Billy Hooten

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  He had actually been a hero last night. Why should he be running from a game? Real heroes didn't run from anything.

  Especially a dodgeball!

  “Well, would ya look at this,” he heard Randy say as he paced back and forth, tossing the bloodred rubber ball from hand to hand. “All that's left is the Owlboy.”

  His teammates laughed.

  “Finish him off, Killer,” Mitchell Spivey cheered, and then laughed hysterically.

  There's something really wrong with that kid, Billy thought.

  He had never been in this situation, always having been knocked out way before the end of the game, and he found that he didn't really care for it. Is this what it's like to be a hero? he wondered, watching as Randy … Killer prepared his next throw.

  Standing alone against the forces of evil.

  Billy tensed, watching intently as the ball left his enemy's hand. It would be so easy, he thought, to just turn slightly and let the ball graze me.

  Out. End of story.

  Any other day and he was sure that would have been perfectly fine, but not today … not after Monstros.

  Billy planted both his feet as the ball rocketed toward him. Reaching out, he brought his hands together, catching the ball between them. He stumbled back from the force of the throw, the palms of his hands tingling, but he'd caught it. He'd actually caught a ball thrown by Killer Kulkowski.

  You could've heard a fish fart in the gym, it was so quiet, and Billy looked around to see everybody watching him.

  His friends, as well as other classmates who had once made up his team, stared at him in awe. Danny Ashwell's mouth was open so wide that he'd actually started to drool.

  Very attractive, Danny, thanks, Billy thought.

  “So what now, Hooten?” asked the voice of evil.

  Randy just stood there, waiting. If he was as shocked about Billy's catching the ball as Billy was, he didn't show it.

  Mitchell Spivey cackled like a nutjob as Billy eyed them all. Randy stood out in front, the obvious target, silently daring him to throw the ball. Billy knew he didn't have a chance. His throw would be nothing more than a spitball to the troll disguised as a grade-schooler.

  “C'mon, Owlboy,” Randy taunted, motioning for him to throw the ball.

  The gym was quiet except for Mitchell's insane laughter, and Billy knew exactly what he was going to do.

  His eyes narrowed as he fixed his target in his sights. He wasn't sure if it was going to work, but he'd never know until he tried. Pulling back, Billy let the ball fly.

  Randy was ready, tensed and waiting as he watched the ball sail right past him to hit Mitchell Spivey.

  Billy wished he had a camera as the ball ricocheted off the laughing boy's forehead to hit a startled Randy in the back. It didn't hit him hard, but it hit him just the same.

  Billy's friends immediately started to clap. He looked over at them, a smile on his face. He knew that aiming for Randy would have been nothing but a waste, so he'd figured he might as well go for the most annoying of his archnemesis's crew and hope for the ricochet.

  After his success in Monstros, maybe things were starting to look up, he thought, waving to his cheering classmates.

  But Billy should have been paying attention to what was going on with the opposing team. Reggie's eyes suddenly bugged from his head, and he screamed, pointing across the gym.

  Billy turned just as Randy let fly with the ball.

  He didn't even have time to think about how much it was going to hurt.

  It was a little scary, but Billy was convinced now, more than ever, that he could be a hero.

  Never had he been the subject of so much attention—well, there was that time with the projectile vomiting at the Patriots game—but that wasn't the kind of attention anybody wanted. It seemed that since he'd stood up to Randy Kulkowski and his crew that morning in gym class, the kids and even some of the teachers were looking at him differently.

  For the rest of the day he heard their comments. “Way to go, Billy!” “Hear I missed a good game this morning, wish I coulda been there.” “Whaddya got, a death wish?” “Didn't know you had it in ya, Hooten!”

  Neither did he.

  Ears still ringing, Billy stood on the sidewalk in front of Connery Elementary, trying to convince his mother that it was okay for him to go to the comic book store on a school day. He was more determined than ever to make this Owlboy thing work.

