by Ray Garton
“It’s late,” she said. “Go to bed, honey.” She disappeared in the bathroom and, once again, David was left alone with his dad.
Dad suddenly seemed taller than he ever had before. He held his arms a few inches from his sides, as if he might strike out at any moment.
David shrank away from him slowly.
“Go to bed—” Dad’s lips pulled back over his teeth in a sneer and his voice became mocking and malicious, “—honey.”
At that moment, David realized he was a threat to whatever his dad had become, and the man was only biding his time until he could silence him, waiting for the right moment to take him over the hill . . . to others like him . . . to whatever David had seen go down there in the early hours of morning.
David shot up the stairs, ran to his room and slammed the door.
For a while, David thumbed through comic books and magazines, unable to read, just skimming the pictures. His guts were churning and his hands trembled slightly. He couldn’t imagine feeling more helpless.
From the kitchen, sounds of dishes clattering and pans banging together let David know that his mom was still in the house loading the dishwasher, still safe. Keeping his attention trained on the noise, he undressed and put on his pajamas.
The bed felt good; Mom had put on fresh sheets that day. But David knew he couldn’t sleep. He watched Jasper for a while, crawling slowly over his bark.
The kitchen was silent.
David listened hard but heard nothing. He got up and went to his door, opened it a crack, and listened. There was no one downstairs. He hurried to the window.
With an arm draped around her, his head leaning close to hers, Dad was escorting Mom up the trail, over the hill.
David opened the window and could hear, faintly, his mom’s laughter on the soft breeze. His heart stopped, his blood ran cold as they neared the top of Copper Hill. He opened his mouth to scream at her, to plead with her to come back, to get away from him; he wanted her to know that wasn’t really Dad, that it was someone—something—that only wanted to hurt her.
All that came from David’s mouth was a faint, withered sound that formed one word: “Mom . . .”
David put his eye to the telescope as his dad playfully kissed Mom’s cheek, making her laugh again. They stopped at the crest of the hill and Dad took her hand as he pointed toward the sand pit, apparently directing her attention to something. Then, as they started over the top, Dad turned . . . looked directly at David . . . and waved.
“Maaawwwm!” David screamed, much louder this time, an anguished cry that tore itself from his chest painfully. He lifted his head above the telescope and watched through burning tears as they disappeared over the hill.
She wouldn’t be the same when she got back, he knew it. His parents were gone, both of them now, taken from him by . . . something. He folded his arms on the windowsill, leaned his head on them, and sobbed.
“Was that David?” Ellen asked, turning an ear toward the house. Just over the top of the hill, she thought she’d heard the boy’s voice.
“No,” George said. “Just a dog barking.”
He led her down to the embankment and they stood at the edge, hand in hand, looking out over the white pool of sand. It gleamed in the moonlight, speckled here and there with shadows created by the miniature sand dunes.
“I’m a little worried about David,” Ellen said.
“Don’t. He’ll be fine.”
“You always say that, George. What if he isn’t fine. He was worried all evening about you. He somehow tied your absence to his nightmare last night. I don’t remember seeing him so scared.”
“It’ll pass, Ellen. Believe me.” He sounded certain.
“Tell you the truth, babe, I’ve been a little worried about you, too.”
“Me?” He smirked at her, giving her a sidelong look.
“Yes. You haven’t really been yourself. Feeling okay?”
“Healthy as a bear.”
“Anything wrong at work?”
“Oh, you know . . . the usual.”
“Is that why you didn’t go today?” She paid close attention to his reaction. He didn’t look at her and she prompted, “Hmm?”
“I told you I had that meeting with Ed.”
“All day?”
“It took some preparation.”
She turned to him fully, still holding his hand, and said, “Honey, no one at the base had any idea where you were.”
“Not everyone knew about it,” he replied, reaching behind his neck and rubbing his fingers back and forth, rolling his head right and left.
“How’s the cut on your neck?”
He smiled briefly. “Fine.”
“Let me see it.”
“Really, it’s fine. C’mon, let’s go down onto the sand.” He tugged her toward the pit.
Pulling back, Ellen said, “No, I’d rather not.”
“How come?”
“Oh, I just don’t want to get sand in my shoes, track it into the house . . .”
He chuckled deeply. “You never used to worry about that.” He stepped forward and put his arms around her and touched his nose to hers. “Remember that night the first week we lived here? When we came down here and chased each other on the sand? And then . . . I caught you.” He chuckled again, but this time it seemed different. Ellen knew it was meant to sound playful, but it seemed cold . . . unfamiliar.
“I think I’d like to go back now,” she said, pulling away from him.
“Oh, come on. Just a little walk on the sand. C’mon.” He held her hand firmly and pulled, smiling all the while, a stiff smile, rather forced.
Mom, please don’t go over the hill, please!
The memory of David’s words was like an annoying gnat flying around her ear and, just as she would a gnat, Ellen brushed it away, thinking, That boy’s imagination is starting to rub off on me.
“Okay,” she said and laughed. “For a while. I’d like to get to bed soon.”
