Junior (A Wyrdos Tale Book 3)

by Gwendolyn Druyor

  “I’m not a monster.”

  “What do you call someone who makes a baby cry so they can trap a man in a cage against his will?” Junior sat and lifted Dawn into his lap.

  “But I wasn’t trying to catch a man. I was trying to catch the boogeyman,” Ethan protested.

  “You caught me. And you refused to let me go unless I gave you my story.”

  “So you haven’t found Louis?”

  “No, Ethan.” Junior glanced at Dawn and modulated his tone. “That’s where I was going when you caught me.”

  “Hey!” Ethan sprang out of his nest of books and blankets. “Maybe I caught you instead of the real boogeyman cuz you were already in the area.”

  “I was in Chicago.”

  “Cedarpo. The picture said Cedarpo, right?” He trampled the ouija board and candles as he dashed across the room to bounce off the wall with the Ohio poster on it. “Cedarpo!” He spelled, “C.E.D.A.R.P.O? I.N.T! Louis lives in Ohio! That’s Cedar Point!”

  “What’s Cedar Point?”

  “Only the best amusement park in the world.”

  “The best amusement park in the world is in Ohio?” Junior raised a doubtful eyebrow.

  Ethan missed it. “Duh.”

  Junior stood. He kicked at the barrier rising from six settings of silverware. “I was hoping to find Louis before the Chicago police reach his father.”

  Ethan didn’t pick up on the hint either. “Why would the Chicago police want to talk to him?”

  “They usually try to reach the next of kin when somebody dies.”

  Ethan started to laugh but the noise died in his throat. He stood up straighter.

  “She really died?”

  “Yeah, Ethan. She really died.” Junior held up his wrapped hands. “It all really happened.”

  “I thought it was just a story.”

  “A story is never just a story, whether it’s true or not. And I, the boogeyman’s son, am standing here in the middle of your stepmother’s silverware telling you my story was true. Beth died. Her grandson is about to find out. I can maybe tell him how much she loved him.” He kicked at the silverware again. “If you let me go.”

  Ethan bounced to the circle and lifted a soup spoon away from a matching knife and fork. The barrier simply vanished. Junior reached a hand forward to test it before stepping through with Dawn.

  “Thank you. Where is Dawn supposed to be?”

  “Her crib is in my parents’ room.”

  “They’re not home?” Junior wasn’t sure which answer would make him think less of them.

  Ethan shook his head. Junior leaned down to hand him his little sister but Ethan turned away. He opened his bedroom door and led Junior along a berber carpeted hallway to a master bedroom two doors down. The low crib was pushed up against a king-sized bed that didn’t take up even half of the immense suite. Ethan dropped to the ground and poked around at the base of the bassinette while Junior lay Dawn on the deep blue mattress.

  “I can’t get this wheel.” Ethan tugged on Junior’s pant leg.

  Junior looked down and slipped his toes under the wheel lock Ethan was tugging at with both hands. It flipped up with a click.

  “Cool.” Ethan unsnapped some clips and raised the side of the bassinet closest to the bed. He re-snapped those clips elsewhere and started pushing. “Some help?”

  Junior followed Ethan’s lead. He helped him push and drag the crib along the carpet to his room. They pushed it against the wall under the Ohio poster rather than up against the bed. Once it was in place, Ethan stuck his hand out to Junior.

  “You go tell him the last song she ever played was Cheek to Cheek.”

  “Okay.” Junior shook his hand.

  “Maybe you could come back sometime?” Ethan dropped his eyes.

  “If I can find my way back, I’ll drop in. Leave your door cracked.”

  The kid’s face glowed. He hopped up onto his bed and rolled the covers over himself. “Cool. Bye, Junior.”

  “Bye, Ethan. Bye, Dawn.” Junior pulled the door closed.

  Before the latch clicked Junior started focusing on the image of Louis laughing with his father in front of Cedar Point. He thought of the kid knowing the words to Cheek to Cheek and how proud Beth had been of that.