  He was using the cell phone that she had given him for emergencies only. He wasn't sure if wanting to stop at the Hero's Hovel before going home was considered an emergency, but he decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

  Mrs. Hooten actually seemed relieved to hear that nothing bad was happening, and that was probably why she agreed to let him go to the comic shop—as long as he was home in time for supper.

  The Hero's Hovel was a good half hour's walk from school, but Billy didn't mind; it would give him time to really think about what he was going to do.

  His parents had always said he could be anything he wanted to be in life; if he really wanted it and worked really hard, anything was possible.

  Billy wondered if being a superhero was one of those things.

  First things first, though. He had to learn more about Owlboy. He needed to become familiar with the costumed hero and the world he protected, and what better way to do that than to read more of his adventures?

  And there was only one place in town where he could get his hands on that information—the Hero's Hovel.

  The Hovel was in downtown Bradbury, between Barbara's Beauty Salon and Uncle Sal's Hotdog Emporium. A bell chimed cheerily as he pushed open the door and entered his favorite place.

  Billy did what he always did when entering the Hovel: he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. There was something strangely comforting about the smell of the store. It was kind of a musty smell, one that could only be found among old comic books. To Billy, there wasn't a better smell in the world. It was an exciting smell, a hint of the adventure and excitement to be found inside the thousands of old and new comics.

  The store's owner was named Cole. He was a big guy, probably around Mr. Hooten's age, with long gray hair, really thick glasses and, always, a Hawaiian shirt. Although he didn't seem to be completely blind, he was always in the company of his Seeing Eye dog, Claudius.

  Today, Cole sat on a high stool behind a large glass counter, his German shepherd lying faithfully beside the chair. The owner was bagging and pricing back issues, using a special guide that told him how valuable the comics were. He had to hold the guide very close to his face to see the listings.

  He grunted something that could've been “Howzit going?” as he glanced in Billy's direction and then back to his work. Claudius woofed his own greeting, as he always did. Cole wasn't the friendliest of people. He was perfectly content to sit behind the counter, marking comics and listening to rock and roll music from the eighties, the same kind of music that Billy's parents liked.

  The store was a good size, laid out in multiple aisles, each row filled with boxes and boxes of comics. On the walls were hung even more books: special issues, valuable because of their age, or because they contained the first appearance of a popular character, or even because they were drawn by a particularly famous artist. Billy could never afford the wall books, but he always scoped them out just in case he ever found himself with some extra cash.

  He didn't know where to start, so he wandered up and down the aisles, taking it all in, trying to figure out where the Owlboy comics might be. He didn't think the company that used to put out the comic book was even around anymore, and the book was so old that there probably wouldn't be a special bin for it.

  Finally, Billy realized that he had to ask Cole about the Owlboy comics, but he didn't want to disturb the store owner. He remembered a time a few weeks ago when Cole had actually yelled at a kid for asking him a question about Captain Mighty's powers. It really was a stupid question, though. Everybody knew tha
t Captain Mighty's X-ray eyes couldn't see through lead. Even still, the idea that Billy might suffer the wrath of Cole was almost enough to make him forget about it.

  Aw, suck it up, he told himself, and slowly made his way toward the glass counter. If you're going to be a superhero, talking to scary store owners is going to be the least of your worries.

  Billy stopped in front of the counter and waited to be noticed, but Cole just continued to work. Claudius, however, had risen to his four feet, eyeing Billy over the top of the glass. The dog knew he was standing there, but what about Cole? Maybe he just didn't see Billy.

  The man continued to work, holding comic book after comic book up to his face, looking up their value, then slipping them into snug plastic sleeves and marking them with a price sticker.

  Finally, Billy cleared his throat.

  Claudius looked nervously at his master and back at Billy, who was seriously considering backing slowly toward the door when the man spoke.

  “Got a question?” he asked, sliding an issue of Tales Too Disturbing to Tell—a comic that Billy's mother refused to let him read because it was too disturbing— into a protective bag.

  “Yes, sir,” Billy answered, his voice coming out in a nervous squeak.