They stumbled down the embankment and onto the soft sand and suddenly, George was lunging for her, growling, “Gonna getcha!”
Giggling like a girl, Ellen ran from him, her feet pushing weakly against the sand, kicking it up behind her. She ran halfway across the pit and spun around to surprise George.
He was gone.
“George?” she said. Then she called his name loudly, looking around. He was nowhere in sight.
An owl hooted, startling her.
A bat flew quickly and softly overhead.
“George, this isn’t funny. Where are you?”
She turned all the way around, scanning the pit for some sign of her husband. Nothing.
“All right, fine,” she muttered, starting for the embankment, feeling angry and foolish for having fallen for his trick. She heard something behind her and turned. She could see nothing.
It happened again. A soft, whispery sound.
“Geor—”
Everything began to spin and the world beneath her fell away, sucking her down with it like a riptide and her arms flew upward, her hair fluttered out around her head and she opened her mouth to scream, but it never came. Her last thought was of her son:
Dear God, he was right!
David wasn’t sure how long they were gone because he hadn’t looked at his clock. He’d been lying on his bed sobbing, trying to think but unable to hold onto any thoughts, as if they’d been made slippery by his tears.
The back door slammed . . .
Footsteps crossed the kitchen . . .
There was movement in the living room . . .
The hitching in David’s chest stopped and fear dried his tears quickly as he heard their voices on the stairs, coming closer:
“. . . late now . . .”
“. . . yes . . .”
“. . . in his room . . . ?”
They were outside the bedroom door. David’s eyes flew to the knob and he slapped a hand over his mouth when he realized he hadn’t locked it!
“Tomorrow,” Dad said
quietly. “Midnight.”
“Yes, midnight,” Mom agreed. “Is he asleep?”
There was silence as they listened at the door.
“Probably.”
“Shouldn’t we take him tonight?”
The knob turned, the door began to open, and David disappeared beneath the covers, trembling, as he had that morning.
He recognized the heaviness of Dad’s footsteps walking into the room, heard a tinkly sound, like coins . . . his pennies?
The footsteps retreated, the door closed, and the voices faded down the hall.
“Tomorrow,” Dad said again. “Midnight.”
After he heard their door close, David sat up in his bed, pushing the covers away, and looked at his desk.
His penny collection was gone.
C H A P T E R
Seven
The next morning, after a sleepless night, David reluctantly entered the kitchen. Mom was at the stove cooking breakfast and humming. When David walked in, Mom smiled over her shoulder. As he seated himself at the table, he looked at her carefully, studying her neck. It was covered by a high collar and he could see nothing. But he was sure it was there, the little cut, the patch of bruised flesh.
The window was open and birds sang in the sun outside, as if nothing at all were wrong, as if this were a morning just like any other.
Mom put a plate of toast on the table and David nibbled at it without tasting it at all.
Dad walked in and sat down silently, watching David across the table. Unable to look at the cold eyes for long, David stared down at his toast, tore a piece in half, and removed the crust.
“Aren’t you hungry, David?” Mom asked, coming to the table with a plate of bacon. When she put it down, David stared at it in disbelief.
Black, shriveled pieces of bacon were stacked on the plate, smoke rising slowly above them.
Mom plucked a piece from the plate and took a bite, chewing it with relish.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked him as she crunched.
Without taking his eyes from David, Dad took a piece and began eating, too.
“I don’t think he’s feeling well, George,” Mom said, opening the refrigerator. She rummaged through it curiously, looking from one shelf to the next. Taking out a six pack of beer, she considered it a moment, then put it on the counter and grabbed a package of raw hamburger.
David watched her as the refrigerator door slowly swung closed. Mom didn’t even like beer!
She scooped out a mound of the burger and pressed it between her hands, then grabbed the salt shaker and held it over the patty, letting the salt pour from the little holes until the raw meat was caked with a layer of white.
“I have an idea,” she said, turning to them again. She pinched off a piece of burger and popped it into her mouth, talking as she chewed. “Let’s all go on a picnic, up on the hill!” She smiled, still chewing.
David began to breathe fast with fear as he watched his mom’s mouth, tiny lumps of raw hamburger clinging to her lips, and he wanted to speak, to ask her what she was doing! But he couldn’t.
“Sounds like a plan,” Dad said flatly.
“But, Mom,” David said slowly, with effort, “you’ve got classes.”
“We’ll go this afternoon,” she went on, eating another piece, ignoring David. “It’s beautiful up there. Your father showed me a place last night . . . a place you’ve never seen before.”
“Mom . . . is this a joke?”
“We’ll have a great time,” Dad said and smiled, eating more bacon.
“I’ll pack us a lunch.” Mom pulled the tab on a beer can. “Hamburgers! How does that sound? You always like that, don’t you.”
“But . . . I’ve got school today.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “You can miss. You don’t have to go every day.”
A rock-hard lump began to form in David’s throat as he stood, swallowing hard to get rid of it, praying for the bus to come so he could go.
“I don’t want to go,” he said quietly.
“Sure you do,” Dad said. “We aren’t together enough. We’re a family. We should do things together more. Don’t you think so, Ellen?”