  He pushed the door open just enough to peek into the dark room. A slice of light cut across the ceiling and down over a blue bedspread decorated with silver and white musical notes.

  A small voice shrieked. “No Dad. You can’t go. The closet door just moved.”

  The sliver of light on the bed widened. The dad came back inside. He didn’t go to the bed or shut the closet door. But he did step back into the room.

  “There are no monsters in the closet, Louis. You are much too old to believe that.” He took in a deep breath and repeated on a sigh, “Good night.”

  Louis gave in. “Good night, Dad.”

  The sliver of light waned and with a click was gone. Junior stepped out of the closet. He scuffed a shoe on the carpet.

  “Wh . . . who’s there?” Louis whispered. He added, “I know there aren’t any monsters in the closet.”

  Junior asked, “How do you know there aren’t any monsters in the closet?”

  “Because they’re under the bed.” His voice trembled but didn’t break.

  Junior crossed to the bed and knelt down. He saw a Christmas sweater covered in dust bunnies, a sock, and a few plastic trucks and Lego pieces under the bed. He sat up again and shook his head at Louis. “I don’t see any monsters under there. Where are they?”

  Staring into the dark, Louis’s light brown eyes watered but the tears evaporated as he said, “In the woods on my way home.”

  And it was as easy as that. Junior felt the boy’s insurmountable fear lift. He felt his own heart lift as well. Louis looked at him. He blinked once. Junior smiled. The boy smiled back.

  Junior looked over at the mandarin orange sitting untouched on the little table beside the bed. “Don’t you like oranges?”

  Louis shrugged. “Sometimes Dad’ll stay while I eat it so he can take the peel away. You want it?”

  Junior nodded. “Yes.”

  The kid picked up the orange and dug a thumbnail viciously into the skin. He ripped it back and handed it over to Junior. Junior dropped the peels in his lap. He ate for a little while. Louis watched.

  Louis tilted his head at Junior. “Where did you come from?”

  “I came out of your closet.”

  “Why?”

  Junior grimaced. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

  Louis sat up. “I’ll try.”

  “Louis, what is your grandmother’s name?”

  “I have two. Grammie Ellie lives in Pittsburgh and we see her all the time. Grandmabeff lives in Loonybin and I’ve only met her twice.”

  “Did you like your Grandmabeff?” He stumbled over the nickname.

  Louis nodded solemnly.

  “Does your Dad love your Grandmabeff?”

  Louis nodded again but added, “He’s scared of her. He doesn’t want to be like her. I wish he would be like her. She’s funny and she sings all the time when we talk on the phone. But Dad is scared of going to Loonybin.” Louis deflated. Then he puffed up again. “Could you talk to my Dad? I’m not scared anymore. You could help him too.”

  Junior shook his head. He swallowed before replying, “I can’t help your dad.”

  Louis cut him off, like he’d expected to be told no. “I understand. Why do you want to know about my Grandmabeff?”

  Junior considered that he was the thing that went bump in the night. He didn’t need to tiptoe around the scary stuff. And Louis seemed like a pretty straightforward kind of kid.

  So he said, “She died tonight.”

  Louis sucked in a deep breath and held it. Junior waited. He wanted to shake the kid to make him breathe. But he waited.

  When Louis let the air out again, one sob came with it.

  Junior said, “Your Grandmabeff stood up to a
monster. He wanted everyone to cower in fear but your Grandmabeff just kept dancing. She was thinking of you.”

  Louis looked up into Junior’s eyes. Tears trailed down his cheeks. He nodded. The nod turned into a bop and a sad smile lit his face as the kid swayed to the music in his head.

  Junior scooped the orange peels from his lap on to the bedside table. “If you go to where she lives try to get your Dad to visit a bar called The Office. And bring a quarter.”

  “Why should I—“ Louis began. But the phone rang out in the hall. They both looked toward the sound. When Louis turned back, the stranger was gone.

  “Louis?” Junior called to him from the closet door.