  Cole kept right on working, giving no indication that he had even heard him.

  “I … I was wondering.” Billy began again. “I was wondering if you had any Owlboy comics?”

  Cole stopped his work for a moment and glared at Billy, his eyes magnified through the thick lenses of his dark-rimmed glasses. “Owlboy?” he repeated, then laughed disdainfully, and with a shake of his shaggy head went back to work. “You don't want Owlboy, kid,” he said, taping a bag shut. “That's old-school stuff, way before your time. I seriously doubt that Owlboy would be flashy enough for you. Why don't you try Furious Furies, or Snake?”

  “No, thank you,” Billy said politely. “I already have a bunch of those. I really am looking for Owlboy.” He grabbed his bag from where he'd left it by the door and pulled out his new prized possession. “Y'see, I got this comic and I liked it a lot, and I'd like to read some more issues.” He held out the book to Cole.

  Claudius moved out from behind the counter to take a look. Billy showed it to him, and the dog sniffed the cover. “Don't get any dog boogers on it,” he warned the German shepherd. “It's really old.”

  The dog began to bark wildly, as if insulted. Billy jumped back, not sure what Claudius might do.

  “What've you got there?” Cole asked. He'd stood up and was leaning over the counter, a large hand reaching for Billy's prize.

  “It's an Owlboy comic,” Billy said as Claudius continued to bark.

  “May I see it?” Cole asked, almost nicely, and Billy handed the book to him.

  As soon as Cole had the comic, Claudius stopped barking, but his tail continued to wag furiously.

  “You're right, Claude,” Cole said, bringing the book up close to his magnified eyes. “It is one of mine.”

  The statement startled Billy. “One of yours?” he asked. “Are … are you saying the book was stolen?”

  He started to panic. He'd never even thought to ask Archebold where he had gotten the comic. No wonder the goblin gave it away!

  “Where did you get this?” Cole asked, shaking the old comic at Billy.

  “A friend gave it to me!” Billy blurted out. “He's not from around here and I didn't think he'd ever even been to your store and …”

  Cole stared at the comic's cover again before he started to flip through the pages.

  Billy was terrified, imagining how much trouble he'd be in when his parents had to go to the police station to get him out of jail. He was about to explain to the store owner that this was all some kind of horrible misunderstanding, when Cole looked up, his big bug eyes boring into Billy's.

  “So, what'd you think?” he asked.

  “What did I think of what … sir?” Billy asked, momentarily confused.

  “The comic,” Cole said, showing the open book to him. “What did you think of the comic? Did you like it, or did you think it stunk up the joint?”

  “It was wicked cool,” Billy answered, almost tempted to share with the shop owner that it was based on real-life things, but he knew that would likely get him tossed out of the store for being a wise guy.

  “I've seen you in here before, right?” Cole asked.

  Billy nodded quickly.

  “You like the Snake. Was it as good as an issue of Snake?”

  “Even better! That's why I'm looking for more issues.”

  Billy had to fib a little there. He didn't think telling the store owner that he wanted to use the old comics to learn how to be a superhero would go over so well.

  “Hmmm,” Cole said, handing the comic back to him.

  “I didn't steal it, sir, I swear,” Billy told him. “But if it's yours, you can take it back.” He held the book up to Cole.

  But the man just laughed, his large belly jiggling up and down. “I know you didn't steal it, kid,” he said. “That's not what I meant when I said it was mine.”

  Billy was confused.

  Cole looked around, as if checking to see if he was being watched.

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked conspiratorially.

  “Sure,” Billy said, and shrugged.

  “Keep an eye on the store,” Cole told Claudius, and the dog woofed as if to say, Gotcha, boss.

  The store owner motioned for Billy to follow and led him through the store to the back. They stopped at a door marked PRIVATE.

  “You sure you're ready for this?” Cole asked him, one hand on the doorknob.

  Billy wasn't really sure what to expect. “I … guess,” he said.

