by Jeff Strand
What if his friend was dying?
He wasn’t dying. That was stupid. Glassy eyes and low energy did not mean that the Grim Reaper was chopping down your door with his scythe. Owen would be fine.
Still, Toby should at least make sure that he got into bed safely. They’d been friends for three years. Owen wasn’t going to rip him apart in the cave, especially when he wasn’t feeling well. Toby dug his flashlight out of his backpack, turned it on, and walked into the cave after him.
Owen pushed through some vegetation that hung in the corner—the secret passage that Toby had missed all those years ago. “Fancy,” Toby said. “It’s almost like you’ve got a beaded curtain. I hope you tidied up the place for my visit.”
Toby pushed through the “curtain” as well, stepping into a room that wasn’t much larger than his own bedroom. There were bones everywhere. As Toby shined the flashlight beam around on them, he was relieved to note that none of them looked human, not that he could necessarily tell a human rib from a deer rib at first glance.
“Nice place,” he said. “Not the decorating scheme I would have gone for, but it works. The scattered bones give it sort of a homey feel.”
A large pile of bushes, arranged almost like a nest, rested against the far wall. Owen lay down in it and closed his eyes.
“Don’t worry, buddy,” said Toby. “I’ll take care of you.”
He looked around some more. Not much to it. He hadn’t expected Owen to live in a nicely furnished luxury suite with fine china and a butler, but a bunch of bones and some bushes to sleep on seemed kind of sparse. The next time he came out here, he’d bring a picture of himself to tape up on Owen’s wall. Give the place a little more character.
“Hey, Floren, it’s kind of hard to breathe under here,” said a voice from within the pile of bones.
“So come out. You don’t need my permission.”
Larry pushed his way out of the bones. He was looking bad. He always looked bad, but this was a particularly gruesome day for him. Each of the stab wounds still had a knife embedded in them. The blades wobbled as he got to his feet.
“These hurt,” he noted.
“They would.”
“I can’t pry them out.”
“You did last time.”
“That was different.”
Larry’s appearance changed each time. Sometimes he only had one knife in him, usually in his chest. Sometimes he had no knives, but was covered with hundreds of stab wounds, far more than Toby had caused. Sometimes the cuts leaked. Sometimes they glowed. Sometimes they weren’t there at all. Once, Larry had just been a pool of reddish ooze—Toby knew it was him from the hazel eyes floating in it.
Nick hardly ever showed up. When he did, his body was filled with gaping holes and he didn’t talk much.
Larry tugged at the knife in his chest. “You stuck this thing in deep.”
“I was angry.”
“I’m really sorry about what we did. We should have been nicer to you while we were alive. I think, deep inside, we were just insecure about ourselves. We just wanted to be loved.” He chuckled. “A dumb way of showing it, right?”
“Okay, nobody wants to hear that,” said Toby. “Go back to the bones now.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then melt.”
Larry shrieked as his skin began to bubble and smoke. There was a sizzling sound as pieces of flesh curled and dropped off his body, bursting into flames as they hit the ground. Within seconds Larry was nothing more than a knife-filled skeleton. Then the bones fell apart and he collapsed back into the pile.
Good. Toby had control over his imagination today. That wasn’t always the case.
“You know what would be funny?” he asked Owen. “If you didn’t exist, either. I could be out here talking to myself. The people at the loony bin would love that.”
Owen opened his eyes, looking sort of annoyed that Toby was still making noise when he didn’t feel well.
“If that were the case, though, I’d be a cannibal. I may be crazy, but I’m not that far gone.” He knelt down next to Owen and stroked his fur. “You’re not going to die on me, right? If you ever leave me, I’ll…I don’t know. I’d just be really sad, I guess. I’ll stop talking now.”
He sat with Owen until the monster fell asleep, and then went home.
Toby had hated his senior year of high school, but he had to admit that his senior photo was pretty good. If nothing else, it was the best picture taken of him in at least a decade. His parents wouldn’t miss a five-by-seven print. Tomorrow he’d take it to the cave and give Owen something to remember him by when he wasn’t around.
Or…maybe he’d decide instead not to be a complete idiot.
Owen was his best friend, but he’d also devoured two humans. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t in Toby’s best interest to have his picture posted right there on the cave wall. That might be a challenge to explain to the police.
As a double murderer who was buddies with a flesh-eating monster, it was very important that he not do stupid things. What he should do, right now, was make a list of dumb things to avoid. A mental list, though—if he wrote it down, it could be discovered, and that would be spectacularly dumb.
No pictures of himself on Owen’s wall, obviously.
Always leave in enough time to get home before dark. He’d screwed that up a few times. Yeah, he always carried a flashlight and had spare batteries in his backpack, but still, he should avoid walking in the forest at night. What if Owen had relatives?
