two hours, he told himself as he made his way down the hallway into the kitchen. He grabbed his coat and opened the door, carefully pulling it closed behind him. This is starting to become a habit, he thought as he turned on the flashlight and made his way toward the wall at the back of the yard. Resting the box and flashlight on top, he climbed onto the wall, retrieved his stuff and jumped down into the cemetery.

  Billy wanted to make this fast. The quicker he got rid of the costume, the sooner he could get the ridiculous idea of becoming a superhero out of his head.

  The Sprylock mausoleum loomed eerily ahead of him, the building illuminated in the cold white light of the moon. Box in hand, Billy used his hip to push open the creaky mausoleum door. He stood in the doorway and shone his flashlight around. The room was empty except for the four stone crypts, the only hint that somebody had been there being the charred remains of Archebold's fire. Even the old bones from the broken stone coffin had been cleaned up.

  “Okay, let's get this over with,” he muttered under his breath, walking toward the stone crypt with the open cover that Archebold had dropped into.

  Billy peered over the edge of the coffin, not quite sure what he would find. The shriveled old body of a dead Sprylock should have been what he saw, but instead there was only darkness. He shone his flashlight inside, watching as the deep pool of black swallowed up the beam.

  How is this even possible? he wondered, resisting the urge to place his hand inside the coffin and feel around for the bottom. Something told him he wasn't likely to find it.

  He leaned over the edge. “Hello!” he called out, listening to the sound of his voice echoing back from within. “Archebold, it's me … Billy. I've come to give you back the costume. It doesn't fit and I look like a dork in it.”

  He listened for a response that didn't come.

  Probably doesn't know I'm here, he thought.

  And then he remembered the whistle.

  Billy set the flashlight and box down on top of the coffin and searched his coat pockets. He found some old gum wrapped in a Kleenex, five elastic bands and the head of an action figure he'd discovered last year in the gutter on his way home from school, but no whistle.

  “C'mon,” he muttered, digging deeper. “I know you're in here somewhere.”

  And then he felt his fingers brush against it, hidden in the deepest fold of his pocket.

  “Gotcha!” he said, snagging the whistle and pulling it out.

  Carefully, he brushed away the dust and lint, then brought the whistle to his mouth. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs, and blew with all his might.

  Billy had no idea what the whistle would sound like, but he would never in a million years have imagined the sound that did come from it. It was like hundreds of owls hooting loudly all at the same time. And the freakiest thing was—it didn't stop, even after he had taken the whistle from his mouth.

  Suddenly, there was another sound, a ghostly moan that he realized was the wind outside only after it had blown the heavy mausoleum door open with enough force to smash it against the inside wall of the crypt.

  Billy jumped back, startled by the crack of the door. The backs of his legs hit the lip of the coffin, and he stumbled backward. His arms flailed crazily as he tried to grab hold of something—anything—to prevent himself from falling backward into the open coffin.

  But no such luck.

  His fingers brushed across the top of the costume box, knocking it into the coffin with him. And Billy fell, tumbling down, down, down.

  Into the bottomless dark.

  CHAPTER 5

  It felt as if he'd been falling for days.

  Just when Billy thought there was no end in sight and that he was going to continue to plummet for who knew how long, he hit bottom.

  Well, he hit something.

  One second he was drifting through an ocean of black, the next he hit what felt like a flight of stairs, and after a bit of a tumble he found himself lying on a cold stone floor.

  He lay there moaning. It took him a minute to recover from the abrupt landing, but then he realized the continued absence of all light. He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face, it was so dark. Cautiously he reached out, searching.

  A light switch would be nice, he thought, fumbling in the dark, but he found nothing.

  He didn't even want to think about where he might be. If he had been reading about something like this— the room of eternal blackness—in one of his comics, he'd probably think it was pretty cool, but this was different. This was real.

  Billy's leg bumped against something in the dark and he just about fainted. Happy that it didn't appear to be alive, or dangerous, he reached down, finding the cardboard box that contained the Owlboy costume.

  What would Owlboy do now? Billy wondered. Well, first of all, he doubted that Owlboy would've lost his flashlight, and second …

  If this had been a cartoon, a lightbulb would have appeared over Billy's head. Eagerly, he tore open the box, his hands fumbling for the goggles. He found them in a corner of the box and slipped them on over his glasses, tightening the strap in the back. Then he reached up and flipped the switch that would turn on the goggles’ most special feature. There was a soft hum and suddenly the darkness became as bright as day.

  “Wow!” Billy said, finally able to see his surroundings.

  He was in a kind of tunnel, the walls made of smooth black stone. Behind him was an archway with a
steep set of steps leading up into more darkness. He figured that was where he'd fallen from, and he rubbed his back, still smarting from his tumble.

  Ahead of him, the stone tunnel curved. Can't hurt to take a peek, Billy thought, his curiousity getting the better of him. Who knows, maybe Archebold will be waiting for me at the other end.

  But there was no goblin at the end of the tunnel; there was only a wooden door. Billy pushed it open and stuck his head inside what seemed to be a storeroom. There were shelves everywhere, stocked with what looked like… groceries. He guessed he was in the back room of a store.

  He approached the shelves, taking down what looked like a box of cereal. Captain Wheezy's Crunchy Critters, he read. Made with real bugs!

  “Gross.”

  He put the box back and picked up a jar from the next shelf. It was filled with a thick, light-green fluid. He read the label. Mama Pussbottom's Special Dinner Sauce. Great with intestines of all kinds!

  Billy thought he might get sick. He couldn't think of a single person he knew who would enjoy cereal made with real bugs or sauce that tasted great over intestines.

  But a monster—now, that was a different story.

  And then it hit him, and he almost dropped the jar of disgusting sauce.

  I must be in Monstros City.

  He hadn't even had a chance to wrap his brain around the idea when he heard a commotion from the room beyond. He paused, hoping that it had just been his imagination, or even the wind.

  But then he heard it again, a frantic scream for help followed by the sound of smashing glass. He remembered what he had gotten himself into the last time he'd answered a call for help, and he almost turned around.

  Almost, but not quite.

  When will I learn? Billy scolded himself, running toward the cries.

  Cautiously, he opened the door from the storeroom and found himself in a little grocery store, almost like Bob's Market right down the street from his house.

  He slipped quietly from the back room, drawn to the sounds of commotion up front. But even with the threat of danger so close, he couldn't help reading the names of some of the items on the shelves as he moved stealthily up an aisle.