  “Remember, you promised me you could keep a secret,” Cole reminded him, and turned the knob.

  The door swung open into a darkened room, and Billy squinted, trying to figure out what exactly he was seeing. For a minute, he wished he had his Owlboy goggles, but then Cole reached over and flipped a switch on the wall, and the room was illuminated by the glow of fluorescent lights.

  Billy's eyes bulged. “Awesome,” he whispered as he stepped into the room for a closer look.

  “Yeah,” Cole said proudly. “Thought you might think so.”

  His mother didn't like him to drink Zap cola, but Billy took a big gulp of the ice-cold soda anyway, feeling it fizz in his throat as he drank it down. He smacked his lips eagerly, staring at the bright yellow label with the crackling lightning bolts.

  “I never saw Zap in bottles like these before,” he said to Cole, who was taking a swig of his own drink.

  “It's 'cause they don't make it anymore,” the shop owner replied. “When I heard they were going to cans, I bought up a bunch of cases, and I break out a bottle every once in a while on a special occasion.”

  Billy had some more Zap, looking around the big room for what could have been the thousandth time. The back room of Hero's Hovel was like a museum dedicated to Owlboy. There were posters and toys and pages and pages of comic book art framed on the wall. Billy had never seen anything like it before.

  “So is this a special occasion?” he asked as he stood and walked around again.

  “Yeah,” Cole said, thinking for a minute. “I guess it is. It's not every day that somebody comes in asking about a character I didn't think anyone—especially a kid your age—would remember.”

  “I only read about him in one of my comic book hero encyclopedias,” Billy said, admiring a small toy car that could only have been the Owlmobile. “But when my friend gave me the comic …”

  Billy looked to see that Cole was smiling, his big round eyes practically twinkling behind the inch-thick glass.

  “He is a cool character, isn't he?” Cole asked.

  “He's awesome,” Billy agreed, flipping through some Owlboy comics, some of the oldest comics he had ever seen, in a box on the counter.

  “Every time I penciled an issue, it was like the very first time,” Col
e said dreamily, taking another big swig from his bottle of Zap. “I never got tired of drawing Owlboy's adventures.”

  Billy heard the sound of screeching brakes inside his head. “What do you mean, you never got tired of drawing Owlboy?”

  Cole pointed to the framed art on the walls. “Where do you think I got all these original pages?” he asked. “Sure as heck didn't buy them, would've cost me a fortune.”

  “You … you drew these?” Billy moved around the room again, carefully examining the framed art. “You drew Owlboy?”

  “Yep, for almost ten years,” Cole said proudly. “Best darn job I ever had.”

  “That's what you meant by my comic being one of yours—you drew it.”

  “Bingo!” Cole exclaimed.

  “This is amazing,” Billy gushed, not sure if his excitement was real or if it was simply the Zap cola kicking in. No, he decided, looking at the comics and artwork in the room with new eyes. This is truly amazing.

  “I can't believe you draw comic books,” he continued. “That's gotta be the most awesomest job in the whole world.”

  “It was,” Cole agreed. “Well, until the publisher disappeared and Monster Comics went out of business.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Cole shrugged. “Nobody knows. His name was Preston Stickwell. He was also the creator and writer of the Owlboy adventures, so when he went away, the company and Owlboy went right behind him.”

  “That stinks,” Billy commented.

  “Certainly does,” Cole agreed. “It's funny, I tried drawing comics for some of the other, bigger publishers, but it just wasn't the same. There was something really special about Owlboy, almost as if he were real or something.”

  Billy felt the truth bubbling around inside him. He wanted so badly to tell Cole what he had done in Monstros, how there really used to be an Owlboy.

  How there might be an Owlboy again.

  “Course, then my eyes got bad, and I couldn't do it anymore even if I wanted to,” Cole said in a voice tinged with sadness. “But those are the breaks.”

  Billy didn't know what to say.

  As if sensing the sudden change in his master, Claudius wandered into the room and rested his head on Cole's thigh, whining softly.