  “Yes?”

  “You can help your dad.”

  Then they heard his dad answering the phone.

  “This is he.”

  “Heaven, I’m in heaven.” Louis sang quietly. “And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak.”

  His father sobbed out in the brightly lit hallway.

  Junior prompted Louis. “I seem to find the happiness I seek . . .”

  Together they sang in the darkness. “When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek.”

  Junior ducked into the depths of Louis’ clothes. Just before he closed the door, he heard Louis call out.

  “Thank you, Mr. Boogeyman.”

  Junior sighed as the world shifted around him.

  “Glad to help, kid.”

  16

  Don’t Sleep

  Don’t sleep with your closet door open.

  When you were a child, you believed that there were monsters in the closet. You were right. He can hear the beating of your heart. He can see your eyes glowing in the dark. He’ll paralyze you with fear so that you cannot escape. So don’t sleep with your closet door open. Unless you have a serious issue weighing on your mind and you think it would be helpful to discuss it with someone. Then leave the door open a crack. And set a bowl of oranges by the door, preferably the cute little tiny ones.

  •••

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  To learn more about Lee’s puppyhood and get a sneak peek of WereHuman: The Witch’s Daughter, read on!

  WereHuman

  The Witch’s Daughter

  Consortium Battle Book One

  By

  Gwendolyn Druyor

  Wyrdos.net

  Text Copyright © 2016 by Gwendolyn Druyor

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter One

  “Mom!”

  The young boy’s piercing voice woke Laylea from a fitful sleep. She shivered and blinked. No brothers snuggled up next to her. Last night Mama had kissed her goodbye before tucking her makeshift bed into a corner of the wraparound porch.

  “She’s tinkering, Bailey.” A man with blue eyes that matched the little boy’s joined him in the doorway. He smelled like a nap.

  The boy reeked of soap. Laylea crinkled her nose as he leaned in to get a closer look at her. Peeking out through the folds of a baby blue towel, Laylea could see the gray of early morning sky beyond the two humans. Bells jingled lightly against the doorway and she shivered again at the cold breeze. A yawn stretched through her whole body and she tucked her nose back under the old towel.

  “Woodford found it.”

  Laylea cracked an eye. The skinny boy pointed behind her. She smelled earthy warmth and turned her egg sized head. She and the ratty towel lay tucked in amongst the plastic grass of an Easter basket. Behind her, one enormous brown and black paw rested on the edge of her basket. She followed the leg up to a massive barrel chest and on up to the droopy jowls and tired eyes of a mutt. She reached toward him for a nuzzle.

  The hound let out one low bark and she jumped backwards, toppling out of her bed. He was on her in an instant. She yelped. But the warm, soft hands of the man lifted her away and she was curled into the dad’s chest in a moment.

  “Mom won’t let us keep it,” the boy fearlessly wrapped himself around the big mutt.

  “She will let us bring a scared puppy into the house though, Bailey.”

  The dad carried Laylea through the doorway as the little boy grabbed her towel. Underneath the towel, tucked into the wicker, he found the note in a small white envelope with their names written on the outside; Clark, Bailey, and Dr. Sher.

  “Dad, there’s a letter!”

  “So bring it inside. I don’t think all the neighbors want to hear our business.”

  “Old Lady Rucker does.”

  Bells jangled as the front screen slammed shut between the boy and his dad.

  Laylea craned her neck, looking around in the dark house. The front hallway led to carpeted stairs straight ahead. One side opened off to a brown room with softness everywhere. The man turned away through an archway that led to a green room centered on one giant wood table. The house smelled fluffy. Not like the basement at all or the car.

  “Clark Hillen, where did you get the puppy?”

  The dad stopped at the sound of a voice coming from the dark hallway beside the stairs. Laylea dropped her head back over the man’s arm to sniff out the stern voice and he fondled her velvet ears with a hand that smelled of food. Her belly told her to twist around and suck on his finger, hoping for milk even though Mama hadn’t given her any in days.