Don’t talk to hallucinations. To be fair, he’d only done that once outside of the forest. Larry had sat down next to him at the library, and Toby had told him to go away. Not a big deal. Nobody had heard. But still, the “talking corpse” versions of Larry and Nick were figments of his imagination, and speaking to them outside of his mind was dumb. He did it fairly often when he was hanging out with Owen, only because he was so used to talking to somebody who didn’t talk back, but that needed to stop.
Don’t think about feeding people to Owen. Well, that wasn’t necessarily something he could control. He thought about it a lot. But after that one time sophomore year when he’d lost his mind and tried to lure J.D. out here—God, how could he have let himself get that far out of control?—he’d never done anything like that again. And he never would. So it didn’t need to be on his list.
Don’t get too comfortable. He messed this up all the time. He just couldn’t conceive of Owen hurting him. But there were a lot of lion tamers missing limbs because they stopped being cautious around their beasts, and he needed to remain aware that Owen was dangerous. He didn’t want to find himself lying in a hospital bed without his arms thinking, “Wow, I really should have been more careful around the creature with claws and razor-sharp teeth.”
Never tell anybody about his friend. This was the hardest one. It was no longer a case of just wanting to share his cool discovery. He had a friend—his only friend—and didn’t dare tell anybody about it, for his sake and for Owen’s. Every time Mom or Dad asked what he was doing out in the woods all the time, he was tempted to tell the truth, but he never could. They were worried. They didn’t think it was healthy to spend this much time alone. If they knew the truth, they’d think it was even less healthy.
Those were the rules. Those were the dumb things he had to avoid. There was nothing on that list he couldn’t handle. And if he broke the rules…well, then he deserved whatever ghoulish fate was in store for him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN GLIMPSES
1964
“We brought you a housewarming present!” said Mom, excitedly walking through the front door. She held a large present wrapped in shiny orange and green paper, big enough that she had to wrap her arms around it as if giving it a hug.
“What is it?” Toby asked as she set it on the otherwise bare dining room table. He always asked that when he got a present, which was silly because the whole point of having it wrapped was to hide the surprise until he opened it. It wa
s similar to the way he said, “Hi, it’s me,” when he called his parents on the telephone. Who else would it be?
“You’ll have to open it and find out,” Mom said, as always.
While Mom and Dad watched, Toby tore off the wrapping paper. “A sewing machine?”
“That’s just the box.”
He ripped open the taped lid and looked inside. He pulled out another wrapped present, this one in shiny blue and purple paper.
“Obviously, your mother has a lot of time on her hands,” Dad said.
It took eight wrapped boxes to get down to the real present: a top-of-the-line coffeemaker that he absolutely loved. Although he’d bought Mrs. Faulkner’s house when she passed away, so Mom and Dad were right next door, and having his own coffeemaker now gave him one less reason to visit, so maybe it wasn’t such a great present.
While he was cleaning out his room, he’d found the undeveloped roll of film from when he’d taken pictures of Owen. He’d kept it hidden in his bottom drawer. The set of drawers went with him to his new house, and he left the roll of film where it was. He’d probably never take the pictures in to be developed, but he liked having it as a souvenir.
1965
“Toby. Toby. Toe-bee.”
Owen growled.
“No, that’s not even close. Just say Toe. Toe.”
Another growl.
“Maybe I could learn to growl in your language.”
1966
“That’s…that’s great news,” said Toby with much more enthusiasm than he felt.
“He won’t say anything, but your father is so excited he can hardly see straight.” Mom grinned. “He’s been hoping to get this job for going on six months now. It’s the opportunity we’ve been waiting for since before you were born.”
“Well, congratulations.”
“We’re going to miss you like crazy. You could come with us.”
“I think I’m kind of old to be moving across the country just to be close to my parents.”
Mom gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re never too old. It also works out great because your aunt Jean is out there, so we’ve got somebody to scope things out while we make the moving arrangements. It’ll be nice to see her more than once a year.”
“Yeah.”
“You look upset.”
“Well, I am, kind of.”
“It’s going to be hard, but it really is a great thing for your dad. And don’t worry, I’ll make him keep a bedroom open for you. And we both know he’ll complain about it, but I’m going to put up all of your posters and toys and everything.”
“You don’t have to go that far. Just put them up right before I get there and pretend you had the room that way.”
“Are you okay with this?”
“Yeah, sure, of course. It’s great news. Seriously.”
“We can’t wait.”
“Wow. Las Vegas. That’s…not close.”
“We’ll come back to visit. I promise.”
1967
“Hi.”
Toby stood there until the awkward silence became unbearable. “Hi,” he finally repeated.
“Sorry. I thought you were talking to somebody else.”
“No, just saying hi.”
“Do I know you?” the woman asked. She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly.
“No, not yet. I was just seeing if you wanted to dance.”
“With you?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Yes.”
“This is your first time talking to a woman, isn’t it?”
“No, not at all. I’m just, you know, nervous.”
“Well, I need a man who’s confident.”