“That’s right, George. We should be closer.”
“Hey, little guy,” Dad said, “give your mom a hug.”
David started to move away from the table, toward the doorway out of the kitchen, but Mom stepped in front of him. He felt as if he might throw up as he tucked his thumbs under the straps of his backpack.
The bus honked its horn outside.
David felt dizzy with relief. “I gotta go,” he said.
Mom glanced out the window at the bus, then looked back at David, her face determined. “Don’t you want to give your mom a hug?” she asked with a tight smile.
David continued toward the doorway, saying, “My bus is here.”
Mom put her beer down and stepped toward him. Before he could go around her, she grabbed his shoulders, squatted clumsily, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.
Chips of ice ran through David’s veins. This was not a hug his mother would give him. It was cold, clutching, possessive. He trembled in her arms and did not return the hug; his head was on her shoulder, against her neck, and his eyes moved to the spot just below her head, knowing what was there even though he was unable to see it. With a sudden jerk, he pulled away from her and saw the look in her eyes. She looked, for a moment, like a cat about to pounce.
David turned and ran as fast as he could from the house.
George and Ellen Gardiner followed David out of the house. They walked slowly down the drive as he boarded the bus.
“I told you we should have taken him last night,” Ellen said impatiently. “He’s becoming a problem.”
George squinted in the morning sun. They stopped at the end of the drive. Shaking his head slightly, George said, “No. Everything will be fine.”
As the bus drove away loudly, George raised a hand and waved with a smile. When it was gone, he looked at Ellen.
“Midnight,” he said quietly.
At recess, David sat alone at the jungle gym, gazing through the bars like a prisoner. He certainly felt like a prisoner, alone and trapped.
On the bus, David had tried to tell Doug about the UFO he’d seen, about his parents’ frightening behavior, and the cuts and everything. But Doug had only laughed.
“I never thought I’d say this to anybody,” Doug had said and chuckled, “but maybe you’ve been reading too many comic books!”
David had stopped talking then, realizing no one was going to believe him. He was on his own.
As he sat on the jungle gym, he stared at the cut on his hand. He’d taken the Band-Aid off in the shower. A scab had formed; the cut was healing. Why didn’t the cut on his dad’s neck heal? What was it and who had put it there?
And what did they want with David’s pennies . . . ?
David started at the skull-splitting slam and turned to see Doug pounding his baseball bat on the jungle gym.
“Hey,” Doug said, tilting his head and squinting, “you weren’t shittin’ me about that spaceship crap, were you? I mean, you’re . . . well, you’re pretty upset.”
“Just forget it, okay?” David turned from him.
“Y’know, all the guys think you’re really spaced.”
“Great.”
“You sure you don’t wanna play?”
David shook his head. “Nah.”
“Okay.” Doug ran across the playground, stopped, turned back to David, and shouted, “Hey, why don’t we go fly on our bikes this afternoon, huh?” Laughing, he rounded the corner of the school building to the baseball field in back.
David stood and walked slowly across the playground, his hands in his pockets, his toes scuffing the pavement. Children played around him, throwing balls, jumping rope, laughing. As he watched them, he wondered how long it would be before this thing had them, had everyone in the school . . . in the whole town.
He went into the building and wandered down the empty hall toward his locker. When he rounded a corner, he spotted Mrs. McKeltch down the hall, just outside her classroom, talking with the chief. He quickly ducked back around the corner, out of sight, cocked an ear, and listened.
“Midnight,” the chief said.
“No problem.” He heard Mrs. McKeltch open her door as the chief’s footsteps faded down the hall.
Peeking around the corner, David spotted the chief disappearing through the side exit. He looked all around; he was alone. Walking on tiptoe, David went to Mrs. McKeltch’s room and silently peeked in the open door.
She was standing at the blackboard, her back to him, writing something. She dropped the chalk in its tray after a moment and went into her office.
When David saw what she’d written, he stifled a gasp:
2:00 P.M. FIELD TRIP
“That’s how they’re gonna get us,” David breathed.
The students always looked forward to field trips, despite the watchful presence of Mrs. McKeltch. But this one would be like no other—this would be their last. When they came back, they would be different; they would no longer be his classmates. Doug would no longer be his friend! Even Kevin would be different, changed into something . . . something wrong. Kevin was a dick head, but David preferred that to what he would become.
Mrs. McKeltch had moved the frogs into her office; there were still a few live ones left over from yesterday’s dissection and David could hear them croaking. Through the doorway of her office, David could see her back. She was doing something at her desk.
Cautiously, he walked into the room and headed for her open office door, squinting at her neck. Was that . . . ? When he was just a few feet from the door, he could see a Band-Aid on her neck. Goose flesh crawled over David’s shoulders. Mrs. McKeltch was bad enough already, but now . . .
“What are you doing, David?”
David whirled around to face Heather. She stood in the doorway, fists clenched, eyes cold, and he knew in an instant that they had her.
“Heather . . .” David said in a fearful whisper.
Hearing a sound behind him, he turned toward Mrs. McKeltch and his mouth fell open as he staggered backward away from her.