  “No, Clark.” A tall woman with hair a shade darker than Laylea’s pale fur and arms full of lavender scented bedding stopped at the archway to the table room. “You can’t keep it.” The smile that wrinkled the corners of her brown eyes faded when she looked away. “Bailey, shut the front door.”

  This woman was clearly the mama and alpha of this little pack. Laylea tucked her tail and lowered her head as the woman came close to lift one of her paws with a finger. She talked tough but her touch was gentle. And she smelled like dogs, lots of dogs. Beyond her control, Laylea’s tail popped out and thumped against the dad’s chest.

  “How old is it, Mom?” Bailey bounced over to the trio with the big dog on his heels. The boy stuck his muzzle up into the puppy’s face. She licked his nose, remembering no teeth, like Mama said. He giggled. “There was a letter in the basket.”

  The mom dumped the laundry into his arms so she could take the envelope. He was barely able to hold it all.

  “Take the laundry upstairs and then come join us in the kitchen. She’s a few weeks old. Barely old enough to leave her mother, I’d guess.”

  Bailey charged out of the room yelling back at them. “Wait for me!”

  The parents didn’t bother to respond. They carried Laylea through flapping wooden doors into the most delicious room she’d ever smelled. This room was filled with silver and stone surrounded by pale green walls. A silver kettle whistled on the stove and the dad jostled Laylea jogging over to pull it off the flames. He poured water into two travel mugs as the mom pulled ceramic bowls out of a cabinet and dished something warm and cinnamony into them. She stopped the dad before he could turn away again.

  “Here.”

  The alpha slipped a cold metal tube into the dad's pocket. Laylea craned her head around to sniff the new tube resting beside a warm one already clipped to the fabric.

  The dad shifted Laylea to look at the tubes himself. “Another new pen, Sher?”

  “The rifling is quieter.” She plucked the warm pen from his pocket and tucked it away, glancing at a flat disk on her wrist as she did. “Less noise to distract anyone from looking at the focal isolator.”

  The mom scooped crunchy bits from a bin on the floor into a plastic bowl which she set on the counter beside the mugs despite the brown hound’s big eyes begging her to give it to him. The dad added a spoonful of powdered creamer to
her mug even as the mom lifted it to her lips.

  “Do you ever consider, when you’re tinkering,” he reached one handed into a cabinet and pulled a plastic bowl from the top shelf, “making tech that could take down the Consortium?

  “Clark.” Laylea cringed at the mom’s voice. “I gave that all up six years ago when you asked.”

  The dad squeezed Laylea closer. He bent and dipped his bowl into the bin of crunchy bits. “I didn’t ask you to give it up.”

  “I can’t fight them and keep Bailey safe.” Sher took the little dish of kibble from Clark and turned away to the kettle. She dribbled a little water into the bowl.

  Laylea looked up at the warm man’s chin. His neck had gone tense and she could feel him struggling to calm his breath. His voice rumbled against her tiny body when the mom turned and reached past him to set the bowl on the counter.

  “You say you want out of the fight,” he said, “but you keep developing tech.”

  A breath hovered between them. Then her bright eyes turned up to his.

  “This is just to protect my family.” Sher choked on the last word.

  She would have walked away but Clark pulled her to him with his free arm. Laylea had heard tears in her voice but there were none in her eyes. Her head rested on Clark’s chest and it and Laylea both rose as the dad took in a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry. You are protecting us.” He kissed the top of the mom’s head and whispered into her hair. “And them.”

  Sher nodded stiffly. She pulled out of Clark's arms just as Laylea risked reaching out to lick her nose. The puppy missed.

  Sher turned away to hold a fist out at the hound. “Sit, Woodford,” she said, the stern back in her tone.

  The big dog sat.

  The dad took a sip from his travel mug and smoothed the fur on Laylea’s head just as Bailey bust through the swinging door hollering, “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!”

  The noise scared Laylea so much she piddled on the nice dad.