“Oh. Okay. Sorry to have bothered you.”
“I wasn’t ruling you out. I was just saying that you have to be confident.”
“Do you want to dance?”
“You’re really not very good at this.”
“I guess not.”
“Practice. But on somebody else.”
1968
Toby opened the February issue of Argosy magazine and flipped to the page he wanted to show Owen. “This kind of looks like you,” he said, holding up the Bigfoot photographs taken by Roger Patterson and Bob Gimlin. “His fur is a lot darker, and your face is different, and you’ve got claws, but…I don’t know, I think there’s a resemblance.”
No.
“You don’t think so?” Toby looked back and forth, comparing Owen to the photographs. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. This was in California, anyway.”
“I quit.”
“No, you don’t,” said Mr. Zack.
“I’m pretty sure I do.”
“Nope, you don’t. Do you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because you, Toby, are what is considered a ‘valuable employee.’ Therefore it’s not in my best interest to let you quit. And so we will begin what experts refer to as the ‘negotiation process,’ wherein I make a counteroffer and we go back and forth until a mutual agreement is reached. How does that sound?”
“It sounds like I need to watch your every move.”
“That’s a good tactic regardless of the situation. So you’ve asked for a ten percent raise. You knew coming in here that you weren’t going to get ten percent. I’ll offer you two percent.”
“I quit.”
“Seriously, I can give you five.”
“I deserve at least eight.”
“Can’t give you eight. Do you have a wife or kids to support that you haven’t told me about?”
“I’ve got a pet.”
“Cat or dog?”
“Neither.”
“I can give you six. And you’ll take six because you love working here and I love having you work here and it’s generally pleasant for everybody, and also because most other bosses are a lot meaner and less entertaining than I am.”
Toby thought that Mr. Zack often tried a little too hard at the “entertaining” part, but he was right, there were probably a lot worse bosses out there. At least Toby never got yelled at or pushed around here at the grocery.
“Seven.”
“Six and a smile.”
“Seven and a punch in the face.”
“Seven and a smile. See? That’s much better than being unemployed.” Mr. Zack patted Toby on the shoulder. “You’re a good kid. I’m surprised some fine young lady hasn’t scooped you up.”
“I don’t get out much.”
1969
“Where have you been? Do you know how worried I was?” Toby demanded.
Owen just stared at him.
“Three days! Three days you’ve been gone! I thought you’d gotten hurt or moved away! I don’t expect you to write me a note, but you could have done something!”
Owen pulled apart his lips, showing his teeth.
“Oh, so you’re mad at me now? I’m not the one who disappeared for three days. Where were you?”
Owen pointed to the left.
“What were you doing?”
Owen made doggy-paddle motions.
“You were swimming? You went swimming for three days?”
Thumbs-up. Yes.
“You were not swimming for three days. Where would you even go? Did you find a pond or something?”
Yes.
“You didn’t need to be gone that long. You could have figured out a way to leave a message, or at least told me beforehand that you were leaving. You know, it’s not that short of a walk out here. I’ve got a lot of better things I could be doing than trekking all the way out here just to find an empty cave.”
Owen tapped his heart with two talons. I’m sorry.
“Well, you should be. I don’t have anybody else, you know.”
Owen furrowed his brow and curled his index finger.
“No, I’m not mad. Not mad anymore. Just don’t do that to me again, okay?”
1970
“It’s a brand-new decade, Owen. Everyt
hing is going to change. The world is ours for the taking, buddy. I can’t believe I brought this party hat all the way out here and you won’t wear it.”
1971
“Listen to me,” Toby said. He tapped his ear. “Listen. What I have to say is very important. Do you understand?”
Yes.
Toby felt sick to his stomach. He should have confessed this years ago. Or he shouldn’t confess it at all. What if it destroyed everything?
“You remember that day, right? A long time ago? When I fed you?”
Owen curled his hand into a fist and licked the air.
“No, no, not ice cream. I mean way back. Well, maybe your first ice-cream cone was before this, but I mean that time I gave you other food. People food. You know, not food that people eat, but people food. Kids like me. Remember that time?”
Yes.
Toby felt his eyes welling up with tears. “I need to share something with you. You have to promise not to get mad. Do you promise? You sure? You have to promise.”
Owen promised.
“When I did that, when I led you to their bodies, I wasn’t thinking about you. I was going to blame you for what happened to them.” Toby let the tears fall. “I wouldn’t do it now. If the police found out, I’d confess everything, I’d let them know that you had nothing to do with their deaths, but at the time I was scared and I didn’t know you and I just wanted a way to get rid of them where they wouldn’t be discovered.”
There was no reaction.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t even be telling you about this. You may not even understand me. I just—I’ve felt bad about this for a long time, and I needed to get it off my chest. It was a horrible thing to do. We weren’t friends back then, but even so, I would’ve let them gas you or whatever they would’ve done. But not anymore. I swear.”
